Summary: Down on her luck, America's Sweetheart Sarah Walker flies to Chicago for a job interview. When she meets a charming, bumbling nerd on the same flight, her life takes an unexpected turn.

Author's Note: Waaaah, thank you thank you for all your love and support. I'm overwhelmed by your enthusiasm, and your multitude. I love this community so much, and I'm beyond excited to get to play around in it for a little while. Very glad to take you guys with me on this journey!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, except for maybe one. Also, all the mistakes are mine.


It was helpless. Even after she'd applied the concealer she had bought from the airport's duty free, it was clear to anyone with functioning eyes that she was working on less than 3 hours of sleep. She grunted in frustration as she pushed the useless stick of concealment back into her purse. Her plan had been to sleep the five hours she would have had on the plane. While she didn't regret not having slept at all, enjoying the unexpected and admittedly intriguing passenger seated next to her quite a bit, she also knew that the five hours of sleep would have been more than welcome for her upcoming interview.

She went over her outfit one last time, making sure her top button was at least securely fastened, before she exited the bathroom. Looking at her phone, ignoring the multiple missed calls from one and the same number, Bryce, she hastened her pace as she had only 3 more minutes to make it to the Delta offices, located next to the airport's long-term storage and baggage handling system.

Leaving behind the typical chatter of the main hall, her heels echoed over the long and empty corridors of the various airlines' offices. Before the door behind her shut completely, she still heard the official airport announcement boom over the intercom which made her stop in her tracks. Just as she'd done ever since she could walk, she looked up, placed her hand on her heart and greeted the lady in the sky.

While she wasn't overtly superstitious, this was one of her traditions she simply couldn't seem to break. Not that it had offered her much luck over the years, quite the opposite to be honest, but it had offered her some form of comfort regardless.

"Miss Walker?" She looked up. A petite woman's head was sticking out from a door on the right.

"Yes?" Sarah responded, her arm falling back to her side. The woman had looked amused at her stance.

"Beckman will be ready for you in just a minute."

"Perfect," she said, following the woman through the door. Once inside, it was a tiny room - a waiting area to be precise - with a small desk squeezed in between two dull grey walls. The woman went back to her seat, answering the multiple phones that were ringing simultaneously with a "Diane Beckman's office, how may I take your message?"

Sarah looked at her hesitantly, knowing of Beckman only by reputation. She was lucky as it was to even get the interview in the first place. What she knew about her was enough to know that Beckman basically decided whether she'd ever fly for a commercial airline in the US, period. Beckman might be working for Delta now, but having had a celebrated career in the United States Air Force, she had become so renowned that she could pull whatever string needed to start or end someone's career.

Barging into her office then, didn't seem like the wisest decision. So Sarah waited. Glancing around the room she noted that the only light came from a harsh white TL lamp above the desk; the other light seeped through the glass door with General Diane Beckman emblazoned on it in golden letters.

"She is ready to see you now," the assistant quickly looked up from between the many various calendars and notepads. Sarah nodded her thanks, decided to leave her suitcase behind, and opened the door to Beckman's office.

The first thing she noticed upon entering was the light. While her assistant was squeezed in a grey windowless room, Beckman's office had a window covering the length of the entire wall with an extraordinary view of the landing track.

The second thing she noticed was Beckman herself. For her larger than life reputation, she herself was surprisingly small. She was seated behind her desk, her reddened hair meticulously pulled back into a tight bun, small rectangular glasses propped onto her nose, her lips pursed.

"Ah, Miss Walker, America's sweetheart and Jack Burton's daughter. Of course," she lowered her glasses and placed them on her open notebook. Behind her, there was an American flag and various pictures of a younger Diane in various uniforms; in one she was shaking the hand of the President.

Her eyes went over Sarah's outfit, her disdain apparent, before landing on Sarah's eyes. Both women looked at each other for a moment then, sizing each other up.

"General," Sarah saluted her, her training kicking back in as if it were only yesterday. This seemed to appease Beckman because she nodded, and waved Sarah to sit: "I was under the impression you were here for a position as a pilot, not a hostess? Or do I not have my facts straight? Were you not first in your class at the Academy, and were you not the one who knocked off three seconds of my thirty-year-long unchallenged record at the Academy's annual cadet summer solstice flight."

