A/N: Section three is set between 3.04 and 3.05.

Wickedinsanity and I have been trying to start a movement (since like, we first found out Ellie was pregnant) to call Clara 'Lieutenant Awesome.' I finally get to put my beliefs into practice, haha. Thanks also to Wickedinsanity for giving this a proof read. :)

I'm not generally a big Valentine's Day person (more of an Anna Howard Shaw Day celebrator), but this season's been phenomenal, and I want to celebrate that!

Every time I see your face
My heart takes off on a high-speed chase
Now don't be scared, it's only love
Baby, that we're falling in . . .
- "Falling In," Lifehouse

February 2008

Chuck buries his nose in the menu, and Sarah takes the opportunity to study her 'date.' Though he downplays the night's significance, she can tell he's put a lot of thought into the evening. He's brought her chocolate and flowers – tulips, which pleasantly surprised her – and he's dressed in his best suit, black with a red button-down and a solid black tie. He's even tamed his curls as best he could.

He looks quite dapper, definitely handsome enough to fit in with this crowd. He's made reservations at Le Blanc, a new restaurant downtown. It's fancy and romantic and way too expensive for a guy on a Buy More salary. But that's just the kind of guy Chuck is – the kind of guy to blow an entire paycheck on Valentine's Day dinner.

She's been happy in their cover relationship, content at least because she doesn't expect any more. As a con-artist-turned-CIA-agent, she doesn't deserve a boyfriend like Chuck Bartowski, real or not, and she counts herself lucky that she gets to spend as much time with him as she does. Chuck, though, he deserves much more than this. A guy who puts this much thought into a romantic Valentine's Day date deserves more than a fake girlfriend who can never tell him how she really feels.

Letting her menu fall to the table, she leans forward conspiratorially to suggest, "Want to get out of here?"

Chuck looks up, eyebrows raised in surprise. "What's the matter? Don't you like this place? Is there nothing you like on the menu?"

"No," she assures him, "it's great. Amazing, really." She throws a look around the dining room at the couples surrounding them, dressed in their finest, adoring looks on their faces. "It's just, do you want to go somewhere a little more our speed?"

A wide, relieved smile appears on his face as he shuts his menu, stands, and offers his hand. She takes it with a grin and lets him lead her out of the restaurant, but not before tossing a hundred on the table in the hopes of assuaging the waiters' anger over the loss of business on the holiday.

Luckily, even though he had insisted on doing everything properly for this date, she was able to convince him to let her drive. Hands latched, they dash out of the restaurant, laughing as they dodge the glares of the irate foodies who simply can't believe they would throw away Valentine's Day reservations at the swankiest place in town.

Sarah's laughing because, last year, six months ago even, she would have been them. She would have taken a fancy night out on the town in stride, would have seen it as her due even. Her life consisted of fancy restaurants, well-dressed men, expensive clothes, fast cars. Now, it's all pizza, and games nights, and jeans and sneakers. Her life has done a complete one-eighty, although she's still got the fast car, and there's no way she's giving that up.

She hops into the driver's seat with a grin as Chuck slides into the passenger's side.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

She revs the engine and shifts into gear. Shooting him a grin, she says, "Anywhere you want to."

Chuck's laughter rings out above the music as he trips over his feet on the DDR platform, while Sarah executes the choreographed spin perfectly. He's left his jacket in the car, but his tie is loosened and his sleeves are rolled up. She's still in her midnight blue dress, though her purse and heels lie at his feet. The pier is full of the singles crowd, the twenty-somethings who have nothing better to do on February 14th than play video games at the arcade. She and Chuck don't quite belong, at least not dressed as they are, but Sarah's having too much fun to care at the moment.

By the time the song ends, Chuck's nearly doubled over with laughter. Apparently the sight of her letting her hair down for once is a bit too much for him to handle.

"What are you laughing at?" she teases. "I just beat you!"

"That may be so," he concedes with a smile, "but not since Morgan Grimes have I seen anyone play DDR with such fervor. You really do put everything you've got into everything you do, don't you?" He leans a bit closer as they step off the game platform. "No matter if it's a silly video game or saving my life."

"Chuck," she begins softly. There are so many things on the tip of her tongue, and the sight of him in that suit in the moonlight is enough to set her heart on fire. But, not interested in starting a war, she instead says playfully, "You better not let Morgan hear you call DDR a 'silly video game.'"

He chuckles. "Trust me. I know better than that. I do value my life, you know."

