A/N: Hey guys. I just wanted to thank you for the immediate support this story has received. I've been so wrapped up in work lately that I haven't been able to enjoy pleasure writing. I'm getting lost in this story as I write it, even in just Chapter 2. I hope you guys can wrap up in a blanket and get lost in it, too. Thanks again.

SP96

Chuck couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. In just five minutes, all of the salvages of his life were gone.

Someone stole his cart. The food he bought was gone. His bathrobe was gone. His waterproof tarps, gone.

Chuck clutched at his chest and fell flat on his backside because the only picture he had of his dear sister Ellie… was gone.

Tears welled in Chuck's eyes, and he didn't try to stop them. He let them silently roll as he laid down his back and spread his arms.

That was it. He was giving up. All there was left of Charles Bartowski was $10.50, and old clothes he was wearing.

"Chuck!" Chuck didn't look up, though he heard his name being called. "Chuck!" she called again.

Chuck slowly turned his head to see the blonde cop running towards him, her car parked haphazardly on the side of the stretch that exited the parking lot. Her hazards were flashing behind her as she sprinted to close the distance.

She can't remember the last time she ran that fast. It had been a while since she was in a position to worry about an innocent life. She didn't get that kind of call, oddly enough.

But when she saw a body lying on the pavement behind the Buy More, she had a gut feeling it was Chuck, the smiling, phone-saving homeless man.

"Chuck!" she cried again as she slid to her knees beside him. "Are you okay?" she asked him, cradling his curly head in her hands. "Chuck, can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," he said weakly and with a sniffle. "It's good, Officer," Chuck said, turning his head away from her gaze, closing his eyes.

"What is? What's gone, Chuck?" Sarah looked up and surveyed the scene. "Your cart? Where is your cart?" she asked, worry flooding her head, her heart, and her usually stoic face.

"That's what's gone. Someone took it?" Chuck said, and he began to openly weep.

"Oh my God," Sarah whispered. "Oh my God," she said again, scanning their surroundings again as if there would be an answer to where it went. She foolishly hoped it had just rolled away somewhere, it wasn't in sight. It was truly gone.

"It hurts," Chuck whimpered. "That was my life."

Sarah definitely wasn't a crier, but she was at this moment. She had held people while they cried as their house burned in front of them, but it wasn't this desperate. She had never held the head of a grown man crying on the blacktop because of the loss of a shopping cart.

"It'll be okay, Chuck. I'm a cop, we'll find your cart, okay?" Sarah tried to comfort him, but she knew finding Chuck's cart in Burbank would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

She knew that whoever took it, would most likely toss anything they didn't need to make room for their own things. His food would be eaten, his clothes would be worn by someone else, and anything personal he may have had would be tossed to the roadside, if not sold.

"C'mon, Chuck. Let's get you up," Sarah said, and helped the much heavier man up to his feet. He smelled repulsive, but Sarah wouldn't hold that against him. His clothes were disgusting, but she wouldn't hold that against him, either.

"What do we do?" Chuck asked, lamely hanging against Sarah's side. "Where would we start?" Chuck didn't strike Sarah as the investigative type.

"When was the last time you were able to bathe, Chuck?" Sarah asked, and she watched him wince. "I was afraid of that," she said. She couldn't believe she was about to offer this to a complete stranger, but, "Can I take you to my place so you can take a shower or a bath, Chuck?"

Chuck just stared at her for a long breath, and she began to feel a little uneasy, but then he screwed his eyes tight and he nodded. He nodded slowly at first, and then profusely, his dirty, oily curls falling over his forehead. He bit back a sob, and began walking with Sarah again.

"It's okay, Chuck, it's okay," Sarah assured him as they reached her car, a sleek, black Porsche.

"Nice car," Chuck said with gravel caught in his throat.

"Thanks. I'm not proud of buying this at a police auction, but I do love this car," she said with a humorless chuckle as they strapped in.

"You know, I don't even know your name," Chuck told her, staring right ahead.

"I'm Sarah. Sarah Walker. It's a pleasure to meet you, Chuck," she told him as they merged into traffic.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Sarah," Chuck replied with a watery eyed smile.

"Here we are," Sarah told him as they pulled into the parking space of a cute little apartment complex.

