NOW

If the sky that we look upon

Should tumble and fall

Or the mountains should crumble to the sea

I won't cry, I won't cry

No I won't shed a tear

Just as long as you stand

Stand by me

"Stand By Me"

Ben E. King

May 4, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

Chuck knew it was undignified and unprofessional to sprint out of the building like it was on fire, especially since he was the boss. So, he did not sprint; he did not even jog. However, the urgency inside him was undeniable. He hurried as fast as he could, utilizing a purposeful and crisp gait when in front of others, a clear sign he was on his way to something important. And in the stairway, when alone, he ran, jumping down three steps at a time, thanks to his long legs. The slow-then-fast pattern continued until he was outside. He stood inside the vestibule at the front door, panting and out of breath.

He took a moment, gasping, collecting his thoughts. Despite his slow-fast movements, his body had arrived ahead of his brain.

Through the glass door, he could see Sarah and Shaw. Surprisingly, they were no longer alone. Michael Tucker, the foreman, Big Mike as he was called by the men on the manufacturing floor, had joined them as well. And from what Chuck could see, Mike was doing all the talking. Shaw stood listening, smirking, contemptuous and somehow threatening, even in broad daylight; Sarah stood still, tense and…angry. Even from a distance, her deep vexation was visible.

Chuck opened the door, steeling himself, and walked to the group.

"—like I told you before, Mr. Shaw, take your sorry self and your union gobbledygook and vacate the premises! We don't want it here, or you!" Mike yelled, jabbing a chubby finger at Shaw as he spoke.

"What's going on out here?" Chuck asked, carefully raising his voice.

Chuck surveyed the entire scene. He had deliberately avoided focusing too long on Sarah, because her countenance was so unfamiliar. Her vexation was becoming rage. She startled at the sound of Chuck's voice, pale and visibly trembling with her effort to control herself. Her jaw was clenched and her hands were balled into tight fists. He had never seen her so close to violence.

"No problem, boss. Mr. Shaw is leaving," Big Mike stated definitively, resting his hands resolutely on his hips.

"I do have a right to represent the AF of L to your employees," Shaw said, his voice low, dangerous but smooth.

Shaw was tall, taller than Sarah but a few inches shorter than Chuck, muscular, broad chested, with wide shoulders. His dark suit was expensive, immaculately pressed and his black leather shoes gleamed in the morning sunlight. His raven hair was combed straight back, slicked against his skull, and below it his brown eyes were so dark his pupils weren't discernible. The effect made Shaw seem inhuman. The darkness of his eyes seemed symbolic, like a window on his black soullessness.

"This is private property," Chuck affirmed. "You can solicit whomever you want, but wherever, not on our property."

"'Our', Chuck?" Shaw mocked, clicking his tongue and shaking his head as if Chuck were pitiful. He produced a cold, mirthless grin. "You mean yours. Or…maybe…the bank's, don't you?" he sneered.

"No, he means ours," Sarah said sharply, her eyes flashing as she grabbed Chuck's hand. Her feverncy and certainty startled Chuck, but only for a second, and he squeezed her hand in reply, threading his fingers through hers.

Shaw laughed, a mocking laugh that made his dark eyes gleam. "Is that so?" he chuckled, taking a step towards them. "How…fortuitous…for you." All of Shaw's nastiness was directed at Sarah, Chuck noted in surprise. As if Chuck were not there, or at least did not matter. Shaw eyed Sarah up and down, his eyes tracing her curves as he leered at her.

Chuck resisted the urge to push Sarah behind him, to let his body shield Sarah from Shaw. Protectiveness of Sarah was Chuck's default setting, but he knew Sarah wasn't a little girl any longer. The feline fierceness in her eyes was intense.

She's tough, our girl. Carina's words played back in Chuck's head. He so rarely saw that side of her that she was almost like a different person.

Mike was indignant, visibly offended by Shaw's rudeness to a woman. He forcefully re-entered the conversation. With a wide, harsh swing of his arm and another vigorous jab of his finger, he added, "Listen, if you want, I will line up every last man in that shop so each can tell you to your face that you can take your union and go to hell," Big Mike growled.

Under his breath, glancing quickly at Sarah, Mike muttered, "My apologies to the young lady."

