Ah, yes, the lovely phenomenon more commonly known as writer's block…

If only I owned the things I'm having so much trouble writing about.

(I don't, btw.)

Chuck woke slowly. His brain moved sluggishly as his brown eyes fluttered open. His chest ached dully. A sharper pain shot through his side when he breathed too deeply. Even his head was throbbing.

None of it was extremely painful or bad enough to warrant much worry. But put all together, he felt like one huge, six-foot-three bruise.

He was becoming aware of a supremely uncomfortable crick in his neck. He tried to move his leg and found that it had fallen asleep. The air around him was warm; he was covered in a thin film of sweat. He squinted in the absolute darkness, and as his eyes adjusted, he realized he wasn't in complete darkness after all.

Small horizontal lines of light barred over his face and chest, reaching above his head a few feet. They didn't do much to illuminate the space he was in, but it was enough to get a good idea of his surroundings. The door, or what Chuck could only assume was a door, seemed like a closet door or something. Its slats were uneven and ran up its top half.

Chuck blinked and his brain finally woke up fully. He was in a closet in the back of the Buy More, trying to get to his sister. This thought jarred him into action, and he tried to move to get up.

That was when he realized that there was a weight on his leg that had fallen asleep. It was still experiencing pins and needles, which was why he hadn't remembered until that moment that Sarah was in the closet with him.

They were alone in a dark closet. And she was literally sleeping with her head in his lap.

This made him pause to rethink his grand crusade. On one hand, they were kind of in a big hurry. Who knew how long they had been in there? Apparently, they had eventually fallen asleep, and Chuck could sleep through anything, for as long as he needed. It was a talent that had come in handy when he shared a dorm room in college, but not so much when he was on a time crunch trying to save Ellie's life. They needed to get going, or he should at least move his hand out from under Sarah's head so he could check his watch.

But on the other hand, Sarah was asleep in his lap.

The rational side of his brain was screaming at him to get over himself and move her, but every other part of him was drowning that out with the overwhelming sensation of her hair splayed over his arm and its heady scent. Some light fell on her face and Chuck's gaze stuck on it. His eyes were suddenly on her mouth, and the combination of sensations and thoughts and confusing emotions kept him in place for he didn't know how long.

Until Sarah shifted and moved her head.

Chuck turned his head so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. Praying that she hadn't seen his face and assumed he had been creepily watching her as she slept (which he totally had been), he laid his head back on the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a silence, interrupted only by Sarah's light breaths and Chuck's panicked ones. It stretched on for an eternity. Chuck's hands were sweating profusely, and he resisted the urge to wipe them on his khakis. Sarah wasn't moving, and, for a minute, Chuck was almost able to convince himself that he had imagined her movement. She wasn't awake, it was just a trick of the light.

He cracked his eyes open, but waited another few seconds before daring to look at her again. He slowly turned his head and squinted at her, ready to go limp again at the slightest provocation.

Her eyes were closed.

He let out a sigh of relief. She hadn't woken up. But now he had another problem. He actually needed her to wake up. They needed to get up and go do something before Ellie got hurt. And Awesome, of course. And anyone else they might have. Look at the big picture, he told himself. You have things you have to do, people you need to see.

He glanced down.

Yeah, you do, but you're already looking at her.

Chuck immediately grimaced at himself. Oh, God, what does that even mean? That is by far the cheesiest thing you have ever said. Or thought. Ever. Stop it. Get up.

Okay. He was going to do it. He was going to get up, and wake up Sarah, and they were going to get out of this cursed closet, and nothing was going to be awkward because no news of this was going to get out of this very, very small room. He would say nothing to Sarah and she would know nothing about it and Casey would never, ever learn what had transpired.

