A/N: I know I've taken a long hiatus from writing, as many of you have kindly pointed out. Unfortunately, real life seems to keep getting in the way. As a way of dipping my toe back into the pool, I thought I'd start off with a little Christmas story. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Don't own Chuck

Chapter 1

The all too familiar jingle of the bell greeted him as he opened the door. The heavenly aroma of warm pastries and fresh brewed coffee hung heavy in the air. Inhaling deeply through his nose, the scents elicited a groan of longing he was helpless to prevent. His whole body slumped in contentment, and he chuckled at himself as he stepped up to the counter to peruse the chalkboard menus mounted to the wall.

"Chuck, I don't know why you insist on reading the menu. You get the exact same damn thing… everyday," the short woman behind the counter gibed with a grin on her face.

Chuck snorted, shaking his head in amusement at the comment. This was part of the playful banter he'd come to enjoy from frequenting Lou's coffee shop; the "Mean Bean". He'd been coming to the coffee shop nearly every day since it opened almost two years ago. It was conveniently situated about halfway between his loft and his office, which was only a short walk away. Lou Palone, the owner, was an objectively attractive woman with long brown hair and deep chocolate eyes. What she lacked in stature —being only five feet two inches tall; five feet two and three-quarter inches if you asked her— she more than made up for in chutzpah. Chuck had briefly contemplated working up the courage to ask her out, but he found she scared him a little too much to pursue that avenue. Plus, this place had really great coffee and, selfishly, he didn't want to give that up if things between them didn't work out. At least that was the excuse he told himself.

"Morning, Lou," Chuck said in a sing-songy tone. "You never know. You might add something new to the menu that I'd like to try."

"Pfft." Lou dismissed him with a wave, rolling her eyes. "I add new stuff all the time, but you still get the same thing. Large Cafe Mocha and an everything bagel, toasted—"

—toasted with butter," Chuck finished for her, bobbing his head from side to side. "Yes. Yes. I know. I'm predictable. But hey. I like what I like."

"Mhmmm," Lou hummed. Given the look she was giving him, Chuck was beginning to suspect there was more to it than simply agreeing with him. He wasn't going to try to unpack that meaning so early in the day.

Lou had already begun to prepare his order when some banging from the back of the cafe startled Chuck, causing him to jump and turn toward the noise. The door to the back room was being pushed open by what looked like a large, red mailbox on a dolly. Mateo— one of Lou's staff— struggled with getting his cargo through the door, trying to hold the swinging door open with his foot as he pushed.

Chuck rushed in to lend a hand, holding the door open, earning him a "Thanks, Bro."

"Yo, Lou," Mateo hollered. "Where do you want this old thing?"

Lou leaned over the counter with a grunt as she pointed toward the front of the cafe near the windows. "Put it close to the door. That way, people can drop their letters in when they come in."

As Mateo set the mailbox down, Chuck got a better look and saw that it was a mailbox for letters to Santa. It was dusty, like it had been in storage for quite some time, but seemed to be in good repair. Chuck watched as Mateo dropped the mailbox in place, knocking some of the dust off in the process. As the other man twisted the mailbox to get it into place, something caught Chuck's eye.

"Hey, hold on a second," Chuck called out, getting down on his hands and knees to get a better look at the bottom of the mailbox. Upon closer inspection, there seemed to be a piece of paper that had been jarred loose, slipping through the seams of the bottom of the box. Tugging at it, trying to be gentle so as not to tear it, he managed to get it free. Pushing himself up to his feet, he dusted off his hands and the knees of his pants before looking closely at the paper he'd extracted.

Chuck was somewhat surprised to see that both Lou and Mateo had stepped up on either side of him, equally curious to see what he'd found. Turning the item over in his hands, he could see that it was a hand-made envelope, consisting of a folded over piece of paper with tape on the edges to hold it together. On the front, in rather crude lettering, were the words "To: Santa Claus - North Pole".

"Oh my gosh," Lou gasped, covering her mouth as she eyed their discovery. "That's some little kid's letter to Santa. I wonder how long it's been stuck in there?"

Chuck turned the letter over in his hands again, examining the young craftsmanship that went into it. "How long have you had this mailbox?" Chuck gestured to the box with the letter in his hand. "I don't remember you having this last year."

"I just got it over the weekend. They had these storage unit auctions, you know, like the ones on TV? Well, I saw an ad for the auction and thought I'd check it out. Long story short, I got a bunch of crap for a decent price and that was one of the things in the storage unit. It was tucked away in the back. I didn't even see it at first. I have no idea how long it's been in there."

Chuck hummed and nodded his understanding, continuing to stare thoughtfully at the letter in his hands.

"Should we open it?" Mateo asked, gesturing at the letter. The three all looked at one another, trying to gauge the other's reaction. Lou shrugged with pursed lips, seeming uncertain.

