NOW

And you were bound

You were free

And you wear black

For me

You were dark

As dark as night

You were wrong

Yeah, you were right

"East Tonight"

Five for Fighting

April 26, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

"What the heck is taking you so long?" Casey called from the hallway, on the way to Chuck's room. Chuck heard the heavy thumps of Casey's boots on the floor as he approached.

Casey paused in the doorway, observing as Chuck stood in front of his closet mirror, fumbling, trying to knot his tie. Once, twice, he wrapped the material, twisted it, then growled and yanked the crooked knot loose. Chuck turned, raising his eyebrows in exasperation, and said, "Apparently, I forgot how to tie a Windsor knot."

Casey strode into the room purposefully, stopping in front of Chuck and grunting, his indication for Chuck to turn and face him. Deftly, Casey maneuvered the cravat, sliding the neat knot up to Chuck's throat without a word. "Button the top button, Kid. Don't look like you're 12, ok?" Casey reprimanded.

Casey's use of Chuck's childhood nickname, matched with Casey's actions, brought on a wave of nostalgia. Casey had taught Chuck how to tie a tie. Sighing, but grinning, Chuck reached behind the secure knot with two fingers and closed the collar of his shirt. "You know, if I'd actually tied this, you wouldn't have even noticed."

Casey grunted, skeptical. He put a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "You're all in a tizzy. You need to calm down," Casey coaxed.

"Easier said than done," Chuck grumbled, as he turned back to the mirror to secure his tie tack. Still facing the mirror, he added, "I was still debating about whether or not I should even go."

"You're going," Casey insisted. "He was your father's friend and your business partner. You knew him for almost 14 years."

"I don't think Sarah wants me there," he said, his voice low. Chuck turned back towards Casey, away from the mirror, but kept his eyes averted. Eight days had passed since Jack's death and in all that time, he'd had no contact with Sarah at all. None. It was the longest span of separation in their lives since they had met. Even when he was in California, at their most distant and awkward, she still wrote to him at least once a week.

Casey's voice rumbled in his chest when he replied. "Whether she knows it right now or not, she wants you there. She's not going to cause a scene just because you came to pay your respects."

To a man who probably never deserved them.

Casey didn't say it; neither did Chuck; the words floated between them, understood.

Eager to change to a more positive subject, Chuck finally spoke. "You know, Casey, your penny-pinching while I was growing up…you saved almost 100 people's jobs until the end of the year. I know you shrugged it off like it was nothing, but I thought you should know that," Chuck told him. "It wasn't just nothing to any of them."

Casey's stern face was set, stoic and neutral. "I told you, you don't have to thank me for not spending your money. And none of those men, making an honest living, doing honest work, need to thank me either."

Chuck smiled, feeling the tenderness Casey disliked if outwardly displayed. "Ok. So I'm thanking you for driving your car into the ground and for only taking a vacation twice in 15 years."

Casey grunted, then huffed under his breath. "We always had what we needed. Still do."

Daring to ask, needing to know, Chuck asked, "Did you know about the other trust? The one I inherit when I turn 28?" He searched Casey's face expectantly.

Casey grunted again, then growled like an angry dog. "I did."

Chuck was surprised. "Why didn't you mention it before?"

"The truth?" Casey asked, shifting his eyes downward. He grunted again, the noise transitioning to a growl before he took a breath. "The Roberts girl."

Chuck blanched, shocked, taking a step backward to steady himself. "Jill?" he stammered. "What did she have to do with anything?" he asked pointedly.

Casey sighed in frustration. "We never said anything, because you seemed…smitten…and it just wasn't our place," Casey said as Chuck smirked at his word choice. "But we never liked her. So haughty, thinking she was better than everyone else. Always hounding you, trying to turn you into someone you weren't, putting you down in front of other people. All those ridiculous rules. Not to mention that vicious green streak in her when it came to Sarah."

His eyes widened, Chuck regarded Casey. Retrospectively, he knew all of Casey's current assessments were accurate, all the proof in his memories of his interactions with her. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" he quizzed. "We were engaged. Were you planning on interrupting the ceremony instead of forever holding your peace?" he asked, raising his voice a little.

"We didn't have to, now did we, hmm?" Casey answered back, pointing his finger as he spoke. "You smartened up."

Did he? Or was her unfaithfulness a way for her to tell him she needed more than he could give her? Somehow Chuck always seemed to find a way to blame himself for the transgressions of others.

"What you ever saw in that girl, I have no idea," Casey added with a head shake and an eye roll.

