A/N: This chapter is a little unusual. The beginning of this story is based on actual events–my friend (the one who inspired me to write this story) and I went out after work–and there was a small group of high school reunioners, Class of 1982, in the bar at the restaurant. The hostess told us they were there hanging out because their 40th reunion was canceled because of COVID. Lots of early 80s songs. And that Barbra Streisand song, "Comin' In and Out of Your Life." She said–wow–that's a Sarah song, Season 1 through Season 3a. And it is. And then she said–add that to the story! So I did.

And we brought up the Sarah/Shaw thing at dinner. Long discussion, that made its way here as well.

Let me know if it works here. Or what you think in general. Thanks!

Hold me in your hands

Like a bunch of flowers

Set me movin' to your sweetest song

And I know what I think

I've known all along

Lovin' you's the right thing to do

"The Right Thing to Do"

Carly Simon

June 2, 2012

Los Angeles, California

"See, casual. Good choice, Morgan," Chuck said with a smile, and a thumbs up, at the door of the bar and grille where they had decided to, for lack of better words, triple date. Chuck and Sarah, Morgan and Alex, and Casey and Gertrude. An unlikely grouping, Chuck thought to himself again, but decided to roll with it. Chuck was referring to Morgan's plaid button down shirt, knowing his friend had been mulling over a t-shirt or the choice he had ended up wearing. Everyone else had come casually dressed as well, knowing the restaurant had a more relaxed vibe.

They had exchanged greetings at the door, pleasantries and smiles. Chuck had made an extra effort to put Casey's girlfriend at ease, considering this had been the first time she had been around everyone like this. She had only just first met Alex, Casey's daughter, at Morgan's apartment. Shocking to see, Gertrude's spy facade was actually missing, Chuck noted right away, surprised yet pleased. He had understood, probably better than anyone, that Gertrude had no real frame of reference to just be a normal person, per se, and was treading carefully into this life, learning as she went.

Casey had undergone a drastic change in the five years that Chuck had known him. He was a completely different person now than he had been the night Chuck had first seen him on the roof, after Sarah had dragged him up the stairs as she had called in an emergency evac. Casey had always just quipped that Chuck himself had somehow made everyone "go soft." Somehow, Casey had now gotten under Gertrude's skin, and started changing her as well. Chuck tread cautiously.

He had also sensed how hesitant Gertrude was around Sarah. Gertrude knew the story, he was sure, the entire situation recounted to her by Casey in the three months they had been together in Germany. Sarah remembered Gertrude Verbanski, but not every interaction they had had. Quietly, before they had left the house, Sarah had told him most of her memories of Gertrude were slightly tainted–the backhanded comments, stolen business and intel, taken from them, conversations about how compromised they could be by allowing emotions into play in their spy work.

Sarah had mentioned the mission to Palm Beach, a vague memory of having dinner at a hotel. Less hostility, and a rescue mission in the Everglades. Chuck's responses had been clipped, terse, at times almost emotionless. She vowed to keep those memories at the forefront, to make the whole socializing thing easier. Sarah had promised Chuck she would continue to try to reach out, letting her interactions with everyone else start to become more natural. It was only in the car, as Chuck turned up the radio, avoiding talking to her, that she had been able to piece together the timeline, understanding the strained discussion she had had with him about her contraception and his explanation of that "false alarm" incident, that the mission with Gertrude had to have coincided with the aforementioned time.

Worried that she had precipitated his sullen mood, and knowing the main reason he had wanted to go out like this in the first place was as a respite, a break in between today's heavy discourse with Dreyfus, and tomorrow's expectantly grueling session, she had allowed her affection for him show in an almost exaggerated form. Not with pretense, only a conscious removal of inner restraints. It had always made logical sense why she would keep her feelings for him close to her, understanding she had almost always done this. Part out of necessity, then out of habit, even out of fear, long ingrained and slowly released. But she knew, in a past that was only sparsely recalled, that she had stopped using logic to make decisions, and began relying instead on her heart. Her heart told her now to not hide how he was making her feel.

