A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: Chuck and Sarah successfully managed to convince everyone that they are honeymooners by faking their conjugal duties, but it came at a high emotional price for Sarah, who is suffering from haunting memories of the past. Now we will take a decent peek into their bedroom as they need to spend the rest of the night together and, still under surveillance by an enemy camera that can't see but can listen in the dark, can do nothing but to try to catch a few hours of sleep to be well-rested for the next day.

When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard,
I will comfort you.
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes,
And pain is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
"Bridge Over Troubled Water" (Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel)

Chapter 16: Chuck vs. The Vow

Sarah half woke up in the middle of the night. But she didn't want to wake up.

To sleep: perchance to dream?

No, there had been no doubt about it: She dreamt, and her dreams had been too heavenly to return to wakefulness. These could last forever. She was just a dreamer, dreaming her life away. After a day of challenges, something extraordinary happened – she was finding peace in her sleep, not only the ease of rest but the peace that happiness brought.

While her body was in a slumber it had craved for longer than she could remember, her mind surfaced to a light doze due to more hours of training than the combined logs of Chuck and Morgan playing Call of Duty.

The atom-bomb threat - she still didn't buy it. The pattern so far was that their yet unknown enemy orchestrated a major operation to identify and abduct male agents. If it had been only to remove unwanted agents for an undisturbed spectacular weapons deal, then they did not need any of them into their custody. They could leave all the bodies, including the male ones, where they fell. Sarah arrived at an easy-to-answer question: Was there an agent on location who would be worth all the effort?

An evening filled with ambiguities, telling the Kowalski family an enjoyable story, and transporting a deeper message to the real person behind Mr. Carmichael – and vice versa. The destructive Samantha Lisa Carmichael cover had hindered her all night long and, at the same time, allowed her to talk about feelings she never would express as Sarah. She could ever so timidly explore unknown territory in the dreamt-up story of how the Carmichaels met.

Perhaps that was what woke her up. Dreaming was for losers. A spy was always on alert and on target, firmly rooted in reality. And feelings?

C'mon, Walker, you know better! You need to learn to ignore your emotions. Spies do not have feelings, feelings get you killed. You learned to bury them in a place deep inside. And I did bury them! Buried them safely sealed away like in a final disposal site for nuclear waste. Then this man comes along and starts digging for my heart. Like a miner, Chuck shoveled away relentlessly, and instead of finding a heart of gold, he unearthed the toxic waste that is the real Sarah Walker.

Yeah, she thought. My feelings will kill me, will kill Chuck someday. Get your focus on the mission! Forget about a life that is out of reach for a wreck like you.

With a sobering thought for an agent, she realized all she could do was to sleep until the morning. She could consider possible next steps and steps after that, but it was pointless to make plans as essential parameters to determine what to do next lay in the future. The thought meandered her to a simple conclusion: Sleep and rest. If anything unexpected developed, Casey's bark would wake them up faster than Chuck could rip his pocket protector off of his shirt.

Sleep – and possibly come to terms with what's going on.

Sarah masterfully had hidden behind her agency persona once more, in her own musings, this time absurdly from herself. She knew she postponed facing what truly occupied her drowsy brain – it was the way she felt right now. This moment in this bed. That man.

To be truthful, she didn't know if she ever slept better in her 26 years, and the night wasn't even over yet. She felt incredibly safe and secure, lying on her left, a pleasant encompassing warmth on her back. The body behind her was inviting, protecting, and – naked? Sarah searched her memory and frivolously moved her bottom slightly. That felt like fabric. Yes, he is wearing boxers, she remembered with relief.

She faintly moaned with delight to find that her feet were equally warm, nestled between the man's feet. She somehow managed that against his lanky frame. The weight on her side was the guy's right arm, and she sleepily realized that she was on his side of the bed, and he cuddled her firmly against his chest.

She basked in the new and unknown feeling. All her previous thoughts seemed to crumble under it. It was incredibly, mind-blowingly good. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened to her emotions.

That man with her. She unwillingly lost contact with his feet as he tried to snuggle even deeper into his embrace, feeling the naked skin of his chest on her back. The man had a name, ingrained into her mind like no one and nothing before, tearing apart the memory of other men she had shared a bed with, wiping their names from her mind by ridiculously not doing more than simply being there.

Her body and soul deliciously soaked in the nearness of Chuck Bartowski.

His right hand reciprocated her movement by gliding to her stomach and then pulling her closer to him if that even was possible anymore.

"C'mere, all's good, all's good," he muttered groggily. For an instant, she was afraid she woke him up. But as his breathing remained slow and steady, she realized that he pulled her nearer out of pure instinct. Was it about her, or would he do that instinctively for any enticing female body in reach?