Sarah was nodding, accepting Mike's apology, when Shaw interrupted. "Lady? Hmm," Shaw made a sound that suggested the term was questionable. He clicked his tongue. "What do you think, Sarah? Lady?"

Chuck was tense, ready to lunge, when Sarah acted first. Her only reply to Shaw's insult was a fast, explosive slap across Shaw's face. He jerked, and kept his head turned, blinking, Sarah's handprint red on his cheek.

He chuckled, a malevolent sound, then struck like a cobra, whirling and grabbing her right wrist hard, pulling her a step closer to him. "Feisty, Miss Walker. I like it," he murmured. Shaw's face was close to Sarah's, menacing and suggestive all at once.

Sarah yanked her wrist from his grip just as Chuck stepped forward and shoved Shaw in the center of his chest.

"Keep your hands off her," Chuck growled.

Shaw's anger flashed, but he remained in control. He was aware of Chuck now. His smile faded and was replaced with a cold grimace. "Well, someone should," he snarked, narrowing his eyes.

Chuck acted without thinking; it felt as if the clenched, trembling fist at his side had a will of its own. It moved to strike Shaw…but stopped. Sarah grabbed both of his shoulders to hold him still.

"No, Chuck, he isn't worth it," she hissed, glaring at Shaw over her shoulder as she spoke to Chuck.

"We can call the police, Mr. Bartowski," Mike offered.

Chuck knew the uselessness of that, but said nothing. He just glared.

"I'll be going, Chuck. But we'll talk again," Shaw said, his tone threatening. "Won't we, Sarah?" he whispered as he walked past her.

The three of them stood and watched as Shaw walked away. Slowly, Chuck became aware of the pain in his arms from Sarah's death grip. He looked down at her, alarmed by the feral look on her face, her lips pulled tight in a ferocious snarl. Her breath sounded like growling. She was visibly shaking, now fully enraged.

"I'm sorry about that, Chuck," Mike apologized, himself taken aback by Sarah's demeanor. "That's the third time he's been lurking around here in a month. I'm being serious. No one wants a union in here. They all know what you did for them, sir. Loyalty deserves loyalty. That's all I can say." He gave Chuck a tight grin, nodded once cautiously to Sarah, and turned around to go back inside.

"What was he talking about?" Sarah asked him, her demeanor changing as she rapidly collected herself.

Chuck wondered if her quick question was intended to distract him from the confrontation, from Shaw's insinuations. Chuck was appalled at the way Shaw had spoken to her, about her, but it didn't surprise him. Shaw was a domineering womanizer and everyone who had ever crossed paths with him knew it.

Chuck forced himself to answer Sarah's question. "Oh, uh…" Chuck flushed red, embarrassed. "Payroll," he answered cryptically. "The, uh, the money left in the fund that Casey and Gertrude used when I was growing up." He tried to be as vague as possible, feeling that calling attention to his own charity was boastful.

"You did that?" she asked, her voice hushed with respect.

He looked away, his cheeks burning.

She stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Of course you did," she whispered against his ear. "You're amazing," she continued, nuzzling his ear.

He could feel her taut like piano wire even as she clung to him. Her tension was at odds with her tenderness. He had never seen her act as she had in front of Daniel Shaw.

Shaw had started associating with Jack over a year ago, while Sarah was still away at school. Chuck had seen him leer at Sarah from afar more than once, and observed only a few interactions between them. It was strange, and, compounded with what he already knew, troubling.

Still, he wrapped his arms around her, relieved as he felt the tension release from her body.

"Sarah, what was that about?" he asked cautiously.

She tensed again, almost instantaneously. Protectively, he held her tighter, unconcerned with anyone else seeing.

"He's…uh…been…coming around…for Carina," she said, faltering as she spoke, stepping back. It was a non sequitur, and Chuck wondered why, of all things, that was offered as an explanation for slapping a man like Daniel Shaw across the face.

"What?" he asked, befuddled. "What does that have to do with–"

"He claims he has connections in New York. He's been…telling her she doesn't need to finish school. That he could help her get noticed," Sarah explained. Sarah was still dodging the direct question, cutting him off mid-sentence to continue on her tangent. The new topic, however, held enough interest momentarily to distract him from further questioning Sarah.

