Chuck vs the Moment
He doesn't react when Sarah tells him.
In the depths of Castle, it's hard to tell if the chill that goes down his spine is the announcement or the manufactured atmosphere, but regardless he doesn't react. He knows Sarah, knows she's studying him closely for any sign of emotion, and if he sits perfectly still he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can fool her. He knows this is ridiculous; knows that by not reacting at all he's still reacting, but this is all he can think to do at the moment. The only thing he's capable of doing right now is nothing at all.
That night Casey comes over and pours them each a glass of Johnny Walker Black, and they sit in silence until he utters the single word that so perfectly defines Chuck's life at the moment:
"Sucks."
He'd laugh if he wasn't so completely miserable; if he could gather up the strength to claw his way out of the black pit that's swallowed him. Instead he raises his glass in agreement and drinks. When Casey goes home he leaves the bottle, but even that release offers little comfort.
She's tactful about it. She doesn't gush about dresses and flowers in front of him; doesn't ask him if she should wear her hair up or down. Doesn't get affectionate towards Shaw when he's around. She and Shaw are the consummate professionals in front of Chuck, and even Shaw's request that Chuck be one of his groomsmen comes across like a mission assignment. Chuck's polite refusal would feel much more like an act of rebellion if Shaw didn't seem so relieved to receive it.
Months pass, and the only thing worse than the situation he's in is the fact that everyone is on eggshells around him – Ellie and Devon and Morgan and christ even Casey all tiptoe around the 800 pound Gorilla. Time goes by, the gorilla puts on tap shoes and a hula skirt and a pink bow tie and nope, no one's going to talk about it as it crashes into furniture and knocks over vases. And he knows they're all just following his lead, knows they're just doing what they think he wants based on how he's reacting, but a dozen layers down he's hoping, wishing, screaming for them to talk to him. No one does.
He wonders what it will be like in ten years - or twenty, or fifty - to look back on these days. Will he kick himself for not standing up, for not saying more or trying more or doing something, anything to change her mind? He tells himself he's already said all there is to say, already done everything he could do. He repeats this like a mantra just before putting his phone back down, or before walking out of Castle, or before turning his car around when he's halfway to her apartment in the middle of the night. He's done everything he could do, he tells himself, and can only hope that the man he'll become will agree with him.
He resolves himself to the fact that he can't go to the wedding. He can't sit there with all those people and watch the woman he loves slip away. He'll come up with something to tell Sarah when she gets back from the honeymoon, some lie that she won't believe but will appreciate for the effort.
But the night before the wedding he dreams of Prague only this time he tells her that he'll go with her and they get on the train and spend years on the run until finally Beckman contacts them to let them know everything is fine and they come home and get married and have babies and love each other until they die moments apart and—
When he wakes up he feels so painfully close to her, the dream felt so real and now he knows he has to go, has to see her, has to do that much for her after the million times she's saved his miserable life.
He gets to the church hours early for reasons he can't even explain to himself. He sits down in the last pew, looking at the simple decorations, and wonders what this place would look like if it were him. Ellie would have joined in, made the place look like something out of a storybook. Morgan would be fussing over Chuck, insisting on breathing exercises to keep him calm. And Chuck—
Chuck would be calm. For once in his life, he'd be perfectly at ease. Because he'd know he was about to do the greatest thing in his life. For once, he'd have no doubt.
The rustling behind him is on purpose, he knows. She never makes a sound unless she wants you to know she's there. He stares down at his hands.
"You look beautiful."
"You're not even looking at me."
"It's a safe bet," he says, standing up and turning around. Her hair and makeup is done, and the veil is in place, but she hasn't changed into her dress yet. She's in a simple shirt and jeans and the combination throws him off, makes her seem like she's between two worlds.
"See?" he says. "I was right."
She doesn't smile. He wasn't expecting her to. She knows when he's lying.
"You're here awfully early," she says simply.
He wants to tell her, to pour his heart out about how he's dying to just pull her close and hold her, to wring every last moment he can out of the space between now and when she says I do. And for a moment – one brief fleeting instant – he feels like he can say it. The words form on his tongue; every dream and desire he's ever had for the two of them together. But something holds him back, the moment passes, and he shrugs.
"Guess I got the time wrong," he says lamely, and smiles a hapless smile.
She nods, and Chuck can almost see a flash of disappointment, and then she's gesturing over her shoulder.
"Well, then… I'm going to go get dressed."
"Okay," Chuck says. "I'll see you at the main event."
She stands there for half a second too long, and then is gone. He settles back into the last pew and waits for his life to end.
He knows he'll be all right. Knows that eventually he'll recover; that he'll get back from the dark place and that his life will swing back to the center. That's not the problem. The problem is that, for a while, with her in his days, he caught a glimpse of an amazing life. For a while he had something he'd previously thought to be so far out of reach. Something beautiful. And now the best he can hope for is just to be all right again. To be at the middle. To go from living to simply being alive.
Hours pass.
Casey walks her down the aisle; getting Shaw to look the other way long enough to tolerate a con man at his own wedding was apparently too much to ask. His eyes meet Chuck's as they pass by, and Chuck can see a repeat of that night months ago, drinking Johnny Walker in his apartment, this calloused old soldier taking pity on his annoying albatross.
He feels her not looking at him. Feels the weight of countless unrequited gestures and rebuffed advances. Feels years (years!) of frustration and heartache at being so close to someone he cares so much about and not being able to do a damned thing about it. Feels the impact finally hitting him of a lifetime of being the nice guy, of stepping aside for the greater good, of putting others before himself. And if he thought it was unbearable before, he knows that now it will simply double each day; from now until the end of his life.
They reach the altar, the ceremony progresses, and then it finally happens. He feels an influx of energy, a sudden rush of power to his limbs. It is everything and nothing like a flash.
The minister asks if anyone objects.
Chuck stands up.
My apologies to anyone looking for my usual stuff. This one haunted me and wouldn't go away.