A/N: This fic is written for Jordan/loupalone as part of the Holiday Fic Exchange Challenge. Jordan asked for new skills, hearts, and cuddling, but didn't want the story to include slash, death, or overly sappy Chuck. The requested pairing was Chuck/Sarah, and the prompt was baking (pies, cookies, etc), warmth, "I'm down on my knees, I'm begging you please to come home."

--

"Devon!"

Chuck winced, squinting one eye shut as his sister, sitting right next to him, shouted for her husband. "Devon!" he joined in, leaning forward to scoop his beer off the coffee table. Every other square inch of it was covered, in dishes of sticky divinity and colored-sugar cookies, a haphazard stack of half-finished Christmas cards and assorted ornaments. The mantel and high tables were festooned with fake pine garlands dusted with glitter and tinsel, shellacked pinecones and red plastic berries. In short, it looked like Christmas had exploded, down to the cheerful Santa-face on the knitted throw Ellie had tossed over the back of the couch. When Chuck's sister put her mind to something, no square inch was left undecorated.

Devon Woodcomb, in a remarkably scrub-like soft blue sweater and jeans even on his day off, poked his head back through the door, letting in a seasonably cool gust of air. "Babe?"

Ellie started to push herself up, but Chuck shot a glance at her. "No," he said firmly. "Two more minutes."

Ellie made a face at him, but stayed seated anyway. She had been bustling around the apartment so much that she'd given herself Braxton-Hicks contractions, which she and Devon had simultaneously diagnosed in a way that Chuck found just a little creepy. She'd barely touched the cup of hot tea Morgan, who was currently engrossed, open-mouthed, in the requisite holiday game playing on Devon and Ellie's wide plasma television, had carefully steeped for her. Chuck blamed that on the fact that Morgan had helpfully selected the ill-conceived 2001 "Have a Merry Morgan-mas" mug, tiled over with tiny grinning Morgans.

"Devon," she said, taking a deep breath through her nose and pressing her palms together, "you need to go by the Yankee Candle Company and pick up an evergreen-scented candle."

Devon started with an apologetic grin. "But, babe, if I'm already going by the grocery store—"

"For what?"

Devon glanced down at the list crinkled in his hand. "Marshmallows, saltine crackers, four oranges, and a bag of wild rice—"

"What brand?"

Chuck tuned out of Ellie's very specific shopping list and into the game, checking his watch impatiently. Sarah was escorting General Beckman back to the airport after her visit to Castle, but on Christmas Eve traffic was notoriously bad and Ellie wanted everything to be perfect for her and Devon's first Christmas as a married couple, and that meant Sarah Walker seated at their table at 6:30 sharp.

"Chuck?"

Chuck shook himself from the mental image of his last sight of Sarah, her blue eyes sparkling, in a sage-green sweater that clung to her curves, swearing she'd do everything she could to make it back in time. "Hmm?"

Devon was gazing at him expectantly. "The mall's gonna close soon, bro. Ready?"

"For what?" Chuck could feel Ellie practically vibrating with annoyance beside him, but Morgan's bearded face was split with a wide grin, so—

"Oh God. No." Chuck started shaking his head. "No."

Ellie gave him a little shove. "Two of the biggest evergreen candles they have, Chuck. And make it snappy."

--

The mall. On Christmas Eve.

Chuck had been so happy to drive away from the Buy More the day before. His mood had lifted considerably the further he went from the store; the horizons opened with every mile, and the cheerful laziness promised by his scant forty-eight hours of holiday was enough to make him ebullient. He felt the exact opposite of that on the way back. Even with the Christmas carols chiming brightly through the car stereo and the Santa hat perched on Devon's head, Chuck was still squirming. He could feel the building's closeness, and it felt like iron bars tightening across his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that Big Mike would somehow sense his presence and call him in for some easily-averted emergency overtime.

"Isn't there anywhere else we can go."

Devon shrugged apologetically. "It's the closest, and we don't have that much time. Everything's gonna close soon. Oh, and," he shrugged at Chuck's phone, "I think you just missed a call."

Chuck tapped his phone and found a text from Sarah. On the way. On 110.

"Man, she's never gonna make it in time."

Devon shot a concerned glance at him. "So how'd the thing with your boss go?"

Chuck shrugged, then grinned. "She, uh, didn't believe about how fast I could 'learn' something..."

Devon chuckled. "Don't tell me you decked her!"

"Close. But she can move pretty fast."