Chuck just stared at it. He hadn't been in a home, hadn't been in an apartment since… well, for a long time. He tried not to dwell on it too much.

He unfastened his seatbelt and followed Sarah to the door. She opened it and ushered him in.

Chuck saw a double row of doors with a staircase closer to the end of the hall, leading to a second floor of apartments.

"We're on the second floor," Sarah told him.

Chuck slowly turned and looked at her, catching the 'we' in her wording. He didn't know if that was a slip or intentional, but he knew he shouldn't dwell on it, knew he shouldn't look into what he thought was a slip.

Sarah just gave him a close-lipped smile and ushered him forward. They came to the third door from the stairs, and Sarah unlocked the door and stepped in.

Chuck followed her, and his eyes drank in the adorable little apartment, and the subtly feminine touches that graced the dwelling, but it definitely wasn't like stepping into a Build-a-Bear Workshop.

"It's nice in here," Chuck said, slowly tilting his head back and closing his eyes, enjoying the reprieve offered by Sarah's air conditioning.

"I'm glad you like it, Chuck," Sarah said quietly, but with warmth. "The bathroom is this way," she said, leading him through the surprisingly spacious apartment, through the living room and past a little kitchenette.

"Take all the time you need, okay?"

Chuck stood in front of her, his back to the yellow light coming from the bathroom. "Thank you, Sarah." Chuck began to choke up a little bit again, so he stopped himself from saying anything more.

"You're welcome, Chuck," Sarah replied, gently laying a delicate hand on his shoulder, her finger lightly ghosting over tanned, dry skin through a moth hole in the shirt.

"I'll be out in a bit," he said. He bowed his head in a quiet thanks, and backed up, shutting the door.

Chuck looked around the bathroom and saw a single towel, a single washcloth. He saw shampoos, and conditioners, a loova, bodywash, and a bar of Dove body soap.

While Chuck appreciated the most kind, sincere offer, he felt quite the alien in Sarah's one-person, private little bathroom.

Chuck sighed and slowly peeled himself out of his clothes, making sure not to tear them more. He also felt extra dirty, stripping nude in the bathroom of a woman he had known for a collective day.

Despite these weird feelings, Chuck couldn't turn down a hot shower, no matter the awkward feeling he got from it. He knew the sensation of the hot water, the promise of being clean, would overpower it.

Sarah stood by the door and waited till she heard the water start, just to make sure Chuck was all right. It took him longer than she expected to start the water, but she could see why he was hesitant.

Chuck was in the apartment of a cop he couldn't really even say he knew. She wondered if she had gone too far in offering Chuck the use of her shower, but she really did intend to help him reclaim his stuff, and she wouldn't be able to spend all day in her car helping him while he smelled like that.

She also assumed he didn't get many chances to take a safe, hot shower where he could actually use soaps, conditioners, and shampoos. And above all of that, it was free.

The next immediate worry was the state of Chuck's clothing. His shirt looked like it was almost stuck to his skin, and it was riddled with moth holes. His shoes were barely existent. Would Chuck's pride let her help him out?

Sarah decided that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. Sarah grabbed her purse again and left a small note for Chuck on the kitchenette table.

Chuck, went out to ran a quick errand. Be back soon. Eat snack. Watch TV.

Sarah

Sarah just hoped that Chuck wouldn't get skittish and take off while she was out.

When Sarah got back from her errands, she came in to a sight she didn't expect at all. Not only had Chuck stayed in the apartment, he was peacefully sleeping on her couch with his arms wrapped around a throw pillow, and his knees pulled towards his chest.

Sarah stood in the doorway for a moment just watching him, a small smile on her face. She quietly closed the door and tiptoed into the room. She made no audible sounds as she grabbed her book and went to her recliner.

Chuck woke up with a start and bolted up right. He looked around in a dazed shock, not remembering where he was for a moment.

When his eyes reached the corner of the room, he saw Sarah looking over the top of a book at him, an eyebrow slightly raised as she watched him.

"You okay?" she asked, lowering the book slowly.

"Yeah," Chuck responded, rubbing his eyes. "I'm just not used to waking up on a couch… or inside."

Sarah's face dropped into a frown, but she didn't say anything.