"I'm 'ere fo'you, Sa'a," he answered her unspoken question against her nape. "Don'cha worry."

Sarah shivered joyfully. Sarah was in his dreams and on his mind. She lay there for the taking, literally, and all he intuitively did was giving her shelter.

Chuck's hand rested protectively on her stomach. His palm and his fingers kindled a warm glow. She did not understand why her breathing picked up. It was just a hand on a tummy.

What's the deal. It's his hand on my tummy.

They were in a cover situation, so it was merely to maintain said cover.

If it were a cover only, you guys wouldn't lay here snuggled together like freezing meerkat babies.

It is still a cover situation with the asset.

When was the last time you cuddled with an asset, a cover, with Bryce or anyone else, for that matter? Never, she answered her question. Never nestled before. No man ever held me like that. I am not a cuddler. I didn't allow anyone. Yet I think it's the best thing that ever happened to me. But what does that mean for Chuck and me?

The unmoving hand on her tummy continued to soothe and disturb her at the same time. It was not sexual arousal she experienced. It was another sentiment that welled up from so deep inside her that she did not even know where it originated from. She lacked the slightest idea of what it meant or the words to describe it.

Her mind drifted to last night. All that was going on had almost derailed her. Samantha Lisa, the mission, the faked love scene. She saw it through with sheer willpower and transformed all the unwanted sentiments into anger focused towards Chuck. On the one hand, she knew that was unjust. On the other hand, she was certain that Chuck – his feelings for her, her burgeoning feelings for him, his mere presence – had something to do with the fact that she could not hold captive her emotions in the dungeon where they belonged for the past decade. For the second time since the mission began, she gauged if her asset was going to turn out as her savior or as her nemesis.

The years as a con man's daughter would always be part of her life, and so would be the dangerous world of espionage. Chuck was accomplishing the miracle to meld Sarah and Agent Walker together. The feat was all the more significant as the spy ingrained into her fought hard not to let that happen. The person she was trained to be opposed to the human being inside her from coming to the surface. Chuck probably could not even guess how hard and painful that process often was, yet so exhilarating.

I have genuine feelings! It seems I got a heart and a soul! How will I deal with that?

Sarah's musings were interrupted by noticing how her tummy became even warmer from his hand resting there.

We still haven't sorted out what that hand is doing.

It stirred an archaic and eternal sentiment, natural in a self-evident way like day followed night, but not natural for her. Its source seemed rooted deep into humankind, so unshakably anchored in humanity that it was there, whether she accepted it or not.

She cautiously lifted the duvet with her left hand and looked down. Even though her eyes had adjusted to the darkness a bit, she could hardly see anything and certainly nothing at all peeking under the covers. Whatever she presumed to see was in her imagination and not what she really saw. She envisioned Chuck's hand laying large and reassuringly over her flat well-trained tummy. Then she connected the dots, and it hit her like an unexpected roundhouse kick.

Most of her killing missions required her to be invisible. Not dolling herself up but choosing plain, unflattering clothes helped to avoid many closer glances. Reading magazines that clearly conveyed that she was not sitting somewhere waiting to be approached was also a small but helpful aspect - like reading baby magazines. Scarcely a man ever hit on her if she sat there in cheap, worn clothes with family and baby magazines on her lap.

Baby mags! Those pregnant models, their shirts pushed up demurely a few inches to reveal their baby tummies, the goofily smiling husbands gingerly placing a hand on that bulge that augured the wonder of a new life... Chuck's hand on my belly!

Sarah gulped, and her eyes shot wide open, burning holes in the blackness of the night.

As for Chuck, she could see him in that role. His hand on that spot, his goofy grin of pre-fatherly anticipation, a measure of proudness, a tender worry for her well-being.

My well-being? I don't even have use for a serious relationship, let alone children. I'm my agency's top spy. If I continue as successfully as in the past, I might see a fat promotion sometime in the next one or two years!

She knew that such a promotion would lead her away from the Intersect, probably back to Bryce Larkin, who was, everything personal she held against him aside, a top agent without a doubt. At least from the CIA's point of view, he was rehabilitated, and it would be logical to team up the best. There was no need and no room for marriage, children, a house in suburbia, a quiet life. There was so much world to see, and she had the good fortune to see it in its most exciting way. She was addicted to that life.

The gentle pressure of the hand on her middle and Chuck's warmth on her back centered her mind.

I am lying to myself. I am ready for a relationship. I just don't know how to make it a success.

