#datg

But it scared him to death hearing her yell, the dial tone…Seeing those papers scattered over the floor as though she'd had the file in her hand when Not-Cartwright had broken in, grabbed her, and yanked her out. God, the things he'd been unable to keep himself from imagining on the way there.

And then when he saw she was safe, when he held her in his arms, having to watch her leave again to go someplace potentially dangerous, and with no cell phone, no way to contact him, or more importantly, the police. That mean Detective Casey guy. God, that guy was a jerk. But at least he'd be able to back Sarah up if she called him, if she was in danger.

So Chuck had done the only thing he could think of to make sure she was okay. He'd followed her. He did have a cellphone. And a vested interest in her safety, damn it.

And he was going to watch those doors like a hawk. If this Jerald Brown fellow wasn't the upstanding tech guru Chuck had always figured he was in spite of never meeting him face to face, Chuck would take him down himself. He'd played flag football in junior high P.E. He knew what he was about.

He waited, waited…waited some more…

Until he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He ducked back behind the palm tree as best he could and watched as the man he now knew wasn't Robert Cartwright strolled up the sidewalk towards the building, in his off-white suit, pale pink tie, suede shoes. A chill went through Chuck as the man stopped and took his sunglasses off, peering up at the very same building Sarah had just gone into to meet the man this imposter hired her to investigate.

His phone was in his hand immediately. He didn't have a direct line to Detective John Casey, but all he had to do was press three numbers.

There was no reason why this man should know what was happening in there. There was no reason why this man should know about this building in the first place, unless…well, unless he knew. Had he followed Sarah, too? Or had he followed Brown?

How did he know?

Oh God. God, Sarah didn't have her cellphone. And now he was going up the steps. If Chuck followed him, he wouldn't be able to stop him. This man was a seasoned criminal and possibly a killer. He definitely had a weapon.

God, he was opening the door.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"There's a woman being attacked inside of an office. A man went in there and he's attacking her. He has a weapon." He gave the address, told the operator she needed to hurry, and he hung up again.

It killed him, absolutely destroyed him, to move away from the building. He felt like he was dying as he spun on his heel and sprinted back to his car. He was leaving her in there, alone, and he was so terrified he was on the verge of a breakdown. He was angry with himself, sick with himself, and still he got into his car, turned it on, and with only a half glance back at the building his girlfriend was currently inside of with an angry, potentially murderous conman, he sped away from her.

God, he hoped he was doing the right thing. He hoped to any deity that was listening that he was doing the right thing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sarah's hand twitched automatically, ready to draw and put this imposter on the ground with a hole in his chest, but before she could do anything else, there was a loud bang and the arm of her chair exploded in splinters.

She yelped and fell out of the chair onto the floor, holding her hands up, her life having just flashed before her eyes.

That had been an extremely precise shot, not meant to hurt her…a warning that he would hurt her if she gave him any sort of reason to. He'd just missed her but she had scratches on her wrist and the back of her hand from the splintered wood exploding next to her.

"Stand up, kick your gun over here, Miss Walker," he demanded coolly, the South African accent gone. His American accent sounded practiced, too, however. "And then keep your hands in the air. You move wrong and I'll shoot you between the eyes. I've got nothing to lose now. Don't think I won't shoot a pretty girl…"

Sarah stood up and carefully went into her holster, pulling her gun out, setting it on the ground and sliding it across the tile floor to the conman.

"You stand up, too, ya fat fuck," the imposter said to Brown, reaching behind him to shut the door as much as he could with how he'd broken the handle getting in.

The private investigator and ex-Pinkerton detective felt anger start to rise inside of her. Not only did this fucker take a shot at her, he was going around calling good men 'fat fucks' too? She clenched her jaw, unable to help herself.

"You think you're a big boy now that you have that gun pointed at us," she said, keeping her hands up. But God she could feel that knife at her hip, and the ones strapped to her thigh and her fingers itched for them. But the only safe thing to do was to throw verbal barbs at him, so she kept going. "You can insult Mr. Brown when you've got a gun trained on 'im, but I bet just a few days ago, you were kissing his ass, weren't you?"

"Who the hell do you think you are, bitch?" She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Sarah Walker, private investigator. Without those legs, you'd be working at an Abercrombie & Fitch spraying perfume at teenagers."

She inwardly smirked. He might be a dangerous conman, and a smart enough criminal to have gotten away with his ruse for this long, but he hadn't done his homework apparently. He had no idea she'd been a Pinkerton detective. He had no idea whom he was dealing with.

