Hello readers!
I've had this oneshot in progress since the middle of December and worked on it whenever I got the time. Only now did I finally give myself a push and finish it.
Now, humorous stories (like my Black Friday series) are my forte, but sometimes I just have to write a completely fluffy, sappy story–much like "Chuck vs. the Tire Swing." So, those of you who liked "Tire Swing," you're in luck. This is another sweet tale involving flashbacks to little Sarah.
Before you begin reading, here are a few quick notes: most of this had been written before some of the recent episodes–namely, "Chuck vs. the Seduction Impossible" and "Chuck vs. the Cat Squad." After each of those episodes, I had to reopen this document and make a change to something (first, I needed to refer back to Sarah's wish to elope; then, I had to add another bridesmaid–Zondra. Though Sarah selected her bridesmaids in "Cat Squad," I'm keeping to my original plan and saying that Alex is one of the bridesmaids as well). Since I had to keep making changes, I finally forced myself to sit down and finish this before the entire story was thrown out the window by events on the show!
Okay, now that I have everything settled, I hope you enjoy this lengthy piece!
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. If I did, we'd know a little bit more about Sarah's past, which needs to be addressed soon.
Sarah vs. the Dress
"How about this one?"
The screech of metal on metal came to a halt as Sarah Walker removed a long silky black dress from a dress rack. Delicately brushing away the wrinkles, she held it up for her audience to examine.
A chorus of "Well…" rose up, but was promptly cut short by an obnoxious snore.
"Bo-ring," Carina drawled, clarifying her previous input. "Don't you already own that dress, Walker?"
Ellie stared pensively at the object of interest before nodding slowly. "I have to agree with Carina on this one. That dress is a little bit too plain, and it darkens the mood of the occasion."
Sarah took another hard, sad look at the dress before hastily returning it to its place amongst the other garments. "You're right," she admitted. "It's not the type of dress we're looking for, but it's the type that I'm used to – the kind of dress I wear on missions. We're not shopping for dresses for a mission, and I'm not the one wearing the dress, so…"
Her nervous rambling and frantic searching died when a hand blocked off the remaining dresses. Sarah blushed and smiled apologetically as Alex McHugh stepped closer, still holding back the rest of the dresses.
"You're over-thinking this, Sarah. Just relax," the younger woman soothed. When the blonde continued to stare uneasily at the row of clothes before her, Alex suggested, "Maybe we should just give the bridesmaid dresses a break for now. What you're going to wear on your wedding day is more important."
Sarah's soon-to-be sister-in-law nodded in agreement. "We're here to make sure you're going to look stunning. And considering how much you and Chuck have been through, this is your one chance. Come on, let's head over to the wedding dresses."
The bride-to-be allowed her bridesmaids to guide her into the sea of white chiffon and lace. Dazed, she half-listened to the party's muffled suggestions as she whimpered silently, I can't believe I'm doing this.
It was still a shock to Sarah to wake up each morning and watch the sun's rays bounce off the engagement ring on her finger. Her breathing would cease for a moment as she stared in slight terror at the jewelry, but slowly the memory of the proposal (oh, the proposal!) and her eager acceptance of it relaxed her.
After the daily realization that yes, she was indeed Chuck's fiancée, Sarah was able to go about her day like she used to, but discreetly running on the bliss and anticipation of impending marriage. She and the rest of Team Bartowski would take down the week's villain, there would be date night with Chuck (now filled with conversations on the upcoming event), and then everything would start all over again the next day. Despite the ring-induced shock every morning, Sarah wouldn't trade this new life for anything.
However, the selection of a wedding dress was the part she was dreading. There was only one dress she had ever wanted to get married in – and still wanted to get married in – but it was the one dress she couldn't have. She hadn't seen it in over two decades; who knew where it was now.
"Hey, Walker, what do you think of this one?" Carina called, pulling Sarah out of her thoughts. The redhead leaned out into the aisle way from the other side of the dress rack and tossed a large wad of fabric at the blonde. One of the saleswomen shot Carina a dirty look at this action, and the agent gave her an exaggeratedly sugary smile.
