The Agent Versus the Bartender

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

Author's Note: The goal is to get all of this out by Christmas GOOD LUCK TO ME! Multiple chapters so look out.

Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

She came in that first time after a drunk UCLA frat boy spilled a full glass of beer all over his bar counter. It got on the ice maker, sticky beer dripping all down the sides of the machine and onto the floor. The guy had been sincerely apologetic and even helped mop it up, but when he became more of a hindrance than a help, he'd gently ushered him out from behind the bar, accepted the extra big tip, and finished the job himself while John came out to cover for him with customers.

John had patted him on the shoulder, going back to his office—most likely to finish watching an episode of The Bachelor or something like that—when she seemed to almost appear out of the blue.

After five years of working at this place, he'd gotten really good at observation, paying attention to his bar and the clientele. He had a sixth sense and always knew when someone sidled up to his counter and sat down on one of his stools.

So he felt her presence there, all the way down at the far end of the bar, right on the corner, her back to the wall. He felt her sidle up to his bar and sit down.

And he glanced over his shoulder to eye the newcomer as he charged a tab to another customer's card.

Pretty women came into his bar nearly every single night, sometimes with their friends, or their date…and sometimes alone, like she seemed to be. This downtown Los Angeles location brought in a wide variety of clientele. And he'd seen it all, including celebrities. So it didn't particularly startle him to see a beautiful blonde sitting at his bar.

He handed the customer's card back and thanked him, then checked his watch. Three hours 'til closing time, he thought to himself. He just had to last for four more hours and then he could go home and pass out. Until tomorrow. When he'd have to wake up and don his Nerd Herd uniform to go work a six hour shift at the Buy More.

Shaking that dismal thought off, he moved across the floor he'd just mopped for the second time tonight and stopped in front of the newcomer. "Hi. Welcome. What can I get ya?"

Her eyes lifted from the bar and fastened on his. Even in the low lighting over here at the corner of the bar, he was a little startled by just how blue they were. Maybe he did see a lot of beautiful women while tending this bar, but he was only human. And he suddenly found himself having to fight to keep from showing he was a little stunned by how striking she was.

"Uh…" She bit her lip. "What's the strongest thing you have?"

"We have an extremely earthy merlot." She sent him a look, her eyes narrowed, and his smile died. He cleared his throat. "Sorry. Bad joke. We have this rum back here that we literally have to keep away from anything that has the potential to catch fire because it's insanely flammable and I'm not sure the owner bought insurance that would properly compensate him for losses."

"God, give me that. Please."

He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and nodded. "All right."

"Thank you," she muttered, and he couldn't help sending a subtle glance down the bar at her as he grabbed the glass and the rum. He learned pretty early on not to get involved in whatever shit his customers brought into Casey's. He didn't ask. He just let them talk if they needed to. John was clear after the first few times he nearly got himself into trouble with customers who thought he was more interested in them than he was. John had brought him into his office and said, "They want you to be their own personal shrink. You wanna do that? That's your business. But never ever let them pull you into their drama. Put some distance there. You listen, you let them move on. Trust me, kid."

But as he came back to the blond woman, recognizing the well-veiled but still visible misery on her pretty features, her brow furrowed over those blue eyes that had rocked him back a moment earlier, he wanted to ask if she'd had a hard day. Something about her made him feel like he wanted to reach out, provide some form of...comfort. If only for the few minutes she sat here before she moved on again.

He didn't say anything, except for his usual, "here you are" as he set down the glass and poured it for her.

When he began to pull the bottle back, she reached up, almost like she was going to touch his arm, but she stopped halfway there with a quiet, "Wait. More. Please. I'll pay for it."

He wasn't worried about that. But he didn't say it. Instead, he nodded and poured more. "Tell me when."

She let him pour quite a bit into the glass before she held up her hand again. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Not a problem." She thrust a card out at him that she'd pulled from somewhere in her purse. "Close the tab, or…?"

"No, don't close it."

She didn't offer him any sort of explanation. She didn't say anything else. She just slowly pulled the drink over to her and stared down into it, turning the glass in her fingers slowly, methodically. He plugged the drink in on her tab and went back to helping other customers. But he couldn't help glancing over here and there. The rum line lowered each time he snuck a peek, until it was finally empty.