"You picked the wrong P.I. to hire, Cartwright," Brown said, his voice a little shaky as he stood behind her, still at his wife's desk. "She's not just good at her job, she has a moral compass, and a nose for sniffing out criminal lowlifes."

"I did all right, didn't I? Who's standing here with the gun?"

"What are you gonna do?" Brown asked, seeming to gain a bit more confidence now. "Kill us?"

"Yes, actually. I am. Nobody knows we're here." That was true, Sarah thought miserably. Chuck only knew that she'd gone to an office building in SoHo off of Melrose. There were a handful of them. And he'd have no way of knowing if something bad was happening to her. God, she wished so hard for his paranoia, his idiotic jealous paranoia, that worried crease he'd had between his eyebrows…Please, Chuck… Maybe she could telepathically project terror at him and he'd feel something. They were close enough, emotionally bonded, weren't they? She'd never been so connected to anyone else in her entire life. Wasn't that how that weird crap worked?

Please, please, please, Chuck…

"What did you do with Cartwright?" she asked. If she could just get him talking, she could stall whatever it was he meant to do with them.

"I didn't touch the rat bastard. It wasn't me," he groused. "Wish it had been. He was a lousy piece of shit by all accounts, swimming in his money, an asshole to everyone, greedy."

"So he is dead, then. Who did it if it wasn't you?"

"He's dead. There was a storm, destroyed his boat probably. Found some wreckage where I was in Point d'Esny. Also found his body. Nobody else was on the beach so I took everything I could carry, took his body out onto the water, and dropped it with a bag of sand. Got rid of his boat altogether. Wasn't until a few days later I found out he was a Cape Town big shot. But he was a recluse, too. Nobody ever really saw him much at all. Perfect opportunity for me." He shrugged, and Sarah watched for any opportunity she might have to catch him off guard, but this obviously wasn't the first time he'd held a gun on someone. And she was sure this wouldn't be the first time he'd killed either…if it turned out he got that far.

And oh God, what would she do if he started shooting to kill?

"How did you even pull this off?" Brown asked.

"Easy. When the guy was alive and had less dead-bloat than he had when I found 'im, we looked pretty similar I guess. His IDs all worked long enough for me to forge new ones. Nobody asked any questions when Robert Cartwright showed up in Los Angeles for business. The checks all worked, the bank tellers all let me walk right in, the credit cards worked. I've made a fortune off of this guy, all because he was a shitty sailor."

He kissed the tips of his fingers.

"You're deplorable," Sarah said.

"Mmhmm. Deplorable enough to kill you two so I can get away with it all."

Brown cursed. "You aren't getting away with a damn thing!"

"I am. I've already destroyed any records that I was ever here. I've sold most of his African possessions, withdrawn every last cent I could from the banks. After I'm gone, they'll probably file a missing persons report." He chuckled and grinned a now twisted version of Alain Delon's smile. She wished she could apologize to the French actor for ever thinking he was similar.

This asshole wished…

ManFatale, Chuck had called him near the beginning of this damn job. She'd made fun of him then, but now she saw just how right he was. There was a good chance she was dying here today, in this office with the knitted pillows. Underestimating this bastard was her downfall.

"You don't think they'll dog your steps no matter where you go?" she asked then, starting to let anger overtake her fear. She liked anger better. It was better than giving in to despair, despair that she'd seen Chuck for the last time not an hour ago, climbing into his fuel-efficient car, after trying to make her take his phone. Maybe if she'd taken it, she could've secretly hit the emergency button on it.

What was he going to do?

What would he do if she died here today?

Oh, God…

No. Anger. Anger was better.

"I've covered my tracks."

"You haven't covered shit. The FBI, the CIA, the NSA, they've all got guys who find pieces of shit like you every single day. You aren't getting away it with no matter what you do to us," she hissed through her teeth.

The imposter angled his gun down suddenly and shot, sending a bullet clattering into the ground at her feet. She screamed and clasped her hands to her mouth, jumping away. He raised the gun and shot again, hitting the desk right next to her hip and she fell to the side, onto the floor. Brown knelt down behind her, a protective move, but this time the bullet that came from the imposter's gun was true.

Brown hit the tile hard, a hole in his shoulder as he cried out in pain.

Holy shit!

Now there was fear inside of her. Abject fear as she acted fast, grabbing Brown's hand and making him press it against his wound. "Just hold it…press down, you'll be okay…"

"Get up," the imposter growled at her, stepping closer. She ignored him as she tried to help the injured man. "I said get up!" he yelled this time, grabbing her by her hair and yanking her to her feet.

