A/N Set after S5E13, Chuck vs. the Goodbye. Sarah's memories of her years with Chuck may be gone (or at least temporarily misplaced), but her memories of the time before that aren't what they used to be either. A conclusion of sorts. The first 6 chapters set up the development of Sarah to the beach scene and a little after, using the motif of Sarah's memories of people she knew before Chuck to show how different she is even without her memories. At this point the story diverges from that pattern, which I didn't plan for at the time but doesn't surprise me in the slightest. (All my stories change on me like that.) The next three will show how Sarah got to be the way she was in the Epilog.


She awoke on a cold, hard surface, one of the benches in one of the holding cells in Castle. The entire facility was dark, and quiet, and she didn't know what roused her. It wasn't until she pressed the panel by the door that it occurred to her to think she may be a prisoner, that it might not open, but the notion hadn't fully formed before it opened. She walked alone, into cold darkness. Down the hall she could hear whispers in the dark, a play of light in the shadows, and she walked that way.

The big meeting room was empty of both whispers and light, the table cleared of everything. The screen flared to life, General Beckman staring down on her in all of her military glory. "Agent Walker."

"Ma'am?"

"Agent Walker, what is your duty?"

"My duty, ma'am?"

"Yes, Agent Walker. Your service. Your loyalty."

"My loyalty is to my husband, General."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do."

"Very well. Sarah." General Beckman reached out of the screen and placed a single file folder on the table, very thin, its label blacked out. Sarah reached out to open it. "That file is everything we have on your current…situation," said Beckman.

The file contained pictures, shots that Sarah had no trouble recognizing. The Wienerlicious, arranging cups. A wall in an empty house, her name carved into it. An empty beach at sunrise. Many more, but not a lifetime's worth. "I know these." The last page was blacked out, like the file's name. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. "What is this?"

"The file is C.W.C., and B.A.R. Only someone with a need to know can view it." Beckman leaned forward. "Do you need to know?"

C.W.C. "Will it answer my questions?" Could one little sheet do that, even codeword classified?

Beckman shrugged, as much as her uniform would allow. "It might, at great cost. Or it might not. The cost is the same in either case."

A con man's daughter would only go after a sure thing. Sarah closed the file. Faith.

"As you wish," said Beckman, and the screen went dark.

Sarah woke and opened her eyes, staring at her own ceiling in her own bedroom of her own house. She rolled over in her bed and reached out a hand. Nothing. Chuck was busy in Castle, no doubt. Determined to make Carmichael industries a success without using Volkoff's money to do it. Buy her the house with his own effort. One of many things she loved him for.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do."

The dream, never quite the same, four times in as many months. She hesitated in different places, said different things at different times. She never accepted the file. Her 'father' was right, even in dreams. She needed no file, just one special man. She had only to see him, be with him, and she knew who and what she was.

She felt so much smaller alone. Maybe that's what love is. She hated it when he was away, and he was away so often lately.

The living room erupted in gunfire, with the occasional explosion. She swung out of bed, still mostly dressed, and flung open her bedroom door. "Morgan!"

Morgan dropped the remote and his game controller, and raced to the TV to lower the volume. "Sorry, Sarah. Chuck got a call to do a Piranha-class job so he had to stay in Castle, and he asked me to stick around, in case-"

What was 'Pirahna-class', some kind of spaceship? "Forget that. Take me to Chuck." She couldn't get by on nothing, not any more.

"Are you sure? You've only been asleep for a little while…"

"I know what I need, Morgan, and lying in bed by myself isn't it. I need Chuck." She needed her shoes.

"Going with the heart, good move." Morgan made a one-two gesture. "Like I've always said, the head will only get us into trouble."

She raised a skeptical brow. "Like you've always said, huh?"

He ducked his head sheepishly. "Well, no. Actually, come to think of it, I think it was Chuck who really said it, but hey, it's still true, right?"

"Yeah, it's still true. Maybe you're not such an idiot after all."

"Oh, I'm still an idiot. I just know who to believe, is all. That's why I keep people like you and Chuck around."

She smiled. "You keep us around, huh?"

Oops. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that part."

"Drive me to Castle and it'll stay our secret."

"Done."