The truth was, two years removed from the entire affair, Chuck wasn't sure anymore, either. Jill was beautiful, smart, and ambitious. Chuck had admired that about her, a woman with strength who wasn't afraid to go after what she wanted. She was bold in every way that Chuck was timid. However, he still had no idea what she had seen in him, what about him had originally compelled her. Opposites attract, maybe? All the time he had believed they complimented each other, she had believed he was falling short of what she thought he could be, or rather what she wanted him to be. "I don't know, Casey," Chuck added, trying to stop the self-pity that he felt gathering. "She was–"

"There. And Sarah wasn't," Casey said, his epiphany about Chuck's true feelings for Sarah, from the night of Jack's death still fresh in his mind.

"Sarah was with Bryce, Casey," Chuck said, trying to defend himself, not realizing he had inadvertently proven Casey's point. His voice wavered on Bryce's name, bitterness behind it.

"Exactly," Casey said with a small triumph. "You settled. Never a wise choice, but you weren't thinking straight at the time. And as awful as the Roberts girl was to you and everyone else, I think, just maybe, she sort of sensed that too. You settling. Can't blame the girl for that. Although, I'm sure she thought so highly of herself being 'settled for' was an abomination. And… the way she let you know, breaking it off, wasn't right."

Casey's words were still circling in his head, but one stayed in the forefront. Envy. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Jill…jealous of Sarah. It had just never occurred to him, in all of the time they had been together, knowing how self-assured Jill had always been. Now, every conversation between them had a different tone, a new spin. He thought of Jill, snooping in his dorm room. Hiding her after lights out, showering while she waited, sitting on his bed. He knew she had unbundled the stack of letters in his desk drawer and read them as he showered. He'd discovered that after he had gone back the next day to add another. He had never confronted her, asked her motivation. Her constant questions, the prying, personal things she had asked about Sarah seemed to make no sense to him at that moment. They did now.

Jill had been jealous of Sarah. It would have been ridiculous, something he would have downplayed, had Jill ever come out and said it directly to him, but she hadn't. That's what he would have said, but was that the truth? Would that response have been legitimate? More of Casey's words came back to him, and he couldn't leave them alone. It wasn't that absurd, was it? Did he love Sarah the entire time he had believed he loved Jill?

Believed was the operative word, he thought. He had never said it out loud, I love you, never directly to Jill, even when he'd asked her to marry him. He had debated with himself for weeks, wringing his hands in indecision before he convinced himself asking her was the right thing to do. Michael, his roommate, had tried to knock some sense into him. What do you mean, you don't know? It should hit you like a lightning bolt, no doubt in your mind that you want to ask, no doubt about what she'll say. If it takes a decision matrix, it's not right. Chuck hadn't taken his friend's advice; instead, he thought he had proven to himself that he loved Jill. Her affirmative, enthusiastic "yes" had solidified that argument in his mind, quieting that debate.

But he was debating with himself now, kneading like dough the idea Casey had implanted about Sarah. Why couldn't he just feel…something…without thinking it to death first? Thinking was easy for him; feeling, almost always for him, was painful.

"Attention, Chuck!" Casey called, breaking into Chuck's reverie. "Enough dilly dallying. Let's go!"

April 26, 1952

Hope Cemetery, Worcester, Massachusetts

The public cemetery in the city was an oasis of greenery. Rolling green hills were covered with numerous trees, bushes, plants, and flowers. The setting was serene, away from the busy street that divided the memorial park into two. Spring was in full bloom. The scene before them was like a painted landscape, a harmony of color…yellow, white, purple and green. The grass was a plush emerald, brilliant against the cloudless blue of the sky. The dogwood trees were in bloom, with their tall, tapered branches alive with white blossoms. Blooming forsythias and azaleas measured the open areas between the trees. The trees themselves were freshly alive, the tenderest of new leaves speckling every tree with the yellow green of rebirth after the bleak gray of winter.

Everything Chuck could see was reawakening. It didn't seem right somehow, that he should see all of that, while he felt surrounded by death. The blots of darkness, black-clothed mourners, were the only interruptions between the rainbow colors spreading out around them. The line of cars was visible from where they stood, the sunlight glinting off glass and chrome. He turned away, facing towards the grave, peering into the abyss of darkness.

The burial was all the service Jack Burton was to have. The priest was here, but adorned only in his tonsure collar and matching black trousers, his lack of more formal clerical vestments just one indication of the alienating nature of Jack's sin, his final act upon the earth. No funeral mass, no church…just a quick service at the grave site, a short prayer for the salvation of Jack's soul.

