Chuck woke with a start, unsure of where he was.

He looked frantically around the room. He wasn't just unsure. He had no idea where he was. He pulled out his cell phone.

No reception.

He used the light of the phone to look around the room, seeing if he would flash on something.

Nothing.

Chuck found the door and burst out –

To see a red-headed girl dozing in a lawn chair right outside his door.

"Hello?" he said.

She woke up with a start. Looking up at him, she smiled.

"Hi!" she said, far too brightly for having just woken up, in Chuck's opinion. "You must be Charles Bartowski!"

"You can call me Chuck," he said. "I'm on… I'm on the Serenity, right?"

"Yep!" she replied. "Best little ship out there, as far as I'm concerned."

Then her mouth dropped open. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm so rude! My name's Kaylee Frye. I'm the ship's mechanic."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Chuck said.

"Is that your transport that's crashed down in the cargo bay?" she asked, hope in her voice.

"Yes, that's my car," he replied. "I imagine… well, I went from 30 to zero in practically no time at all, and the transmission is probably totally fried."

"I can fix it!" she said. "Is it an automatic or a stick?"

"It's an automatic… you can fix it?" Chuck asked, incredulously.

"Oh yeah!" she exclaimed. "Transmissions haven't changed in principle in the last five centuries. We've got an ATV in the cargo bay that probably has a more rudimentary transmission than your… uh, car?"

"Okay…" Chuck said, nodding.

The intercom on the wall crackled to life. "Kaylee, this is Mal. Is Charles awake yet?"

"Yep, Chuck's up!" she replied.

"Have him meet me in the mess hall," Captain Reynolds said.

"I'll see you there, Captain," Chuck yelled at the intercom, heading down the hall.

Kaylee watched him for a moment. He's got a really nice ass, she thought to herself. Then, as if embarrassed at her own thoughts, she shook her head. "You're going the wrong way there, Chuck!"

She held the knife in her hand. Caressed it, almost.

"Marine Corps issue Ka-Bar," she said. "Cut through your flesh, no problem whatsoever."

"Screw you, bitch," the man known as Two replied.

"Hmmm… bad plan," she said nonchalantly. With a flick of her wrist, the Ka-Bar went through his right shoe and his right foot, pinning it to the floor. His back arched, and he howled in pain. She reached down and wrenched the knife back out of his foot.

"Now, here's the deal," she said. "You're going to tell me exactly what you did. For every thirty seconds that passes that you haven't told me, I'm going to cut a six inch strip of your skin off of somewhere on your body. My choice."

"There's no chance I'll tell you," Two laughed. "I'll die before you find out."

"That's your choice," she replied. "Oh, look, it's been thirty seconds."

She grabbed his left arm, dug the blade of the knife in, and ripped off a strip of skin. Six inches long.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" he screamed, agony rippling across his face.

"Oh, did you not like that?" she asked, a hard edge in her voice. "Why don't you tell me something?"

"Screw… you… bitch!" Two gasped. "Why… are you… so concerned… about the freak… anyway?"

"HE WAS MY ASSIGNMENT!" she growled. "I WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HIM!"

"Yeah… whatever." He laughed weakly. "You only… care because he… he gets you wet downst-"

He was cut off by a back-handed slap to the face. Her nails cut open his cheek and drew blood.

"I'm never gonna tell you," Two rasped with an evil laugh, "so you might as well kill me."

She turned her back to him. "Fine," she replied.

Sarah Walker turned around, aimed her gun at the Fulcrum man, and put a bullet right through the middle of his forehead.

"So here's the deal," Captain Reynolds said to Chuck. "I've had my first mate, Zoe Washburn, checking the Alliance Central Cortex through an encrypted link. She's been searching for any mention of your name, in whatever combination. Oddly enough, we found something addressed to a Charles Bartowski, year 25??"

"You're kidding," Chuck said.

"It was at the Museum of Ancient History on the planet Persephone," Mal said. "My friend Inara was on the planet, and using her… talents… she was able to get hold of it. She said that there was a strange series of letters and numbers on it. She's on her way, should be here in a few hours."

"Did she happen to say what the series was?" Chuck asked, immediately realizing what it might be.

"No," Reynolds said. "I'm sorry."

"That's quite alright," Chuck said. "I'll see it soon enough."

He turned around and stubbed out his cigar on the forehead of the man called Six. "Don't like that, do ya?" he growled as Six cried out sharply in pain.

