Hey guys. As always, thanks for the follows, the favorites, and especially the reviews and PMs showing support for this little journey. I've been doing my best to reply to the messages, and I promise I've been reading every review. Your curiosity and your opinions really do matter for where this story goes. Thanks again.

SP96

Chuck found himself waking up like most mornings, but this morning, he was warm.

Chuck was comfortable. He woke up without shivering, without a headache or back pain.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He quietly got up and tiptoed to the kitchen and saw the time on the microwave clock. It was only 7:30, and it was Morgan's day off. Chuck had no doubts Morgan would be out for at least two more hours.

They had stayed up early into the morning playing video games, which Chuck was a natural at, but was more than rusty.

He intended to jet out of there immediately, not wanting to overstay his welcome, but before he could reach the door, Morgan's mother had come out of her room and reached the living room, a bible in hand.

"Oh, hola, Chuck," she said with a warm, still tired smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Grimes," Chuck said with a smile, hiding his disappointment at not being able to sneak out. He couldn't possibly accept any more hospitality from the Grimes house in such a short period.

"Can I make you any breakfast, Chuck? Do you like chorizo?"

"I can't possibly accept that, Mrs. Grimes. It's too kind of you," Chuck said, slowly shaking his head. He was afraid of this.

Mrs. Grimes just nodded her head in understanding. "You know, Chuck, the Nerd Herd at the Buy More is hiring," she told him in a whisper like it was a secret.

Chuck's eyes widened. "Are they?"

"Mhmm," she replied with a knowing smile. "From what Mihoh has told me, you'd be a good fit. He can also use a friend, you know."

Chuck tilted his head and looked at the woman. "Is Morgan okay?"

"He;s okay," she confirmed. "Mihoh is just different. He mostly plays his games and stays in his room," she explained. "He really likes you, though."

Chuck nodded in understanding, being of a similar social build, given the chance. "Your son is very kind, and is a good guy. I'm really glad I know your son, Mrs. Grimes."

"I feel blessed that you two met, too," she said with a smile. "I'll let Morgan know that you said goodbye."

Chuck stepped into the Buy More for the second time in a week, but this time felt different. He wasn't here to thank a man for a handout; Chuck Bartowski was here to make sure he didn't need any more handouts.

The only problem was that Chuck didn't know where to go to apply, and he didn't have Morgan here to ask. Chuck began to frantically look around, already thinking this to be a terrible idea.

Can I help you, sir?" a deep, loud voice asked, making Chuck jump.

"Uh..." Chuck stammered but then recollected himself. "Yes, I think. I'm here to apply for the Nerd Herd job."

"You?" asked a stocky, bearded man with calculating eyes. "Come on into my office, son," commanded the man with the name tag that read "Mike."

"Yes, sir," Chuck said, obeying immediately.

"Take a seat," Mike said as he sat in his chair behind his desk. "Any computer experience?"

"Yes, sir. Nothing lately, unfortunately, but I catch up really quickly, sir."

"That's good. I like that. Any college?"

"Yes sir. I attended Stanford."

"What's your name?" Mike asked, playing with a bobblehead on his desk.

"Charles Bartowski, but I usually go by Chuck."

"Chuck? Get the hell out of my office, Chuck," Mike ordered, pointing to the door.

"Excuse me, sir?" Chuck said, his jaw dropped and his heart in his throat.

"I don't need a man to lie to my face before he's even working here, son. I don't have time for crap. I barely have time to keep this place afloat."

"I'm not lying, sir. I really did go to Stanford," Chuck argued, trying not to completely lose the situation.

"Why would a Stanford boy be doing trying to get a job at a Buy More? Don't make me tell you to get out of here again!" Mike said, raising his voice to a near bark.

"I didn't graduate," Chuck admitted, seeing honesty as his best shot here. "I had to leave with a semester left."

Mike looked over the tips of his fingers at Chuck for a long moment, never taking his eyes from Chuck's. "You a coffee man, Chuck?"

"When it's available, yes," Chuck said, swallowing nervously.

"When it's available? When is it not available?" Mike chuckled and turned around to a small coffee station behind him. He quickly made up two identical cups of coffee the way he liked it. "You've got a story, and I want to hear it."

"Sir?"

"You came to apply for a job wearing sweatpants, you claim to have been a Stanford boy, and your more nervous than a chicken in a KFC parking lot. What's your story, Bartowski?"