As Sarah sat down, Beckman continued reading the report aloud as if she hadn't just given her a snide remark. Sarah, on the other hand, was only half listening as accolade after accolade passed the review. It was as if Beckman was slowly – and meticulously so – spooning out her insides with every utterance of one of Sarah's accomplishments. The place she had once been in, the dreams that had once been in hand's reach, the career she had been destined to make. Her father's name unimportant as she had flown easily through the ranks, the classes, the practices, all on her own merits. And yet…

"An exemplary record until… ah yes, I see. Insubordination, intoxication, unapproved flights, and-," she raised an eyebrow before she continued:" 3 cadets in the hospital?"

"6 actually and they had it coming," Sarah grumbled under her breath, the fury she had felt then resurfacing. The corner of Beckman's mouth rose ever so slightly, her eyes, on the other hand, remained focused on the report in front of her.

"I see there were various requests to have you expelled, but every time the charges were magically dropped and signed off by Langston Graham." She paused and lowered the report then, looking straight at Sarah. While Beckman's face remained stoic, her voice had a hint of sympathy as she said: "I was very saddened to hear of his untimely passing." Or in other words: And this is why you are here.

It had been an untimely death indeed. Graham was one of Sarah's professors at the Academy, and by far her favorite. He saw Sarah's potential from the start and had made sure to get her flying as much as she possibly could. He even taught her individually from time to time, going through procedures that were far above her station.

While these types of mentorships were mostly frowned upon at the academy, as everyone was expected to be treated equally, no one ever spoke up where Walker and Graham were concerned. Walker being the daughter of Burton definitely did have its pull in that regard; Graham by himself was a force to be reckoned with, a little reckless at times, but a strong pilot in the community who was revered by all.

It was his recklessness that eventually got him killed. He went on a joyride in a chopper during a storm over the mountains. While he was one of the only pilots on American soil who could have survived such weather, he hadn't. The forces of nature being unpredictable as ever had been stronger than even the best pilot would have been on a good day.

Sarah nodded her thanks; Graham's death had certainly been a shock to the community. For Sarah, it had felt as if she had lost her father. Again.

"Based on your accolades before the… incident, I would have said you have a great future ahead of you. With the recent developments, however, I'm not so sure." She paused then, her eyes narrowing, gauging Sarah's reaction carefully. Sarah's features remained neutral; the mask she had perfected over the years slipping on like a glove.

"I understand you and Graham had a rather personal mentorship," she tried again, her tactics shifting. "I suppose it makes sense," Beckman continued, "he always was as cocky and as sloppy as your father." It worked.

"What are you trying to say?"

"General," Sarah quickly added as Beckman raised an eyebrow at the growing impatience Sarah had failed to mask in her voice. And just like that, Beckman had her where she wanted.

"Tell me, Miss Walker," she made sure to emphasize Sarah's lack – or better yet – loss of a title, a clear sign of her utter failure to complete her degree as air cadet," what is it that you think I'm trying to say? Is it that I believe the only reason why you survived so long at the Academy as you did is thanks to your name and the misguided guidance of an overcelebrated, uncoordinated Graham Langston? Because if so, then you are absolutely correct."

"How da-" Sarah couldn't contain the boiling resentment towards Beckman any longer. She had come for a job, not to be microscopically scrutinized by Beckman from her high and mighty tower of wings and presidential badges of honor. But before she could utter another syllable, Beckman continued.

"And there you have it. Graham's wildcard, ladies and gentlemen… You are talented, Walker, no need to deny that. But you are unpredictable, hot-headed. While this might come in handy in the career Graham had envisioned for you, it has no place in my airspace. You are a soloist, while we need a team player. Someone who is willing to follow orders, who doesn't need or want the spotlight. Someone reliable."

"I can be all of those things," Sarah quickly said, chastising herself immediately for the desperation in her own voice. She forced herself to breathe more slowly, release the anger she was feeling. "I am those things," she corrected.

"General," she added.

"Then prove it. If you truly want to fly for any of my planes, you'll have to prove to me that you have what it takes to follow the rules. Forget everything Graham taught you; forget everything your father made the free world believe was good captainship. I've made Greta draw up a schedule for you. Collect your hours, do the chores without complaints. If you can do that, we'll talk about a possible position."