After a few seconds to ready himself and another few to reflect on how ridiculous his situation was, Chuck looked down again. Her head was on his upper thigh, facing away from him toward the wall. Her hands were crossed under her chest, the knuckles pressing against him. Her legs were tucked up and crossed at the ankles. The sight made Chuck freeze for one last time before he finally made up his mind. He was going to move. He was. It was going to happen. Right now. Riiiight now. Aaaaany second…

But she looked so comfortable.

There was a loud slam from somewhere outside the relative safety of their closet. The noise echoed down the hallway, loud as a gunshot.

Sarah sat bolt upright. Chuck's head snapped backward to avoid hers and it cracked against the wall behind him with a painful thud.

He muffled his groan as Sarah reflexively tried to jump to her feet, but she quickly realized she was in a confined space and stopped moving. There was a silence, punctuated by Sarah's heavy breathing. Chuck's pulse was racing, adrenaline still flooding his system. His head ached dully.

He watched Sarah closely as her blue eyes flicked around the room. There were crease marks on her cheek from his khakis, and he had to squash down a smile. She met Chuck's gaze and frowned. "Are you okay?" she asked loudly.

Chuck lunged forward and put a hand over her mouth. He tried to tell her to be quieter, but Sarah's instincts had his arm in a vise grip and bent awkwardly behind his back before anything came out of his mouth.

She held him there for a second before releasing him. "Sorry," she said. "Hard to ignore years of self defense."
Chuck rolled his shoulder with a grimace. "Nevermind that. We need to get out of here."

Sarah looked around again. After a second, she asked in a lowered voice, "Are we still in the closet?"

Chuck nodded.

"Did we fall asleep in the closet?"

He pressed his lips together without an answer.

"How, exactly, did we fall asleep in the closet when you take up more than half of it?"

"Uh, we were tired?"

"No," Sarah whispered, exasperated. "How did we physically end up falling asleep? There's not enough room in here for a single adult of normal size to lay down, let alone…"

Her words trailed off when she glanced down. Her gaze landed on Chuck's pants. She slowly reached up and felt her cheek, where the crease marks were still fading.
There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Well, I guess that answers that, doesn't it?" Sarah said with a small laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so," Chuck agreed with an equally small chuckle. He avoided her gaze studiously. He was seriously considering barging out of the closet and giving himself up while Sarah racked her brain for something to say that wouldn't be totally awkward, but whoever had slammed through the door outside and woken Sarah up was now storming down the hallway.

Sarah involuntarily leaned closer to Chuck as the footsteps grew nearer, and Chuck had to once again ignore the heady scent of her hair. The steps passed and grew distant.

Sarah breathed deeply. "We should go."

Chuck nodded. "Agreed." He tried to stand at the same time Sarah did, but there wasn't enough room, and she eventually just put a hand on his head and pushed herself up on him. He sat heavily and waited as she looked through the slats of the door.

"Okay, let's go," she said. She pushed open the door and Chuck scrambled to his feet behind her. He followed her into the hallway and had to let his eyes adjust to the harsh light for a few seconds. She turned to the right and Chuck almost began to follow her before he remembered the layout of the store.

"Uh, Sarah," he whisper-shouted. "That's the wrong way. The main room is back here." He pointed with his thumb behind him, and Sarah turned, her hands on her hips.

"I know, but we're going this way," she insisted.

"Why?"

"Because I am not going to let you get yourself killed. Besides, who knows how long we were out?"

Chuck looked at his watch. "About thirty minutes, and I thought we talked about this! Twice!"

Sarah visibly restrained herself from strangling him. "I am not going to be responsible for your death, Chuck," she said through clenched teeth.

"Cool. Nice to know. I'm going this way." And Chuck spun on his heel and began to walk away.

He got maybe four steps before Sarah grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. "I will do whatever is necessary to get you out of here, Chuck," she said, her voice low.

Chuck looked at her. "Oh, yeah? You going to knock me out and carry me?"

Sarah jutted out her chin. "If I have to."

Chuck barked out a laugh. "Okay, you have fun with that. I'm going to go save my sister now." He tried to walk away again.