Shaking her head at her friend's actions, Sarah unfolded the crumpled dress and shook it out so it could attain its full length. Considering Carina picked out the dress, it was not very long at all.
"No way!" Sarah shouted. "Carina, this is the type of dress I'd wear if I was really drunk and got married in Vegas!"
"Does it make you reconsider your current wedding plan?" her friend inquired devilishly. "From what I hear, you were the one who wanted to elope, but our dear Chuckie convinced you otherwise." She ducked back behind the rack as Sarah lobbed the short dress at her. The same saleswoman – whose name, Sarah could now see, was Fiona – glared at them again. The two spies smiled sweetly and apologized in unison, at which Fiona flared her nostrils and stalked away. Carina muttered an obscenity once her back was turned.
Hesitant to approach Sarah, Alex took a few slow steps towards the CIA agent. "What type of dress do you have in mind, Sarah? It might help to know what to look for," she explained.
What kind of dress do I want? Sarah asked herself. I want the dress – Mom's dress.
Forget it, the more rational side of her ordered. Mom's dress is rotting away in an attic somewhere, or shredded to pieces in a trashcan. It's been over twenty years; some dreams just have to die.
As much as Sarah didn't want to listen to her inner pre-Chuck Agent Walker, she admitted that this part of her conscience had a point. All her life, she wanted to get married in her mother's wedding dress. Even as her name and future husband changed as the years went on, the dream was always the same: seven-year-old Samantha Wilson wanted to wear her mother's wedding dress when she married Ryan, the boy who gave her a large bouquet of dandelions every day at recess. Ten-year-old Kate Caldwell saw herself in the dress as she said "I do" to Matt, who wrote funny little notes to her when they swapped homework to grade. Seventeen-year-old Jenny Burton practically felt the silk of her mother's dress on her skin as she was humiliated, wishing her dream guy would push through the crowd and sweep her off her feet like in the movies. But after all these years, she had just about given up all hope that her wish would be fulfilled.
"Sarah?" Ellie prompted quietly, dragging the daydreaming spy back into the real world. "Is there a specific dress you're looking for?"
Yes, that wishful side of her whispered, but Sarah crushed it with one swift stroke. She had to face it – she wasn't going to wear her mother's wedding dress, contrary to her desires. Some dreams just have to die, her heart finally echoed.
"Well," she started, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "I know I don't want a dress as short as the one Carina picked out!"
"This is California, baby! Cocktail dresses are where it's at if you want to keep cool!" the redhead shouted from a few racks away. She heaved a dramatic sigh. "But if you insist…"
The other three women giggled as they set off on their quest.
Now, Sarah Walker was really marrying Chuck Bartowski, and she was never going to see her mother's wedding dress again.
. . .
"Okay, a definite 'no' to this one!"
"Really? I liked that one! I thought it was perfect!"
"I thought that, too… until I tried it on," Sarah wheezed as she stumbled out of the dressing room to show her audience the problematic dress. "Way. Too. Tight. Can't move. Can't… breathe…"
Ellie looked disappointedly at the dress. "What a shame. I really thought it could be the one."
Alex jumped up to support Sarah as the blonde nearly fell forward. Examining how the material clung to Sarah's body and constricted her movements, the younger woman offered to look for the dress in a larger size.
"No," the CIA agent started breathlessly. "The entire thing is just a little too narrow. Let me just try on a few of the other choices."
"Then we shall resume our mission," Carina announced. "Operation Fancy Pants!" She mock-saluted Sarah and bolted out of the dressing room. Ellie and Alex followed suit, ready to continue the search.
Alone at last, Sarah waddled back into her dressing room stall. Regarding the clingy outfit in disgust, she shimmied out of it with great difficulty. With one last scornful look, Sarah tossed the dress aside and slipped into the next option.
This dress was the polar opposite of its rejected predecessor. It was shapeless and baggy, hanging on Sarah like an overturned sack with armholes. The skirted bottom covered her feet and trailed behind her when she moved about the dressing area. Sarah took a quick glance in the mirror and laughed at her reflection. She looked like a child playing dress-up with her mother's clothes.