As they begin to walk down the pier, she slides her hand into his. Chuck quirks a surprised little smile, and she has a hard time keeping a smile of her own off her lips.

"Is that why you always stay in the car when you're told?" she ribs gently, giving him a soft poke in the stomach.

Chuck shakes his head, still laughing. "I know, I know, okay? But you try staying put when you're told, like a dog, see how you like it, see if you can watch your friends get in trouble and not do anything."

No, she wouldn't enjoy that at all, but the difference is that she's a trained agent and he's a computer repair tech. It's not his place to be saving her. That, however, is an argument for another day, not February 14th, no matter whether she puts any significance on the date or not. What matters is that Chuck does, and she's not going to tarnish that by lecturing him again about staying in the car.

"You know," she begins, "I think this is the most fun I've ever had on a Valentine's Day."

Chuck stops walking and turns to face her. He lifts a brow. "What do you mean, 'you think'?"

Laughing, she pushes him on the chest. "You know what I mean."

He's grinning when he says, "Okay, okay, well, obviously you're pretty confused. Maybe there were some great Valentine's days in the past, and this one is only just edging those out. So help a guy out – how can I top those? How can I make this the absolute best possible Valentine's Day you've ever had?"

Swinging their linked hands between them, Sarah twists her lips thoughtfully and answers, "Want to take a walk on the beach?"

"Long walks on the beach under the moonlight, huh?" he smirks. "I never pegged you as one for clichés."

"What can I say?" she shrugs. "I like to surprise you."

A lopsided grin on his face, he pulls her down the pier at a run, and they race onto the sand, Sarah barefoot and Chuck still in his black hightops. She knows she shouldn't let herself be this happy, but it's Valentine's Day, and she's going to take this for what it's worth, an excuse to hold hands with the man she cares for, an excuse to play in the sand, with no missions and no bad guys and no guns hanging over her head.

Because she's with Chuck, and simply that is enough to make her heart soar.

February 2009

Trying to keep the smile off her face, Sarah urges Chuck into a seat. "Sit," she orders gently, returning to the stove to retrieve his breakfast.

They're in the suburbs to smoke out some Fulcrum agents, playing at house while they do their real jobs. She hates this type of mission the most, because it's like bringing a microscope right up to the walls she's built and allowing her to see every single miniscule crack. At the same time, though, she loves having an excuse to do this – sleep beside him, cook him breakfast. Their normal cover allows outward shows of affection of course, a few kisses here, an arm wrapped around him there. But it wears on them. She can feel him pulling away, feel the strings tugging at her heart telling her that a fake relationship will never be enough.

This, in the suburbs, it's a respite from their normal lives. There are no cameras, no one to catch them in a compromising situation. The ring on her finger may be a lie, but the feelings inside her aren't; and she can show him how she truly feels even if he's not quite getting the message.

She puts the omelet on a plate and places it in front of him. He looks up at her in wonder.

"Hold on," he smiles. "Are, are you enjoying this whole Martha Stewart thing?"

The way he says it makes her realize exactly how crazy she's become since meeting him, exactly how far her feelings for Chuck Bartowski could push her. So she bites her tongue, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch upward.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaims incredulously. Shaking his head, he adds, "Please tell me you're not going soft on me."

Sarah, leaning a hip against the table, pops a strawberry in her mouth. "Just shut up and eat your breakfast."

Chuck, a lopsided smile on his face, cuts his omelet and pops a bite into his mouth. "You better be careful, Sarah. One day, you might actually turn into a real girl."

A real girl . . . She stifles a snort, because she's not even sure what that means any more. Real, normal . . . it's all relative. What's normal is that she feels good when she's around Chuck, when she sees that brilliant smile. What's real is the warmth he stirs in her heart, the goodness he motivates in her. The goose bumps that raise on her skin when he slides a hand to the small of her back, the shiver that runs through her when he leans close to whisper during a mission, the ache in her heart when he pulls away after a fake date – all that is more real than anything she's ever believed in.

She watches him eat his omelet, feeds a piece of bacon to the dog the CIA's given them for the mission, and wonders what it would be like to have this. What it'd be like to wake up to those curls, that nose, those goddamned adorable eyes every single day.

It's no tragedy that she's fallen for her asset. That's all too common in the spy world. What's tragic is that he'll never open his eyes, that he'll never even know.

