A/N1 Tahoe to Reno. Leaving on a jet plane.

Telling stories is a hoot. Especially when you know folks are reading and responding, so thanks, as always for reading, reviewing and PMing.

Don't Own Chuck.

CHAPTER 13 All The Way to Reno

One more wild hope

Dies of affliction.

Thomas Merton, Cables to the Ace 56

Chuck had been fidgety all the way to Reno.

He kept humming a song, but one Sarah did not recognize. When she asked, he said it was an REM song. But since she didn't know any of their songs except one, "Losing My Religion", the explanation didn't help. Chuck seemed happy and worried all at once.

When they arrived, about three hours ahead of their scheduled flight time, Sarah found a place for them to park in the area of town to which Chuck had navigated them.

She got out of the rental quickly, but still less quickly than Chuck. He practically bounded out of the car and then around it. He grabbed her and kissed her. His eyes were warm and complicated. He had seemed just slightly off since the drop the other day, but it had gotten worse since they woke up this morning. Building to this: Chuck almost bouncing in place, looking at her in the strangest way.

"Sarah, I am going to run an errand—by myself. It won't take me long. No one knows we're here. I'll be safe. There's something I want to do and something I want to…show you. I'll text you in just a little while with an address."

Sarah had been about to protest when Chuck was gone, vanished, his long legs taking him from her with a speed she had not anticipated. She knew she should chase him, but he seemed so excited and there was little reason to be worried about him.

No one other than Beckman knew when or where she and Chuck were flying out, and no one knew they had come here, to this particular spot in Reno.

She knew that Chuck had been looking for a keepsake for her, something to serve as a reminder of the wonderful days they had spent together in Tahoe. She explained that she traveled light: a memento was an encumbrance to a spy, extra weight and a possible source of intel to enemies.

He was determined. She was sure he was off to find her a memento since none of the touristy stuff in Tahoe had satisfied him. And if she were to tell the whole truth, she wanted a memento of the trip; it had been the best week of her life. She'd happily carry the weight and run the risk. (She had even taken matters into her own hands in a small way back at the cabin.) She hoped Chuck would get her something small, for the inner pocket of her suitcase, to go with the picture she always kept there.

She smiled to herself.

She loved Chuck's enthusiasm. She knew she had become too cynical, too demoralized over the years. She had fallen into inappetence, disrelish. Little had seemed worth caring about except her mission objectives. Everything else had faded to one or another shade of grey.

Chuck colorized her world. She was not looking forward to getting back to work, to going back into the shadows after these days in the sun, but at least she'd be in the shadows with Chuck. And if she didn't get to see him as much, she'd still see him. They'd make time for each other.

He hadn't said anything about what was going on with the Piranha. She was, of course, curious, but she respected his silence. It was just strange to be with Chuck and know he was keeping secrets from her, or at least omitting to tell her things. But she trusted him. He was not doing it just for him. He was doing it for them.

Luckily, both Agent Walker and the Piranha had mostly gotten a rest this week. It had been Sarah and Chuck almost exclusively. And Sarah had told Chuck things this week she had told no one before—sometimes not even herself.

Telling him had been like speaking herself into being. She took on weight and solidity, took on reality, word-by-word, phrase-by-phrase, sentence-by-sentence. She was becoming a real girl; she was no longer her own doppelganger.

They spent the last couple of days in Tahoe alone in the cabin, only emerging to get supplies or to take a walk, to remind their bodies of the possibility of vertical posture. They had talked mostly about Chuck. His parents. His good years with them and the devastation after they both disappeared. He told her hilarious stories about growing up with Morgan. He told her sweetly sad stories about his high school crushes. They had talked a little more about Sarah, but after her Lisa story, she was not yet ready for another plunge. They were becoming, as much as their histories and their situation would allow, a normal couple.

Sarah wandered along the street, watching people, looking in windows—in the city bustle but not of it.