Surprisingly enough, there was a crowd. No relatives, Chuck knew, since Sarah was Jack's only living blood relation. Most of the people here were business associates–factory workers and their families, business associates from inside and outside Burton Carmichael. But there were also throngs of people Chuck didn't recognize.

Chuck stood on the edge of the crowd, several rows back from the casket. With him stood Casey and Gertrude, as well as Morgan Grimes, who had located Chuck the moment Chuck had exited Casey's vehicle, and crossed to stand with them. Chuck searched the crowd, looking for familiar faces. Big Mike was there, as well as several other factory workers he knew well. He also spotted Mrs. Winterbottom, Jack and Sarah's housekeeper, there with her son, Hartley, also a business associate of Jack's. He searched, but couldn't see Sarah, his view of those near the casket obstructed.

The quiet shattered as Chuck heard loud wailing. The crowd parted for the commotion. Roxanne, probably intoxicated, was displaying her usual histrionics for the group. Even for a funeral, she had dressed as if auditioning for a role in Hollywood, her electric blue dress tight and inappropriately low-cut. Still howling, she sank down to her knees, dramatically clutching her white lace handkerchief to her face. There were words, but incoherent. The priest, standing at the head of the casket, appeared annoyed at being interrupted by such theater.

Once Roxanne knelt, Chuck had a better view. He saw Sarah, clinging to Carina's arm. He spotted Carina first, his eyes drawn to her red hair, identical to her mother's. Carina was angry, her jaw set in a hard line as she gazed at her mother with cold contempt. Carina could only hold his attention for a moment, and then he saw Sarah, and it was like the entire crowd, the cemetery, disappeared.

He felt as if his heart were being torn out of his chest at the sight of her. He couldn't hear anything, couldn't breathe. His mouth was dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Every inch of him ached, feeling her anguish from his head to his feet.

Her dress was black, felted wool, with long sleeves, hugging her waist and flaring in heavy folds down to her knees. In sharp contrast to the dress, her skin appeared sickly white, anemic, almost translucent. Her eyes looked bee-stung swollen, pink and bloodshot. Even from his distance, he could see she trembled. She looked dazed, shell-shocked. Chuck wondered if she was still taking some type of tranquilizer. Carina's arm under hers and around Sarah's waist weren't just moral support–she was literally keeping Sarah erect.

He noticed Sarah's hair was French braided. A flash of memory seized him…the silken texture of her hair and her small, soft hands beneath his as he showed her how to create the look, standing in the mirror in her bedroom when she had been only six years old. He had learned from his sister, and Sarah had picked up the skill just as easily as he had, needing just the one instruction to learn it and be able to repeat it.

A strange sensation, akin to hunger, overwhelmed him…the need to touch her hair, feel the golden strands curl around his fingers. He couldn't look away; she would not lift her face away from the coffin in front of her, her eyes fixed on the one single spray of red roses perched atop it.

Standing there, gazing at her, he felt as if he were in the path of an oncoming freight train. Every moment he had ever spent with her, every word of every conversation, every smile, every touch, all of it rushed at him, all at once. He was amazed that he stayed on his feet, for he felt that he had been hit by the train and thrown someplace far from where he had just been.

Did he love her? he had asked himself before

Of course he loved her; he had always loved her.

Not the way Casey had always assumed, not the way he had always explained it to other people, acquaintances who misunderstood who they had been to each other. Not even in the way that he had convinced himself that he had loved Jill. All of that was superficial, inconsequential. This was profound, deep as the ocean and just as wide. He had never felt it before, never like this, and still he was completely certain of it.

The emotion bloomed from the depths of him, filling every dark corner of him, fusing every shattered, misaligned piece to form something new, something beautiful and mysterious. He felt as if he had been admiring a painting, each brush stroke individually perfect, only to finally step back to the right distance and then seeing it in its entirety, a finely detailed, exquisitely beautiful scene he had walked past every day and somehow missed. His heart was pounding, his knees felt about to buckle as waves of realization crashed over him.

He wondered if she had felt him staring at her, for it was then that she lifted her face, fixing her gaze upon him. Her anguish took his breath away. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, no strength in his voice to even whisper. Her face was frozen, but he saw the tears on her cheeks reflect the light. She kept her eyes locked with his. He couldn't read her expression, didn't understand what she was trying to convey with the look. He had lost track of time, how much had passed, and also of anything the priest had said while he prayed, lost in her as she stood there.

She wobbled, wavered, on her feet. Chuck watched as Carina stiffened her hold, pulling Sarah closer. Carina was taller than Sarah, but more willowy. Carina was supporting all of Sarah's weight, Sarah's black shoes no longer solidly planted on the ground.