It had gone fast, he thought to himself. And he couldn't stop himself from wondering. He tried not to wonder with customers. He tried not to pry into their business. But he'd always had an overactive imagination, and when you were a bartender, it was so easy to concoct wild stories about the people you served. Who they were, what they did, why they were there, what was making them drink…?

He took a deep breath and wandered over to her. Her eyes were still clear in spite of what she'd just imbibed. But she was still playing with her glass, her chin resting on her palm, elbow propped on the bar. "Hey, you still good?" he asked, and she lifted her gaze to his again, letting him have a small smile. "Need anything else?"

"Where do I start?"

She said it under her breath, as though she hadn't meant for him to hear it, but he'd heard it.

"Start anywhere you'd like," he said, giving her a bit of an understanding look. Her eyebrows went up a little as she actually seemed to look at him for the first time. He cleared his throat and pat the bar with his fingers. "I'll give you a drink menu, if you'd like. Give you some guidance."

He could see intelligence brimming in her eyes, in the knowing look on her face, the slight upward tilt to her lips. She saw right through his attempt at a save. But she let him have it. "Yeah. That'd be good. Helpful. Thanks."

"No problem." He reached down and snagged one from the holder, sliding it in front of her. "The back is the wine list, but...you don't...I mean, here's the harder stuff." He tapped the side he'd faced up.

"Thanks." He smiled at her, but before he could move away, she spoke up again. "I must come across as some sort of hardcore drunk…"

He paused, then shook his head, propping both of his palms on the bar and leaning in a little. "I try not to pay attention to that. Or judge people. I'm a bartender. I like people who drink."

She sniffed in amusement, her shoulders bouncing, and she looked down at the menu, pointing to her glass. "In that case, can I just get another one of these? Same amount. I am hardcore. But not a drunk."

He nodded emphatically. "Well! I try not to pay attention, but the fact that you're still clear-eyed after the first one I poured you tells me you're a little more than just hardcore." She sent him a curious look. "You're kind of a bad ass."

Grinning at the slightly wider smile she gave him, he grabbed her bottle, as he saw it as hers now without even realizing it, and he poured more.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He wanted to say "be careful" or something less condescending than that. But then he realized anything similar to that would be condescending, too. So he just left it at that and moved away again.

He cleared most of the bar after another fifteen minutes and moved back in front of her to find she'd nearly gotten to the last finger of the rum in her second glass. She was staring at the stack of bottles behind the bar, but she wasn't really looking at them. She was just staring, her eyes still clear, but she was lost in her head. He knew the look well after five years of tending this bar four nights a week.

When she realized he was there, she shook herself a bit and sent him a weak, momentary, polite smile. "I think I'm good for now with this. I'm…starting to feel it. Which was the goal."

"It's going to take a few for it to actually kick in, so…" He cleared his throat, realizing he was about to do the condescending thing.

"Does your boss know you're out here giving drinking lessons?"

He winced and chuckled. "Touché."

She smiled a little and finished the drink, setting it down. "I didn't mean for that to sound as biting as it did."

"It wasn't biting. It was fair."

"It was both maybe?" She winced and tilted the empty glass to the side before tilting it back again, then tilted it to the other side and repeated the process. He figured she was done talking and decided to move away… wipe down the bar maybe, or clean something… but she spoke up again before he could. "You have sidecars here?"

"I can make a wicked sidecar, yup," he said, crossing his arms.

She furrowed her brow at him, and he thought he saw the vestiges of a buzz in her eyes now. The clearness was less apparent. "What makes it wicked?"

"Um." She caught him off-guard. He squinted at her thoughtfully and pursed his lips. "A little on the stronger side, I'm not gonna lie. But all of my mixed drinks tend to come out a bit stronger."

"You must be a popular bartender around here," she said, lifting an eyebrow.

"I do okay." He shrugged. "Sidecar?"

"Sidecar," she said, nodding emphatically.

He knew it wasn't good for business for him to discourage drinking, but he knew the drinking she'd already done was going to catch up with her. And here she was ordering more. But then he also didn't really know what was up with this woman. Had something happened? Had she lost a job? Did she go through a bad break-up? Did somebody die? A fight with a friend?