Chuck sighed and accepted the coffee Mike offered him. He took a sip of the steaming brew and relished in it, even though it scawled the roof of his mouth. "How much do you want to know about me?" Chuck asked once he could speak.

"Why didn't you finish Stanford?" Mike began. "Consider this part of your job interview, so don't tell me no lies."

Chuck nodded, took another sip, and looked down into the subtlety creamered brew. Chuck chewed on his tongue, trying to figure out where to start. Mike seemed to be patient enough that Chuck felt comfortable gathering his thoughts.

"Okay. I went to Stanford for computer engineering. I came from no money, so I was there solely on scholarships. I got a lot of scholarship help because I was a foster kid, along with my sister, Ellie."

"Where's your sister, Chuck?" Mike asked, leaning back in his chair, ready to invest in Chuck's tale.

"I don't really know. Our parents left us when we were young, so we got rolled into the system. We got separated. We were able to stay in touch at first, but it got harder and harder over time, and then eventually, we just... stopped being able to reach each other."

"When was the last time you were able to talk to Ellie?"

Chuck sighed and stared at his hands. "The beginning of junior year. "

"Is that when your grades started to tank?" Mike asked, connecting the dots.

"Yes it is," Chuck confirmed, not being able to bring himself to look Mike in the eyes.

"There's no shame in that, son. That's a tough situation for any man. That's enough about that for now. Tell me about what you did get done in college, and why I should hire you besides having the best damn sob story I've ever heard."

"Walker, can I see you for a minute?" John Casey, the precinct captain asked, but really more demanded.

"Of course, sir. What can I do for you?" Sarah asked, but she really wanted to get this conversation over with. Captain Casey was intimidating, and less than conversational to say the least.

"Can you tell me why a picture of you handing out a water bottle to a homeless guy is on the front page of the Burbank Herald?" Casey asked, tossing an issue of the daily paper at Sarah.

Sarah awkwardly caught the paper against her chest, an ad flier for the supermarket she frequents falls out. Sarah looked down at the paper and saw that she definitely was on the paper. It was a picture of her in uniform doing just what Casey had said, giving a snack and a water bottle to a Black man who was obviously down on his luck, a genuine smile on both of their faces.

"Well damn," Sarah mumbled. "Casey, I swear to God I didn't see that camera," Sarah said, trying to cover her ass.

"I know you didn't, Walker. I can tell you didn't." Casey looked at her expectantly, probably hoping she'd come to some kind of learned lesson conclusion herself.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I'll stop the handouts," Sarah said quietly, looking at her polished boots.

"Hell no you won't," Casey scoffed. "Make sure you write that off, Walker. I got an annoying amount of emails telling me how great they think it is."

Sarah looked up at Casey with shocked, wide eyes. "What?"

"Yeah. The Burbank City Council thinks it's the greatest thing since that fire department open when when kids get to wear fire helmets and crap. Keep it up, and maybe Pattell can learn something from you. Get out there and make less people hate us."

"Yes, sir," Sarah said with a barely controlled smile, and took her leave.

Sarah got out to her patrol car as quick as she could, and closed herself inside.

She just sat there, smiling with her hands on the wheel. She thought for sure she was going to get her throat ripped out and her heart stepped on for doing something that "wasn't her job" or that some kind of b.s. tape would stop her from doing it.

Her silent mental parade and feel good moment was broken up by her phone ringing.

"This is Walker," she said as she answred.

"Walker?" a deep, surprised voice asked back.

"Yes/ Sarah Walker. Who is this?" she asked, getting ready to hang up in a hurry.

"This is Big Mike at the Burbank Buy More. Where's Chuck?"

"Chuck?" Sarah asked, completely shocked. "Homeless Chuck?" It was the only Chuck she knew.

"Probably. Tall dude. Wears sweatpants and brushed his teeth only once in his life."

"That's not very nice," Sarah bit back, defending her one-day friend.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Walker," Big Mike challenged from the other end.

"What do you want with Chuck?" Sarah asked in full defense mode.

"I want to give him a job. Besides the fact he's homeless, I guess, the man is super overqualified to be a Nerd Heard man. When can he start?"

"I have no idea," Sarah said. I don't even know where he is. How did you get my number?"

"This is the number he put on the application I had him fill out."