Chuck had called this a new beginning. Despite her initial resentment for the need to do so, wanting instead what she had most certainly had but lost, she knew he was right. Part of it remembered, part of it unconscious instinct, and part determination and discovery. Nothing ever stayed the same–he had told her that, words she had remembered, disconnected in a dream, unattached to time or place. Each step she took forward into the darkness, she could only see what was beneath her feet. But he was beside her, behind her, inside her. The unknown was no longer frightening. She could shape it to match her dreams. Every day she learned that more and more.

So as they waited in the vestibule to sit, she hung on him like a teenage girl, arms around him, her lips on his cheek. Gertrude looked vaguely disgusted, Chuck thought, reminiscent of the old Casey. Fortunately, Alex was loquaciously engaging her father's girlfriend in small talk. It eased the entire atmosphere, as the more she talked, the more at ease Gertrude became.

She had been worried about Alex liking her, Chuck thought with a flash of insight. Wonders never ceased.

"Are you two gonna do this all night?" Casey said, his eyes running up and down the couple entwined in the doorway.

"We missed you, too, Casey," Sarah crooned, a wide grin on her face. He grunted and Alex and Morgan laughed. Gertrude tucked her arm around Casey's waist and squeezed before she let her arm fall to her side again.

Morgan opened the glass door separating the entrance way from the vestibule of the restaurant, a loud cacophony of voices and music assaulting them. The hostess approached them, taking a hesitant step into the milling crowd. "It should be about 30 more minutes. We apologize for the wait. There is available seating in the lounge area, although, by the noise, you can tell there is a small party going on in there. A very small high school reunion gathering." She stood, the menus tucked against her waist, waiting for their reply.

Chuck looked over the top of the bar, seeing the banner draped over the glass rack that encircled the bar from the ceiling. Welcome Class of 82.

"I'm starving and so is Morgan," Alex announced. "The bar is fine, right, everyone?" she asked, adding her preference to the question.

"You fit right in, Casey, right?" Chuck teased as they walked into grab their chairs at two tall, stand-only tables.

"I was a 2nd Lieutenant in the Marines in 82, Bartowski," Casey snapped, realizing after he said it he had accomplished making Chuck's taunt worse.

Eyeing a group of middle aged women, obviously well lubricated, dancing in a small circle, Chuck said slyly, "Well then, maybe you can show those young 'uns how it's done."

"Ha ha, Chuck," Casey grumbled.

Sarah was actually relieved they ended up in the bar, noise and cheesy 80s dance music included. It took the pressure off, easing the awkwardness of the group. They were served almost immediately, with the first round of drinks, as well as two large plates of nachos ordered by Morgan. Sarah was actually having a good time, she accepted, laughing along with the scattered conversations. Part of her amusement was watching Chuck, bopping his head along with the dated music.

"What is this music?" Alex asked curiously.

"Ronnie Milsap," Chuck said confidently, recognizing No Getting Over Me as the DJ played it. Raising his voice so everyone could hear him, he added, "My Dad loved his music. He had this record. It, uh, came out the year I was born."

"Thanks, Casey Kasem," Morgan quipped. "Although, I do remember your Dad playing that all the time when we were little."

They ate their appetizers and drank, soon relaxing in each other's company. Morgan provided comic relief, and soon everyone was laughing, even Gertrude. Sarah sputtered her drink at one point, unable to contain her laughter. She reached across the table for a napkin to wipe the drink off her face, catching Chuck's eyes. He looked relaxed, content, laughing simply because she was laughing. "Thank you for suggesting this," she said to him, close to his ear to be heard over the music, kissing his cheek affectionately.

He smiled and pecked her cheek in return. After another short stretch of time, their food came. They ate in companionable silence, Chuck and Sarah sharing their food off their plates with each other, which got another disgusted grunt from Casey. More talking ate away the time on the clock. The waitress cleared the tables, but they stayed, talking about their new business and the progress they had made in only one day that Casey had been back. Gertrude ended up intrigued.

"The potential for government contracts is real, Bartowski. Considering you're going the safe route, it sounds like maybe some sort of partnership is possible. Just a thought, you know," she said with a crooked smile.