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Beckman had pushed a button and the door behind Sarah opened with Greta, the assistant, in the doorway. She had a stack of papers in her left hand, Sarah's luggage in her right hand, ready to escort her out.

Since Sarah couldn't produce any kind word, she threw Beckman – who had already gone back to work - one final glance, before leaving the office with a schedule she had yet to observe, her suitcase and a rapidly beating heart.


Shit shit shit. Chuck cursed to himself. While getting into the long-term storage area had been a no brainer for Chuck since the security system wasn't even installed properly to begin with, locating the package had proven to be far more difficult than expected. He had been given the layout of the building, so he had known how to disarm the various cameras and thermal security in place. What his contacts had failed to mention, however, was that the storage room made use of the most illogical categorizing system ever, costing Chuck more time than initially planned to locate the item. More alarmingly, the airport still made use of regular old security guards who had decided to go on a tour of the place right when Chuck was about to conduct his heist.

Heist, he scoffed to himself. How had he even landed himself here in the first place. Well, he knew why. Why him was the question that was on his mind. And he guessed that in a way, he could answer that too.

The footsteps drew closer as Chuck looked around for a way out. Luckily, the device he had been ordered to steal was small, so with good luck, security wouldn't even find the object if they managed to arrest him.

Crap. Was the next coherent line of thought he had. He was in the middle of the hangar, squeezed between two large racks filled with luggage in all shapes and sizes. In his clumsiness, his elbow had connected with the bar of one of the racks creating a metallic sound that echoed throughout the hangar.

He was utterly screwed. While the guard might not have come across Chuck during his sweep, the godawful sound he had just made, made sure to scream at the guard that Hey! The idiot you're looking for is right here.

If he hadn't been so tall, Chuck might have still tried to hide himself in between the luggage, but knowing his own lankiness so painfully well, he knew his limbs would be the first thing to betray him.

He could still run, risk it. But where to? He had studied the schematics thoroughly and the only way in or out was through the door he had broken into. That same door to which the only possible route was now being blocked by an unamused grumpy looking fellow.

"What ya doing here, pal?"

Double crap.


"Please, I can explain," Chuck tried desperately as he was rudely being shoved towards the exit.

"Sure, you can. Let me guess, you took a left instead of a right and you thought this was the little boy's room?"

"Um yeah actually," Chuck tried. The man behind him guffawed and slightly loosened his hold on Chuck. Even so, Chuck didn't see any way out. Yeah he could run towards the door and then what? He had only disabled the cameras for a solid 10 minutes, which meant they'd be reactivated any second now. Even if he was able to make it out of the man's grasp, he'd be caught on camera the minute he'd make it into the hallway.

The security guy would then use his walkie and Chuck would be recaptured in no time.

"How dumb do you take me for, kid," the man smirked behind him, his grip tightening again. His dominance reinstated.

Pretty dumb since you didn't even search me; but, seeing as the man probably wouldn't believe the real reason for Chuck being there, he opted for silence as his friend.

Arriving at the door, Chuck hesitated. Should he take him out, while he still could. Phah, another voice in his mind scolded. Like you could take him out.

"That's right. Through the door, and take a left. Don't try anything cause I have a taser and I'm not afraid to use it." Chuck felt a piece of hard plastic being shoved into his back, the taser most likely. He swallowed and turned the doorknob, his eyes blinking against the harsh light of the white hallway.

"Chuck?" He heard from his right. He as well as the guard stilled at the sudden, dare Chuck say, angelic voice, seemingly forgetting what they were in the middle of.

"Sarah?" Chuck's mouth agape. Chuck's heart that hadn't stopped beating 120 bpm since he had been busted, skipped a beat at the sight of the blond woman before him. Having already accepted that he would probably never see her again ever, he didn't know what to do now she was before him once again.

She herself seemed quite at a loss, confused to be precise. Her eyes flicked from Chuck's to the guard who was still holding a Taser on Chuck.

While she remained confused, something in her gaze hardened as her eyes shifted back to Chuck.

"I thought I'd said we'd be meeting by the baggage claim?" she said confidently.