"Oh, for..." Sarah groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Can you please hold the job for him? Give me two days. I promise I'll find him," Sarah nearly begged.

"Two days?" Hell, take a whole week. This job has been open for a whole month," Mike laughed. Call me back when you find him," he said and hung up without a goodbye.

Sarah dropped her phone on the passenger seat and rested her head on the steering wheel. She slowly shook her head and took in deep breaths. "How do I find a single homeless guy in Burbank?" Sarah asked herself.

"Who do we need to find?" Lester asked, joining the senior officer in the patrol car.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Pattell. It's just something I need to take care of afterwork," Sarah said dismissively.

"Suit yourself, boss," Lester said with a shrug. "Should we get after it?"

Chuck did it. He applied for a job. One with one of the only two people he could really consider a friend. He was playing a gambling game, though. He didn't have a phone, so he put down the only number he could; he put down Sarah's number.

If Mike liked him, if Mike was willing to take a risk on Chuck, which Chuck was really banking on, Sarah would get a phone call within the next three days, according to Mike.

He did have another list of problems as well; dress code, no good shoes, and last but not least, he had to hope Sarah would find him.

So there sat Chuck, on his favorite bench, watching the dogs. His entire plan is to do what he currently does best; sit and wait.

Sarah couldn't remember a shift that felt felt longer. Not only was it a completely uneventful day (which she thanked the Lord for), but the clock was ticking. She had two days to find Chuck and tell him to call Big Mike back.

She pulled into the barn and put the cruiser in park, but didn't turn it off or unbuckle her belt. "Have a good night, Pattell. Great job today," she told him with absolutely no emotion.

"You sure you're okay, Sarge?" he asked, not moving either.

"Peachy. I have some business I need to take care of," Sarah answered cryptically while checking her phone.

"Is it personal, anything I can help with?" Pattell asked, watching her carefully for any sign of emotion.

"It's personal. I got it. I really need to take care of it, though," she hinted, reaching over and undoing his seat belt for him."By the way, this is between us," Sarah told him with a steel look as she put the car in reverse, but didn't accelerate yet.

"Have it your way, Sarge," Pattell yielded. "Stay safe."

"Will do. See you in the morning," Sarah says, backs out.

Night has well and fallen, .as has the temperature. The dogs have gone home, and the park is empty except for Chuck, and the hotdog vendor whose closing up his cart. No sign of Morgan to offer Chuck another night on the couch.

"Hey man," the hotdog vendor said, approaching Chuck with the same order in his hand Chuck had made last night. "Hang in there, buddy. Dinner's on me tonight."

Chuck smiled at him and offered a weak thank you, graciously taking the hotdog slathered in chili. "I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."

"Same bad time, same bad channel," the man confirmed, and headed back across the park to bring his cart home.

Chuck laughed to himself and took his time to savor the dog, doubting that his luck would keep up. He had no history suggesting he could count on good fortunes for much longer.

Sarah had been on the road for good long time, scouring Burbank for the mystical Chuck. She had gone back to the tree she had first met him, had even cased the Buy More, hoping he would be close to where he hoped would be his new place of employment.

It was nearing midnight when Sarah saw a shopping cart haphazardly laid on the ground, three feet from the road.

Sarah pulled over and turned her lights on the top, but didn't hit the siren. She got out and jogged over to the cart, which had a busted wheel. She saw no tarps to signify that it was Chuck's. The tarps would have had too much value to leave behind.

She did find a thin, ratty looking fleece blanket that had certainly seen better days. It looked a lot like Chuck's old clothes had. In the cart where other articles of clothing that looked to be Chuck's size, and in the same bad shape.

Bundled in the clothes was a beat up leather booklet thing with a high school name on it. Upon opening, she gasped. It was the high school diploma for one Charles Irving Bartowski. She gathered it in her arms and looked around the cart for anything else.

Upon the rest of the scattered, mostly useless belongings, she found a barely together paper folder. In side of it were Chuck's transcripts. Sarah couldn't believe it when she saw that he had been very successful at Stanford, but he tragically fell off the map in his junior year. Nobody goes from the 3.84 down to a 1.95 without a serious reason.

She took that into her care along with the diploma. Nothing else with the cart was worth while. She assumed anything that was of value was being used or had been sold.

Sarah held some of Chuck's last remaining treasures in her hands, and held the information that would keep him fed. Now more than ever, she had to find Chuck Bartowski.