"Bit of a downer? My bad," Chuck said and looked at her expectantly. "Should we go find my stuff?" he asked, both bushy eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

"Not yet," Sarah said, standing up from her chair. "I grabbed some stuff for you while I was out."

"What?" Chuck asked, his face totally blank.

"I bought you some clothes, Chuck."

"Why?"

Sarah just looked at him, her best interrogation face.

"Okay, that's fair. But you didn't have to," Chuck said, leveling a finger at her.

"No, but those clothes should probably be burned. I had to guess your sizes, but they should fit for the most part, I hope." Sarah walked over to the kitchenette table and grabbed the Target bag of stuff. "Now go try these on, and hopefully we can find somewhere to incinerate those plague rags."

Chuck's jaw dropped and he just gawked at her. "You are savage!" Chuck said with a full bellied laugh, and it lit up Sarah's face.

Chuck did as ordered, though, taking the bag and heading to the bathroom again.

Chuck closed the door and pressed his back against it.

What was happening to him? Just yesterday he was sitting on the side of a road trying not to drown during a summer storm. Now he was in the bathroom of a gorgeous cop who had just given him brand new clothes.

Chuck peeled out of his clothes again and unceremoniously dropped them on the side of the tub. He pulled out a brand new Nike t-shirt and slipped it on effortlessly.

The brand new cotton sinfully kissed his skin, causing him to sigh deeply. It was a little tight on him, but he didn't even care, because he got to feel the new material that much more intimately. He was definitely keeping it.

Next, he opened up a bag of boxer-briefs, and he took his time feeling the holeless material between his fingers.

Ever so carefully, Chuck raised each foot and slid them through the foot holes and pulled them up his lithe legs.

Jeans are harder to guess sizes for, so Chuck wasn't surprised when he saw grey sweatpants. They felt thick, and impossibly soft in his rough hands.

Up his legs the sweats went, and he gasped as they properly hugged him.

Chuck opened the door and slowly stepped out, feeling like he was entirely in someone else's body. He stepped into the living room where Sarah was again reading her book.

"Thank you so much, Sarah. I can't, I don't have the…." Chuck verbally flailed, unable to speak as he awkwardly rubbed his hands over the new threads.

"You fixed my phone, Chuck. The new phone would have cost me more than those clothes cost me. And you're welcome," Sarah said, rising from her chair again. "Now should we go try to get your stuff back? She asked, holding her car keys.

As they left the apartment building and headed to the Porsh, Sarah stopped with her hand on the door.

"Chuck… I don't want you to get your hopes up too much."

"I know," Chuck said with a slight head nod. "It's probably a waste of time, but I have to look, Sarah. There are a few things in that cart that I can't replace."

"Okay," Sarah said, it being her time to nod. "We'll look for a while."

Sarah drove on and on, taking any road Chuck thought might bring them by the places his cart would most likely be. Of coarse Chuck knew the places Burbank's homeless would most likely be, or where they would go with a new score.

They checked by underpasses, certain troubled parts of town, and Chuck even went into a pawn shop or two while Sarah waited in the car. But there was nothing.

At a red light, Sarah looked out of the corner of her eye to see Chuck's fingers drumming on the side of his legs along with the music. He was surveying the area around them much like she would if she was looking for something in particular.

"Wait!" Chuck shouted and violently ripped himself from the car. Sarah quickly pulled over to the side, earning a honk and "Learn how to drive!" from the car that almost rear-ended her.

What is it?" Sarah asked, running to stand behind Chuck who was crouched down, on his knees by the shoulder of the road. He was cupping something in his hands.

Sarah ventured to take one more step closer, and saw that Chuck was holding a picture in a cracked frame. It was a polaroid of a boy and a girl, smiling and sitting on a picnic bench eating watermelon. The girl couldn't be older than 13, the boy no older than 11.

"Chuck, who are they?" Sarah asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Chuck's voice cracked as he said, "That's me." He pointed to the little boy. "That's my sister, Ellie," he said, his voice totally breaking as he said her name.

"Is this what we needed to find?" she asked softly.

"Mhmm," he confirmed, nodding his head.

"What happened to her, Chuck?"

"I don't know yet," Chuck admitted, swallowing deeply.

Sarah just stood there, helplessly gripping Chuck's shoulder as he clutched the picture to his chest.