"I mean," Chuck began, his brow furrowed in thought. "This was some little kid's Christmas wish. I don't know where these letters would have ended up back then, but I'd like to believe that somebody read them. But this one… this is a Christmas wish that went unread, unanswered. Maybe there's some heartbroken little kid out there that didn't get what they wanted for Christmas. What if—"

"Chuck!" Lou interrupted, gripping his forearm as she looked up at him. "You know that these letters were never going to the North Pole, right? There's no Santa Claus to read these letters."

"I do not know that," Chuck stated indignantly, standing up a bit straighter. "Sure, there may not be some mythical being with a workshop in one of the most inhospitable regions on the planet, but that doesn't mean that there isn't a Santa Claus. Santa lives in all of us," he said, tapping the letter against his chest for emphasis. "The spirit of giving, of bringing a little bit of joy to others, is an ability each of us have. I believe I have that ability!"

Lou smiled warmly up at him, looking both heartwarmed and properly chastised in equal measure. "Then I think you should open it."

Chuck pondered Lou's words as he looked at the letter, the paper feeling somehow heavier in his hands than it had before. Perhaps the weight was on his heart and his own memories of Christmases past and wishes unanswered.

Bolstering his resolve, Chuck took in a big breath and set his jaw. This was an important duty that he wasn't going to take lightly. Painstakingly, Chuck pulled the tape away until one end of the makeshift envelope was freed, allowing him to gingerly extract the letter inside.

Once the letter was removed, Chuck let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Steeling himself again, he unfolded the paper to show the message, clearly a child's writing. Chuck cleared his throat before he began to read the letter aloud.

Dear Santa,

How are you? How are the reindeer? My name is Sarah and I am 8 years old. My daddy says you are not real but I hope he is wrong. I know there are a lot of kids that have been better than me so I wont ask for a lot. I just want to have a Christmas like we used to. I miss my mommy and the tree and the dont have to get me any presents. If you are real I just want my family again for Christmas. My daddy moves us a lot so I hope you can find me.

Thank you and Merry Christmas

Sarah Walker

December 15 2002

"Oh god," Lou softly sobbed, covering her mouth with her clenched fist. Chuck was speechless, his emotions roiling under the surface, threatening to overwhelm him. As a child —not much older than this Sarah— he had written letters to Santa not dissimilar to this one. That kinship in heartache, in longing for family, created for him an instant bond with this little girl.

"That's some messed up stuff, man," Mateo interjected, letting out a huff as he took off his work cap and rubbed his shaven head. Putting his cap back on, he patted Chuck on the shoulder. "Good luck, man. I got dishes need wash'n." WIth that, Mateo left the way he'd come in, dragging the dolly behind him.

Lou and Chuck stood in quiet contemplation, staring at the letter in his hands. It was finally Lou that spoke. "So, now what?" Lou looked up at Chuck expectantly, uncertain.

Chuck cleared his throat as he continued to stare at the letter. "Do-do you mind if I keep this?"

She took a step back and tilted her head to the side, studying Chuck for a moment. Her lips pulled into a tight smile and she nodded. "Ok. Sure. If that's what you want."

Chuck just nodded his reply as he read over the letter again. Lou gave him a pat on the arm, pulling him from his thoughts, directing his attention to her. "How about that breakfast?"

Her question seemed to bring him back to the present, causing him to jump as he checked the time on his watch. "Oh. Right. Yeah, I'd better get to the office. I'll just…" Not finishing his thought, Chuck folded the letter back up and returned it to its envelope before stuffing it in his inside jacket pocket.

Ooooooooooooooooooooo

Chuck sat in his office, picking at his breakfast as he re-read the letter. This letter had been written twenty years ago. That would make her about his age by now. It was entirely likely she'd forgotten all about sending that letter so many years ago. But he hadn't forgotten about his letters, had he? Chuck was so lost in thought that he didn't hear his friend and business partner coming into his office.

"Hey ya, Chuck old buddy, old p—" the words died on the man's lips as he neared Chuck's desk. "Whaaaaatcha got there?"

As a knee jerk reaction, Chuck folded the letter closed, trying to conceal it… poorly. "Wha-uh… n-nothin." His friend returned a flat look with his head tilted to the side. "Ok. Alright. It's just… it's a thing. A letter. It's no big deal, Morgan. Really."

"Ooooo. We just got a letter. We just got a letter. We just got a letter. I wonder who it's from?" Morgan sang and danced in place to the tune of the Blue's Clues song. Chuck rolled his eyes at his lifelong friend, shaking his head at his antics. "Alright," Morgan conceded, holding up a placating hand. "But seriously, did someone send you a letter? Do people still do that? Send letters? Are stamps still a thing? I wanna believe they are, but I just haven't had to mail any—"

"Yes, Morgan!" Chuck blew out a breath to help his frustration subside. "Stamps are still a thing. And no, somebody did not send me a letter." Morgan meant well, but he had a tendency to fixate on things; typically the wrong things. Before retelling his tale, Chuck prepared himself for the onslaught of excitement that was classic Morgan.