"Now, I have no idea what you did. I'm not even sure what I saw on the L.A. traffic video. But I know you did something to him, and you're gonna tell me what. Otherwise, I'm gonna put out some more cigars on your body."

He paused, pulled a fresh cigar out of his coat pocket. "Or, I could just use this on you," he said, fondling his cigar clipper.

Having clipped the end of his cigar, he placed it in his mouth, and proceeded to light it. He blew a cloud of smoke in Six's face, and as he was coughing, grabbed his belt and roughly pulled his pants to his ankles.

"Aw, fear make you shrink all up?" he asked Six menacingly, holding the cigar clipper just inches from his crotch.

"Okay! Okay!" Six howled. "Alright! We got sent a package from Area 51, and we were given instructions on how to activate it. All I know is that it was supposed to send him something like 500 years into the future!"

"And you honestly don't know anything else? Just that it came from the military weapons development center in Nevada, and it somehow sent him to the year 2500?"

"Yes!" he howled. "Please! Have mercy!"

"Screw you," he said.

John Casey pulled out his Glock, and sent the Fulcrum man to meet his maker.

The hatch opened – and a beautiful woman stepped out. Chuck's mind immediately shut down, and his other brain went into overdrive.

"Hello, Mal," she said, greeting the captain with a hug. Then she turned to Chuck. "And you must be Charles Bartowski."

"Uh… hi," he said. Then he snapped out of it. "Sorry, yeah. I'm Chuck Bartowski."

"I'm Inara Serra," she said. "I understand you're a time traveler… and I think I have something for you."

Reaching into her messenger bag, she removed a small, flat box. "This is apparently for you," she said, handing it to Chuck.

Chuck took the box from her. He slid the lid off to reveal the envelope inside.

It was yellowed and tattered – more than five hundred years old. The ink was faded, almost to a light brown. But that handwriting – it was unmistakable. He would've recognized it anywhere.

Charles Bartowski, Year 25?? 219 F5U922

He gasped involuntarily, recognizing the Stanford Library reference number.

Delicately, he lifted the envelope from the box. It was still sealed, 511 years after it was written.

Gently, he slid his finger under the corner. He slowly tugged the envelope open, ancient dried glue crumbling and falling as dust to the floor.

He withdrew the letter inside. Having been folded for more than five centuries, it had cracked and separated into three pieces. Nonetheless, he was able to put them together, one above the other, and read the letter quite easily. Having been printed on a laser printer, the ink had lasted longer and was darker.

Chuck,

Fulcrum somehow got their hands on a technology that they shouldn't have. They decided to use it against you, because they feel that if they can't have you, then nobody can.

We're trying to figure out how it works, but we're not sure yet.

Bryce, Casey, and I are all working as hard as we can on this. We've also had to do some covering in the real world – we had to get the NSA to destroy a Herder at the intersection you disappeared at, and we had to get a fake body into the ICU at Northridge Medical Center to make Ellie and Awesome think you were in a horrific accident.

I know this all sounds horrible, but we're doing it because you're important. We're going to get you back, I promise.

Sarah

At the bottom of the letter, she had hand written a PS that was almost illegible. It was faded, and Chuck could see one spot where something wet had fallen on it and blurred it.

"Looks good," Casey said, handing the letter to Sarah. "I still think this is a wild-ass plan, to stick this in the CIA archives, and hope against hope that it somehow finds its way to him five centuries from now."

"I know," Sarah said. "But I just feel like we need to do something to somehow reassure him. I- I don't know, Casey. It just feels like the right thing to do."

"Right," Casey said. "Well, Ellie Bartowski asked me if I wanted to come have some Christmas dinner, and I'm not refusing the offer."

"Real nice," Sarah said dryly. "She thinks her brother's in the ICU, and you're gonna go eat his turkey drumstick."

"Never let it be said that I let good food go to waste," Casey called, letting the door close behind him.

Sarah looked back at the letter. She read it over again, and then she picked up a pen.

P.S. – I wish you were here, Chuck… it just doesn't feel right without you. I miss you. Merry Christmas.

Chuck held the letter gently. A tangible connection to Sarah. He could almost feel her. He held the letter to his nose, and imagined he could almost smell the subtle perfume she always wore. His eyes welled with tears.

Sarah's eyes welled with tears. One slowly rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the letter, blurring "Merry" in the last sentence.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and then folded the letter. Placing it in the envelope, she sealed it, and headed out to send it to Langley.

"I'm going to get you back home, Chuck," she whispered.