He hated himself a little for actually looking at the fingers of her left hand when he passed over a sidecar, still sticking the orange rind on the rim of the glass as he did so. There was no ring, and no evidence of there ever having been a ring. But it was the twenty-first century and not everyone did things the same way folks used to. It didn't mean anything.

He needed to cool his jets with his curiosity about her. It felt a little disrespectful. And yet…

She fascinated him.

"Hey, pal! There are other people who want drinks." He glanced down the bar to see a man in his late thirties or so waving his hand obnoxiously, as if he was checking to see if he was invisible or not. "She's cute and all but I'm pretty sure that's not in your job description, is it?"

The customer muttered a frustrated "Jesus" to himself and turned to his similarly dressed business associates or friends, whichever they were, with a Can you believe this? shrug.

Sighing, used to this sort of customer—way too used to this sort of customer—he turned to the woman with a quiet, "Excuse me", and moved away from her as she sent him an equally quiet and understanding smile.

"What can I get for you, sir?"

"Uh, maybe a better watch." The guy tapped the face of the watch around his wrist. "Because this watch is tellin' me I've been standing here waiting for you for about three minutes while you flirted and that can't be right. No serious establishment would have a bartender who takes that long to help his customers."

"I'm afraid we don't sell watches here at Casey's Bar, sir, but I'd be happy to provide you with an alcoholic beverage."

The guy reared back a little at Chuck's calm and collected response, then let out a chuckle in disbelief. "Funny guy. I like that. I'll make sure to include that in my Yelp review."

"Oh! Thank you, sir. Can I make you anything?"

"Just get us a couple of shots of Patrón," the guy groused.

"How many is a couple, sir?"

"How many of us do you see here, smart ass?"

The bartender tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. He wasn't going to dignify the asshole with the response he was obviously looking for. The privilege and entitlement was seeping out of him. He'd come out tonight looking for trouble, most likely. Or he was trying to prove to his little friends that he could swing his dick around with the best of them. It wasn't worth getting defensive or upset over. It wasn't worth reacting to it. Come tomorrow, this guy wouldn't even exist in his memory.

"I see six of you, but I ask because sometimes people want more than one shot at a time."

"Oh, aren't you thoughtful!" He patted the bar counter condescendingly. "Just one each for now, slim jim. We'll be over there in the corner at the booth. Hurry it along, huh?"

He watched them go, their laughter burning in his ears. He was only human, and he couldn't help wanting to jump the bar and tackle the little douchebag.

But he knew exactly how that would go down with cops, so instead, he turned on his heels and got six shot glasses out. God, he wanted to spit in them. But the woman was at the bar still and she'd see. They also had cameras in here, and Joh\n might see footage of him spitting in shot glasses, and...well, he really needed this job to continue living in his own apartment without roommates.

He poured the Patrón shots, set them on a tray, and brought them out to the douche table, distributing them and ignoring the barbs sent his way. He just had to keep thinking Not worth it, not worth it, not worth it…

As he came back to start a tab for the table, he saw that she was sipping the sidecar a lot more slowly. He ambled over again and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little tentative. "Do you want a glass of ice water or anything?"

She glanced up at him and sniffed with a slight smirk. "Why? Do I seem like I need one?"

"No," he said with a shrug.

She lowered her gaze again and took another sip, her tongue darting out to taste her lips. "I just want to be drunk."

He watched her for a few seconds and then nodded. "I think that's fair."

"Oh, thanks." She did that sardonic sniff again and sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on the bar top and shaking her head. "You ever been at...at a crossroads...and instead of actually doing the adult thing and sitting down, making pros and cons lists, really thinking about it, you just want to flood yourself with alcohol 'til you're numb?"

"You have no idea."

She eyed him then, raising an eyebrow. "I don't?"

"I dunno. Maybe you do. I'm not gonna pretend I know why you're here. I don't know what made you feel like you wanna be drunk, I mean."

She smirked. "You have a refreshing way of talking to people."

"Do I?" he asked, tilting his head.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Honesty."

"Honesty is refreshing?" He raised his eyebrows.

She smiled and shrugged. "Are you all right with me getting drunk? I think it'd be for the best that I end up drunk. Do you mind?" For a moment, he thought he saw something in her eyes, like they were almost welling up. It was just a split second before she blinked and the potential of tears was stifled.