She heard sirens in the distance and she knew as his eyes darted to the side in momentary worry that this was her one and only chance to get herself and Jerald Brown out of here alive.

Sarah Walker, P.I. struck fast. She swung her left arm around, clamped her fingers around his wrist and pushed the gun away from her temple where he'd been holding it. He pulled the trigger, breaking the window behind her, and the sound of it startled him enough that she was able to bring her knee up and back and slam her heel right between his legs.

He yelled in pain as she snapped the arm that had the gun down across her knee, hearing the crack of his bone breaking and the clatter of the gun hitting the floor. She kicked it away as he fell hard onto his back and she crawled onto him, slamming her fist down into his face, over and over and over and over again until he put his non-injured arm up and begged her to stop.

Just then the door burst right off of its hinges, police officers racing inside.

"GET ON THE GROUND!" an LAPD officer barked, and in spite of the fact that he might not be talking to her, she crawled down onto her knees and put her hands behind her head. She didn't know who or what had brought the police here but she wasn't about to be shot for trying to explain right away when they were attempting to take control of the situation.

Once the yelling stopped and the police had clambered over to Brown who was still conscious but whimpering, an officer grabbed her by her arm and hoisted her up. "My name is Sarah Walker, private investigator. That man broke in while I was in a meeting with Mr. Brown and held a gun on us. He shot him. Tried to…tried to shoot me, too." She was breathless, and she realized that in spite of being in scenarios with guns, bombs, and other terrifying situations, this had been one of the closest shaves she'd had.

And she had a lot more to lose this time.

She had to press her lips together and blink a few times to keep the rush of terrified tears at bay.

"All right, miss. Just come over here and sit in this chair. Your name again…?"

"Sarah Walker," she murmured, trying to take deep breaths. "I own Walker Investigative Enterprises. I've-I've got a P.I. license."

The two officers exchanged flat looks. "A P.I., huh?"

This had been too traumatic for her to find the willpower to give them dirty looks for that.

"Get an ambulance here, we've got two men in need of medical attention," one of the cops said into their walky-talky. "One gunshot wound. Another with abrasions to the face, broken arm."

Sarah thought about how badly she wished she could've given him more abrasions to the face, and she thought maybe she was starting to feel more like herself now that the danger had abated. Though her ear was ringing bad from that gun going off so close to it.

"You're Sarah Walker, that's Jerald Brown…and who is this guy?" The cop gestured to Fake Cartwright.

Paramedics rushed in then, tending to Brown first and getting him lifted onto a gurney.

"A criminal," Sarah said. "If you look up Robert Cartwright, you'd find this man's picture. But he-he isn't Robert Cartwright."

"Huh?"

She explained the situation to them for the next three minutes, accepting the strong coffee one of them gave her, and the blanket the other one wrapped around her shoulders. She didn't know when she'd begun to shiver. And it wasn't from the cold.

As she realized she was just barely keeping from slipping into shock, suddenly there was a shuffling of people at the door and Detective John Casey was there, his hulking figure taking up the entire doorway practically. "Whatever she said about him, it's true," he said, pointing over her shoulder. "Cartwright's an imposter." He pulled his badge out as he walked into the room and flashed it at the officers. "I'll handle the questioning from here, officers."

They both nodded and moved away.

And that was when she looked up to see Chuck step out from behind the detective, his eyes finding her immediately.

"Sarah…"

"Chuck!"

She left the coffee and the blanket behind, surging to her feet just in time for his body to crash into hers, his arms so strong as they folded her up against him, so warm and safe and everything she'd needed the moment this had all ended.

Sarah felt her boyfriend's lips against her hair, and then her temple, and her cheek, and he just held her so tight. She didn't ever want to let go. Ever.

And she heard him curse, his hand coming up to brush over her hair. "Are you okay?" he asked finally. "Did he hurt you? I'll kill him."

"Maybe not the smartest thing to say in front of the LAPD, idiot," Casey grumbled from where he was standing over Chuck's shoulder.

She ignored him, though, burying her face in Chuck's neck and letting herself cry just a little. She'd been so scared she'd never see him again. So scared she'd never feel this. Or eat one of his waffles he made that were never thick enough or cooked as much as she wanted them to be because he didn't put enough batter in, and didn't leave it in the iron long enough. Because he was too impatient, like a little boy.

"I'm okay," she gasped out, trying to hold back still and not doing a great job of it. "I'm okay. I love you."