Sarah concentrated on Chuck's hand and let the thought of babies and family float away like driftwood on a river. Still, it was imperative to remove his hand from her belly, but she did not want to lose its touch. She carefully took it and moved it up, placing it between her breasts and then closing her fingers over his. Something wonderful happened. Calm happiness flowed over her like a crystal-clear liquid.

Please, let me be happy tonight simply lying here with him! Just this one night!

"Mmmm..." he murmured. "Don'worry, Sar', all's good, 'm here." There he was again, caring and loving even in his sleep.

Happiness is cuddling with Chuck Bartowski.

As she allowed herself to drift away, the beat of his heart on her back soothing her to sleep, another word entered her slumbrous mind, like a fluffy white cloud appearing on the horizon. Far away, she still knew what it was.

She liked it a lot, and she feared it immensely.

Love. But spies don't fall in love.

•••••••••••••••••••

Her hair was soft, and her eyes were oh so blue. Chuck dreamt intensely.

There was a familiar and yet so mysterious scent - Sarah.

These must be some hairs brushing his forehead, golden like rays of sunshine. He delighted in the smooth skin of her shoulders as they lay there. She still wore that purple teddy, which did not do much to hinder him from rejoicing in the rest of her delectable frame. He cuddled her warm body tenderly. His right hand rested between something soft yet firm. A smaller hand lay on his own, their fingers intertwined as only real lovers do. He smiled in understanding where exactly his hand was held, enjoying the sweet intimacy with Sarah. Her heartbeat pulsed into his hand, and he felt like they were melting into one entity of shelter and love. Sarah had sought to curl all of her against every reachable inch of his lanky body.

He yawned. As the air filled his lungs, he reluctantly slipped out of his paradisial dream. Then he was awake. The night surrounded him, and his senses worked overtime.

Uhm… wait a sec…

Sarah's scent still filled his nose, her hair tickled his cheeks slightly, her backside snuggled against his chest, his hand relaxed on her cleavage, all of her body molded into him peacefully. He blinked sleepy-eyed first and then felt like struck by a light-saber. One of those strikes that cut you in half with one mighty blow.

That's not a dream! That is a real body pressed to mine! Sarah's body!

As heavenly as it was, it was overstepping by a wide margin. Chuck had no notion how they ended up on his side of the bed, their bodies making such a perfect fit that there would be only one dent in the bed in the morning. He had sincere doubts that Sarah would approve of that sleeping arrangement. In particular, she would object to the place where his hand rested. He tried to pull away slowly from the delicate and suddenly exhilarating spot quickly. She tightened the grip on him in response and kept his hand between her breasts.

Chuck lifted his head slightly and watched her. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out that Sarah's eyes were closed, and the essence of serenity was on her face. He could swear she was sleeping. He tried once more to untangle his fingers from hers, a feat he hated more than doing repairs in the cage of the Buy More, but she kept his hand again where she obviously wanted it to be.

"Few min'tes more," she murmured grumpily, a frown skewing her eyebrows and a wrinkle appearing between them. Chuck could not remember when he saw anything sweeter in his life. After a moment, he corrected himself. Every time he watched her, he thought it was the sweetest thing he ever witnessed. There was no single number one memory of her. All of the images of her shared an all the time becoming more crowded top spot on the winner's podium in his mind.

"It's okay," he whispered, wondering if the sleeping beauty beside him was the real Sarah Walker - the one that liked him so much that she cuddled with him barely clothed. He had much to ponder, so he simply lay behind her, savoring the moment. He dared not to think of her slender curves pressed against him and the silky sensation on his right hand. Being a gentleman still included being a man. 'Cause I don't have a wooden heart, his personal database of useless knowledge quipped. Chuck instead concentrated on more ethereal thoughts.

Something terrifying happened to her last night. He had an idea what it was but not how it happened. It was severe enough to threaten the mission. When it was finally over, she confusingly seemed to blame him for it, but somehow the night - or the cuddling they were sharing - turned the mood around. She trusted him enough to sleep soundly in his arms.

Chuck's mind wandered back to the scary hours of his childhood. Being abandoned by both parents left deep scars. A younger Chuck could not comprehend it in any way and experienced hard times blaming himself for the disappearance of father and mother. He lived through devastating moments, hours, or even days. It took a long time and professional help to leave the bottom of the valley. Chuck Bartowski certainly knew what a panic attack was.