Safe, because we were supposed to have a baby, Sarah thought suddenly. If Gertrude's words affected Chuck at all, he hid it so well even Sarah couldn't tell. Maybe he was just so relaxed and happy that he wouldn't let it bother him. Remembering Dreyfus' advice yet again, she searched inside, examining her own emotions like she would never have done before, she thought. Was she afraid, like she had told Chuck she was? Yes, she acknowledged. But wasn't that normal? Sarah had remembered Ellie, nervous about being a mom since she, like Sarah, had no real role model for mothering. Wasn't it normal to be a little scared, even if it was something that she wanted? Was she only just a little scared? And why, when she looked at Chuck, did she not feel as afraid?

"Need a refill?" he asked casually, pointing to the bar, wrapping his long fingers around the necks of their beer bottles and walking away as she nodded silently. She watched him walk away, admiring the lines of his body as he moved, how he towered over almost everyone else he passed. He had no idea how attractive he was, she thought, noting his confident walk, never a swagger. There was no arrogance in him, as amazing as he was. The younger women at the bar turned to look at him, and she watched as he walked by how their eyes followed him. It was a positively giddy feeling, despite the flash of jealousy that she quelled, knowing he was hers, hers alone. Her husband. It made her heart leap and pound.

The music changed as he turned from the bar, two new bottles in one hand, his fingers twisted through both necks. Sarah recognized the song, as strange as she thought that fact could be. Step by Step by Eddie Rabbit. Definitely a 1982 kind of playlist, she thought, thinking Chuck would be proud that she knew what the song was. It accompanied a memory, from far back in her childhood, riding in her father's oversized Lincoln, on the way back to her grandmother's house in Idaho after a day spent with her father. Her father had told her that he had danced with her mother to that song, the memory standing out because he almost never spoke about her mother in Sarah's presence.

The melancholy nostalgia rose with the memory, but was quickly dispelled as she watched her lovable goofball husband, dancing his way towards her to the music. It was very possible he had seen something on her face, and was intentionally trying to cheer her up. He did that frequently, she knew. Nothing cheered her like his humor, his laughter, his smile. She knew, somehow, that he had always been able to read her like a book, expertly sensing her emotions, in any situation.

She listened to the lyrics, watching his fingers as he mimed along to the song. He raised two fingers, matching the "Second step, tell her she's the girl you're dreaming of" line. He twirled around her, kissing her cheek and raising three fingers as the last line, "Third step, take her in your arms and never let her go."

She blinked, her thoughts scrolling backward in a disorienting, dizzy spin.

He knocked on the bathroom door, and she clicked the cap on the stick closed. She tried to call out that it was ok, realizing at the same time how dry her mouth was. He looked so contrite, a little pale. Yes, she had been afraid to say it out loud, but she knew she should have told him she thought she was pregnant. In any other situation, he would have known, she was certain of that. Relying on his ability to read her was no substitute for honest communication. It made her feel awful, knowing how completely stressed and overwrought he had to have been to not notice her signals, and now she sat waiting, to find out if their problems were about to multiply in an instant. Problem, she thought with chagrin. A baby wasn't a problem. Was it?

"Are you ok?" she heard him ask, breaking into her thoughts. At her silence, he prodded. "Did you remember something?" he asked softly.

She couldn't answer him, a complex look on her face. She wanted to tell him, but realized she couldn't tell him here. Later, when they were home, she vowed. Not wanting to worry him, she smiled, kissing his cheek, reaching up around his neck with one arm and holding him close. The music changed, and a loud, unintelligible string of words spoken by the DJ eventually translated to the few reunion attendees grabbing partners and slow dancing. Barbra Streisand, Sarah recognized, though a little unsure of the song. "Wanna dance?" she asked him.

"Think they'll mind?" he asked her, tilting his head towards the makeshift reunion group. She just pulled him by his hand into the crowd, pressing herself up against him, reaching up around his neck and swaying to the music. She felt his hands around her waist, his cheek against her hair. Being in his arms, close to him, smoothed out the jagged edges inside her, mixed emotions roiling beneath the surface. She calmed down, finding her attention drifting to the song lyrics, clearly discernible in the otherwise quiet room.

I never felt so good

Yet felt so bad

You're the one I love

And what makes it sad

Is you don't belong to me

She realized she empathized, understanding perfectly the way the woman in the song felt. She had felt that way about her husband for years before they were together, aching for him, needing him, but forced to hide those feelings. Mixed with the recalled feeling of believing she could have been carrying his child, her eyes misted as she rested her head against his shoulder, breathing him in like the oxygen she needed to survive.