"I love you, too," he said immediately, holding her even tighter, pressing his lips against her temple and keeping them there.

She finally pulled back, letting him cup her face and kiss her properly, and then he kissed the remnants of the few tears she'd shed away. "What—How?" she asked.

"I…" He winced. "I was worried. Super, super worried. I had this weird feeling in my gut letting you drive off to this meeting with no cell phone or anything. So I…gah, I followed you. I know you—you probably…" He huffed at her impatient look. "You're right. Let's table that. I was waiting outside, 'cause I'm your man and I wanted to have your back in case things got cray. But then while I was waiting, I saw that fake-ass mother fucker walk up with his cheesy as hell B-List sunglasses and that shit-eating smirk, and I knew right away that you were in trouble." A smile began to grow on her face as she watched him start to get riled up now as he told his story. "I was going to run after him and strangle him or roundhouse kick him in the jaw or somethin' but then I figured I'd most likely get shot and you'd never forgive me if that happened. So I called 9-1-1 instead and got in my car to come find Cas—Casey—Detective Casey." He cleared his throat at the glare the older man sent him.

"You're insane," she breathed, swallowing another sob and throwing her arms around his neck, letting him lift her enough that her feet were dangling a few inches off the floor, and they stayed like that for long enough that Casey finally cleared his throat.

Chuck set her down and she resisted the urge to kiss him again, longing in her gaze as she peered up at him for a moment…And then she turned to John Casey and nodded.

"Yeah, well…S'a miracle we even got here when we did what with this moron driving like a fuckin' grandma."

"What?!" Chuck spun on his heels to face the LAPD detective. "That's not even true! I was going fast! Things were whizzing past my window!" He let go of her arm with one hand and mimicked swishing his hand back and forth past his head manically.

"Right. Sure. Walker, I'm gonna need you at the station. Your secretary here only gave me the highlights. He can't talk and drive at the same time." Casey turned and headed for the door.

"Are you serious right now?" Chuck asked, his pitch getting a bit higher. "Secretary? How many times do I—?" They both began to follow after him then, Sarah's fist twisted in Chuck's sleeve, pulling him along. "Oh. He's messing with me, isn't he?"

She heard the amused grunt from the cop as he pressed the button to call the elevator, and she saw the small smirk on his face. It made her feel so glad to be alive.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

It had only taken twenty minutes for Detective Casey to eject Chuck from the room where he'd taken them for questioning. She'd had to watch as he interrupted one final time—"Sarah, tell him about…"—then Casey's patience, which had been wearing thin already no doubt, snapped. He stood up, grabbed Chuck by his arm, and escorted him out of the room, shutting the door in his face.

She'd had to smirk inwardly at the cute, offended sounds of confusion that her boyfriend made until he was locked out on the other side of the door where he could no longer interrupt.

Casey'd finally sat down across from her again, and she'd told him every last detail she could, even letting him have the files she'd kept in her briefcase that she'd had during the meeting with Brown, in case he'd needed convincing.

"So what made you so sure of Jerald Brown that you ended up focusing most of your efforts on investigating your client, rather than investigating the guy he was paying you to investigate?" Casey asked, forty-five minutes into their meeting.

"Part of it was the fact that I spent three days tailing him, going through his background, his financial records, combing through his personal life, and I'd found absolutely nothing to make me think he was anything other than a good businessman, and a good man in general. Not that he was without faults, but none of it was illegal or reprehensible. No illicit affairs, no fraud, nothing untoward." She shrugged.

"And the other part?"

"Chuck insisted he was a commendable man."

Casey scoffed. "You took him at his word?"

"I always do," she said, holding her chin high. "He knows who is who in his own industry, and he's a commendable man himself."

"Don't get defensive, Walker."

"I did my homework. And on the other side, I had this guy who, for all intents and purposes, was very smooth, seemed to know just what to say to every question or comment I had during our meetings, and…this was the key…the more time I spent in these meetings with who I thought was Robert Cartwright, the more I got the feeling he wanted me to find something wrong."

Casey grunted, thunking a pen against his chin a few times, thoughtfully. Then he narrowed his eyes. "I get where you're going. Instead of wanting you to just check and make sure this potential future business associate was on the level, and being relieved when you kept coming back with confirmation that he was, Cartwright seemed like he was digging for some dirt on him instead."

"Exactly. It was sneaky. And it made me super suspicious."

"Hmng," Casey tossed the pen on the table and pushed his chair back. "Don't blame ya. That was pretty good work, Detective. Don't take this the wrong way," he started, which was always a stellar way for another person to start a statement, she thought wryly, "but I'm curious as to why ya didn't just take the money and let this lie."

