A/N: Sarah dies on a mission before ever meeting Chuck. But the universe has a way of making things right. Waking up in the afterlife, Sarah meets her soul mate . . . a certain tall, brilliant, but socially-awkward man from Southern California. . .

A/N: I don't own Chuck. I don't own these characters. And no one owns Richard Nixon.

"Richard Nixon . . . You're my soul mate?"

Nixon walked a few steps towards the couch. Sitting down, he collected his thoughts as he places his hands on his knees. "That's what they told me. I'm afraid I'm just as surprised as you are. I was expecting to see Pat here. I was devoted to that woman, back on Earth. Fifty-three years of marriage, you know. It was her death that broke me, speeded my decline. Before waking up here, I don't think I could have imagined myself with another woman."

"And now?," Sarah asked.

Nixon shook his head. "I don't really know. The secretary, she told me that this process changed Nixon."

"Changed Nixon?" Sarah asked.

The deceased ex-President emitted a few laughs. "Oh yeah. It's an annoying habit, but Nixon likes to refer to himself in the third person sometimes. Anyway, they told Nixon – told me – that we've been 'adjusted,' supposedly to make this whole transition easier on us. And it's the damnedest thing. I loved Pat. Still love her. I remember every moment with her. But I don't miss her. Not here. Not now. How about you, miss? Was there a special someone in your life?"

Sarah wordlessly shook her head "no."

Nixon studied her, sympathetically. "Well, that's a damned shame. I had all the power I could ever want, then lost it. I was shamed, disgraced. Largely for being too loyal to my friends, and not loyal enough to my principles. But through it all, Pat was my saving grace. Life, existence, without love? What would be the point?"

Sarah cracked a shy smile. "Richard Nixon was a hopeless romantic? I never would have thought it."

Nixon laughed gregariously. "There's a lot you don't know about me. The press. The liberal historians. They painted Nixon as a villain, as a caricature. The real Nixon, he was – he is – much more complex."

Nixon paused for a bit, then looked up at Sarah, who was still standing over him. "Please, sit down. We have all eternity. We might as well get to know each other. For starters, you have me at a disadvantage . . . you know who Nixon is . . . or at least who you thought Nixon was . . . but I don't even know my soul mate's name."

"Sarah . . . Sarah Walker."

Nixon studied his soul mate. As he did, his eye-brows peaked up, and he gestured with his hands. "That's not your real name is it . . . . don't try to deny it. You were a spook, right? One of ours? CIA?"

Sarah flinched backwards in surprise. "How did you . . ."

"Know?," Nixon stated, interrupting. "Sweetheart, I dealt with spooks most of my life. I know the type. That's the damned irony of it all . . . all those skills, all that training they give you to go undercover . . . it only makes you stand out more once you know the type. The body language. The glances. The tone of voice. It's why the Soviets ate our lunch in the espionage game. And why I had to rely on the damned Israelis so much."

Nixon chuckled a bit, as a realization hit him. "I bet you're wondering why Nixon's in the Good Place, and why you got paired with him, aren't you?"

Sarah nodded her approval, awestruck at how much Nixon seemed to grasp, intuitively, about her. He was so unlike the man she'd read about.

Nixon's face turned serious, almost empathetic. "As a spook, you did things you weren't proud of, didn't you?"

Sarah nodded.

"You had to lie sometimes?"

Sarah nodded again.

"You slept with people, seduced them for information?"

Sarah nodded yet again, but softer this time.

"You even killed people sometimes? Assassinations, right?"

Sarah sighed, but her motionless gaze conveyed her acknowledgment.

"But it was all the service of the greater good? Right? On balance, you saved more lives that you took? Freed more people than you seduced? Your lies . . . your killings . . . everything . . . on the Grand Cosmic Scale, you left the world a better place than when you entered it?

Sarah took everything in, sucking in each word as if it was oxygen.

Nixon continued, feeding Sarah his thoughts. "And your intentions? Did you enjoy all that bloodshed, that violence, that evil? . . . . Well, I don't think you did."

