Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.
Far From Home
He doesn't know snowfall. As it always has, time runs it course and the white blanket slowly falls on the sleepy Earth. He thinks that maybe it is impossible to know something past some certain point. Innocence.
He pulls his car into his driveway, but lets the engine run. Without a thought, as if his muscles already knew their movement, he got out. The sky was dark and the moon was hidden. A home down the road had a light on, illuminating a snowy patch on the front yard. In the distance the headlights of other cars seemed like another world.
There was so much snow, the whole drive over he'd been wondering if they'd have it cleared by morning. But here in the midst of it all... here he was encompassed. Here he was covered, smothered, enveloped. He doesn't know snowfall, but he likes being close to it. To be caressed by it.
The soft hum of his car is almost musical, a white noise so steady that it eliminates all other sound. When the soft flakes drift in front of his headlights they become something else. Ethereal.
When she comes out, he doesn't turn away from the street. When she stops by his side, he doesn't look at her. They stay like that for a while. And then awhile longer. When he follows the path of the snow to the ground he sees that she's wearing slippers. In his peripheral vision he notices that she's only wearing a robe. But she doesn't shiver or shift. Expect for the slight inhale and exhale of her breath, she was a statue.
His car ran out of gas, he'd been low on the way over. The car died quickly, without pain. The headlights faded and the hum disappeared. But the snow continued to fall. He doesn't think that his hand found hers, or her hand found his... their hands met and intwined together. They both held the other's securely, as if they were afraid to let go.
She led him away, back into her home. And he let her take him away from the snow. It was new to him, as it always is. But snow isn't the reason he traveled so far. Snow isn't the reason he's here, in her driveway. Snow isn't the reason he's afraid to speak. Snow isn't the reason he finds the world so beautiful.
Maybe its because her hand belongs to him as his belongs to her. Or maybe its because she's willing to stand in the snow with him for no reason at all. Maybe its because he thinks he sees her less than he sees the snow, but he knows her. Oh, he knows her.
She's here and he's here, and tonight that white blanket will cover them both.