Um what? What is she doing, Chuck thought, trying to read Sarah's face for clues.

His fellow guard seemed equally confused as he asked: "You two know each other?"

"Uh…" Chuck managed to say. He looked at the man's confusion, then back at Sarah. It was small, but he had caught the slight narrowing of her eyes. While he wasn't exactly certain what she meant by that, he knew enough to guess it went something along the lines of "play along!"

"Oh hah. You meant baggage claim. Of course, makes sense. I already wondered why you'd want to meet at baggage storage. My bad," he chuckled nervously, eying sideways to see if the guard was at all buying it. The man still looked at both of them suspiciously, but given the fact that he was in the process of lowering his taser, he was at least buying some of it.

Sarah, in the meantime, made her way over, her heels echoing over the white tiles. Chuck noted the subtle signs of relief in Sarah's shoulders; but the next thing he knew, Sarah's demeanor did a 180 as she reached out to the guard's lapel, batted her eyelashes and said:

"He's with me, Guy. He's my cousin from L.A., you know how they can get," her eyes shortly flicked to Chuck, making sure he'd got the hint, before she focused all her attention back to Guy, who had since colored a vermillion shade of red.

"Oh, of course. Miss Walker, those people from L.A. always acting like we're a small ass town."

"Hah, right, I mean Chicago really is-," Sarah gave Chuck a quick and deadly glare that brought shivers down his spine. Luckily, Guy seemed to be too entranced by Sarah's beauty to really care about the man he had caught only minutes earlier for illegal trespassing.

"So, anyway, Guy," Sarah stretched out his name with a hint of sultry in her voice, "thanks for bringing Chuck back to me. If I can ever repay you?" as she said so, her hands had already sought out Chuck's shirt and she was pulling him away from the guard in the direction of where Sarah had appeared from.

"Ah hah," Guy giggled nervously, "I uh-." He scratched the back of his neck, unable to come up with an intelligible response. Chuck pitied the man. Chuck hadn't done much better himself in his first encounter with Sarah; his elbow still hurt from the embarrassment that his big mouth and long limbs had been. Sarah, however, seemed to be used to men turning into floundering heaps of goo at the mere sight of her, as she simply ignored Guy's failure at coherency, drew near and placed a kiss on his cheek.

The man turned even redder, his hand reaching out to the place where Sarah's lips had just graced him.

"Have a nice day, Guy," Sarah then said, dragging Chuck behind her. The final thing Chuck saw before they turned the corner was Guy in the middle of the hallway, a dreamy dazed smile placarded on his face, the Taser long forgotten in his right hand.

Once around the corner, Sarah's flirtiness dropped like flies, and was replaced by quick and calculated paces down the maze of corridors. Her grip on Chuck's shirt never wavered, slowly cutting of parts of his air supply. Her eyes focused determinately ahead.

Chuck, on the other hand, was having trouble focusing at all. Everything seemed to have happened so fast. One minute he had been scared for his livelihood at the chance of being caught, the next thing he knew, he was being rescued by this wonderful woman he had met on the plane, who had no reason whatsoever to help him out.

That last part in particular had him baffled. Why would she help him at all? It was pretty clear he wasn't supposed to be there given the very real Taser shoved in between his ribs. And yet, once she had gotten over her initial bewilderment, she had come up with a cover story. A very convincing cover story at that, his acting skills not included. If he wasn't so very much aware they weren't in fact cousins, her little performance would have convinced him they were.

Lost in thought, Chuck had barely registered where Sarah was taking him. He was just about to speak, ask her why she'd come to his rescue, when he was pulled into a supply closet and slung rather forcibly against the door. Sarah's left arm pinned Chuck right under his chin, her face was only inches from his, her eyes were the most intense he had ever seen them.

"Who are you?" The normal sweetness in her voice long gone. Because he took too long to answer, she put more pressure on his windpipe, asking him again with more anger in her voice.

"I- uh," Chuck's throat hurt, but seeing as Sarah kept her grip firm, he continued anyway, "I'm Chuck. Chuck Bartowski." That didn't seem to please her as she came even closer, her voice wounded now.

"Don't lie to me, who are you really, who sent you?" Chuck was slowly beginning to see stars. He felt like coughing; his body's natural reaction to the lack of fresh air.