Sarah crossed her arms and stood up from her chair, nibbling on her bottom lip. "I'm not that kind of P.I., Detective Casey. I want to make a living off of this P.I. business I'm building, but not at the expense of innocent people, and not to aid and abet criminals. I'm operating on the right side of the law."

"So no adultery cases, huh?" He grinned a bit lecherously and she glared at him.

"If someone comes in offering me the right amount of money to try to catch their partner with someone else, depending on the person and the case, I might accept. But what business is that of yours?"

"It ain't. Lighten up. Yeesh." He held his hands up defensively, one of the gestures that infuriated her the most when men did it at her.

"Is that all you need from me?"

"Yeah. But make sure to stick around for a week or so while we work on this case. We may need the FBI in on this if he's committed crimes like this before, and they'll be bringing the South African and Cape Town authorities in, I'm sure."

"I will," she said, getting up and walking towards the door. "Oh. Here." She came back and set all of the work she'd done down on his desk. "I'm sure you folks'll need this." He deserved the snarky smirk she sent him, and the look on his face told him he probably knew he deserved it, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud ever in a million years.

"Thanks. And uh…make sure you take care of that hand. Don't think I didn't see you trying to hide the scratches. Was that his face that gave you those?"

She looked down at the scratches on the back of her hand, and now on her knuckles from his face, just as Casey surmised. "Yes and no. His face, but also, he shot at the arm of the chair where I'd just been and the wood sort of exploded and caught me."

Casey winced. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Just a little home first aid is required. Nothing deep."

"Good." There was silence between them then as she nodded and went for the door. "Walker."

She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"

"We've got officers watchin' him now where he was admitted to the hospital, and when they've set that arm and gotten his face fixed up," she noticed a particular thread of pleasure in his smirk at that, "they're takin' him to his own cell here where I'll question him personally while we wait for FBI to send someone. That is to say…you did some damn fine work."

She smiled. "Thanks. Oh. Did Jerald Brown…?"

"He's gonna be fine. I'll email you where they took 'im if you want to visit tomorrow. He'll be kept at the hospital for a few days."

"Good. And yes. Please do. Thanks."

He nodded and she stepped out of the room, finding Chuck sitting a bit dejectedly in what she thought might be a perp chair at the end of someone's desk. Thankfully, whoever's desk it was seemed to be gone for the day.

She gestured for him to followed her with a flick of her head and a smile when he lifted his chin from his chest and met her eyes.

And she clung to him as best she could while still being able to walk to the elevator.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

She was quiet the whole ride back to her apartment, curled up in his passenger seat, having kicked her heels off and pulled her legs against her chest, her forehead leaning against the window as she gazed out on the late afternoon street.

And the sun had finally set, the sky still light out but darkening by the time he pulled into a parking spot in her apartment complex. They'd left her car in free street parking where she'd left it before her meeting with Brown a few hours earlier and they'd get it later, tomorrow most likely. She hadn't seemed as worried about it as she was about finally going home, so he'd promptly driven her from the police station to her place with no stops in between.

Now they sat in the comfortable warmth of his car, the engine off, silence permeating…

Until Sarah turned to look at him, smiling softly, and then she reached out and took his hand, not looking away for even a moment as she breathed a quiet, "Will you stay with me?"

He felt everything inside of him crumbling and never in his entire life had he ever wanted to protect anything or anyone as much as he wanted to protect Sarah Walker. Not trusting his voice, still shaken up from what had nearly happened, he nodded vigorously instead, and she smiled a bit harder.

They got out and headed up to her apartment, his arm around her shoulders the whole way, and he used his key to let them in, turning on the lights for her as she tossed her purse onto the entryway table and kicked off her heels again, shrugging her jacket off.

It was then that he saw her hand. There were bloody marks on the back of it, cuts on her wrist, and red welts with dried blood and most likely bruising underneath on her knuckles.

Nothing else mattered as he made a beeline for her and gently picked up her arm, cradling her hand and wrist in his comforting grip. "Sarah…"

"I know, I know…but it's fine. I've had worse."

"You've let this go for hours."

"I've had worse, Chuck. It's okay. I'll just ice it—"

He shook his head vehemently and pulled her through her apartment to the bathroom. "You have first aid?"

"You know where it is from where you burned yourself on the coffee pot."

"Oh…oh yeah. Um…remind me, though."

