"What can I say?" You asked him. "I have a type."

He was that type.

You could see how he might have thought you meant Bryce. He never realistically thought he could be in your life, no matter how often you desperately tried ("Two bed?" you had asked him coyly when it looked like Casey was going to lock you both up for treason) to make him see that he already was. If he would have even given himself a little credit, he would have at best thought you meant Bryce AND him.

But you just meant him.

There's a lot you want him to say in that next moment. Something - anything - because you like Shaw but you love Chuck. And of course you like Shaw, what's not to like. He's handsome and charming and he likes you and it is hard to dislike someone who is so enthralled with you.

Of course, so was Chuck.

That's the problem. It's why you're waiting for him to say something. From here on out he'll always be the standard of comparison. If a guy is nice, it's unlikely he'll be as nice as Chuck. If a guy is funny, it's doubtful it'll be as endearing as Chuck's playful quips. If a guy is good looking, they'll likely know it and what was cute about Chuck was how little he realized his own attractiveness. And no one could pull off his earnest self-deprecation and equally earnest nervous confidence. Selflessness? Chuck was without peer.

You can't blame him for Hannah (Yes you can but you don't, she's pretty and nice and she likes him and doesn't avoid that fact like you have over the course of the past three years, and they're so alike). You were aloof and cold to him after Prague, and then Shaw came with his swizzle sticks and it was easy like Bryce was easy. Not as ridiculously complicated as trying to love Chuck, with the messy complications of being asset and handler at the beginning, the messier complications of trying to be so close to someone that could reach in and take whatever he wanted for you and you'd willingly give it.

But that work made it more enticing - and more exhilirating those few moments that you gave in.

"What can I say?" You asked him. "I have a type."

And you waited for him to say or do something. Something like he had mumbled to you after you opened those vault doors, but he just smiled his lopsided grin and if anything could have damaged your calm, it was that. You wanted to grab his arm and spin him back around and scream at him, totally unlike the furiously tampered "You can't" you oozed schorchingly to him on the training mat.

"What do you think, Chuck? That this Hannah thing is going to end well?" You'd ask him incredulously.

"But-" He'd sputter, "Didn't you just say you were okay?" His voice would come out meek and confused, his facial expression turning to that wounded puppy dog look he would get when you told him stay in the car, and it would just make you angrier.

"It doesn't matter," You'd shout even though it did matter, "You chose being a spy, you chose having the extraordinary life, you chose that. And now you choose Hannah? You can't have it both ways, Chuck! Because she is going to get dragged into this, used against you like she was today and not in a way that she's going to conveniently not see you in a dangeorus situation! And when you're out there on your own, without us, it's going to be even harder to deal with that kind of situation!"

"I mean, I don't know-" His uncertainty would just fuel your rage, blinding you, because it disarms you and you want to get this out, you don't want to be disarmed.

And since this is a fantasy, you can just let it all out and not worry about anything, "You chose her over me. You want a normal life with her, but not one with me? You said you loved me not that long ago, Chuck, and I'm fairly certain I've made it obvious that I feel the same way!"

Even in your fantasy, he would interrupt here - of course. His face would contort, his brow furrowing like it did so attractively the few times he would ever get truly angry, "You never said it, Sarah! God, you never said it! And yeah, maybe the kissing and the running away and the life together thing was implying it, but I wanted to hear it! Is that so wrong? Maybe I would have left if I heard it!" He wouldn't say that, but you feel that way sometimes, so it feels good to hear it even if it is just in your own head, "And," he would never add, "I get the impression that Hannah is more likely to say it than you!"

Of course your subconscious fantasy would know how to hurt you the worst.

"Maybe that's true," You'd spit through clenched teeth, fighting back the pain because that's what you do with your emotions, "But it doesn't matter, Chuck. Because trying to have your normal Chuck life and your spy Chuck life isn't going to work! You've got to do it one way or the other!" You'd hesitate (even in your daydreams, you'd hesitate), "And I gave you a chance! I gave you the chance to do it one way. With me!"

"And leave Ellie?" He'd challenge, you just know he would because you would in his place and he said as much in the vault. "And Awesome? And Morgan? And my dad? And - I mean, I can't believe I'm saying htis - And Casey? I flash ten times in a week, Sarah! And maybe there wouldn't be as many Ring agents around Burbank with us gone, but if anything happened anywhere near L.A. - God, Sarah, how could I live with myself?!"

His outburst at that point would deflate you. It's what you wanted - to hear him justify himself - and you wanted to be able to refute it when he did so, but as you hear it (of course this is only in your own head, but) you realize that he's right. Like he usually is about anything emotional.

"You-" It's your turn to stutter, and your lose your anger and you hang your head to avoid his gaze, his gaze that got him to admit what your middle name was when you hadn't spoken that information since you were seven years old, even if he didn't hear it, "You couldn't."

He'd soften at your deflation, his sharply furrowed brow retreating into those relaxed, kind eyes and you're his again and Shaw is a million miles away and who was Bryce again? and you see that hotel room swim around you when everything was just the two of you in that bed where he had offered to sleep on the floor (and who else would have made that offer, especially with feelings like his?).

"I couldn't, Sarah." He agrees and you never realized that in your angry conversation you'd been taking steps closer to each other and maybe there was one step back when you both quited but you're still close. Close enough to smell him and remember everything and you'd lean closer to capture his lips in yours (And who is Shaw, for that matter?)...

"I'll see you, Sarah," is all he says.

And you smile at him - because how can't you? Such a sentiment is so quintisentially Chuck, kind and accepting, with a hint of regret that maybe you're projecting - and say, "Bye, Chuck."

And later when Shaw is massaging your shoulders you note that his hands are rougher than Chuck's and you hate that you notice it, you deflect the feeling by saying, "We both know how dangerous this is."

And maybe you should have added, "Not just the spy aspect of this, but it's dangerous because you're not Chuck. And I'll constantly be comparing you to him, and constantly searching for how he reacts to us, and seeing how you react to him reacting to us and..."

"Relax, Sarah," He says.

And you do, because it's so much easier than Chuck.

Even if all you can smell right now - inexplicably - is a ratty hotel room.