"Like I told you on the plane, I'm Chuck." She regarded him calculatingly, looking for any sign that he was lying. She must have decided that he wasn't though, because she lowered her arm slightly, allowing him to breathe properly again. Chuck gasped for air.

"Ok, fine. Say you are who you say you are, why are you here, who sent you?" She let him go completely now, her arms crossed, her eyebrows raised as she started pacing the confined space.

"I don't know, I-"

"What do you mean you don't know? Chuck, people don't just wander into the storage room by accident. It's a simple question, what were you doing there?"

"I uh," how did he explain that away. He could try the bathroom line again, but given the no-nonsense attitude she was sporting, he didn't think it would fly particularly well.

"Spill," she demanded, her patience gone.

Ok fine, here goes. He inhaled loudly and started rattling off how he had gotten himself there in the first place. And as he started talking, the pressure he'd been bottling up for months slowly left his body.

"I guess it all started when I got kicked out of Stanford. It was kind of a low point in my life, you know, I was only 12 credits away from graduating. Anyway, I had gone back to my old job at the Buy More when one day, I got this email from an old college professor of mine called Fleming. I wasn't going to open it at first, because it was he who reported me for stealing those tests that got me expelled in the first place. But then Ellie told me he might apologize and even if he didn't, I'd probably feel much better and I'd be able to move on."

"Did you steal those tests?" She asked curiously when Chuck paused for a second. He looked up at her then, hurt in his eyes.

"I thought it was kind of implied that I'm a decent guy."

"Right, so you opened the email and then what?"

"Well, when I opened it, there wasn't an apology but some form of code, a sequence of encoded images that once decoded would reveal another meaning all together. It's only when I cracked it that I realized the email wasn't from Fleming at all."

He hesitated then.

"Who was it from, what was in it, Chuck?" She asked noting how his shoulders lowered dejectedly.

"They've got everything, Sarah. I don't know who they are, and believe me, I've tried. The mail contained data of me and my sister. Our bank statements, our social security numbers, her scholarship, her lease on the apartment. Everything, Sarah. And they can take it away just like they kicked me out of Stanford. I couldn't let them hurt Ellie. You have to understand. I can live without Stanford, but Ellie… She's always taken care of me and she's so close to getting her medical degree. I can't be the reason she loses her scholarship, or her apartment."

"But why you, Chuck?"

"I uh-," his ears turned red as he glanced sideways, evading her eyes.

"Chuck," she reached out to his wrist, her anger long dissipated. She felt sorry for him. If anyone other than Chuck would have told her what he'd just told her, she wouldn't have believed them. But there was something about him, something about the way his eyes would seek out hers, the honesty in which he carried himself.

He was still looking at the floor when he muttered: "I'm kind of a big hacker, even the uh- government has been after me for quite some time."

That she didn't expect.

"And yet you got caught," she mumbled without thinking.

"To be fair, my being caught had nothing to do with my skills, and more to do with my arms," he wiggled them to prove his point, reminding Sarah of when she had wiggled her arms for him in the plane a few hours ago, although now, it felt like it had been days.

"I meant the uhm-," she became a little flustered by his antics, "the people who got you kicked out."

"Oh," his arms fell to his side, his cheekiness gone.

"Right, yeah. I did various illegal hackings back in the day, and I must have pissed off the wrong people." He heaved his shoulders at that.

"So, what now? They continue to blackmail you and you'll do whatever they want?"

"Pretty much. I mean, what else can I do, Sarah? I can't go to any law enforcement because then I'd have to tell them who I am and they'll rather throw me in jail than believe anything of what I've just told you."

"You're right. Ok, Chuck, here's what we'll do." She waved for Chuck to move, opened the door of the closet and yanked her suitcase behind her.

"Wait, we?" he asked surprised, sprinting to keep up with her.

"Yes, we, Chuck," she quickened her pace even more at the sight of her watch.

"Also, why are we running?" he asked, slightly out of breath.

"Because we have a plane to catch, come on, Chuck," she said over her shoulder.

"Wait, just-," he grabbed her arm and turned her around. He ignored the glare of annoyance and impatience she threw him.