Nixon shook his head sympathetically, then continued. "Did you lie, or seduce, or murder, to benefit 'Sarah Walker,' or whatever your name is? Or were your intentions pure? Was your goal, in the end, to help people?"

Sarah nodded affirmatively.

Nixon chortled a bit, as he lifted up his hands for emphasis. "Well then, 'Sarah Walker.' I'm not the Judge of Judges. I don't claim to be. But I think I've surmised why 'Sarah Walker' is in the Good Place. And why Nixon is here as well, with 'Sarah Walker.'"

Sarah breathed it all in. But then she thought back to what she knew of the 37th President. She turned towards him with a critical eye. "You're defending yourself, aren't you? After all that you did?"

Nixon rose up from the couch, and crossed his arms. He began to pace around the mock Oval Office they were both situated in. "I suppose that I don't need to defend my actions. The Judge of Judges already signed off on them. But, if we're going to be here, together, it's important you should know. There's a lot you don't know about Nixon. A lot the liberal media and the commie traitor Ivy League academics leave out of the picture. People forget. Yes, Nixon went to China. People remember that. It even became an old Vulcan proverb. But how many know that Nixon desegregated the South? That Nixon founded the EPA, and got the Clean Air Act passed? That Nixon got rid of the draft? That Nixon got us out of Vietnam, and signed arms control treaties with the Soviets? Hell, how many know that I won in 1960, and could prove it. Johnson with his Texas Boys and the corrupt Chicago Machine stole that election from me, gave it to that Irish kid, Kennedy, with mob ties. But like hell was I going to tear the country apart just for my own personal glory. Nobody but a sociopath would destroy the country he loved over political office."

Sarah absorbed it all, then probed. "But Watergate."

Nixon conceded the point. "A drop in the bucket compared to what many of our leaders have done. Besides, people make mistakes. Even Nixon. Like I said, I was too loyal to my friends, and not loyal enough to my principles."

Sarah's eyes sharpened. "But the deleted 18 minutes of tape."

Nixon emitted an embarrassed guffaw. "Oh that . . . the press got that one all wrong. Let's just say that Nixon was getting frisky with Kissinger."

Sarah flinched back, stunned. "You were gay? And in a relationship with Henry Kissinger?"

Nixon shook his head in the negative. "Nixon didn't need to be gay to enjoy getting his dick sucked. And the Secretary of State had magnificent lips. Plus, his tongue could do wild things with that German accent of his."

Silence filled the room. Nixon eventually broke it. "So, you thirsty? I would have thought that being dead, there was no need for eating or drinking. But I know I could use a drink. And it makes sense, this being the Good Place."

Nixon's eyebrows darted a bit in Sarah's direction, almost flirtatiously. He continued. "The pleasures of the flesh, and all that. . ."

Sarah tried to soak everything in. To her surprise, she found herself comfortable with the man before her . . . charmed even. But, as she did, she realized her throat was parched. "You know I could use a drink. Is there anything here?"

Nixon nodded, as he got up from the couch and moved towards his desk in the faux Oval Office. "I got here a few hours before you did. I looked around."

Nixon opened up a cabinet and pulled out a plastic bottle of orange liquid.

"It's Tang," Nixon explained. "Pre-made, I guess because we're in the Good Place. No need to mix it."

"Tang?" Sarah inquired.

Nixon nodded back. "Yes, Tang. It's a magnificent beverage. You know we gave it to the astronauts? The Space Program, that's another one of mine. Nixon put that man on the moon."

"Anything else?," Sarah asked.

Nixon nodded. "Yes, that scumbag Texan might have provided much of the funding. But it happened under my watch. Nixon gave the final order that put the Apollo capsule up there."

Sarah found herself inexplicably laughing. "No, I meant to drink. Besides the Tang."

The 37th President shook his head. "Afraid not. . . . But there was a card on my desk. It says to call customer service if we want anything."

Nixon meandered over to the black phone on his desk. He picked it up. Before he even said a word, a short bearded man in a green polo shirt popped into the room out of nowhere.