She knew that Chuck was worried about the future; she knew she wasn't helping much with that. She was still trying to face her past. She hoped he knew—it had been the subtext of much of the week—that she was facing her past to free herself for a future with him. It was happening. It was going to take time.

Neither of them had really talked in any detail about what that future would be. Intersect-free: that was all.

What did that mean? Did that mean that Chuck would walk away from the spy world and expect her to do so too? For all the pain it had caused her and all its dissatisfactions, could she walk away from it into an unknown future? Could she choose the unknown over the known, even if the known were shadows and misery?

Are you planning not to hurt him, Sarah?

So, is Agent Walker your cover now?

As long as she and Chuck were in the spy world, she had home-field advantage. In the real world, almost everyone else did. She would be the visitor, the outsider. He did not understand that she was more vulnerable in his world than he was in hers.

She had told Chuck about painful things. They were painful things that happened to her. She was the victim. She had not started on the stories in which she victimized others—and there were such stories, too many of them. The stories, many of them, contained excuses, too. Exculpations. Reasons. But those were only necessary when what you did looked wrong. So much that she had done looked wrong.

The red from her Red Test seemed to stain everything after it.

Her phone vibrated. Chuck. He had sent her an address. It wasn't far. An easy walk. She had to admit, though she generally loathed surprises, she felt warm all over as she walked to Chuck. Eager.

She used her phone to navigate to the address. It was growing dark as she arrived. She saw Chuck standing on the street, his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was standing under a large marquee, flashing neon colors. Chuck himself, caught in the flood of lights, seemed to be changing colors as she looked at him. She only had eyes for him.

He saw her coming and smiled the smile he reserved for her. She felt that smile all over. When she got to him, she stood on her toes and kissed him.

"Where are we, Chuck?" She hadn't read the marquee. Now she was under it and so could not see it.

Chuck hesitated a beat. "We're at Union Station."

"Huh?"

She looked around and saw that the building's façade was designed to resemble the famous station in New York City. But it was not a train station. Then she saw the sign on the door.

It was…a wedding chapel. Union Station, Where Your Journey to Happiness Begins. Her heart froze. Her eyes went wide. She whirled involuntarily on Chuck. "Chuck?"

He was on one knee. He had a red velvet box open and was holding it between them. In the box was a beautiful diamond ring. Sarah could neither think nor breathe. She just stood there, sinking into the solid concrete of the sidewalk.

"Sarah, I know this is…fast. But I love you. I believe you love me, even though you haven't said the words. I want a future with you and I would like it to start now, today. What we have, I know, always seems complicated—but this week, didn't we find out that it is simple, that it is real, that it is everything?"

A crowd was forming around them.

"If we do this, they can't force us apart. I won't have to keep secrets from you. You could actively help me get you know what out of my head. We wouldn't have to sneak around to be together. Sarah Walker, will you marry me? Give me the life I want with the woman I want? I'm crazy about you."

Sarah stared down into Chuck's eyes. This was not a joke. This was serious. It was not a scene from a play. It was not part of a cover. It was real life.

Marriage? Husband and wife? Stop. Pause.

Chuck was waiting. The crowd that had formed was getting nervous for him. A couple of people yelled out encouragement. Chuck's eyes showed the purity of his heart. He wanted one thing—for her to be happy. He was hoping he would make her happy.

He would make her happy. He did make her happy.

Something inside her gave way. She took the box. A ring. An engagement ring. For Sarah Walker. She opened her mouth: Yes!

But she did not say the word aloud.

The lights of the marquee went red. They bathed her in red. They bathed Chuck in red.

Agent Blank, you are a hole in the world.

Scenes of the week in Tahoe rushed through her mind, a sudden stream, floodwaters. She saw them all in the red light of the marquee.

You are a bloody empty spot.

How long had they been there, Chuck kneeling, her standing, both bathed in red?

Forever. A split second.

You are a gunshot wound, not a woman. Chuck is bloody. You are getting blood on him, all over him, on everyone.