"Sarah, could you just give me a minute," he said in between breaths. She sighed but waited for him, allowing him to catch his breath. When his heart rate had slowed down significantly he asked:" Why- why would you want to help me?"

"You want to keep doing this alone?" she countered.

"Um, no. Not really. But, why would you? They don't have anything on you. You did nothing wrong?"

"Oh, believe me, I have done plenty wrong," she muttered more to herself.

"Ok, then why me, Sarah? You don't even know me, for all you know I could be a serial killer, or, or a-," he was searching for another word to describe a horrible person when he heard Sarah giggle. It was soft at first, and he almost hadn't caught it. But then the giggle turned into a full out laugh.

"Uh," he chuckled in confusion, simultaneously intrigued how quickly her mood had shifted.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I didn't mean to laugh," she shook her head and then tried to straighten her face, but she failed as her smiled remained.

"You're right, Chuck, I don't know you. But the fact that you're having trouble coming up with names for bad people shows me that you're at least half decent," she gave him a lopsided smile.

"That and I've talked to you for five hours in which you had multiple occasions to come across as a creep, which you didn't. Plus, just now, you had every opportunity to kill me in that supply closet which you didn't do either." Chuck huffed at that, unconvinced by her arguments.

"But most importantly, from everything you've told me, it's clear to me that you don't deserve any of this, Chuck. You're a kind, genuine man who's being blackmailed by some jerks who just happened to luck out by finding someone as compassionate as you. They ruined your life by getting you kicked out of Stanford, and that could have been the end of it if they hadn't threatened your sister. Most people wouldn't do what you're doing now, Chuck."

"Yeah, but most people wouldn't be in my situation to begin with," he grumbled, staring at his chucks.

"Maybe not, but it's what you do with it that determines what kind of person you are," he looked up at her tentatively, a soft smile marking his features.

"Now, can we go cause the plane doesn't wait for no one," she smiled at him shyly, looking for reassurance in his eyes.

"Not even for America's sweetheart and a Buy More Nerd?" Chuck asked cheekily.

"Not even for us," she chuckled as she entered the busy departure hall.

Chuck waited another second to take a deep breath before following her. He liked that there was an us now. He liked it even more that she was the one who had said it. But what he liked the most was her.


The closer they got to the airplane, the more Sarah's features hardened. Chuck wanted to ask her if she was alright on multiple occasions, but every time, he stopped himself before he could. He had no reason to be scared of her he told himself, but the way she had shoved him into the supply closet and pinned him to the door still lingered in the back of his mind. He didn't think she would do that to him again, certainly not if he simply asked her about her wellbeing, but he also didn't think she currently was in the headspace for a chitchat.

Instead, he had decided to simply observe her as they walked through the crowded airport hall. There was something about the way she moved, a certain confidence in her step that made people step aside automatically. He guessed the outfit might have certain weight to it too, but mostly it was the energy she radiated.

It wasn't an all-together "hey, look at me, I'm amazing" kind of walk. Rather, an aura of assurance and determination that surrounded her. And then, of course, there was her undeniable beauty. Chuck had seen many beautiful people in his life time since living in LA did that for you. And yet, he had never met someone as stunning as her.

"Chuck?" he awoke from his daydreaming as the subject of said dreaming asked him a question.

"Hmm?" he cleared his head, his eyes refocusing. They had arrived at the gate. The red-headed flight attendant who had been on their flight from LA was looking at him with a bored expression.

"She asked you for your ID, dummy," Carina said while plucking some dirt from under one of her fingernails.

"Carina," Sarah hissed, throwing Chuck an apologetic look.

"What? He is, isn't he?" she continued to inspect her fingernails, giving Chuck the impression that they were far more interesting than Chuck would ever be.

"Don't listen to her, she's mental," Sarah said comfortingly which made Chuck chuckle. He pulled out his ID deciding to ignore Carina who had started to protest.

Sarah didn't let her, as she took Chuck's ID and stuffed it into her friend's hand.

"There, now do your job."

Carina glared at the both of them for a second, then sighed loudly and swiped Chuck's card.

"Bartowski, Polish?" She asked as she returned him the ID.