February 2010

Sarah lies on her bed, fiddling with the phone in her hands. Chuck's contact picture is on the screen; her thumb lingers over the 'call' button. This is a common occurrence. Nights when there are no missions, she sits here and debates calling him, debates going over to spend time with him. But the memory of Prague is still a fresh, pulsing wound, and she ends up always spending her nights alone, with just Ben, Jerry, and Craig Ferguson for company.

She tosses the phone to the opposite end of the mattress, jumping a bit when a knock sounds at her door. She takes a moment to get up and answer it, because she's not expecting anyone. There are only a few possibilities for whom it could be, especially tonight, and so she hesitates, hand on the door knob.

The knock sounds again, and she takes a deep breath before opening the door to find Chuck Bartowski standing in front of her, a stack of DVDs in one hand and a bouquet of chocolate roses in the other.

"Chuck," she says, letting surprise slip into her voice. "What are you doing here?"

There's a shaky smile on his face as he holds up the movies. "I thought, you know, we haven't exactly been on great terms lately, but that you might be . . . lonely." He offers her a little shrug and adds, "Considering the night, you know. And that you might wanna watch some movies with me? I dunno. I just thought . . . everyone was out tonight . . . that it might be . . . nice to . . . just hang out."

He's rambling, punctuating his sentences with nervous pauses. When she doesn't answer right away, he thrusts the chocolate toward her and says, "I know you're not big on chocolate, but . . ."

She's starting to feel bad for him now, feel bad that he's come all this way and she hasn't given him a thing yet, so she accepts the gift with a tiny smile. "Thank you, Chuck. Come in?"

She steps aside to let him in, and he quickly gets settled on the bed.

"You sure you don't mind?" he asks. "I mean, it is Valentine's Day. You didn't have any plans?"

"No," she confirms softly, "no plans." When she sits down on the bed beside him, she can't help but think about all the happier times they've done this before. Pushing past that, she asks, "So what'd you bring me?"

"In the spirit of the holiday, romantic comedies. Sixteen Candles, Ghost Town, Wall-E, Amélie, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind."

"That's quite the list," she chuckles.

Indeed, they've seen many of these movies before, and she suspects he's brought most of them because she's expressed a fondness for them the first time he showed them to her. A few of them hit a little too close to home, especially given their current situation.

"Yeah, you got one in mind?" he queries.

She bites her lip, contemplating. After what they've been through recently, after their six-month estrangement, even after their agreement to be 'just friends,' she's in the mood for something funny, not something that's going to make her tear up.

"Ghost Town?" she suggests.

"Sure thing," he smiles, getting up to pop the DVD into the player.

When he clambers back onto the mattress, she sighs and second guesses whether this was a good idea or not. They're friends, yes, but she's not sure if she's ready for this. When she thinks of the life they should be living now – running around Europe; having lots of wild, passionate sex; being young and carefree and in love – it nearly makes her sick.

You hurt me, she wants to tell him, You hurt me so badly I almost can't breathe when I think about it, but it's Valentine's Day, and they've been miserable lately, and his presence here is like a peace offering she's desperately needed but could never swallow her pride enough to ask for.

But blaming him for what they've become is not only unfair but cruel. This isn't his fault, just as it isn't hers. They're victims of the world they're a part of, and the only way to end this is to get out of that world or find a way to rise above the rules.

She shouldn't punish him by pushing him away, not when he's so damn sweet. Even though every single one of her instincts is telling her to fortify the walls she's built around her heart, she knows he's in the exact situation, knows he's hurting just as much as she is.

So instead of kicking him out, like she probably should, she reclines beside him, lets herself relax, and offers him a chocolate rose.

February 2011

Sarah, baby Clara in her arms, looks up from her place in the kitchen as her fiancé walks through the front door.

He barely spares them a glance as he breezes in through the living room, dropping his stuff on the couch and heading toward the bedroom. "Hey, sweetie. Give me five minutes to change, and we can get outta here!"

"Yeah, about tonight . . ." she begins, biting her lower lip, and he finally stops in his tracks, looking up to register that she's holding his niece.

"Uh . . . Sarah?" he queries, pausing in the middle of unknotting his tie. "What's Lieutenant Awesome doing here?"

A smile tugs at her lip. "Should you really call your niece that?"

"Believe me, Awesome's warmed up to the name." He strolls into the kitchen to drop a kiss onto her forehead and one on Clara's.

"Yeah, okay, you just better not let the original Awesomes hear you call her that."

