A/N: Hey guys! I'm so stunned by the amount of awesome reception I got for this originally-meant-to-be oneshot! I'd like to thank you all so very much for taking the time to read this story, and that I appreciate any support that you guys offer. So how did everyone feel about Chuck vs The Beard? I thought it was pretty damn awesome. Zachary did a great job, and I've got my faith restored in the writers. Hahaha, anyway, I did say that I might continue this, and here it is! I hope it lives up to standards in terms of angst (even though life is angsty enough) and writing (because everyone else on this website is so amazing)
Oh, I just went for a Paramore concert on Sunday, so find the Paramore reference, which should be extremely easy to spot, and you might get a very nice present on your doorstep! :D Okay, not really, but you would've earned a fellow Paramore fan's respect! (:
Disclaimer - I don't own Chuck.
theprincess1511, my lovely beta, made this all possible.
The glaring light of dawn splashed across Burbank, Los Angeles – the beautiful, picture-worthy blend of orange and amber filling the sky like a burning flame that lit up the world. Seagulls called out in the distance, floating like a fleet of kites in the wind. As the tide began to tickle his bare feet, he began to stir, twitching slightly at the tingling sensation at the base of his limbs and the grains of sand that had rooted themselves in his wild, unruly locks fell back into the shoreline.
"Charles…"
He stiffened at the airy, wispy voice that had seemingly come out of no where. It was one he had not heard for a while; one that he hadn't expected to hear for the remainder of his life. Fingers raked through his damp hair with affection, combing the entangled mop into a neat push-back. He gripped a handful of sand in his palm.
"Chuck, honey, it's time to get up. We have to go."
"Go where?" He mumbled pathetically, the blur haze of sleep still partially clouding his mind. He cracked an eye open, peeping warily through his silted eyelids. They immediately rested upon her, the woman who stood over him, her floral sundress dancing in the warm breeze. Helping him to his feet, she took a step towards him, brushing a tender kiss against his cheek.
"Mum…" He whispered in disbelief and awe, shying away from her touch as though he had been burned. She smiled warmly, oblivious to his obvious discomfort. His fingers lingered over the spot on his cheek, where her lips had touched his skin.
"Hello Charles," she whispered in her familiar gentle tone, moving a step closer toward him. The sunlight hit her eyes, reflecting her molten chocolate eyes that he had inherited. The moment was almost ethereal and he found himself unwillingly doubting the fact that it were even real. He fought the overwhelming urge to kick and scream and sulk as he had, when she had first left them.
He tried his best to keep the poison out of his voice, albeit unsuccessfully, letting anger rear its ugly head. "Why are you here?"
She smiled again, eyes crinkling at the edges where lines had begun to form, and he finally realized how much older and haggard she appeared, than he had once remembered her. She held out her arms, her welcoming and radiating warmth coaxing him toward her like a moth into the light. She soothed him as he wrapped his arms around her, the previous night's turmoil eventually pouring back into his soul.
Tears stung his eyes, as the twisted knot in his stomach began to unravel. He fell to his knees, retching violently in an effort to empty the contents of his stomach, as she knelt beside him. She ran her hand over his back in a comforting gesture, whispering how proud she was of the man he had become. He shook his head vigorously, a strangled sob escaping his lips. He tried to speak; tried to tell her how much he had failed, how lost he was in life – but she would have none of that, instead pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.
"I've missed you so much," he heard her mumble, breaking his ravaged heart a little bit more. He cried into her shoulder, realizing that he was sixteen years too late in the mourning of his mother's departure from his life. He had vague memories of his father moping around their home, before he too, had upped and left them.
Yet, he recalled no tears in their respective departures – only his discomfort when he first learnt that his parents were gone. Only bits and pieces where he had comforted his sister, floated back into his mind. It only made him weep a little harder and the pain, a little deeper.
If anyone had paid them attention, all they would've have noticed was a half-clothed man, crying and embracing the surrounding, choking atmosphere; embracing nothingness.
"Sam."
She flinches at his call; flinches at the way he wraps his arms around her while other agents comb the beach for Chuck. She winces as she catches Casey's highly disapproving glare. Yet, she attempts to enjoy the most spectacular sunset she's ever seen. Well, one of the more spectacular ones. She's witnessed the most breathtaking views of the sun setting, and each picture that she had captured in her mind, were simply scenes in a movie.
The only one that had managed to take her breath away, was one where she had been seated beside him, all those years back.
Detaching herself from Shaw, she watches as his face falls dejectedly. He steps away from her, nodding in understanding as he goes back to supervising the other agents.
Her eyes glaze over as she shoots nervous glances toward the ocean. She's worried, so very worried that he might've done something so incredibly stupid. She wraps her arms around her trembling frame, a protective barrier that shields her from the breeze as it brushes its hands perversely over her flawless skin.