At that thought, Sarah's quiet chuckles trailed off. The situation was too familiar. A memory slowly rose to the top of her mind, finally free of the bonds that had locked it away so long ago. The memory itself wasn't terrible at all – the aftermath was what sent it into the oblivion of closed-off recollections. With this reminder, Sarah ran her fingertips down the mirror in front of her as she immersed herself in remembrance.
The cool winter air fogged the windows, making them so translucent that the street below seemed nonexistent. A petite blonde girl, barely seven years old, pressed her tiny hands and nose up against a window to peek out into the night. She pulled away after a moment, disappointed that the misty air obscured what lay beyond where she stood. Everything was as hazy as the future of Samantha Lisa Wilson – the little girl who would one day become Sarah Walker.
Backing away from the window, Sam quietly crawled back onto her bed and pouted. There wasn't enough snow to close school in the morning, contrary to the six inches the weatherman predicted. The blonde child fell back onto her pillow with a sigh and willed herself to go back to sleep. Her attempts were futile, and those blue eyes went back to staring at the ceiling in frustration.
Suddenly, she bolted upright, an idea blossoming in her mind. Sam slid out of her bed again and tiptoed down the carpeted hall to the room at the very end. Casting a wary glance at her parents' room right across from her destination, she quickly ducked inside.
The room was the Wilson family's equivalent of an attic, filled with dust-covered boxes and unorganized stacks of papers. Sam carefully maneuvered around the cardboard roadblocks, but stumbled when her petite foot caught the corner of a box. As the box's contents hit the paper walls with a soft thud, the little girl froze and held her breath. She listened intently for any noises emanating from her parents' room, and was soon relieved from her careful stance by a low snore.
Her stealth reaffirmed, Sam stepped across the carpet and paused in front of the closet. Stacks of old t-shirts greeted her as she peered around the partially opened door, accompanied by a pristine pair of white ice skates and a few unfinished paintings. The blonde child slipped between these objects and took a seat in front of the item she sought. Her tiny hand brushed against the clear plastic covering so she could take a better look at her mother's wedding dress.
Sam had always been captivated by the dress. A sleeved, V-necked outfit made of sleek ivory fabric, it was plain compared to the over-the-top dresses in little girls' fantasies. Its simple elegance and the image of her mother in the dress fueled Sam's fascination and drew her towards it that night.
Engrossed by the dress before her, the child barely heard the approaching footsteps until they paused right outside the door.
"Sam," a feminine voice whispered, catching the attention of the girl in question. "Sweetie, what are you doing up so late?"
"Mommy," Sam started, tucking her bare feet closer to her body in guilt. Her chilly toes touched the exposed part of her ankle, and she shivered slightly in response. "They… they said it was gonna snow."
"Oh, sweetie," her mother sighed sympathetically. "The weather report isn't always correct. Here, let's get your feet warmed up." At that, she slid through the entrance.
A woman in her early thirties, Sara Wilson was the older image of her daughter. She rubbed her tired blue eyes and tossed her light hair up in a messy ponytail before joining Sam on the floor.
"You really like that dress, don't you?" she asked the little girl, who nodded slowly but happily in response. The elder Wilson female smiled as well, though her expression saddened as she turned back to the dress and reached out to touch it. "That was one of our happier days."
Sam knew what her mother meant, and she shyly rested her head on Sara's robe-covered shoulder. "Why aren't you and Daddy happy any more?"
Her question was answered with an uneasy silence, though the blonde child noticed a melancholy shine in her mother's eyes. Sara soon felt Sam's gaze upon her and offered a small, reassuring smile as she ruffled her daughter's hair. The duo looked back up at the dress, that beacon of happiness, and relished the sight of it.
Moments later, Sara tore her eyes away from the dress as reality began to sink back in. When bad memories continued to replace good ones, the desire to shred the misery-causing outfit burned in her heart. She quickly glanced at her daughter–still mesmerized by the silky fabric–and fought back the urge. There was no way she would destroy something the little girl loved so dearly.