Seeing blood on her hand, her own blood, knowing she'd been hurt, knowing she could have been worse than hurt, was starting to catch up to him suddenly. And he was trying so hard not to let her see. He didn't want her thinking he was going to be a basket case about her chosen profession. That every little cut she got made him crazy and sick with worry. But this had felt like a big deal. A really big deal. And he had no idea what would've happened if the police hadn't shown up, if he hadn't called them.

"Hey," she breathed suddenly, and he cursed himself a little, knowing he'd let it all show on his face anyway. "Hey, look at me." She cupped his face and forced his gaze to hers. Her blue eyes reassured him immediately and he had to resist the urge to melt into her, hold onto her for dear life. "Chuck, are you spiraling because of this?" she asked, presenting her injured hand to him.

He nodded, putting his hands on her hips to keep himself steady.

Her good hand stroked his jaw and his eyelids fluttered. "Please don't. I'm okay."

"Help me maybe not spiral by telling me where that first aid kit is and I can clean you up a bit."

"It's right here, in the cupboard under this drawer." She shifted to bump her hip against the drawer she was talking about. "But…before you do that, would you mind if I took a shower?"

He shook his head and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, a slow, long kiss. He understood the request at a deeper level, but he wouldn't say it out loud. She needed some time alone after everything. She'd almost been killed, watched Brown get shot right in front of her, and had cops swarming her, and finally the questioning at the station and being trapped in the car with him as he drove her home.

"Thank you. It-It'll be a quick one." She slid past him, dragging her fingertips over his abdomen as she went to the shower and turned on the water.

"Take your time, baby. I'll have a martini ready for you when you're done." On second thought, as she gingerly started to unbutton her blouse, he waited for her to realize he was still there and turn to meet his gaze before he said it again. "Take your time."

Understanding dawned on her features and her shoulders drooped a bit. He thought her chin might have quivered and he just turned on his heel and left before he was tempted to gather her up in his arms and hold her some more. She needed to be alone for a bit, though, so he went into her kitchen and started preparing a few martinis, two to start with, one for each of them. He didn't know how many of these she was going to need, but he'd make her as many as she asked for.

And he waited, enjoying the texts Ellie had sent him throughout all of this, the one about Clara pushing herself up to sit for a few seconds before falling again. The look she gave her mom like she didn't know if she should cry or not. It warmed him from the inside out. And he'd been so cold before. Unable to get rid of that terrifying sensation he'd had when he'd screeched to a halt next to the office building, seeing the police cars haphazardly parked, lights still blinking, the ambulance there, someone being wheeled into it…

He'd seen it was Brown, that he'd been shot, and he tried to tear into the building, only to have Casey and two other officers have to grab onto him and nearly take him down to the ground. When they got him to stop, Casey barked, "He's with me", and he yanked on Chuck's tie, pointing in his face with a "Slow down, kid".

That was all it took for him to gain control, afraid this detective might knock him out altogether if he didn't take a breath. And he let Casey take point, shaken to his core until the moment he stepped into the room and saw his very own detective sitting there, alive, no bullet holes in her like the man downstairs'd had.

He felt a chill go through him as he stood there peering out into the courtyard of Sarah's building, watching an older woman take down a few shirts she'd hung on a clothesline and toss them into a basket. Her tabby cat made a figure-8 around her legs in the meantime, finally following her inside as she hobbled up the steps and into the building.

Chuck let himself get lost in everything for a few minutes, going through all of the worst scenarios that thankfully hadn't happened. Sarah was alive and well, currently in the shower, washing off the remnants of her harrowing ordeal.

He'd heard everything that had happened to her in Mrs. Brown's office while she told the grumpy detective—before said grump kicked him out. He supposed he couldn't blame the guy for it, though, because he'd caught himself interrupting too often. No matter how many times he apologized, he never learned, and his punishment was sitting out by himself for the remainder of the conversation.

But Sarah had been shot at multiple times, and every time Not-Cartwright had purposely missed her, his intent being to scare her. That made Chuck Bartowski angry. There was an extra level of pathology to lord your power over someone in that way, terrifying them before you kill them, making them suffer… It made him feel so disgusted, and then he thought Sarah must have come into contact with psychopaths like this guy before in her line of work.

She was an incredible bad ass, the coolest, strongest person he'd ever met. And he was sure no matter how often she'd come face to face with these crazy assholes, it didn't make being shot at any easier to handle, especially when it was so cruelly done to terrorize her. By the shakiness in her voice when she'd told them about him shooting her chair and then at her feet, and finally at the desk next to her hip, before sinking a bullet into Mr. Brown, the man she'd been attempting to protect, Chuck could tell it had gotten to her. Genuinely.