Sarah puffed out a breath behind him. "You know what, Chuck, I have spent years of my life trying to protect you, even when you didn't want it, but I have had enough of your stubbornness," she announced, her voice sharp and biting.

Chuck said nothing and kept walking, against his own better judgement. He was expecting her to leave him behind, because that's what typically happens when a girl says "I've had enough" to a guy: the messy breakup, or, in this case, the abandonment to an almost certain suicide mission. Which was fine by him. If she wasn't going to help him save his sister, she could go rot in hell for all he cared.

But as soon as he thought that, he knew he didn't mean it. Sarah didn't deserve anything like that. Heck, she didn't deserve him. Not that they were, you know, together or anything. He just meant that, out of all the assignments she could have gotten, he was not what she deserved. As an agent. And her assignment. Not-

Something simultaneously collided with his back and jabbed at the back of his knee. His leg buckled, and the extra weight brought him to the ground hard. He hit on his left knee first and face planted, pain exploding in his kneecap. He bit his lip to contain the cry of pain that bubbled up in him and rolled to try to dislodge whoever was on top of him. He at first assumed it was maybe Rizzo or some accomplice of his, but he immediately recognized the scent that hovered over him.

For the love of God…

Sarah leaned over, her lips next to his ear. "Chuck," she hissed. "I am not going to leave you to face a bunch of madmen with guns and years of experience, whether you're with me or not."

Chuck grinded his teeth. "I guess we'll just sit here then, won't we? Because I am not going anywhere."

"Well, neither am I," Sarah said, sitting up and crossing her arms in a show of defiance and pure stubbornness. She straddled his wide back comfortably.

"Not even if I ask really politely?" Chuck asked sarcastically.

"Not even then."

"Not even if someone starts walking down the hallway toward us carrying a gun?"

"Not-" Sarah began, then stopped suddenly.

"That would kinda defeat the purpose of keeping me down, don't you think?" Chuck asked, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Hm, what a conundrum. I suppose it would be best to just let me up so we could get away from the bad guy-"

"But then you'd just go running right into the thick of them!" Sarah interrupted. "Exactly what you should not be doing! The general is sending reinforcements, remember?"

"My sister might get shot, Sarah." All emotion was gone from Chuck's voice, except for deadly serious purpose. He was stating facts now, with the voice of someone who had said them ten too many times.

There was a pause.

"I'm not going to let that happen," he continued when Sarah was quiet. "It would be my fault for even getting mixed up with all this in the first place, and for letting Ellie and Awesome get pulled in. I can't let anything happen to them."

Sarah still said nothing. Chuck could think of nothing else to say that might convince her. It was up to her judgement now.
She sat in silence for a while before quietly standing. She let Chuck get up, her gaze on the floor. "Fine," she said, almost in a whisper. "Go get yourself killed. Have fun."

Chuck brushed off his shirt awkwardly. She was just standing there, looking at the floor, her shoulders a little slumped. He tried to think of something to say, but his mind drew a blank, so he started to walk away.

And heard her following him immediately.

He stopped. "What happened to letting me go get myself killed?" he called over his shoulder.

"I didn't say I would let you do it alone," she replied softly.

Chuck froze, and crippling guilt immediately flooded him. His fists clenched. She was trying to guilt-trip him, but it wasn't going to work. He was going to go save his sister and his brother-in-law, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She sniffed behind him.

Crap, is she crying? She couldn't be crying. Chuck mentally shook himself. She's playing you. Pull yourself together, you pathetic piece of- He tried to stop the emotion the small sound created in him, but what could he say? He was a sensitive guy.

He sighed loudly and emphatically. He couldn't just leave her crying in the hallway. Or just following him and sniffling. Not only would that be extremely callous of him, it would be the exact opposite of sneaky, which was important in these situations. They had to at least get out of the hallway before someone walked through again.