"Do you want to try it on?" Sara finally said, laughing quietly to herself as Sam's head snapped up. The blonde child scooted out of the way as her mother rose and removed the dress from its plastic-covered hanger. Delicately running her fingers down the fabric to brush out the wrinkles, she turned back to her daughter and instructed her to raise her arms above her head. Sam eagerly obliged, and felt her mother's dress meet her skin for the first time.
Opening her eyes after that moment of bliss, the little girl examined her new clothing and frowned in surprise. The sleeves danged down over her hands, and the collar drooped far away from her neck. She hastily looked down, only to find the dress's flowing skirt piled at her feet.
"It's too big!" she exclaimed in disappointment, flapping her sleeve-covered arms for emphasis.
"Oh, sweetie, it won't be big for long," Sara comforted her distressed daughter. As she lifted the dress back over Sam's head, she added, "You just need to grow into it. It'll fit you perfectly when you're a big girl."
"But I don't want to wait that long!" the little girl cried in despair as the two Wilson females headed back to Sam's room, prompting a small chuckle from her mother. "I want to be a big girl now!"
The older woman crossed the room and stood before the window. Sara pointed beyond the glass, encouraging her daughter to come closer. Sam's eyes lit up as she watched the snow fall, her thoughts echoing with her mother's next words: "Sometimes, it just takes a little patience to receive what you desire."
Slowly, Sarah pulled herself out of the memory and back to present day. Even then, as she stood in front of the mirror in the baggy, unflattering dress, she could still hear Sara Wilson's words ringing in her mind.
The excitement of trying on her mother's dress didn't even last a week for Sarah. A few days after that snowy night with her mother, Jack (the name her father had always gone by) told little Sam to pack up some clothes and be ready to leave later that evening. Wary of this sudden trip, she did as she was instructed, leaving behind some of her less-sentimental things. It wasn't until she slid into the back of the old station wagon when she learned that they wouldn't be returning home from this trip, and her mother was left out of the travel plans.
Her mother. Sarah felt a pain in her heart as she imagined Sara's reaction when she woke that morning to find her husband and daughter gone. It was a situation she had played over in her head for many years, especially after her father's arrest in her senior year. Surely it wasn't a coincidence that Graham gave her a new identity with a name so similar to her mother's.
As the wedding planning began to pick up speed, Sarah often found her mind drifting towards her family. From what she had last heard, her father was still on the run (a contact had reported that he was in New York, conning businessmen, but wouldn't be staying much longer) and her maternal grandmother was busy raising hell at a retirement facility (even in her eighties, the woman was just as stubborn as her granddaughter), but her mother? There had been no contact between them since the day the run-down station wagon carried Samantha Lisa Wilson from her old life. Despite countless searches on multiple databases (once, she'd even let the name slip to Chuck, just in case the Intersect came up with something), Sara Wilson was nowhere to be found. For all Sarah knew, her mother could have changed her name, be living in seclusion, or perhaps even be dead. The last possibility upset her, and a shiver ran down her spine.
Sarah was so lost in her macabre thoughts that she barely heard the light footsteps approach her dressing room stall. There was a soft thud as something was placed on the bench on the other side of the door, and the visitor hesitated for a moment before exiting the room.
Upon hearing the retreating footfalls, Sarah creaked the door open and peeked out into the waiting area of the dressing room. Finding it void of people, her eyes swept over to the bench. A rectangular white box sat in solitude, beckoning her towards it. The CIA agent's curiosity got the better of her, and–the hemline of the baggy dress trailing behind her–she moved towards the bench.
When she got closer to the box, she noticed a small white envelope resting on the lid. She froze when she read the loopy cursive scrawled across the front, and her heart thudded against her ribcage in shock. Cautiously, she reached out and slipped a card out of the envelope addressed merely to "Samantha Lisa."