"I found it at the Mean Bean." Chuck held up his hand to forestall Morgan's inevitable comment about Lou. As suspected, Morgan was about to interject but, given the raised hand and stern look on Chuck's face, he closed his mouth and gestured for Chuck to proceed.

"Lou got one of those North Pole mailboxes, the kind you see at the mall for kids to drop off their letters to Santa. Well, anyway, she found a used one and wanted to display it in her store. When they were setting it up, we found a letter that had been stuck inside. That's it. So, see? Nothing much to tell," Chuck finished, stuffing the letter back in the envelope and putting it in his top right desk drawer.

"So-so, wait," Morgan started, waving his hand in the air. "Go-go back. So, this was some little kid's letter to Santa? Oh man." Morgan sagged, looking legitimately bummed about the situation. "How long has it been in there? Do you know?"

"Twenty years," Chuck said, unable to keep the wince from his face.

"WHAT? Twent- Twenty years? Chuck! Dude! Did you read it? Of course you read it. How else would you know how old it is? But honestly, who wouldn't read it? I mean, you clearly had it open when I walked in, so you were just now reading it. What does it say? Was it from some kid or was it one of those Eartha Kitt, Santa Baby kind of—"

"Morgan!" Chuck shouted, both to stop that specific question as well as to stop the seemingly endless stream of questions pouring out of Morgan's mouth. Clamping his mouth shut, Morgan seemed to get the hint.

"Sorry. Sorry," Morgan mumbled through pursed lips, holding his hands up in surrender as he sat down in the chair in front of Chuck's desk. "So, what are you going to do?"

Chuck tilted his head, a little confused by the question. "Do? About what?"

Morgan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Hello? The letter? You're not gonna just leave it in your drawer to waste away for another twenty years. So, what's your plan? When I walked in here, I could see those gears turning in that head of yours," Morgan said, gesturing at Chuck in an accusatory tone. "So, what are you thinking?"

Blowing out a breath, Chuck leaned back in his office chair, running his hands through his hair. He knew this sounded crazy, but he just couldn't get the thought out of his head. "I dunno, buddy. I think I have to try and find her. I know it sounds crazy but—"

"YES!" Morgan jumped to his feet, thrusting his arms in the air in victory. "God, that's what I hoped you were gonna say. Dude, this is awesome."

"You don't think it's a bit… I dunno… nuts?" Chuck asked tentatively.

"Of course it's nuts! But-but in a good way," he backpedaled, holding up his hands placatingly. Chuck gave his friend a flat look, not feeling very reassured by the comment. "Unless the kid had the forethought to put down their address, date of birth and social security number, the chances of you finding them is pretty slim."

Chuck nodded in agreement, pulling his lips into a tight line as he stared at his desk. Morgan eyed his friend for a long moment as the room fell silent. Letting out a small huff, Morgan sat down on the edge of Chuck's desk.

"But, if there's anyone that can do it, I'd put my money on Chuck Bartowski any day." Chuck let out a snort at his friend's comment, lifting his gaze to meet Morgan's.

"Thanks buddy, but you're right. There isn't a lot to go on. Just their name, a rough age and the date the letter was written. That's not a whole lot," Chuck confessed with a shrug.

Morgan waved the comment away, not having any of it. "Bah. I've seen you do more with less. Besides, it's Christmas. You gotta at least try, right?"

Chuck pondered Morgan's words. Throughout their lives, Morgan had always been his cheerleader, supporting him in anything and everything. Morgan had been there for him through the good times and all the bad, of which there'd been plenty. Sitting at his desk and staring at the letter earlier, Chuck had been trying to talk himself out of getting involved, but the little voice in his head — and now the voice of the little friend in front of him— were of one accord.

Biting his lower lip, Chuck nodded, a smile slowly growing. "You're right, Morgs. I gotta at least try. It is Christmas after all."

"That's the spirit!" Morgan jumped up from the desk and held up his hand for a high-five. Chuck obliged his friend even though he thought that maybe it was time to abandon high-fives at this stage of their lives. Morgan started to make his way out of the office but stopped dead in his tracks. Spinning around, he let out a hiss as he sucked in air through his teeth.

"I forgot. Leppert and Schaefer have been holding on line two for like… ten minutes." With that, Morgan turned and fled the office.

"Damnit, Morgan," Chuck growled under his breath as he scrambled to pick up his desk phone.

A/N2: And so it begins. Stay tuned for more on Chuck's journey to find a Christmas miracle.

JW