A few hours ago, he would have repelled any idea that the CIA's best could suffer from something like that, but now he was sure that Sarah had had a mild panic attack. She sailed through it with her usual strength and substituting angst with a fit of anger she eventually directed at him. Whatever the reason, he knew from his own experience that a panic attack wasn't like stubbing your toe, and when the pain diminishes, all is good. It comes back again and again, often not even needing a trigger, but equally often triggered by strong emotions - whether these were good or bad. One of the things he had learned for sure was that if it hits once on a small scale, it can come back very forcefully and painfully the next time. However strong, brave, controlled, invincible, or indestructible Sarah was, the mind could turn into her most powerful enemy, most devastating enemy. Especially the tough people, however The Farm or life or both had prepared and hardened them, were hit most brutally because they never expected that something like their own mind could, so to speak, turn against them, and so forcefully. Chuck feared while the night gave Sarah recreation, that it might not be all over in the long run. Then he had to be there for her.

Chuck peeked at her face once more. He felt tears of love wetting his eyes as the moment became too intense. She was so inexplicably vital to him. Wanting her to be well and happy had outclassed every other wish in his life, and he realized that even his love took second place behind that. Is that how the one, the only, the true, the eternal love feels? His neck constricted, and he swallowed hard.

Chuck admired her angelic face and solemnly pledged to himself.

Whatever you want, Sarah Walker, I'll be there for you. Whatever you need to be happy, I'll make it my mission. Even if I have to sacrifice my love, I will do so. If that means that I have to let you go for good, then, yes, I will. Nothing is more important than your happiness.

"I love you, Sarah Walker!" he whispered, barely audible, and stretched to breathe a chaste but still most emotional kiss on her temple. The shadow of a smile played around her lips, and she murmured back in her sleep: "Sooo not allowed... mmmmh... Chuuuck..."

To his amazement, he was content with these dreamy mutterings. At least she did not wake up and smack him on the head or kick him out of bed.

•••••••••••••••••••

A/N (2): To sleep: perchance to dream?: I mention that in the passing - I don't do these A/Ns of cultural references to showcase how clever or wise I am. It may come as a shock to you, but I ain't. My beta-reader is. If I ever win an Academy Award for a script made out of this story, my speech will say, heavily fighting with tears and sobs, "I thank Willie, and then I also want to to thank Willie, and I mustn't forget Willie, my inspiration always had been Willie, if Willie had not beta-read my story I wouldn't be standing here tonight, and last but not least, without Willie…". You get the picture.

But I do these A/Ns because I know how I love to discover all these silly references in movies, shows, stories, myself - so why should I deny you the triumphant feeling, "Ha, I knew what he was referring to!", so I acknowledge these in my A/Ns.

All that blabbered, that quote is, of course, from the one and only who contributed more quotes to the English language than anyone else, and here it is in full:

To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet (3.1.64-98)

To avoid misunderstandings: My beta-reader is not Will Shakespeare. It's Willie Garvin. W-i-l-l-i-e G-a-r-v-i-n. Mighty fine writer. Check his stories out.

A/N (3) She was just a dreamer, dreaming her life away: Opinions are divided about him, but "Dreamer" by Ozzy Osbourne simply is a great ballad. As referenced at the beginning of this chapter. And right after that, "road to nowhere" may serve as another reference to Ozzy, at least if you're a fan.

A/N (4) You need to learn to ignore your emotions. Spies do not have feelings, feelings get you killed. You need to learn to bury them in a place deep inside: If any reader thinks, did he just…? Yes, I did, that's a word-by-word quote by Sarah from s03e02 Chuck Versus the Three Words.

A/N (5) Heart of Gold: A tip of the hat to Neil Young and his 1972 hit of the same title.

A/N (6) Her hair was soft, and her eyes were oh so blue: The first line of the second part of this chapter is also the first line of a standard on baby boomer radio, "She's Not You." Written by Doc Pomus, Jerry Leiber, and Mike Stoller, it earned Elvis a Billboard #5 hit in 1962 and a gold record. It doesn't earn me anything as I don't own anything, which sadly includes "Chuck".

A/N (7) Cause I don't have a wooden heart: Hey, we lately have a handful of Elvis' references in this story. I realized from talking to younger colleagues that also in the 2020s, Elvis is still in the collective consciousness. Even if they aren't into his music, his voice is recognized, and his music somehow part of the soundtrack of generations. So have no shame to quote his oeuvre if it comes as natural as this one. The quote is from his 1960 song "Wooden Heart," popular for being sung in the Punch-and-Judy scene in the movie "G.I. Blues". Both music and lyrics are directly taken from an old German folk song titled "Muss i denn, muss i denn zum Städtele hinaus" that dates back to at least 1827.

A/N (8) Have a heart of gold and leave a review. It's the equivalent of the royalties we all do not collect. Because, I may have mentioned it in the passing, I don't own Chuck.