And I can remember

The last time I lied

I was holding you and telling you

We could still be friends

Tried to let you go

But I can't, you know

And even though I'm not with you

I need you so

But you don't belong to me

She felt the words cutting into her, turning her inside out, it seemed. Her throat started burning, and she swallowed down a sob, worrying she would actually just burst into tears as they stood there swaying. She knew what that felt like as well, trying to just be his friend, when he had in fact been part of her soul.

I don't need to touch you

To feel you

It's so real with you

"Sarah?" she heard him whisper, leaning into her, knowing he could sense that she was crying.

She swallowed hard again, feeling the tenderness that left her feeling run through, splayed open as if with a specter arrow from Cupid himself. "I'm ok," she told him, allowing all of her emotion to flow into her voice. It was no platitude, rather an honest assurance, a promise for all time. Because he was here, and he loved her. She rested her head against him, moving in time with him as he danced.

Even though at times

This crazy world

Is turning upside down

You'll always belong to me

June 2, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

"Taking the pregnancy test," she told him, when he had asked what she had remembered in the restaurant. "Being happy and sad at the same time," she elaborated. She felt him tense, ever so slightly, before he breathed out heavily and relaxed. "We were on a mission with Gertrude when that happened, right?" she asked, almost certain she had been right, but asking him just to be sure. She felt his body shake slightly, knowing he was nodding.

She was silent for so long in between her words he had thought she had fallen asleep. Her voice was hushed reverently as she talked to him. "You always helped me to not be afraid, no matter what it was. I know that. I remember that. I know that the things I feared were things no normal girl would have been afraid of. But, you always knew I wasn't really normal. You loved me anyway."

She felt the softest of kisses brush against her forehead. "Chuck?" she asked quietly.

"What, Baby?" he asked gently in return.

"Did it ever bother you that you knew so little about me? About my past?" she asked.

He let out a thoughtful sigh. "At first, I think maybe. Only because Carina sort of made me equate truths about you as somehow proof that I was more to you than just your asset. I didn't really know how you felt back then. She thought you didn't know either, which may have been true too. But it didn't take long to realize that despite all of that, I did know you. Probably better than anyone. And for whatever reason, your past was something you spent a great deal of effort to run beyond. You know, leave it behind. Maybe not run from, but run past. Not let it catch up to you."

"You married someone…who couldn't tell you the truth about herself?" she asked in disbelief, reverent awe rather than incredulity.

He ruminated over his answer for a long time before he answered her. "There was nothing you could ever say that would have made me feel any differently. So I left it up to you," he said.

She was silent for a long stretch. "Do you know my real name? The one I was born with?"

He tensed tightly, like a compressed coil, holding his breath. "Yes," he breathed out. "I know. But you…you didn't tell me. Not directly," he added softly, the old wound burning under his skin, even after all this time. And he wouldn't, couldn't say it out loud to her.

She waited again, thinking he might say more. When he remained silent, she said, "On our marriage certificate. My middle name is my real middle name."

"You said it out loud once when I asked you, not knowing I heard you say it. I knew that. You knew I knew that," he said, matter of factly. Like it should have made perfect sense to her. She let the thought burrow its way into her heart. And then suddenly, it did make perfect sense. Nothing was real until he knew. And just like that the name, a whisper in her thoughts, faded away. She was Sarah, because he loved Sarah. Sarah was known. It was a beautiful truth that rocked her to the core.

She felt something open up inside her, feeling the connection between them intensify. Why keep anything from him now? What did she have left to fear? That there was some darkness, some unspeakable ugliness inside her? Surely, in the darkest days when she had forgotten him and what he meant to her, he had seen that hideousness in its purest form–and never even flinched. On the contrary, he had leaned into it, taking the brunt, full force, while still offering his life in exchange for hers.

"Chuck, remember the other day? When you were talking about…you know, you and other women?" she asked.

"Oh, god, Sarah," he moaned, his cheeks and ears burning. "Please, not again," he grumbled.

"No, not you. Me," she clarified. "The number…is the same. I'm guessing I never told you that."