The crowd was murmuring.

The people were not just embarrassed now for Chuck, but for themselves, for witnessing this scene.

Someone yelled: "Put the poor guy out of his misery, honey. Just shoot him."

"No. No. No, Chuck, I can't. I can't. I can't say 'I love you'. Why would you believe I could say 'Yes' or 'I do'? You expect too much, Chuck. You want too much. You ask for too much. I can't give all that you want, I can't give you all of me." She pressed the box back into Chuck's hand.

She turned and ran, blinded by tears, chased by scenes from her past she had kept hidden for years. She was not wounded, but she was bleeding. She bled as she ran, bled as she found the rental car and bled as she drove through dark hours back to Burbank.

She had been asleep and dreaming since she kissed Chuck.

Since she kissed him.

Snow White kissed the Prince. Then she went to sleep. She finally woke up. She knew she was awake now. She knew because she was alone back in her nightmare life.

Chuck was on one knee, watching Sarah disappear into the dark.

She was going. She was gone.

The crowd dissipated.

"Sorry, buddy."

"Too bad."

"She was out of his league. What was he thinking?"

Chuck stood up, staring at the ring in his hand.

He gambled.

He lost.

The older man from the pool witnessed the entire scene.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. He cleared his throat a couple of times before he dialed.

"Hello. Diane? Yes, he did it—but she said no. I don't know where she went, but she ran. No, I watched them off and on all week, Diane. You were right. She loves him. She absolutely loves him. But she's still protecting him, Diane, this time from herself.

"I'll keep watch over him, make sure he finds a way home. Yes, I know, Diane. Remember, I carry a gun. He will be safe.

"You know, Diane, he didn't have to ask. All you did was send the brochures and supply information about agents and marriage. In the end, it was his choice."

Beckman ended the call. If she had been someone else, she might have cried. She wasn't someone else.

She had hoped that, in this case, her duty and her inclinations were taking the same path and that, in this case, the course of true love might run smooth.

Damn it.

Roan. She was glad he was there. Bartowski was going to be a wreck. Beckman had wrecked him. She knew she had overstepped her boundaries; she shouldn't have meddled in his life and Agent Walker's life this way.

But Graham was planning to meddle in ways that were not aimed at making them happy. She huffed at that understatement. She had aimed at making them happy, although it now looked like she had only secured their unhappiness.

Resisting Graham was now going to be much harder. Her key squad in the approaching war had been split up. She wasn't sure anyone could get them back together. This battle went to Graham, even though he knew nothing about it, even though he presumably had no idea it had been fought. But wars were long—and she was a soldier. She would foxhole herself and keep fighting.

She hated herself for having the thought, but she had it. How would this affect the Intersect? Sarah needed to stay on the team. The Intersect wouldn't work well without her.

Damn it.

Chuck's suitcase and plane ticket had been in the car. Sarah had taken it. Chuck got a cab to the airport. Sarah was not there. After some explaining and after paying a fee, Chuck got a ticket for the flight. He boarded, found his seat. He stared numbly at the Fasten Seat Belt light. He kept staring at it like a traitor long after the bell sounded and the light went off.

Casey was waiting for him when he got off the plane.

AN2 Hate to send you into your weekend like this, gentle readers. I really do. (No evil laughter here, just a sigh.) I don't care for angst much and I don't like cliffhangers. But this is how I understood the story from the beginning and the story seemed worth telling. And, given the rhythm of installments, this installment needed to end here.

One of the deep frustrations of writing Chuck fanfiction is that it is impossible to use music in the way it was used in the show, and it mattered so much to the show. (And it matters so much to me.) I suggested a two-song soundtrack to this installment in the opening lines. REM has been playing in my head throughout most of this story.

This installment is a twisty homage to the madcap and moving marriage in Vegas in Marc Vun Kannon's Nine2Five. Thanks for that story, Marc.