Mid-laugh, Devon suddenly jumped in the driver's seat and tapped his bluetooth headset. "Hey... babe, what's wrong?"

Chuck tapped out a response to Sarah, listening to his brother-in-law soothe his sister. Be careful & hurry. See you soon!

When Chuck glanced up, Devon's jaw was set and he was switching lanes. "Okay, so, she was kind of incoherent, but we have to get the ingredients for pecan pie again, and she said you'd know."

"You mean the special, the..." Chuck snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remember. "The cold oven recipe?"

"She said it was your grandmother's. And I think Morgan and Jeff are involved."

Chuck tweaked the white puff at the top of Devon's santa hat. "If this day doesn't get any better, it's gonna take a lot more than that to make it a merry Christmas."

Devon gave an uncharacteristically somber nod, then brightened. "Hey! Chance to get El a last-minute gift! I think Victoria's Secret's having a sale," he teased, bumping his shoulder against Chuck's.

"You must like those fake contractions."

"Good point, bro. Good point."

--

Chuck and Devon split up as soon as they hit the mall, Devon rubbing his hands together in glee as he headed for the lingerie store and Chuck shoving his hands in his pockets as he found the directory. Candles. Candles...

Hmm.

After a brief, horrifying interlude in the candle store (evergreen, pine, wintergreen, winter wonderland, cranberry warmth, holiday spice, gingerbread, peppermint delight, snowfrost drop, mint-erfresh oil and infused potpourri, it was enough to give him a headache) he ducked into the Williams-Sonoma store and found a pie plate and mug that didn't have Morgan's face on them. Then he remembered the last time Sarah had been forced to bake something and found her an apron with a picture of a smoking oven on it, and Casey an apron with the picture of a smoking gun.

He found a bench under the clock, in view of the carousel in the middle of the mall, and waited thirty seconds for Devon, feeling like a jackass with two enormous shopping bags at his feet. Immense borderline-panicked crowds shuffled between the stores; the bench held three large women, fanning themselves over their own shopping bags. The heat in the mall was stifling, from the crowd of bodies and the overtaxed heating units, even though it wasn't under fifty degrees outside. Lines spiraled away from the Cinnabon and the Subway, a sea of fuzzy red sweaters and reindeer-noses and gold bells, candy-striped stockings and socks, pine-green scarves, and worried faces that melted into smiles when they saw the plastic-haired Santa in his black boots, the garland twined with white lights, the red felt bows and elf-hats.

Across the food court someone dropped a tray and it hit the floor with a sound like a gunshot slap, and before he was conscious of what he was doing Chuck had maneuvered through the crowd, leaving a trail of vaguely confused shoppers in his wake, and had half a broomstick in his hand. He had no idea how it had happened.

It wasn't exactly fun, this new Intersect. It was exhilarating, but a little like temporary insanity; all his sparring and training with Casey and Sarah was to develop some sort of muscle memory, to support him when the Intersect didn't kick in, but he was still clumsy and uncoordinated and prone to freaking out, just a little, when confronted with the unexpected. He felt a little like a puppet, and knowing that his father had had a role in programming it made him feel a little better about it.

The kid who had dropped the tray was staring at him, and Chuck let himself relax out of his stance all at once, half-hiding the stick behind his thigh. "Hey, dude, it's okay," the kid said, peering at Chuck through long bangs. "It's cool."

Chuck shrugged and nodded, backing off a few steps. "Just... okay."

At a sudden panicked thought of Ellie's candles, Chuck maneuvered his way much less briskly through the crowd, dropping the broom handle in a trash can. The three women were gone, but his bags were still there, in a remarkable stroke of good luck. Glancing at his watch, Chuck scowled, heading toward the lingerie store.

Devon was standing near the back, and Chuck caught sight of something black and sheer and lacy in his brother-in-law's hand before he glanced hurriedly away. "Hey, bro! You know, if you haven't gotten anything for Sarah," Devon wiggled his eyebrows, "I hope you won't think this is too out of line, but I'm sure she'd like that little burgundy number over there."

"She likes blue better," Chuck said, and clapped a hand over his mouth. "No. I mean—"

"Way to go," Devon grinned. "You can't beat these deals. And every girl likes to see a pink box under the tree."