She shivers, feeling so cold, even though the temperature was high enough for any other person to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Maybe it was the way Shaw looked at her – she could see it in his eyes, the lust and longing that he sought from her. Maybe it was because the sun was so nearly beyond the horizon, and she feels the warmth die within her along with its absence.
Maybe it was because as soon as the sun went down, the hunt for their missing asset would've ceased. And in the process, all hope within her would have deflated so miserably that she could not help but break down and cry her eyes out. She knows that's not what Sarah Walker would've done. But she wasn't Sarah, was she?
She was Samantha Lisa Williams, a thirty year old civilian from Chicago, who just happened to be lost in the darkest parts of a nightmare. But she longed to be Sarah Walker again, because as far as she knew, Sarah was the persona that she felt most at home with – cold and calculative at the right times, compassionate at the next and all around driven by that damned passion and flame that he had so easily extinguished by the sweet, simple actions that were like a battering ram to her reinforced walls.
And then she was Sam again. Sam wasn't afraid to cry; to show her emotions and how she felt about something. Sam wanted the whole package – the kids, the perfect husband, the dog that sat at her feet while she warmed up by the fireplace, the white fence and the beautiful house. She felt like such a schizophrenic, torn right down the middle between two completely different personalities.
But the thing is – she had no idea who she really was anymore.
"Agent Walker."
Jolted out of her rambling thoughts by another agent, she wore Sarah's facade for the moment, pulling on her usual contemplative mask. She nodded toward the agent, prompting him to report his findings. "We found this in the sand."
He drops a phone in her hand, and she studies him for a moment. She's seen his face before and she's got a feeling that she knows him. She squints slightly, the illumination of the sun is faint now, and it's getting dark.
"Josh? Josh Taylor?" She eyes him curiously, waiting for some sort of reaction. A smile graces his face, and she knows instinctively that it's him.
"Hey Sarah," he smiles softly.
He's got a past, just like her, and they had bonded over that fact while going through training at Langley together – briefly, for a week or two. He's handsome and he's charming, and he's had the smarts to be the perfect field agent. But he never did, choosing to be reassigned to various other departments of the Central Intelligence Agency, because he didn't want to leave his family behind.
"Just being in the CIA is enough for me to know that somehow, I'm still serving my country. And you know, it's not so bad, cause I got to meet you, didn't I?"
She remembers his words perfectly, knowing for a fact, that he had pressed his lips to hers right after he had said it.
Abandoning all her reserve, she envelops her old friend in a crushing hug, and he chuckles into her ear, hugging her back with equal gusto. They pull apart and she decides that she's happy to see her old flame and friend.
"Was surprised that you'd recognize me, Agent Walker," he teases with a tiny smile upon his face.
"Yeah, some of us actually made it to that rank, Mr Taylor," she narrows her eyes in a playful glare, watching as his face softens in a toothy grin.
"I've really missed you, Sarah. It's really great to see you again."
"You too, Josh."
For a moment, only smiles are exchanged and a comfortable silence falls easily over them like a blanket. She watches his cinnamon eyes as they scan the beach again, and suddenly, she's jolted back into the present. Her grip tightens over the phone in her hand and she begins to study it with an intense gaze.
"Ah, yes, about the phone," Josh pauses abruptly, glancing worriedly in her direction when her eyes shut voluntarily and her breath hitches in her throat. "You okay, Sarah?"
"Just say it," she snaps sharply, immediately regretting the action. Pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose, she lets out a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry. I – I need to find Carmichael, he's my asset and I let my guard down when I should've been checking up on him but I –"
She frowns in annoyance as a gentle, melodic peal of laughter escapes from her companion, finding nothing amusing in the topic of conversation. He clears his throat, keeping a hint of a smile on his striking features as he folds his arms across his wind-breaker.
He shrugs, letting his grin shine. "Never thought I'd say this, Walker, but… you got it bad."
She scoffs, feigning indifference, when all she feels are the truth of his words, colliding into her like a punch to the gut. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Taylor."
He keeps a lopsided smile on her face, and she can't help but realize how much she's missed him.
"Oh come off it, Sarah. Frankly, I'm not surprised at all. I've seen his files – He's one impressive guy."
A faint smile makes its way onto her face. The irony of it all, amused her to no end. To anyone else, Charles Carmichael was a top agent; he's the famed "Mad Dog", the scourge of enemy operatives. But to her, he's the same Chuck Bartowski – the beautiful, brown-haired angel who had changed her life drastically. If Carmichael was as impressive as he was known for, why did he run?
"Yeah, well, he's run away. He's gone, and we need to find him."
"Sarah," Josh shook his head solemnly, a morose expression crossing his face for the first time since she's last seen him. "The phone was Carmichael's."