Shaw and Carina? He hadn't known about them spending time together. Re-examining Sarah's words, he could imagine what was actually happening in that supposed relationship. Chuck could guess what Shaw had required from Carina in return for his assistance. It turned Chuck's stomach.

He decided it was time to tell Sarah about Shaw.

"Sarah, Shaw was at your house…the night your father died," Chuck said softly, afraid of her reaction.

He heard her gasp, watched as her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"He came…and went sometime between when I arrived and when Diane and Dr. Woodcomb did," he elaborated.

"How did you…" Her voice stopped, the hand back over her mouth. "Oh my god, you stayed?"

"I couldn't leave you there…like that. And once I saw him…well, I—"

"You told Diane to stay…and take me to Roxanne's," she deduced slowly, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. She choked. "After I charged at you like a wild animal," she sighed, hanging her head in shame.

He pulled her into his arms again, cradling her head with his hand. "You were in shock," he whispered. "I had to make sure you were alright."

She squeezed him harder, nuzzling her face against his neck. A feeling surged from deep inside, filling him like a flood. So familiar, but so new. Because now, at last, he understood the feeling, all along, had been love. The blessing and relief of just holding her, without restraint, and knowing she felt the same, overtook him. He basked in it, if only for a moment.

Eventually, he continued. "I think I know why he was there," Chuck told her.

She jerked in his arms, but didn't release him. "You do?" she asked, looking into his eyes, disbelieving. Her body was stone again.

Her reaction confused him. She deserved to know what he was aware of. She had declared them a team, fighting together, by grabbing his hand as Shaw challenged.

"I should have told you about the SEC and the investigation. About what the district attorney was investigating. But, Sarah, you know that Shaw is—"

"Mafia?" she finished for him, her expression shifting. "Yes, I know."

"How much do you know about Jack's dealings with them?" he asked, bracing himself for her reaction.

"With the mafia?" she asked incredulously. "Nothing. Why would I know that?" she asked, her voice shrill.

"Shaw was—"

"He approached my father for an investment. That was what I knew," Sarah told him as if ending the discussion.

"Sarah, I think your father owed money to the mafia. I'm almost certain. Jack might not have told you the truth about Shaw," Chuck continued.

"I don't…"

"It's known, especially with some of the men who work for Burton Carmichael, that the local boss sends Shaw to collect debts," Chuck informed her. No one had explicitly told Chuck this, but he was still aware of things as they'd happened.

Suddenly her eyes were frightened, and she gripped his shoulders painfully tight. "Chuck, are you in danger because of this?"

He leaned away from her, full of questions. Her expressions kept shifting, the shifts misfitting the words she spoke. "I don't know. I was worried about you…worried you were in danger. Why would Shaw be at your house at two in the morning?" he asked rhetorically. "I decided to make you that…ridiculously insensitive proposal because…I was worried that he was after you. You would have been safer with me, with us. I thought my proposal was a solution."

He watched intently as she transformed before his eyes. She blinked the desperation from her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and breathed out calm. In only a few seconds, she had expelled all of the demons inside her. Why the demons were there…or why she refused to explain them, he wasn't sure. Something was still obstructing their communication, another veil between them, despite the closeness to her he now felt. She looked up at him, and he saw only the softness in her eyes, the unspoken angst gone.

"It was," she said with a crooked grin, her countenance now bright. "Once you put your heart in it." She reached up and stroked his cheek. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.

"My heart was always in it…I just…had to let it do the talking for once," he admitted. The warmth inside him, rising as he watched her face transform, left him beaming at her. Time, he reminded himself. Time. He had to give her time. She stretched to reach him, gently brushing her lips against his.

The kiss ended quickly, at the sound of a car horn. It was Diane Beckman, returning for Sarah. In the front seat, Chuck noticed another passenger. Hartley Winterbottom. Diane put the car in park then turned off the engine.

Diane opened the driver's door and stepped out. Chuck couldn't quite read her expression. She was still irked, perturbed maybe from whatever it was that she and Sarah had been arguing about when they'd arrived.

He had forgotten to ask Sarah about that argument in all the emotion.

More than irritation was displayed, though. Diane looked relieved…and frustrated at the same time. That was her reaction to seeing them together like that, for real?