The priest concluded with the sign of the cross, his voice louder as he finished. Chuck heard Casey behind him, mumbling along with the blessing. He felt Morgan supportively pat him in the center of his back. The crowd slowly started to disperse, groups congregating together and murmuring. As he started to turn back to his companions, Chuck saw Carina walking back towards the car with Sarah. The last glimpse of them he saw was Sarah, looking back at him over her shoulder as Carina led her away.

Suddenly, another person was there. When Chuck looked at who it was, he was surprised. It was the doctor who had made the house call to Sarah's the night Jack died. Up close, the man was even more strikingly handsome, with thick blonde hair and piercing ocean blue eyes. "Mr. Bartowski?" the doctor asked.

"Chuck, yes," Chuck answered.

The doctor grabbed his hand and started shaking it. "Dr. Devon Woodcomb, nice to meet you, Chuck," he said, adding the name Chuck had offered. "My father was your parents' doctor," Devon explained. In a softer tone, he added, "I was in your sister's class in school."

"Dr. Woodcomb…Woody…that's right," Chuck remembered, ignoring the comment about Ellie to maintain his composure. "I didn't know you had taken over the practice."

"My dad's semi-retired. I handle most of the workload, at least for the past couple of years," Devon explained. "My father was Jack and, uh–he was Jack's physician as well," Devon stammered. Chuck was too distracted, following Sarah through the crowd, to dwell on the strange delivery.

"Thank you for taking care of Sarah after…you know," Chuck offered.

"Such a shame, " Devon mentioned sympathetically.

A rustle of voices, punctuated with quiet gasps, rose from the group. Chuck turned, distracted from his conversation. One area was concentrated with people, the collection of the black–clad people fluttering like crow's wings. He focused his gaze, seeing the shock of pale blonde hair against the grass. Carina's head bowed down, blocking his view. Sarah had collapsed.

Seeing Chuck's face, Devon turned, and then he ran, his medical training taking over. Chuck followed hastily.

"Let's back up, give her some breathing room," Devon called forcefully as he approached the group bent down over Sarah. The people obeyed, each of them taking a few steps back and clearing the space. Devon knelt at her side, holding her wrist in his hand, obviously measuring her pulse.

"Chuck?"

Sarah's eyes fluttered open, but she closed them quickly, blinded by the sun overhead.

"I'm right here," Chuck told her, leaning as close to her as he could and not impeding Devon's movements.

"Let's get her up in a sitting position," Devon said. Looking up at Chuck, he asked, "Can you help me get her up?"

Without hesitation, Chuck knelt beside her, reached beneath her, and lifted, sweeping her into his arms. He did it with no help. He felt her wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. Her hair tickled under his chin. The insubstantial feel of her, how unbelievably light she was, made his stomach flip in dismay. Grasping, he felt her back, each rib pronounced even through the thick material of her dress.

Someone had opened the back door to a nearby vehicle, and Chuck gently shifted her to sit on the seat, cradling her head and guiding her to lean against the headrest on the inside of the car. He was inches from her face, her breath warm against his cheek. Her eyes were infinite pools of despair and anguish; he noted that her pupils were dilated, and not the same size. Dismay claimed him. He wanted to stay close, pull her tight into his arms again, but he refrained, moving to give her space.

"Chuck?" she asked, reaching for him as he started to straighten up. She rested her hand against his chest, running her fingers underneath the lapel of his suit jacket. "I'm sorry," she whispered. He shushed her, blinking rapidly as his eyes stung. She blinked slowly, sending a cascade of tears from beneath her eyelids. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, to feel this way…when you were only ten," she whispered. She leaned forward, into his arms, resting her cheek against his chest. Silent tears dripped from his chin into her hair.

"You should have told me…whatever it was. I thought you trusted me," she said, with a tight vibration indicative of anger.

Wounded, he understood. She was not necessarily blaming him for her father's death, but she was holding on to his role in it, his culpability for not telling her all of the truth, which was fair, in his estimation. He knew he should have; he just hadn't expected things to go bad as fast as they had. "I know, and I'm sorry. I was hoping to protect you," he whispered, not pleading, just telling her his thoughts.

He felt her push against his chest, resisting his embrace. He gazed down at her face once she had pulled back. She had pinched her eyes closed tightly, like she was bracing herself for something painful, as she extricated herself from Chuck. "I still feel dizzy," she murmured, her head lolling backward into the headrest again.