Why had she needed to come here to get drunk? Was it something that terrible? Could he help her somehow?

"I don't mind, and I'm not just saying that as the guy who'll be taking your money as you seek to achieve your goal." He paused awkwardly. "Your goal of getting drunk." He cleared his throat as she just stared at him. "I don't know why you're here but I trust you have a good enough reason."

"Do I need one?"

He winced. "I should probably go clean something so I stop putting my foot into my mouth."

"I'm just so tired."

The bartender froze. The thread of teasing was gone from her features, and she just stared glumly down at her drink. He was afraid to say anything so he just waited patiently, and watched.

She shook her head. "I'm tired. I feel like I never get to rest, even when I'm resting. It's all just...there." She tapped her temple. "It's always there. But I know that even if I stop...if I stop, it'll stay. The shit. It's gonna still be there." She slurred one of her words but picked it up again, her eyes getting a tad foggy. "I...don't know what to do."

"Hey, barkeep!"

He shook himself away from the long look he was giving her and glanced over her head towards the table. The Head Douche was waving his arm at him, his friends doing the stereotypical mob mentality douchebag laugh. "Barkeep!" he called again. "We need more drinks!"

"You want another drink?" he asked her quietly then as she glanced over her shoulder and glared at the group behind her. She turned back and blinked up at him.

"In a bit, but if you don't bring that asshole a drink, he might cry and nobody wants to see that," she grumbled.

That made him chuckle. He liked her. "All right, I'll be right back. You think about what you wanna drink."

As he moved around the bar, he could feel her piercing gaze on him, and he sought to keep his cool, as if he couldn't feel it, as if he had no idea she was staring. "What can I get you fellas?" he asked as he came up to the table.

"Oh, you're here finally."

"I am. What can I get ya?"

The fact that he wasn't getting ruffled was most likely making it less fun for them, so they gave him their orders and he moved away again, slipping behind the bar to line up the various glasses for their drinks.

"Did you come here to try to figure out what to do?" he asked her as he poured. He saw her shift uncomfortably in his peripheral and silently kicked himself. He should've just left it, let her say what she wanted without prompting.

But then she answered. "Maybe. I dunno why I came in here. That's a lie. Yes, I do. I really just came to get drunk."

He let out a quiet huff and smiled at her. "I appreciate your honesty."

"I'm an honest gal," she drawled, and then she made a face. "That's also a lie. My whole life is a lie."

The bartender let out a low whistle. "That seems a bit harsh." When she gave him a flat look, he shrugged. "I know, I know. I don't know you. But that still sounded harsh."

"Just know that it isn't. It all just...came to me. And now I'm here. Trying to get drunk."

"Trying to get drunk, but not trying to seek answers just yet. Or figure out what to do. Got ya."

That made her smirk. He was finished with the drinks, but he didn't want to take them over to the table just yet. He wanted to stay here and listen to what she had to say. No, what he really wanted was to sit down and talk with her. As long as she was willing to talk, he wanted to listen. So he pretended he was still working on the douche table drinks, little touch-ups, garnishes…

"Do people typically leave this bar having figured their shit out? Coming in for answers and leaving with them?" The look on her face and the tone in her voice made it clear she was dubious.

"I honestly can't tell you. Probably not is my guess. They probably just leave buzzed or drunk and sleep it off only to find they're in the exact same place as they were before they walked in. But I don't know for sure. It's usually so busy I'm running around here like a chicken with its head cut off." He grinned at her and she looked at him for a long time, finally throwing back the rest of her drink.

"So what's so different about tonight? It's just me and that cluster of crapfaces in here." She threw her thumb over her shoulder, making him laugh. She looked almost pleased when he laughed.

"You came on a slow night, I guess. They happen here and there."

"That's good," she muttered. "Between us, I don't like people."

The bartender narrowed his eyes and gave her a doubtful look. "I'm not sure that's true."

She looked up at him, seeming like she wasn't sure if she should be annoyed or not. "What do you mean? I just told you it's true. I don't like people."