"It's about damn time," Diane grumbled, her stern mouth twitching on one side. Her reluctant pleasure at the news was all that remained as she regarded them. "Sarah, I know we had…papers…to sign, but we have more pressing issues at the moment," Diane informed them.

The passenger door opened and Hartley stepped out. His mostly gray, salt and pepper hair was parted traditionally, his hair smoothed across his forehead. He wore a stiff, gray pinstripe three piece suit. His kind smile lit his pale blue eyes.

Hartley didn't speak, just approached the pair as they stood on the sidewalk.

He turned to Sarah first. "Sarah, please accept my condolences on the loss of your father," he said somberly. He took one of her hands in both of his and held it gently. "I was at the memorial service…and I saw you, but you were—"

"I know," Sarah said quietly.

"Well yes, and then I had to travel back to England. And you can imagine how involved that was. Anyway, I'm sorry we haven't spoken since," Hartley rambled.

Hartley released Sarah's hand and stepped forward, towards Chuck. "You as well, Charles," he added, shaking Chuck's hand. Hartley and his daughter, Vivian, were the only two people who called him Charles without irritating him.

"Diane filled me in on all the…uh…difficulties," he explained. "I actually went to England to tie up some loose ends. I would like to talk about business…but, uh…"

"Right now, Sarah, we need to go," Diane interjected anxiously. "The bank is clearing out your house. Any of your personal effects—"

"Oh no," Sarah gasped when she understood.

Chuck had kept abreast of the status of Sarah's bankruptcy problems. He wasn't sure what would be considered too valuable for Sarah to claim and remove without fanfare. Every last thing she had owned was locked inside her house.

"Let me come with you," Chuck offered. She needed help. Chuck was also acutely aware that she hadn't been inside her house since the night of her father's suicide. He wouldn't let her face it alone.

She reached for his hand again, affection and acknowledgment apparent in the motion.

"Oh my goodness, is what I see true? Can it be?" Hartley crooned as he looked at their hands.

Chuck smiled, tucking his arm gently around Sarah's waist. "Yes," he said softly.

Hartley flashed a dazzling smile. "Oh, you've broken my daughter's heart, you know," he teased.

"That's my Chuck," Sarah said, her cheeks flushed as she smiled. "He's a heartbreaker."

Her Chuck.

She said it so casually, so naturally. Whatever line they had crossed a few minutes ago, he understood, it had been a line in their imaginations, not in reality. She knew that now just as well as he did.

He was hers. He had always been hers, would always be hers.

Hartley's words themselves registered after what Sarah had said. Vivian, a stunning auburn-haired, green-eyed girl the same age as Sarah, had flirted with him, in a more subdued way than Hannah or Jill had.

Had he been coasting through life, a lonely but eligible bachelor, oblivious to the many opportunities for romance that had presented themselves in the two years since he'd been single? Never before had he thought of it the way it seemed now.

He had never paid notice…because Sarah absorbed all of his attention, all of his focus. Even if he hadn't yet been able to accept what his true feelings were.

"Let me go tell Morgan. I'll be right back," Chuck told her quickly.

He turned to go back inside and saw Morgan standing at the glass door, two thumbs up and a wide smile on his face, in no need of explanation, Morgan waved Chuck away, giving his silent permission for Chuck to go.

Smiling, he turned back to Sarah. "Good news travels fast, huh?"

]

Diane took Hartley downtown before she drove to Sarah's house. Chuck and Sarah followed in Chuck's car.

The moment Chuck was behind the wheel, Sarah slid across the seat and tucked herself close beside him. He wrapped his right arm around her, continuing to drive with only his left. Her head on his shoulder was sweet, affectionate, a dream come true.

"Thank you…for being here," she told him. "I haven't been back…since…". She didn't finish. He felt her grow rigid, coiled at his side.

Changing the subject, he asked her, "So Carina…and Daniel Shaw? Is that new?" Sarah hadn't mentioned them as any kind of couple until a little while ago.

"About a month," Sarah replied hesitantly. She didn't elaborate.

"Did he visit Roxanne's? While you were there?" he prodded.

"They were…busy," she grumbled, looking away. "I didn't interact with him."