Chuck let out a nervous chuckle and wandered over to the beauty side, juggling his bags and phone as he sent a text to Sarah. Hope everything's going ok. Getting you something. Just go with it. ;)

Not that it would prevent the "We have to talk about how we can't do this right now" talk, again, not that he hadn't told Devon fifty times that he and Sarah didn't have a real relationship, but Ellie's pregnancy hormones were on Sarah's side and that meant Ellie would get really, really upset if he and Sarah didn't maintain their little delusion for her, and as far as Chuck was concerned he never wanted to hear the words "Braxton-Hicks" again.

"Um, Mr... Chuck?"

Chuck turned around to see one of the salesladies, tanned and grinning, all in black. "My name's Stacy, and," she gestured at a grinning Devon who was standing safely across the store, "he says you need help picking out something, maybe in blue?"

"Oh, no, I..."

"It's okay, sir. Trust me, I do this all the time."

"Sell lingerie to skittish boyfriends?" Chuck joked, clenching and unclenching his fist. When she had first tapped his shoulder, he'd almost dropped her.

Sometimes he felt like a warhead, like a hair trigger, something that should be kept in a black velvet box and brought out only in case of emergencies. All he'd needed to do was pick out a couple of evergreen candles, for God's sake.

Stacy nodded, tilting her head. "I think I have just the thing...?"

Twenty minutes later, Devon was chatting with the cashier and Chuck was shifting his weight from foot to foot, pointedly not looking at the sheer ice-blue lace babydoll or the matching bra and panties in his sweaty palms. When Stacy had asked what size his girlfriend wore, the Intersect had helpfully volunteered an estimate, and given their track record, he'd at least see it on her, sooner or later.

Cold comfort, given everything else.

"Devon," Chuck growled, "the store's going to close soon."

"Hey, you can have pecan pie anytime. Twenty percent off sale? That's worth waiting for."

In the car Chuck hurriedly dug through the layers of pink tissue paper to drape the apron on top, bracing against the dash as Devon maneuvered the car through the grocery store's parking lot. "Devon, we've talked about how Sarah's not really my girlfriend, right?"

Devon shrugged. "Guess you were just so convincing that it's hard to remember," he said, in mock apology. He dropped his voice. "You'll thank me later."

--

Sarah walked in at 6:35, a bottle of wine in her hand and an apologetic smile on her face. Chuck was just a little thrown when he saw that she'd put on a shimmery pale-blue top, but then their eyes met and he smiled and she smiled and it went straight out of his head, the annoyance over Jeff and Lester's nasal renditions of Christmas carols and Jeff's insistence that "just a little eggnog won't hurt," Ellie's constant panicky huffs, Morgan's unexpected branches of mistletoe in the most inconvenient places all over the apartment. Sarah held Chuck's gaze for just a little too long, and no matter what else, that undercurrent between them was strong tonight.

"So sorry I'm late, Ellie," Sarah apologized, handing her the bottle. Ellie was fluttering, almost chicken-like, over the stove, and thanked her with a brief but genuine smile before placing the wine bottle on the countertop and whipping her attention back to the oven.

"The stuffing isn't done!" she burst out, and then started crying.

"Ellie," Devon, Chuck, and Morgan all chorused. Devon reached her first, and Morgan played off his raised hand, poised just over Ellie's shoulder, as it was covered with Devon's arm.

Sarah glanced up at Chuck. "Um..."

"So, while Ellie calms down, again," he said, keeping his voice low, "we're going to try to make my grandmother's pecan pie recipe without burning the house down."

"You can't," Ellie wailed. "It has to start in a cold oven."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "You two got the guts to break into John's apartment?"

"Oh..." Chuck and Sarah glanced at each other. "I don't know..."

"I'm game," Jeff volunteered, and Chuck noticed with no small amount of dismay that Jeff had finally managed to find a cup of eggnog. He was weaving a little on his feet, and Lester was grinning nervously even as he edged away from his friend.

"How about you call him first," Sarah smiled at Chuck, putting her purse down.

Ten minutes later Chuck and Sarah were alone in Casey's apartment and standing over his stove, which looked as though it had never been touched. Sarah unloaded the last of their shopping bag. "So, pie shells, pecans, corn syrup, eggs... vinegar?"

"Yeah, I know," Chuck shrugged, fighting the urge to put his hand on her arm.

"And we're making two?"

"I know. It's the recipe."

"Can't we just cut it in half?"

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "Between the two of us, we'll be lucky if one is salvageable. It's like making a backup."

"Right," she said wryly. She gathered her hair and tied it back. "Wonder if Casey has an apron..."