He shrugged. "If you really didn't like people, you wouldn't have come to a bar. A very public place that usually has a lot of people around. You would've stayed home and drowned your sorrows alone, like a people-hater would. Instead you sought an atmosphere with lots of people...and now you're sitting at my bar drinking my sidecar and talking to me."

She half-glared at him. "I'm not sure I like the way you talk to me. Not to mention, my sidecar is empty."

"Give me a second to bring the cluster of crapfaces their meds and I'll be back to mix whatever you want."

She snorted and nodded.

He took the tray of drinks back to the table and they were luckily immersed enough in their conversation that they left him alone so that he could just hasten back to her side, leaning his forearms on the bar and quietly looking at her, expectantly.

She tilted her head. "What's like a sidecar but stronger?" she finally asked.

"A bitch seat."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Is that a real drink?"

"Not yet, but I can make something up for you," he chuckled.

"I like that. Do your worst." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in excitement, sticking his tongue out in concentration. He began gathering things, grabbing a new glass. "And thank you for making me laugh."

He turned back to her and lowered his arms to his side. He wasn't expecting that. He just smiled warmly.

"Definitely didn't expect to laugh tonight. Get drunk? Yes. Laugh? Definitely not."

"I sneak up on people," he joked, brushing his shoulder off with the backs of his fingers.

"I can see that," she said, just as warmly. Then she seemed to almost realize what she'd said, that she was staring at him, and she dropped her gaze to her empty glass. He went back to concocting, flying by the seat of his pants.

And he wasn't going to tell her what he was doing, because he knew he was probably being a bit presumptuous...but he definitely didn't make it as strong as she probably wanted it to be. He couldn't help feeling some sense of wanting to protect her, fix things. He felt icky just thinking that. And yet he thought it anyway.

"Here," he said finally, putting the glass in front of her. "Just taste it. If it's awful, I'll try again. Just be honest with me."

"If you dump a drink, do they take it off your paycheck?" she asked him. The fact that she cared made him grin a little.

"No. Don't worry about that. Just try the drink."

She gave him a look, but picked it up and tasted it. "Mm. I like that acid bite to it. And the silky aftertaste." Then she propped her chin in her palm, looking up at him. "Part of me wants to ask what you put in this. But a bigger part of me wants to just...not know. And enjoy."

"Living dangerously. I like that."

He couldn't read the look on her face. "Yeah, well...sometimes you gotta go big or go home. Or something. I don't fuggin' know." She dropped her chin and rubbed her temple, dismissively waving her other hand off to the side.

Letting out a quiet snort, he grabbed a damp towel and started wiping things down. "Sometimes it's easier to just go with the flow."

"Quite a life motto there, barkeep," she teased, and he shared an amused look with her.

"I know, right? I could probably run for political office on it. Sometimes it's easier to just go with the flow. Vote for Chuck."

She giggled, sipping the 'bitch seat' he'd made for her. "So that's your name."

"Mhm. Sorry. I'm sure you were expecting something way more dignified. Like Alastair."

She laughed this time, shaking her head. "Uh, no. Not quite that dignified. You are a bartender, after all." His jaw dropped as she grinned cheekily. He could see she was absolutely buzzed now, loosening up a lot more.

"That's classist."

She laughed again. "Chuck's an interesting name."

"Is it?" he asked, his voice high-pitched with doubt. "What can I say, my parents were sadists."

Her laughter had some bubble to it and he wanted to prop his elbows on the bar top, his chin in his hands, and just stare at her for hours. She sobered up a little, though only in one way, and swirled her drink gently, pushing a hand through her long, blond hair distractedly. "Do you really believe that? I mean, the going with the flow...thing."

"Uh...I don't know how to answer that. It isn't really how I think people should live, it's just...how I live. It's how I survive."

She nodded slowly. "Don't like to stir things up, huh?"

"Just drinks!" he chirped, and she giggled, her eyes bright and glassy. "Why? You a stirrer upper?"

"Oh, hell no." She stared off to the side. "I follow orders." She seemed to almost startle a bit and she cleared her throat, shaking her head. "I mean, I do what I have to do. Usually. I mean, I have for so long. And then for-for once I did...something different. And I guess that's why I'm here."

"So you switched it up and it...didn't go well?" he tried, deciding to screw the whole concept of trying to look busy and instead just leaning his hip against the bar to talk to her.