She felt him shift, turning his head to look at her. When she saw his face, she saw his slack jaw, his eyes wide and unblinking. "No, you didn't," he whispered. She felt him, holding his breath, waiting for her to continue. So she did.

"I was 18. The first time," she offered. She felt his chest rise and fall more quickly, his breathing becoming tighter. "His name was David. We were at the Farm together, you know, training. We weren't dating, not like that. But I was so young, and scared, and alone. I put all my energy into training. All day, all night. I always needed something to distract me from feeling back then. Maybe I always did, I don't know. He paid attention to me, like no one ever had before. And I just…made the decision. You know, almost to get it over with. It sounds worse than it was, only because I didn't feel anything back then. I spent hours and hours teaching myself how to not feel." She didn't hide the sadness from him, unearthed with that truth she acknowledged. "It was…only slightly better than a gynecological exam," she huffed out.

She sought out his eyes in the dark, feeling his stare burn its way to the core of her. He stayed quiet, listening in rapt attention. "Then Bryce," she said plainly, not getting into specifics on purpose, remembering the past between those two men was tenuous. "I was supposed to be the liaison for the Omaha Project. I never knew why, I never asked him why, but he did something behind the scenes, and we ended up partners instead. I had only met him once, but he did that. So, despite all that bad blood, I guess he kind of saved me the same way he saved you." She sighed, then added with a sarcastic twist, "What's right, according to Bryce. Good intentions, but always somehow about him." Quietly, she thought to herself, being with Bryce was better than an internal exam, usually, and at the time she thought that was enough. Sometimes it had been good, though always despite him rather than because of him.

Almost too quietly for him to hear, she asked him, "Once I met you, before we were a real couple, was there anyone else? I don't remember…"

She felt him wind up, the same way he had when she had asked him about knowing her name. She was also aware that he was struggling to regulate his breathing before he spoke. "I don't know, Sarah. You were well aware of my…exploits, unfortunately. I wasn't that…discrete and I probably hurt you back then. You were never as forthcoming. We weren't together together for three years. That's a long time." He thought about Shaw, that unbelievably awkward exchange, never asking her directly because he didn't want to know, couldn't stand the pictures that would leave in his mind. All the while knowing she had those, more than one set, with him.

"I don't remember anything like that," she murmured. Telling him something like that, even if she did remember, wasn't the same as talking about the past before she knew him. It was like rubbing salt in a wound. And though it sounded like he had perhaps done that to her, she wouldn't, couldn't ever, do that to him now.

She felt his hands, threading into her hair, massaging her scalp, sending shivers down her skin until she felt the urge to stretch, curling into him as she did so. On the edge of sleep, her mind was already running, filled with a vision.

She was packed, ready to go, everything she needed laying on the bed. The phone rang…she moved…another phone rang. She knew who was on the other end of each…holding the vibrating cell phone in her hand, seeing his picture, unable to set it down, even as she heard the bedside phone ring and ring incessantly. She couldn't answer either one, paralyzed with indecision. The analog phone's ring dug under her skin, irritating. She wanted it to stop, to just be in silent thought. If she answered it, it would be quiet. But she couldn't answer it, because she didn't know what to say. She couldn't answer the cell phone in her hand, knowing he would hear the other phone in the background. She let them both ring into oblivion, until they both stopped. It was then that she understood–doing nothing in that moment had been a passive way to choose Chuck, without having to say anything out loud.

She chose him–even though she couldn't ever have him. That agonizing truth had kept her up until the wee hours of the morning, crumpled uncomfortably in her bed, her things still beside her on the bed, her makeup still on, smeared all over her sheets, making her eyes burn and fill with grit. She had taken that out on Chuck later, harshly and unfairly, blaming him for her own inability to leave him. No matter what, or when, or anything else–the one thing she had never been able to do was stay away from him.

"Omaha…when Bryce was leaving," she mumbled, half asleep, but still talking. "You asked Casey if that was code. It was, because of that past I told you about. I stayed…for you. Not my job. You. I never told you so, but it was for you."

He knew that. Not at the time, no. With Sarah, everything had always been a puzzle he'd had to solve anachronistically. But he did know, now. "Thank God," he whispered, his last thought before he fell asleep, enfolded inside a soft cloud of her perfume.