You're a hard girl to find, Sam–I suppose that trait is just as genetic as your stubbornness, the letter began, and Sarah let out a shaky laugh at the comment. I heard about your engagement, and I thought you might want this. It's yours if you desire it; I think you've grown into it. The initials S.W followed the note, though Sarah knew exactly who it was from.
Slowly lowering the letter, the blonde shifted her attention back to the box, heart skipping as she realized what lay inside. Her teeth pinched the edge of her bottom lip as she leaned over and gently lifted the lid.
A V-necked ivory dress was placed delicately inside sheets of tissue paper. Tears obscuring her vision, Sarah lifted the dress out of its container and unfolded it to its full length. She gazed at it in awe, running her fingers along one of the sleeves before covering her mouth with her hand in joy.
"Hey, Sarah, we found a few more... oh." Ellie's singsong voice trailed off as she caught sight of the item in the spy's hands. "Oh, Sarah, it's perfect."
"Wow," Alex chimed in as she stepped forward to take a look. Carina followed suit with a, "Not bad, Walker," though she cast a sad glance at the short, sleeveless dress she had picked out.
Sarah let out a laugh at her friend's disappointment. "We'll have to consider that dress for whenever you get married, Carina." The redhead's eyes narrowed at the joke, but Sarah ignored the glare as she looked over her mother's dress. "This is definitely the one."
. . .
"Okay, turn just a little bit… good. Now, hold still."
Sarah winced as she felt a small pinprick on the back of her ankle, causing her back to stiffen the slightest bit. There was a curse from behind her, and the blonde shot an apologetic look at Fiona, who was hemming the dress.
"I said, 'Hold still'! Great, now we have to redo that one." Pins hanging out of the side of her mouth, the ill-tempered saleswoman removed the one that caught Sarah's leg and put it back in at a different angle.
As the other woman worked in frustrated silence, the CIA agent observed herself in the full-length mirrors surrounding her. True to her mother's word, Sarah had grown into the dress, which fit her perfectly. The only modification was the length of the dress, which Fiona was swearing at as she fixed the hemline.
Trying not to distract the other woman, Sarah turned to her three present bridesmaids (Zondra, who was away on a mission, had phoned in her regrets and reminded her friend that–if the bridesmaid dresses were selected–she wore a size 2). Ellie and Alex gazed in awe at the dress, and even Carina seemed remotely interested. However, when she felt the blonde's gaze on her, she tore her eyes away and pretended to look bored.
"Hey, Ellie?" Sarah started, and her sister-in-law-to-be looked up in response. "Did you see a woman who looked like me, but maybe with gray hair, come out of the dressing room before you came back in?"
The brunette opened her mouth slightly as she thought back, but it was Alex who answered instead.
"There was a woman coming back into the store from the dressing room as I was picking out another option. She wanted to know if I was one of your bridesmaids, and when I said yes, she asked me to give this to you." Alex stood up and pulled another small envelope out of her pocket, handing it to Sarah.
The spy took it from her partner's daughter, carefully breaking the seal. There was a small card inside, and Sarah recognized it as one of the wedding RSVPs.
Your fiancé somehow managed to track me down–he mentioned something about returning a favor, Sara Wilson's careful scrawl began. He wanted it to be a surprise, but he said that you "weren't one for surprises." Thinking about the little girl who had a knack for finding her birthday gifts before they were wrapped, I know exactly what he means. Sarah laughed at the aforementioned memory before her eyes traveled over to the boxes under "Will you be attending?" A smile spread across her face when she saw the "Yes" box was checked off in blue ink, with I can't wait to see the new Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski scribbled next to it.
Sarah felt that she would drift away in bliss if cranky Fiona didn't have the hem of her dress in a vise-like grip. After all this time, everything was starting to fall back into place. Letter in hand, she smoothed out the beloved decades-old fabric as the words from a snowy evening came back to her:
Sometimes, it just takes a little patience to receive what you desire.
. . .
There you have it. This is my way of addressing the issue of Sarah's past–more specifically, her mother. Here's hoping that will be resolved on the show relatively soon!
Reviews would be lovely! Favorite parts, anyone?
Thanks for reading!
AQotL