Was it not a significant other then? Or was it? Damn, he couldn't tell.

"I guess you could say that."

"And now you're here trying to feel better."

"No." She pointed at him...or well, she was getting drunk now so it was less at him than in his general direction. "I'm getting drunk. How many times do I have to say it for you to get it through your Son of Sadists head?"

That made him laugh. And he sobered up at her faux glare and cleared his throat, holding his hands up by his shoulders in surrender. "Sorry. Sorry, you're right. You're just here to get wasted."

"No, not that. Not wasted, jus' drunk."

"I, uh...have news for ya. If you are looking for 'just drunk', you sort of passed that with what you've had to drink so far. Remember, I make my drinks stronger than most bartenders."

"I thought I made it clear I don't need you…regulating my drink conzumjun…"

He bowed deeply at the waist. "Yes, you did. Very sorry."

She giggled. The smile slowly dimmed then and she glanced up at him. "I don't regret it," she said then, propping her face on her palm so that it squished her cheek a little, muffling her voice. "I don't regret what brought me here. For the record. But I feel...empty."

He was brimming with curiosity, but instead of asking questions, he leaned a little closer. "I'm sorry. That's not a good feeling."

"Iz the worszt feeling," she said, definitely starting to slur a little. It wasn't super noticeable, and he thought others might not notice it. But...well, he was a bartender. He regularly watched the way people went through the different stages of drunkenness. She was getting drunk, just like she wanted. "Or not the worszt feeling. The actual worszt feeling is wondering if I wasted time. Wondering if I wasted...a lot of time...if I gave myself to the wrong thing. Did I have a choice though? I d'know. I just don't. What if—What if all this was the wrong thing? You know what I mean? What if I did the wrong thing? Not this last thing I did, but-but the years of doing...what I was doing."

He was so confused. So damn confused. But he just nodded supportively. "I guess that's something you'll have to come to terms with…" He paused. "Tomorrow. After you wake up. Probably with a hangover."

"I don't care about the hangover. I don't." She shook her head.

"That's good, I guess. But I suppose I'm just wondering if you aren't just being hard on yourself because you're having...intense...feelings right now. Emotions." He shrugged as she gave him a searching look. "Listen, I've been through shit too. And when I've been in the throes of the...aftermath, I guess I've had a tendency to...throw myself under the bus. Whether it was right or wrong, uh...well, it depends on the situation." He gave her a self-deprecating smile that she seemed to appreciate. "But you have to go easy on yourself here. I mean, get drunk. Go crazy on the bitch seat." She snorted and giggled, and he grinned warmly at her. "But try not to be so eager to throw yourself under a bus." He paused then, and he thought maybe he was a little out of line, and most definitely out of his depth with this intriguing woman. But he asked anyway. "What's your name? If you don't mind me asking."

Her blue eyes didn't exactly clear, per se, but they were a little more alert as she lifted her gaze to his, looking rather startled. Then she glanced to the side, almost as if she was thinking it over. And then she said, so very softly, "Sarah. It's Sarah." She took a long gulp of her drink, wincing as it went down.

"Sarah," he said quietly with a nod. And then he stuck his hand out towards her. She hesitated for a second, but then she took it. "You're gonna be okay, Sarah. Know how I know that?"

"How?" she asked, still holding on, meeting his gaze.

"You have heaps more control and brains than, like, ninety percent of the people who come through this bar. You're thoughtful," he said, tapping his temple. "You think about things. And I can tell you care."

"I...care?" She looked confused. "About what?"

He was absolutely crossing the line, and he braced himself for the repercussions. "About virtually everything else but...yourself. I can see it." She looked annoyed, and he didn't know if it was with him. He'd deserve it if so. "Sorry. I shouldn't say that to you. I don't know you. I'm just...observant. I don't know why you're so hard on yourself, or why you seem to put yourself beneath everything else, everyone else, but I relate to it super hard. I learned that's what I do too… in therapy." He made a little cuckoo sound and flicked himself in the temple, making the corner of her mouth turn up.

"There's nothing wrong with therapy," she said. "I think you're smart and brave for saying it out loud. Maybe I need it," she said wryly, raising her eyebrows and looking down shyly again.