Chuck's thoughts were a jumble. One thing at a time, he insisted to himself. Right now, her possessions needed rescuing. Then he could focus on their next steps tonight…with Casey and Gertrude. The faster he could arrange everything, the faster he could get her out of Roxanne's house, with its merry-go-round of Roxanne's bedmates. And apparently Carina's as well.

He held Roxanne in contempt, knowing she was an adult and perpetually chose the wrong things of her own free will. Carina's situation compelled pity, though he never let her see it, knowing Carina wanted none of that. All Carina had known was what her mother had shown her, all of Carina's romantic relationships colored with the dysfunction of her mother's waywardness, the lack of emotional truth in her affairs with men.

A scholarship student at Bennington College in Vermont, Carina dreamed of show business, specifically theater. Carina had always joked with Sarah, and sometimes with Chuck, that acting was the only thing in her life she had ever done well, the only thing she took pride in. Of course, she would always add some ribald tagline: at least with her clothes on, or out of the bedroom, or something else designed to make him turn beet red with embarrassment. It usually worked. But Carina had only completed one year of school…and her life at home got harder all the time, Chuck understood, as he had watched Roxanne disintegrate before his eyes, her addiction slowly destroying her.

Carina probably believed sleeping with Shaw could get her out of Worcester faster, get her an acting job in New York so she could support herself and not be constantly weighed down by her mother. Perhaps Shaw could, Chuck thought. Shaw was very well connected, considering the circles he moved in. Maybe Carina thought it was worth it. Chuck felt he had no right to judge her, but he still felt sorry for her.

Chuck tightened his hold on Sarah, pulling her closer to him. The rest of the ride was in silence, but it was comfortable. Sarah didn't need to say anything at all. Her nearness to him, her gentle affection said more than any words. The comfort came from knowing he didn't need to say anything; each knew the other's feelings, the imaginary line erased.

Slowly, Chuck's car rumbled up the driveway towards her house. The front door was wide open, with men in suits milling about the property. Two moving trucks with the back doors rolled up flanked the porch. Diane's car was parked alongside the porch. He scanned the area and found Diane, pointing and arguing, her tiny stature almost comical from a distance, for she seemed to be ordering everyone on the premises to do her bidding.

He got out of his car, then walked around and helped Sarah out of the passenger door, shutting it after her. She became dazed, almost entranced as they walked up the stairs together. Inside the house, it appeared that someone was moving out, only it was the movers for the bank, clearing out everything of value in the home to square part of the debt, before the empty house could be sold. Chuck could hear Diane arguing with the man in charge.

Walking into the foyer, the marble staircase stretching upward in front of them, he flashed back to the night in April he had been 20 minutes too late. He couldn't shake the memories as they assaulted him. Sarah walking away from him, shaky on her heels, pulled his attention back.

He followed her into the study. She stood at the threshold, looking at the bare floor as if Jack's body were still there. His desk and chair had already been removed, and Chuck and Sarah's footfalls echoed artificially in the empty room.

"I thought I had dreamed the gun shot," she said quietly, staring at the floor. "I woke up hard, confused. But I had this…awful feeling. I couldn't explain it. I…called him…and he didn't answer. I got up…checked in his room…but his bed was still made."

Chuck moved to stand behind her, offering support while his own heart was aching. She needed to face this, he thought. It was like seeing the pile of rubble that had been his parents' cabin, needing to see it to believe it.

Her pitch changed, a low, strangling sound in her throat when she continued. "I came down here…and…" She sobbed, coughed, then cleared her throat. "The gun was on the floor next to him. All I saw was the gun…and the blood under his head. He…put the gun under his chin when he fired." She shuddered, holding herself tightly. "His face was…cold…when I touched him."

She turned to Chuck. Her gaze seemed to go through him to the other wall, like he was an apparition, and she was in the room with the blood again. "What drove him to do that…when he knew I was home? Why? I don't understand, Chuck. It was jail…but…was it worth what he did?"

He was careful, standing close to her but not touching her. "I don't know, Sarah. He was desperate…maybe he felt so hopeless…he didn't see any other way. He was…careless…and inconsiderate…maybe even selfish…but he would never have hurt you intentionally, Sarah. He loved you."