"You rang?" the man said.

Nixon answered him. "And you are, good sir?"

"The Angel Mor-Ganiel," the man responded. He pointed to his name tag. "I says so right on my shirt."

Sure enough, a yellow name tag reading "MOR-GANIEL" was affixed just below his right shoulder. On the opposite side of the shirt, above his heart, the words "BLESS MORE" were written in yellow letters.

Nixon looked at the man skeptically. "I know my religion. My angelology. I'm not aware of a Mor-Ganiel."

The messenger of the Judge of Judges shrugged. "Most of us don't get any press. My boss, the Archangel Michael, I call him Big Mike, he kind of hogs the limelight. But the rest of us are what keeps this ship afloat. So, how can be of service to you, here at Bless More."

Sarah jumped in. "Where are we?"

The angelic polo-shirted man responded. "You're in what we call a village. There are millions of them. Now, you can visit other villages, but everyone who comes here gets assigned to one chosen village to live, for all eternity. This room in this house, this reconstruction, comes from your Soul Mate's mind. It's where he was happiest. But step outside. Other rooms of this house were designed for you, and you alone. And outside this house are 6,537 other houses, all filled with the people in your village."

"Village People," Nixon remarked, "filthy hippies. And terrible songs. They called that music? More like noise. Now Elvis . . . Elvis I could get into."

Mor-Ganiel ignored Nixon's aside. "The main-street is lined with shops, restaurants, and activities."

Thinking back to her parched throat, Sarah followed up. "Is there a place to get a decent drink out there?"

Mor-Ganiel nodded affirmatively. "Sure. There's Harry's Tang Shop, just down the block. Two blocks over, there's the House of Tang. And right across from it, there's a bar called Tangs For the Memories."

"Um . . . I don't mean to be rude," Sarah asked, "but is there something to drink here that's not Tang?"

Mor-Ganiel looked at her quizzically, almost as if he didn't understand the question. "Why would you want to drink anything other than Tang?"

"Um. . . for variety's sake?"

Mor-Ganiel acknowledged her issue. "Oh, I get it. Don't worry. You can get any flavor of Tang. We have Orange Tang. Grape Tang. Kiwi Tang. Broccoili Tang. Roasted Pork Tang. You name it."

Nixon chimed in. "Say, I have a question to. . . My compadres, my fellow POTUS office-holders. How many of them made it here?"

The Angel responded. "Not many. Most went . . . elsewhere. But, of the ones you know, we have Washington, both John Adamses, Lincoln, Polk, Coolidge, Eisenhower, Truman, and Reagan. Oh . . . . and Ford's here too."

"Carter?," Nixon inquired.

Sarah answered pre-emptively. "Still alive, even when I died."

Mor-Ganiel answered both of them. "Technically time has no meaning here. That said, you're wrong. Carter was murdered and replaced with a Russian duplicate back in 1978."

Nixon shrugged his shoulders. "I never would have guessed. Nixon didn't notice a difference."

Mor-Ganiel conceded the point. "No one did. You kind of wonder why the Russians went to all that trouble. In any event, Carter, the real Carter, he's . . . elsewhere."

Mor-Ganiel looked down at his wrist, and pretended to study his non-existent watch. "Oh, wow. Look at the time. It's my break. But please, enjoy the Good Place. And have a Bless More day."

A/N 1: Likely just one more chapter. The concept has the potential for a longer story, but I have no conception of where the story would go beyond the ending I envisioned.

A/N 2: When I post the next chapter, I will likely reclassify the story as "M" from "T." Not because I really think it's an "M" story, but to be over cautious. If you don't want to miss it, make sure you follow/favorite the story.

A/N 3: Many thanks for WillieGarvin for pre-reading this chapter and giving me his thoughts.

A/N 4: If someone could post to the Chuck Fanfiction Facebook group, I'd appreciate it.

A/N 5: If was going to construct a false Hebrew etymology, "Mor" (more accurately "M'Or") would mean "From the Light." And "Ganiel" would mean "God's Garden."