"I don't know what you need except what you told me: to get drunk. Just. Drunk." He smiled as she smirked up at him, blowing a bit of hair out of her face. It was cute. "But try to care about yourself a bit more. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. Whatever brought you in here, whatever's making you wanna be numb as you said, deal with it. But...I dunno, be nicer to yourself. I've only known you for…" He looked at his watch. "Two and a half hours. But...I'm pretty confident you deserve a little niceness."

Her features were soft as she looked up at him and sighed. And a slow smile grew on her exceptionally beautiful face. "I feel like you're filling the niceness quota. Does...does 'at make any sense? I don't know if my mouth is working right anymore."

"It is," he said emphatically. "And I don't believe in a quota where niceness is concerned."

"You don't?"

"Nope. The sky's the limit. So be nice to yourself, for God's sake."

"You realize you're saying all this to me knowing absolutely nothing at all about me except my name and that I'm pretty good at holding this stuff." She held up her glass, still half of the drink left.

"You've got a mighty fine grip there, Sarah."

She let out one of those bubbly giggles and shook her head at him, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I do feel drunk. But I'm not feeling messy. Shit, am I being messy?" she asked, looking at him, startled.

"Not at all. You're a very neat drunk if this is you drunk."

"See, you're just doing your sky's the limit niceness thing, Chuck." He liked how she emphasized the 'ck' at the end of his name, and the way she wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. "I am messy. My life is messy. And then it isn't." She frowned. "Everything...Everything's so...I d'know. Lined up. In a row. Controlled and plotted. It's...easy in that way. But like a row of dominoes, all it takes is...one thing. One little thing, or-or a big thing. And the dominoes just...brrrrrrrrrrip." She mimicked dominoes falling over, swiping her hand over the bar. Even then, she didn't knock her drink over or spill it the way someone else might've. She was still very aware and controlled in her movements. Graceful. It was the weirdest damn thing.

"Hey! Can we close our tab?"

The Cluster (trademark) were getting up from their table and the Head Douche was waving to Chuck.

He nodded and moved away from Sarah, closing up the tab. As he turned back around to hand the card back, he saw that they'd all sidled up to the bar, waiting.

"Really wish our bartender had done a better job, though. Nobody else in the place and he spent all his time and efforts on the hot chick. Typical," Head Douche snarked, smirking with no small amount of smarminess.

"Sorry you feel that way," Chuck said, idly flipping an extra pen he'd kept in his pocket as Head Douche filled out the receipt.

"You should be. 'Cause you lost out on a pretty big tip, my guy." He slowly slipped the receipt back towards Chuck over the bar as his friends let out a couple of chuckles and 'ooooooooo's as if the guy being a complete asshole somehow reflected worse on Chuck than it did on him.

"Are you serious?"

The room went still and Chuck turned with wide eyes to watch as Sarah just calmly sat off to the side, one hand curled around her drink, the other still propping her head up, elbow on the bar top.

You could hear a pin drop.

"Did they not leave you a tip?" she asked, swinging her gaze to him. He shrugged and glanced over at the empty tip line. Then he shook his head no. "So, like...what. Did you just come in here looking to be a dickface? Or…?" She thrust out a hand in something of a shrug. "Because usually people go to bars to get a few drinks and then they leave after. But it really seems like you came here with the express purpose of being a fuggin' asshole."

"Is it any of your business?" the Head Douche asked once he found his tongue.

"No, I'm just tired of hearing your shit and my own personal exhaustion is very much my business."

"I don't have to hear this from you…"

Not that Chuck expected he'd try anything with the woman at the bar, but the second Head Douche took a step closer, he put an immediate stop to it, reaching over the bar and stretching his arm out for the man to walk into it, stopping his progression. "Look, you can treat me like crap. I don't care, dude. But leave her out of it."

"You're really looking to get bombed on Yelp, pal."

"Oh, who gives a flying fuck about Yelp?" Sarah groused. "Why are you such a loser? Just go before I have to throat punch you. Seriously."

The guy's friends pulled him out of there…wisely. Because something told him Sarah could throat punch the guy and all of his friends, and end up without even a scratch on her. She just...carried herself that way. Which was why he was so confused about the other vibe he got from her—that she wasn't happy with herself. She exuded confidence, but it wasn't...self-esteem. He couldn't figure it out. He couldn't figure her out.