Chuck closed his eyes for a second before turning to face her. "Look, I'm sorry, I-" He opened his eyes and stumbled to a stop. Sarah's eyes were screwed shut, and her hand was over her mouth. Chuck frowned. "Uh, Sarah, are you okay?" he asked carefully.

She said nothing, but just stood there without moving. Chuck was genuinely concerned. "Sarah?" He stepped forward and raised a hand to put on her shoulder. "What's going on?" Of course, he knew what was going on, but he was going to pretend like he didn't so he didn't accidentally confess to something she was unaware of, like almost every stupid main character of a tv show did at least twice. He was not going to be that stupid main character of a tv show, so he kept his mouth shut.

She drew in a deep breath, like she was going to say something, but still didn't move.

Before Chuck could ask again, she held up a finger. Approximately two seconds later, it clicked in Chuck's head. His eyes widened and he quickly stepped back before Sarah let out an enormous sneeze that tore down the long hallway.

So she hadn't been crying.

It was so loud that Chuck flinched. "Sarah!" he hissed.

"Sorry!" she whispered. "I couldn't help it!"

Immediately they heard voices from down the hall. Sarah cursed. Chuck grabbed her arm and pulled behind him as he raced to the end of the hallway. He was about to barge through the door at the end of it when they heard someone else on the other side of it. Chuck skidded to a stop, and Sarah yanked him to the side, where the janitor's closet was. She opened the door and Chuck followed her inside. The confined space was filled with janitorial clutter, buckets and mops and such. The entire place reeked of cleaning fluid. It made Chuck's nose itch.

"Another closet? Really?" he asked.

Sarah punched him in the arm.

The door nearest them opened, and someone walked in. "Hey, what was that?" he called.

Someone called back, "I dunno. Someone sneeze?"

"I don't know, I've been back with the prisoners."

"Wait, we have prisoners?"

Chuck visibly tensed up.

"Yeah," the first guy responded. "It's this couple. They're nauseating. One of them is, like, an eternal optimist or whatever."

"Is the girl cute?"

"Yeah, but Mr. Optimist won't let me near her. I think they're, like, married or something."

Chuck lunged toward the door with unfamiliar anger in his eyes, but Sarah grabbed his hand and met his eyes. An unspoken argument passed between them, and Chuck slumped. "Fine," he muttered, and the man in the hallway was safe for the time being.

"Bad luck, man," the second man said. "I was just looking through the kitchen, and there's all this leftover food in there."

"That's generally what you put in kitchens," Sarah said under her breath.

"I found this sandwich-"

Chuck straightened like a bolt of lightning struck him.

"-and it tastes amazing."

"You're just eating someone's sandwich? Isn't their life sad enough, working at a Buy More, without us eating their sandwich?"

"They can make another one. It's not a big deal."

Chuck looked positively murderous.

"Okay, well, I'm going back, if nothing's wrong here."

They said goodbye, and the hall was quiet. Chuck was breathing deeply and heavily, his nostrils flaring. Sarah let go of his hand. "Chuck?" she asked.

He was staring at the door. "He's eating my sandwich," he said slowly.

"What?"

He looked at her. "I packed a sandwich for lunch, and I was going to eat it after all of this was over, because you kind of took over my lunch period. That man is eating my sandwich."

"Okay?"

"You don't understand," Chuck said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Morgan and I have spent many painstaking hours creating the perfect sandwich, putting it through many tests such as what would we want most on a desert island and such. Morgan said that he had created the perfect sandwich, and I was going to try it today."

He looked Sarah dead in the eyes. "He. Is. Eating. My. Sandwich."

Sarah looked back at him calmly. "I'm not going to be able to get you to run away from this, am I?" she asked tiredly. She already knew the answer.

"Never," Chuck answered.

Sarah sighed. "Well, let's go rescue your sandwich."

Hey, guys. How's it going? I hope you're having a lovely life. Thank you for spending valuable minutes reading my ramblings (it means the world to me), and I'll see you next time.