The hallways of Castle were dark and empty, so like the Castle of her dreams that Sarah shivered. Chuck kept most of it dark, reserving their electric bill for the necessary stuff. Beckman still hadn't managed to free up the forty million dollars that Decker had frozen on them, and until she did CI was skating on thin ice. In California.

The table in the conference room had no files on it, of course, and General Beckman did not make an appearance, even though Sarah paused a bit, just in case. Chuck was probably in his specially designed operations room, so she headed there.

He lay sprawled out in a comfy chair, earphones in and dead to the world. An empty bottle of chardonnay stood proudly next to a big red button, and she knew where its contents were now. A piranha-class hack, eh? Some sort of guy code? Looked more like a drinking binge to her. Spreading a light blanket over him, she stopped when she saw what he was listening to. Her phone. The one she sent back to him weeks ago. With all of Sarah B.'s songs on it. God, it had been so long since she 'd even thought of Sarah B., but it looked like maybe Chuck still did. She pulled out the nearest earbud.

"…I'm feelin' good!"

Nerveless fingers dropped the bud, and the pulses of sound drove her off. For a second she dithered, torn between putting it back and fleeing, but flight won.


Morgan still waited by the car, damn him. "How was he?"

"He was…sleeping."

"Damn, I knew I should have been there! The more he drinks, the more caught up he gets, the more caught up he gets, the more he drinks. Believe me Sarah, I would have stopped him if I'd known."

"He does these…piranha-class hacks often?"

Morgan shrugged. "More often than's good for him, but not as often as he'd like. Carmichael Industries hasn't been doing so well lately."

"Really? Chuck hasn't mentioned it."

"He wouldn't, would he?" Morgan opened the door for her to sit. "You have enough on your plate."

She plopped down on the seat and stared down at her 'plate', more like a soup bowl, as Morgan went around to the driver's side. Her baby. Their baby. Flesh of their flesh, soul of their souls. At least, she hoped so. If it was 'memories of their memories' the kid was gonna come up a little short on the mother's side.

Morgan sat, noticing her distraction. "Baby okay?"

You'd almost think he was the father. "Yes, just fine."

He nodded. "Good." He started the car.

And for him it was, she noted enviously. "I just know who to believe, is all." He believed her. If she said it was good, it was. He believes us, but who do we believe? Can a spy really believe anybody?

She believed in Chuck, like her spy-self got turned off when he was around. Her dream was right, her life was written in his soul, and she worked so hard to be like the woman she saw there. She wanted that life, but now she saw that she was being selfish. She was running a race that she and Chuck had already run, and now he was there at the finish line, waiting for her to catch up. Waiting. For her.

She hated that. How ironic was it that, after doing all she could to banish the ghost of Sarah B., she should now curse herself for not being Sarah Bartowski enough?

Agent Walker, what is your duty?

My loyalty is to my husband. A husband who was apparently self-destructing, waiting for her. How is that loyalty, or duty, or faith?

She knew what she had to do.


She awoke in Castle, lying on a bench. When she pressed the button, the door moved but terribly slowly, and she yanked it back into its slot. The halls were dark, neither lights nor sounds to give her a direction. The cell block seemed much longer as she ran through it, but eventually she reached the end, and another slow door. This time she cut herself pulling it open.

The conference room was dark, the folder and all the files lying on the desk, abandoned. She reached for them, scattered them in the gloom, searching for the one she wanted by touch as much as anything. There it was, cold to her fingers, blacker than the blackness around her, dread on paper.

Sarah Walker feared nothing. "General Beckman."

Beckman appeared on the monitor. "Agent Walker. Sarah. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What I want has nothing to do with it." Chuck needs his wife. "I need to know."

Beckman sighed. "As you wish." She pulled a file close to her on the desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Sarah. The screen went out, leaving the room darker somehow than before.

Sarah stared at the paper, able to see the one word on it with perfect clarity. The delicate script was written in lines of fire, like the letters inside the Ring in that movie Chuck liked so much. The handwriting was hers, but even as she recognized it she understood the meaning of the word she'd written.

Barstow.

She'd buried that memory herself. Why? In her hands, the lines of fire flared and burned the paper to ash. Glittering sparks settled all over the table.

The pictures started to glow.