But those guys were gone and it was just the two of them now, and the bar was closing in a half hour anyway. And he didn't want to close.

"My hero," he joked, crossing his arms.

"Ugh, I didn't do it for you. I was just tired of hearing his stupid voice saying stupid things," she said, smirking at him. Was she blushing? A little? He thought she might be. "Do you have to deal with that shit often?"

"Honestly? No, not really. Though people like that are always shit tippers. I can see 'em a mile away and it sucks 'cause I still have to treat 'em the same as everyone else."

"That's bull. Spit in their drinks." He laughed and she smiled, looking a little proud. But then she cast her eyes off to the side and took a deep breath. "It's late...an' this is starting to hit me. So I'm gonna...get outta here I guess."

No, no, no. No. Why? Why why why? "Why?"

He realized as she furrowed her brow at him, the beginnings of a smile on her lips, that he'd just said that out loud. "I-I mean, you don't have t—Well, we don't close 'til two-thirty. So you're good to be here for a little longer. I can get you some water and you can...guzzle it. Before you go."

"You tryin' to get me to buy more drinks?"

"The water's free."

She sniffed, but the amusement wasn't as blatant as it had been.

"Did you drive here? Let me call you a cab. Please," he said, trying not to sound desperate as she slowly eased off of the stool to her feet and stood at her full height. She was tall, probably wearing heels though, but even without them she'd be tall. And she wasn't super steady on her feet, but still...God, her gracefulness…

"I didn't—didn't drive, no. I can just get a cab. S'okay."

"Let me. I'll just close your tab and I'll call a taxi. You can...wait for it here. In here."

"What, with you?" she asked, and he saw a hint of flirtation there. That was why he wanted her to stay.

"Just...not out there."

"Think the Cluster of Crapfaces'll be waiting to jump me when I get out there? I'll fuck 'em up," she said. The drinks were really hitting her. He hurriedly closed her tab and brought the receipts to her. "Oh, right. I should pay af'er the trouble I caused you."

He shook his head as she wrote, but she didn't see it so he clamped a gentle hand down on her wrist. Her blazer rode up a bit so that he felt her skin under his fingers and palm, and he shivered at the contact. She swept wide blue eyes up to meet his brown ones. "You weren't trouble. Not even a little bit. This was...exactly the breath of fresh air I needed. To get through my week."

She just looked at him, eyes glassy but steady. "Did I interrupt your flow you were...going with?"

"Big time," he drawled, grinning.

She grinned back. "Good." Then she looked down at her watch, pulling her arm out from under his hand. She paused, looked at him, and then smiled quietly, starting to leave.

"Wait, wait...Let me at least…" He didn't mean to be so desperate and anxious. He just didn't want her to go. This was awful. How had two and a half hours done this to him?

But he guided her out to the street and fumbled with his cell. Yeah, he was leaving the bar unattended. Yeah, he might get in trouble for it. But John wouldn't even know. And he could just say he didn't want anything happening to her.

Quite by luck, a taxi was making its way down the street towards them, and he stepped one foot out into the street and held up an arm, yelling, "Taxi!"

Sarah giggled as he came back up onto the curb, the taxi sweeping in to park in front of them. "That was very New York of you."

"I wouldn't know," he admitted. "Never been." He opened the back door of the taxi and held it for her, just staring silently.

She looked in the cab, shifting her purse on her shoulder, and then she turned to look up at him. "You let those guys treat you like shit but wouldn't let them come at me. You said you didn't care what they did to you. Maybe you should take your own advice and be nicer to yourself too, Chuck."

He smiled at her. "Maybe we're just two peas in a pod."

Her smile back was almost sad, an intense amount of meaning in her eyes—though he had no idea what the meaning was. And she put a hand on his chest, so gently that he barely felt it...a feather's touch. "We're not. If I could be so lucky…" She pat his chest once. "G'night. And...thank you. Thank you."

She swung into the taxi and he carefully shut the door after her, watching as it pulled away from the curb and moved down the street. He stood there watching it until it disappeared.

A/N: Chapter 2 is coming as soon as I can get it out! Please review. I don't know folks are reading unless y'all tell me. Thank you!

-SC