"Promise," he smiles. "But really, not that I don't love her, but what's she doing here?" Stooping, he tickles the baby's chin and coos, "What are you doing here, Lieutenant? Don't you know it's Valentine's Day, and that your uncle has a big night planned for your aunt? Don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck," Sarah says quietly, "but your sister and Devon haven't been out on a date since way before Clara was born. They deserve a night out, don't you think?"

"I do," he agrees. "But tonight? Valentine's Day? You couldn't have found someone else to baby-sit?"

She rolls her eyes, wishing he would stop reminding her that it's Valentine's Day.

"Oh, come on, Chuck. Who else is there? Your mom's in DC for a while, Morgan and Alex had plans, and Casey is . . . well, Casey. Unless you want to trust your niece to an NSA agent with no discernable parenting skills for children under the age of 20 or a pair of Buy Morons, then we're it."

Chuck's expression softens, maybe because she's doing something for his family or maybe because the sight of her with a baby in her arms stirs something in him. He sighs and says, "All right, fine. You've won me over, Sarah Walker, but that doesn't mean this night is a total waste. I'm going to go get –"

"Hold on, hold on," she interrupts, shifting Clara to one side and holding up a hand to stop him. "I never said this night was a waste."

He narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?"

She grins at him, and his face lights up when he notices the cooking paraphernalia littering the kitchen. Turning around, he spots the dinner laid out on the dining room table. Two table settings, a few candles in the middle.

"You cooked me dinner?" he asks.

"You in the mood for homemade lasagna?"

Chuck's eyes sparkle as he wraps an arm around her again. "Mmm, I'm always in the mood for homemade lasagna," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

"And then some movies?" she suggests, pointing to the living room, where a stack of his favorite DVDs sits on the coffee table, ready for them to watch.

He laughs into her hair. "Oh, my God, you are so great. I'll be right back. I'm gonna go cancel our reservations and change into something more comfortable." He pecks her again before dashing off down the hallway.

Sarah smiles as she watches him go before setting out the last of the dinner arrangements and settling down at the table with Clara on her lap. He returns in a t-shirt and jeans and sits beside her.

"I know it's not what you were expecting," she tells him, sliding a hand over his. "But I figured we could use a night off, right? You're a huge romantic, Chuck, but I've never really been a big Valentine's Day person. I just want to spend some time with you."

Chuck gives her hand a squeeze. "This is perfect, Sarah. Thank you. Although," he tips his head back and forth a little and adds teasingly, "maybe we can try to shoot for no babies next Valentine's Day, okay?"

Even as he laughs, he takes Clara out of Sarah's arms and lifts her into the air. "Isn't that right, Lieutenant?" he coos, shaking his niece gently. "Isn't that right?"

A soft smile comes to Sarah's face as she watches him. She used to be so terrified of this, is still a little terrified of how to tell her family about their engagement, but watching him be an uncle brings her worlds full-circle, calms all her previous fears. When she catches him tickling Clara, or singing her a lullaby, or playing peek-a-boo, all she can think is: He's going to be a wonderful father.

So she laughs quietly and asks, "Who says?"

Chuck chokes and nearly drops his niece.

February 2012

Sarah, lying on top of her sleeping husband, is radiantly happy. Arms folded on Chuck's chest, chin resting on folded arms, she watches him sleep for a moment. Their lives are so hectic, Chuck so emotional, that it's calming to see him in such a peaceful state – brow clear, chest rising and falling rhythmically.

Sun slits in through the window blinds, falling in lines across his face, and she can't wait any longer. She slides up on his chest and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. He stirs, and she stretches to kiss his closed eyelids and then his nose.

A grin spreads across his face. "Mmm," he murmurs, eyes still closed.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Chuck," she whispers.

Groaning sleepily, he opens his eyes to peer at her. "'Morning," he greets groggily.

"Look," she smiles, "I realize you've probably got some big epic planned for tonight, but before all the craziness starts, I want a few moments of you to myself."

He grins, and leans up to leave a peck on her lips. "Sounds good to me. So what do you plan to do with me first?"

She tangles her fingers into his hair and smiles wickedly at him. "I could do this," she teases, kissing him lingeringly. "Or . . . I could tell you what I woke you up to tell you."

He looks at her curiously. "Which is . . . ?"

She places a palm against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. Sunlight glints against her wedding ring, a thin gold band. Inclining her head so that their noses are nearly touching, she whispers, "That I think you're going to be a pretty fantastic father."

And Chuck's eyes, half-closed in bliss, snap open.