"Uh- could be. I don't really know. Wait, I don't have a ticket for this flight? Mine's only supposed to leave in three hours," he asked a little panicked, only now realizing he hadn't known how long his heist would take. Just to be sure, he'd decided to go for a later flight. That and the fact that that flight was cheaper.

"Don't worry about it, Chuck. You'll just come with us, perks of the job," Sarah responded kindly, setting him at ease.

"Thanks, that's uh very-"

"Great he even talks like a dummy. Where did you find him anyway, Walker?" Carina asked pulling at Chuck's tie, inspecting him as if he was an undiscovered species. Based on the look she was giving him, an ugly one at that.

"Let him go, Red. Come on, Chuck. Don't pay too much attention to her; she just gets grumpy whenever she hits a dry spell."

She took Chuck by his wrist down the tunnel, Carina following suit.

"Oh that's low even for you," Carina's voice trailed behind them as they boarded the plane.

Sarah let go of Chuck as she briefly talked to the flight attendant who Chuck unfortunately recognized as the man who had called them out for their "public indecency" during their first flight.

"Chuck, Casey tells me there's still a seat up front so you can go sit there. I have to go talk to the pilot and depending on how long that takes, I might see you later. If not, here's my card and you call me when they contact you, ok?"

"Uh yeah, sure," Chuck accepted her card hesitantly as he felt being watched by the buff looking man who was apparently called Casey. The man then grunted at him, making Chuck almost jump.

Deciding to ignore Casey, Chuck followed the direction Sarah had pointed at and was happy to learn he'd be sitting in the front seat with infinite leg space. As he sat down, he unfortunately also learned that his seat was in a prime location for both Casey and Carina to inspect him and throw him occasional unimpressed looks. Really, what was up with them?

"Hey Sar," Carina called out having just closed the airplane doors. Sarah who was just about to disappear behind the cockpit door halted briefly.

"Your hubby called, wanted to know when you'd be home." Chuck who had tried to mind his own business looked up, trying his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as Carina's words sunk in. She's married.

He could barely focus on the two women staring at each other, he barely noticed Sarah's vacant expression, Carina's smirk, as one sentence kept repeating itself in his brain. It was Carina whispering of course she's married you dummy over and over.

He barely registered his phone buzzing loudly in his hand, and only truly noticed it when the man sitting next to him nudged him in the shoulder.

"Dude, your phone is buzzing." It was the same man he had saved Sarah from on the first flight. While Chuck didn't expect to forget the man anytime soon, the man had already clearly forgotten about Chuck because he didn't exhibit any sign of recognition.

"Oh right, thanks," Chuck muttered his eyes lowering to his phone just as it stopped buzzing. The display now read: one missed phone call Ellie. A second later, his phone lit up again as his sister had decided to text him instead.

How was your job interview? Did you get the job?

As if on autopilot, his fingers started tapping out a message, hitting sent a few seconds later. He kept his eyes glued to the screen, anything to not have to think about the fact that she was married.

Of course, she is, you dummy.

But was it so evidently, he wondered? It made sense that someone like her would be off the market because why wouldn't she? But at the same time, somewhere in between rescuing her from the macho man sitting next to him, being rescued and pinned to a door by her, he had gotten the sense that maybe, just maybe, she had liked him a little too.

Iiiehhhh! I'm so proud of you little brother!

At least he had that, he now tried to tell himself. She might be married, but at least he'd keep her in his life for the foreseeable future. With Sarah by his side, he might actually succeed in the tasks he'd be given, and with that, his sister would be safe.

With that in mind, the flight went by in the blink of an eye. At no point did Sarah return, not even when the plane had landed in LAX did she show her face. Instead, Chuck was ushered out by Casey who grunted what vaguely sounded like a "see you later."

While he hadn't expected any of the things that had transpired throughout the day, he was glad that he could at least share one of his revelations with Ellie who was currently waving a big sign in front of her, welcoming her little brother home. Having had no trouble on his flight back, he happily told her he had gotten over his fear of heights. At least, he hoped he had.


A/N: Told you you'd learn more about Chuck :) for all those who are panicked by the revelation that she's married, calm your tits. I love Charah as much as the next gal. All in good time, my friends, all in good time.

Next on Chuck vs the Pilot: You'll learn a little more about Bryce...

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