Maybe he shouldn't announce it in front of the LAPD, but deep inside, Chuck wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself back from murdering that guy if he'd had a crack at him when he first got into that room and saw Sarah there, her face so pale, the blanket around her shoulders, the bun she'd had in her hair when he'd seen her last half pulled out… He'd discovered later that the man had grabbed her by her hair and yanked her up to her feet by it.

Chuck thought he'd like to do the same to him, but instead he'd pull his spine right out with one hard yank. Mortal Kombat style.

"Thought I'd bring the first aid kit with me because I already know you'll refuse to take no for an answer."

He spun on his heel, letting the curtain fall back into place and cover the window to see Sarah had wandered in, her step light like a cat's so that he hadn't heard her come in. Granted he might've also been a bit distracted.

But then she set the first aid kit on the table and frowned deeply. "What's wrong?"

"Huh? Wrong?"

"You turned around and looked like a rabidly angry gorilla or something for a second."

He just shook his head and sniffed in amusement. "It's nothing."

"Chuck…"

"I was thinking about what he did to you, and maybe imagining myself doing one of the Mortal Kombat fatality moves on him. That's all." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, slowly wandering over.

She widened her eyes. "I don't know what those moves entail but you said the word fatality, so that sounds a little serious, buddy."

At least that shower had made it so she seemed a little more like herself. Less shaken, more settled. The almost-unnoticeable shiver she'd had before was gone.

"It is. I have to be honest with you, Sarah. Part of me is angry with myself that I didn't just follow him and body tackle him into the ground then and there."

Her eyes flashed, concern and even a bit of frustration in her face. And then she put her hand on his chest, her fingers curling against his shirt as she shook her head. "Chuck, don't say that. Please never do something like that. He had a gun. He would've killed you."

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

"I-I'm not trying to make it seem like you're weak or incapable, baby. I'm really not. Just—Listen to me. I'm trained in combat, I have extensive training and years of experience using guns. I had a gun with me, as well as the knives I always have strapped to me. Hey, look at me. Please." She put her good hand on the side of his face and pulled his eyes back to hers. "I was nearly powerless in there. He had me, Chuck. If he hadn't slipped, let his guard down for that one second…" Her voice drifted off. "My point is that someone trained, like me, could have easily died doing whatever it is you might've done in that moment instead of what you ended up doing." She stroked her hand through his curls. "Which was the right thing."

"I know." He gently slid his hand around her waist and pulled her a little closer. "It just felt…terrible. Watching him go in there, knowing you were about to have him burst in on you. And knowing now what he ended up doing, that you were hurt and Brown was shot. What if I could've stopped all of it?"

"What if you couldn't have but you tried anyway and ended up being shot yourself?" Her eyes searched his. He couldn't come up with an answer to that. "What would I do, then? What would I even do if you were shot, Chuck? I can't even begin to think…" She let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. And he held her tighter.

"I ran away from you. I left you behind."

"You saved my life," she said in a much steadier voice, her features hard, willing him to understand. "What you ended up doing wasn't just the right thing, Chuck, it was incredibly brave."

He winced a little. "It didn't feel very brave."

"You could've let your worry for me, your fear, overtake you and you could've run after him, tried to stop him, and ended up getting all of us killed…but instead you called the police, knowing that they'd have more of a chance of stopping him than you ever would. And you went to get Casey involved, which…" She paused. "Why did you get Casey?" She blinked, her brow furrowed as though the question had just struck her at that moment.

Chuck swallowed thickly. "I was afraid they'd believe the wrong person unless you had someone they trusted vouching for you. And I knew Casey would be the perfect person to be there for that."

She beamed at him so suddenly that his heart felt like an insane amount of weight had been taken off of it. And then she hugged him tightly, and he hugged her back similarly. "You're brave and brilliant, Chuck Bartowski."

He felt so much pride in that moment, hearing how proud she was of him, how grateful she was, how impressed she was, in her voice, feeling it in the way she squeezed him, kissed his cheek.

"And you're a bad ass and the best, Sarah Walker. So I guess we make a good pair. Maybe I can be your assistant."

"No," she giggled, kissing his cheek again and then pulling back. "I will let you take care of me, though."

"Oh, gladly," he said with as much warmth as he was capable of, and then he gently pushed her to sit in the chair at the table and went to grab a bowl, putting some warm water and soap in it, then wandering back with that and a cloth in hand.