Chuck turned quickly, but Dr. Woodcomb was already there, ready to minister to her. Chuck stepped backward to give him room. He almost collided with someone behind him, someone who stopped his movement by grabbing his arm. He spun, catching sight of Casey, Gertrude, and Morgan standing distant, waiting at Casey's car. The person who had touched him was Carina.

"Hey, Chuckles," she said, giving him a lopsided grin. "I missed you, big guy," she teased.

He returned her smile, weakly, unable to keep his full attention centered on Carina. His gaze continued to drift back to Sarah and Devon. "Has she eaten anything in the last week, Carina?" he demanded, recalling how frail she had felt in his arms.

Carina pressed her lips together in a worried frown. "Almost nothing. Mostly just milk, maybe a little soup. She can't keep anything down; she just throws it up. The doctor was worried about an ulcer forming."

His anxiety worsened. "Is your mother helping at all?" Chuck asked.

"Barely," Carina huffed indignantly. "I'm doing the best I can. I'm back for the summer, though. I'll make sure she's taken care of, Chuck. I promise."

"What about school? The semester isn't over, is it?" Chuck asked.

"I took my finals early," she said, smirking. "Not all of them were on paper. Some…practicums…if you know what I mean," she added suggestively, making him blush. Good ol' Carina, as Jack used to say to him. Never missing an opportunity to stir things up.

Carina's face went slack for a moment, her clear eyes fixed on his face and her expression serious. "She doesn't hate you, regardless of what you might think. She isn't capable of hating you, no matter what you do. She's angry and hurt…and…" Carina crossed her arms, looking down at her shoes. "It was between blaming Jack or blaming you. She couldn't reconcile that in her head, so she turned it inward…and now she blames herself…for not noticing what was happening."

He sighed, feeling the physical distance between him and Sarah, wishing he could get closer. How could he make this better? How could he help her?

"Don't give up on her, Chuck," Carina added, as if reading his mind. "She's tough as nails, our Sarah. She just has to get her feet on the ground again."

Carina had always said that about Sarah, something he expected to come from her wild friend's mouth. He had only seen Sarah's toughness a handful of times in 14 years. "I don't know, Carina," he said, distractedly.

"You almost never saw that side of her, Chuck. She let herself be…soft with you, tender…vulnerable. The farther apart you two were, the harder she became." Carina looked back over her shoulder at Sarah. When she turned back, her eyes were red-rimmed with unshed tears. "You saved her, Chuck. Without you, without that part of her, she would have ended up…well, like me."

The expression on her face changed like the flipping of a light switch. Her eyes were devilish again. "The kind of girl who would go flirt with a handsome doctor at her best friend's father's funeral," she added, winking at him and turning away.

"Take care of her, Carina," he called before she was out of earshot. She waved at him over her head without turning around.

Chuck started walking back to the car and the people waiting for him. Morgan waved as Chuck approached, then departed for his own vehicle. When he was alone with Casey and Gertrude, he was peppered with questions.

"Is she alright? What happened? What did the doctor say?" Gertrude asked in rapid-fire succession before he could speak.

"She felt like skin and bones when I picked her up," Chuck murmured. He forced himself to focus on their conversation, blinking his eyes as if to reset his face. "She's not eating. Like after Bryce died."

A strange look passed between Casey and his wife, one Chuck didn't understand. Gertrude pressed her lips together, hard, her eyes bulging in some silent communication with Casey. "Whenever she was nervous about…well, anything, she'd get those butterflies that felt like bats and she couldn't eat. Poor thing," Gertrude explained sympathetically.

Chuck knew what that meant. Those words translated into action–Gertrude making a pot of chicken soup or beef stew and delivering it to Sarah's house. Their kindness was always shown in deeds. He had been on the receiving end of that his entire life. Like he had always told Sarah, he was orphaned, but he was also lucky.

Gertrude was already seated in the front seat, Casey making his way around to the driver's side when Chuck said softly, "Casey, what you said before…about Sarah. You were right."

Casey stopped mid-stride, surprised at Chuck's admission. "First step is knowing. Second step is doing something about it," he said right before he popped the hat on his head and opened his car door, ducking inside and out of sight. Chuck sighed and got in the back seat.

A/N: As always, thanks to Zettel for pre-reading. Historical note here: Stanford was co-ed in 1891, one of just a handful of U.S. colleges to offer advanced degrees to women from the start. Anyone who ever watched Happy Days will tell you (my info source for this...lol)...men and women were strictly separated in college dormitories until the 1970s and even later in some instances. The only way Jill could have been alone in his room to snoop would have been by being snuck in and hidden. Expulsion for violators was not unheard of.