"Oh..." Chuck snapped his fingers. "Dammit."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Chuck measured the ingredients and Sarah mixed them, an expression of intense concentration on her face. Given her track record, he didn't blame her. "So the Intersect isn't trying to whip up some, I don't know, black forest hazelnut torte or something?" she joked, keeping her voice light. Every time they went on a mission together, they discovered something new about this version of the intersect, although his brain always had seemed to short-circuit when she was around.

"Do those things even go together?"

"I don't know," Sarah chuckled, ducking her head as she divided the batter between the shells. "Oh wow. The pecans..."

Chuck watched the pecans rise to the top of the batter, glazed in sugar. "Mmm. Forgot that Morgan usually sneaks into the pecans and steals a few. That's probably what happened. And Jeff... I have a feeling it'll involve alcohol-soaked fruitcake."

"You know, Chuck, sometimes it's like you're speaking another language."

"The Buy More is another language, Sarah."

She slid the second pie shell onto the rack and shut the door, turned on the oven and set the timer. "So we have an hour."

"And we should probably head back."

Sarah nodded but neither of them made a move. "I mean, because your sister's really stressed..."

"Oh, I don't know, I think having so many people there might be why she's so freaked out."

"Right." Sarah briskly washed her hands. "But we need to go ask."

"You go ask. I'll stay here with the pie." Off her quizzical look, he shrugged. "You honestly think that if we go back over there, we'll remember the pie?"

"No," she admitted, and patted his arm. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Hey, on your way out, can you grab the present under the tree that has your name on it? In a pink box?"

"If it has construction-paper hearts glued to it, we're gonna have to talk," she said, shooting him a smile as she walked out.

Chuck did a visual scan of the perimeter, checking Casey's surveillance equipment, but the master code had disabled all the interior cameras. No amount of money could have made him pick up the television remote, though; no telling what Casey had rigged to go off when some interloper touched his precious remote. Chuck was playing a game on his iPhone when Sarah returned, empty-handed.

"Devon says they have everything under control, but we should stay over here just in case, and dinner will be ready when the pies are. And he wouldn't let me bring the present over. Said something about it being for everyone."

Chuck shook his head. "And what he doesn't know is that I now know sixty ways to kill him with my bare hands."

"I think that's a gross underestimate," Sarah told him, putting her purse down next to the door with the same caution Chuck felt while wandering around Casey's place. "So we've got some time to kill."

"How was Beckman?"

Sarah took a deep breath, weighing her words. "Almost cheerful, for her," she finally settled on, rubbing her arm. "She does want us to up the training, though. And I think she'll come with more bodyguards next time."

"So it's a win-win."

They sat down on Casey's couch. He could see Sarah grasping for something to do, a magazine to read, anything, but, short an old copy of Guns & Ammo, there wasn't much to choose from.

"What do you want for Christmas, Sarah?"

Sarah glanced at the charm bracelet on her wrist. He knew she was wearing it only because Ellie knew she had it, that it was all part of the outfit, the cover. "A scoop of rocky road ice cream," she said, a wry smile on her glossed lips.

"No more heirloom jewelry?"

She rolled her eyes at him, and he noticed the delicate sweep of her eyeshadow, glimmering above her bright blue eyes. She never seemed to notice how easily she could take his breath away. "Do we need to talk about this again?"

"No." He shook his head vehemently, sweeping his hand. "No. We don't. I've heard it so many times that I can actually hold the entire conversation in my head. And that present under the tree, well, it's for the cover."

"What is it?"

Chuck blushed a little. "Look, much as I love sparring with you... I think telling you would mean taking that to a whole different level."

--

The kitchen was in total disarray. Half-empty pots of stuffing, gravy, and macaroni littered the countertops. The carcass of the turkey sat forlorn in the roasting pan. A single bean was left in the green bean casserole dish, and Morgan was eyeing the last spoonful of sweet potatoes, the browned marshmallows sticky and melted on top. Sarah delicately lifted a slice of pecan pie out of the pan and transferred it to a saucer, then passed it to Chuck, who dropped a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top and passed it to Devon. She gestured quizzically around the table, eyebrows raised, but everyone else groaned and patted their swelled bellies, even Ellie.

"I thought it was your favorite," Sarah said, mock hurt in her voice.

"Just give me half an hour and trust me, I'll be able to eat half that pie," Ellie promised, resting a forearm over her eyes.