He scooted close to her and let her drape her hand over the bowl as he silently cleaned the cuts that didn't look so bad now that she'd showered. She only winced a little at the cuts on her wrist when he was gently rubbing ointment over them, and then he wrapped a light bandage around all of it.

"I look like the bride of Frankenstein's monster," she said with a giggle once he finished.

"She wishes," Chuck answered, watching as Sarah turned her arm a bit to look at his work. "What?" he asked when she gave him a quiet, searching look.

"You did a pretty good job here, actually."

That made him smile. "Listen, I grew up with a big sister who's wanted to be a doctor ever since she found out what a doctor was. Do you know how often I got wrapped up in bandages through all the years I spent under the same roof as her?"

She laughed. "Was it often?"

"Often enough." He chuckled. "She got better at it when she was actually in med school and I guess I picked up some things, little tricks of the trade. Don't ask me to stitch a wound shut, though, because I will faint."

Sarah snorted. "That's cute."

"Is it?" he drawled dubiously. He got up then and straightened his back, feeling a few pops, then put the bowl away, the bandages and the first aid kit, and when he came back out, Sarah had finished her martini.

She held the glass up towards him and pouted a little.

"Another?" he asked, receiving a smile in return. He chuckled and took her glass, leaning down to kiss her forehead, then went back to the kitchen to make her another. "Hey, you want a flavor in it this time? Maybe some lime? I saw a lime in your fridge."

Sarah was standing next to him suddenly—those cat-like silent feet of hers—and he nearly jumped. "Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak." He shrugged at her wince. "You just…You've never put flavors in a martini for me before. It's always just been a traditional, perfectly dry martini. What's gotten into my Chuck?"

"If you want me to make it like I always do, I can." He shrugged again. She was looking at him steadily, that look of hers that saw right through him. And he sighed. "It has nothing to do with the martini, but-but I guess today sort of put into perspective for me that you're not…"

"What?"

"Immortal. Indestructible." His throat was dry then and he looked away, swallowing.

"Did you…think I was? Like some kind of comic book character?"

"No. Of course not." He sniffed in amusement. "But what you do is dangerous and it's something I'm going to have to come to terms with. I hadn't before this because I guess I…haven't had to yet. But I have to now."

"Chuck, I'm okay."

"I know you are. So am I. We're okay. And that's not something that's gonna change, no matter how many ManFatales try to take you away from me."

Sarah smirked at that and gave him a side-eye. "No fucking way anybody is taking me away from you. And vice versa," she added, pointing at him a bit threateningly.

"I didn't just mean romantically." He chuckled. "I meant…uh…you know."

"Oh." She sobered significantly. "That, too. And yeah…maybe this time we can try some lime in the martini. I have some pineapple slices, too. Maybe some of the juice…?"

"Splendid idea," he said, giving her a warm smile. And they stood side by side as he prepared more martinis for them to enjoy.

They eventually found their way to Sarah's bed, stretching themselves out over it and leaning back against her headboard. She'd since fallen asleep, her harrowing ordeal earlier on in the day knocking her out soon after she curled herself up on his chest.

He just held onto her, looking down into her face. She looked younger when she was asleep, so at peace, without any worries to speak of. But then his eyes latched onto her wrapped hand and wrist that was slung over his chest and he frowned.

She was a private investigator. And as awesome as it was, as hot as it was that he was dating someone so damn cool, he couldn't let himself forget how serious it was, too. How serious it could be. He'd never want her to give up what she wanted to do, who she wanted to be, so that he had better peace of mind when she went to work, the way the boyfriend of an accountant might. His girlfriend wasn't going to stop being a private investigator, whether he was awful enough to want her to or not.

And so…Chuck Bartowski was determined instead to support her. To be here on the hard days like today. To protect her when she needed him to. To bandage her cuts, hold her, make her martinis, and let her fall asleep in his arms.

Because being with Sarah Walker, P.I. was so much better than being with some accountant who sat in an office all day. The worry, the nerves, the adrenaline, and even the fear, were all worth it because she was worth anything and everything.

This was her, he realized, looking down into her face.

These cases with genuinely bad dudes wanting to do her harm because she was good at her job, because she was working to take them down, were all part of what made her…her. The danger, the chase, the high stakes…that was all part of her.

He loved her.

That included everything that made her who she was. That included this. And those moments of fear, the danger…

No matter what this career of hers brought them, this wouldn't ever change. He was ready for the bumps and bruises he'd get in the meantime himself. He was ready for the hurdles and hardships ahead. He thought he was ready for just about anything.

Because this was their life now.