Devon shut his eyes as he took the first bite. "Guys, this pie is..."

"Awesome," Chuck and Sarah mouthed along with him.

Morgan tuned the television to the A Christmas Story marathon, and Chuck sat down in the overstuffed armchair, Sarah resting carefully in his lap. "Time for presents!" Morgan enthused, dropping to his knees next to the tree like a five-year-old.

Chuck patted Sarah's shoulder, and she snuggled into him, and he closed his eyes for a minute. Evergreen wax and pecan pie and roasted turkey, the remains of the Woodcomb family eggnog and Ralphie bleating on the television about that BB gun. It was all real, and it was almost all perfect. He slid his arm around Sarah's back and heard Ellie squeal as she snapped a photo of the two of them. She had gone photo-crazy; Devon took a shot of her every morning so she could gauge the growth in her belly, and this photo would sit along with those in some album, and in that photo, this would all be real. There would be no turmoil or uncertainty, no doubt and hedging. For posterity, for this brief moment in time, it was real.

Morgan shoved the Victoria's Secret box into Sarah's hands. "Way to go, Chuck!"

Sarah bore the attention with good grace, managing to keep the rest of the box under wraps as she lifted the apron and displayed it to everyone else. Ellie raised an eyebrow, Jeff and Lester sighed in obvious disappointment, and Morgan chuckled at the joke. Devon shot a questioning glance at his brother-in-law, who just shrugged a little, and Chuck was relieved when Sarah fitted the top back on the box and placed it firmly behind their chair without revealing anything else.

It was just after midnight when the eggnog finally wore off and everyone started saying how tired they were, after Ellie gushed over the pecan pie and Morgan had Devon take a picture of him and Ellie. Casey had even stopped by for a slice, threatening their lives if they had left even a speck of brown sugar on his immaculate countertop, then reminded them about an early briefing the day after Christmas.

Chuck walked Sarah out, into the garland-bedecked courtyard, the box tucked under her arm. "You going home?"

He shook his head. "Gonna help Devon clean up. There's nothing Ellie hates more than waking up to a dirty kitchen."

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. I can imagine."

"Look, I still have the receipt for—"

Sarah brought the box up and, shielding it from sight with her shoulders, pulled the lingerie out of the box, considering it thoughtfully before she looked up at him.

Chuck had felt the blush creep up to his hairline as she regarded the flimsy blue silk, and held his hands up in apology and rationalization. "It was Devon's idea."

"Sure," she said.

"No, I mean it. Really."

She nodded again. "He has pretty good taste, then."

Chuck's mouth dropped open. "No, I mean, I picked it out—"

Morgan opened the door behind them. "Don't forget about the mistletoe!"

Chuck and Sarah glanced up, then back at Morgan, and Chuck made violent sweeping gestures, and Morgan closed the door, grinning. "You're really earning your combat pay tonight, huh."

"Yeah," she agreed, searching his eyes. She stood on her tiptoes and rested her hand on his shoulder for balance and tipped her face up to his, and he just gazed at her for a second before he closed the distance between them, adding this mental picture to all the others he had of her; Sarah Walker, in the dim white lights, her face glowing, lips softly parted, lashes thick on her cheek, the chill bringing a soft flush to her skin.

And this moment was real, too.

When they pulled apart Sarah looked a little dazed, and her hand was on the back of his neck and her eyes were slow to open. "Okay," she said softly. "Um... okay."

"What are you doing? For Christmas? Because you should come over," he said, quickly.

"Because that's what Ellie wants?"

"Because that's what Ellie wants," he said, "and I want it, too."

She smiled, looking down at the box. "I'll call you. But I'll probably be able to come over in the afternoon. Just in time for some football game, right?"

"Right," he agreed, grinning. "You gonna need that receipt?"

She played with a corner of the lid. "How about I try it on and call you if it doesn't fit."

Chuck squeezed his eyes tight shut for a second. "That— sounds good," he said, and his voice was high, almost a squeak.

She grinned. "Maybe I'll even wear it tomorrow."

"Sarah," Chuck said, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth, "do we need to have a talk? About how the thought of you in that lingerie is going to haunt me for a long time?"

"I think 'haunt' is probably the wrong word," she said lightly, then left a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Chuck."

"Merry Christmas," he replied, watching the light play on her pale hair until she was out of sight.

When Chuck went back inside, Devon was already wrist-deep in suds, but his grin was as wide as ever.

"Told you you'd thank me, bro."