Her sadness sharpened to anger in one hissing breath. "He didn't know how to love…anyone or anything."

"Maybe he didn't know how to show it," Chuck explained.

"Isn't that the same thing?" she argued.

"It isn't…if you mean to say he didn't love you. I know he did," Chuck swore.

"How? How are you so sure?" she demanded to know.

"He would always tell me what a lousy father he thought he was, that you deserved better than him. How proud he was of you and how you grew in spite of it all," Chuck told her.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Why didn't he ever say any of that to me?" she growled.

Chuck knew the answer, maybe even if Jack himself never had. "Because he was a liar. The best liar anyone had ever seen. And you knew that about him. He never thought you'd believe it if he said it. He never thought he was worthy of your belief in him at all. Of anyone's, including mine."

Sarah stood and regarded him in silence. He watched her bite her lower lip, sure his words had made her think.

Diane's heels clicked on the floor as she approached. "Sarah, you can go into your bedroom and collect your things. They're asking that you leave any jewelry there; they have to appraise anything worth over 300 dollars," Beckman said.

Sarah followed Diane into the foyer and Chuck followed. The room Sarah had been using in the house was not the same room she had slept in as a child. When he had returned from California, she had relocated to an upstairs bedroom. She never explained why, but it had happened around the same time she had changed her last name. Chuck always thought it was a symbolic gesture, an assertion of her new identity.

"I packed most of it, Sarah," Diane explained as she walked. "There's a banker's box on the bed. Just double check it all, ok?"

Sarah walked to the bed and half-heartedly shifted through the items inside. A few articles of clothing, a few black and white photographs in frames, a small photo album, her mother's monogrammed silver brush. A few translation dictionaries…French, Spanish, and German, the languages Sarah could speak besides English. A tattered American Sign Language guide. Had she taught herself sign language as well? He had never seen her use it.

Looking over her shoulder, Chuck noticed a small shoe box whose lid was loose, slightly askew. His letters to her from Stanford, tied in a bundle with a blue hair ribbon.

"My mother's jewelry," she gasped suddenly, shifting the contents as she realized it wasn't included.

Diane sighed, disgusted. "The appraisers took it."

"No, that isn't right," Chuck said, irritated at the pettiness of these people as they rifled through bits and pieces of Sarah's life. He charged out of the room, not knowing or caring if either of them followed. He heard the door close softly behind him.

"Who's in charge here?" Chuck called out, his voice echoing in the house.

An older, balding man in a brown suit stepped into the hallway where Chuck waited impatiently. "Frank Tolman, sir," he said dryly. "What's the problem?"

"There was a jewelry box in this room. A small wooden chest, just a square. Where is it?" Chuck asked.

Tolman half-rolled his eyes. "Jewelry has to be appraised," he droned, like a recording.

"That belonged to her deceased mother. Everything in the box," Chuck insisted.

"Look, sir, I don't care if it was the Crown Jewels, we have rules we follow. I can't do anything else, I'm sorry," Tolman said without concern or sincerity.

"If you take them out of here, she won't ever be able to get any of it back," Chuck said.

"Probably not, unless it's costume jewelry," Tolman explained.

Chuck had seen all of Emma's jewelry, and it was all genuine, not glass baubles. The whole lot of it was probably worth less than their threshold, but Chuck had no way to prove it here.

Thinking quickly, Chuck said, "Even if it was the Crown Jewels, as you say, the bank will still auction it at the end of the day, won't they?"

"That's standard procedure, sir," Tolman droned.

"Can't you just right in your report that what you found here was costume jewelry?" Chuck asked him.

Tolman looked on, aghast. "I could lose my job over something like that, Mr…uh…" He sounded irritated that he was unaware who he was addressing.

"Bartowski. Charles Bartowski," Chuck replied.

Recognition dawned on Tolman's face. "Stephen Bartowski…he was your father?"

"Yes, he was," Chuck answered warily.

The animation on Tolman's face was unmistakable. "My sister, Regina, is married to Dominick Babinska. He grew up with your dad…in Green Island." His face grew somber. "It was a real shame about your parents, Mr. Bartowski. They were good people."

Chuck's father had grown up in the Polish section of Worcester, below middle class standards, given what Chuck had been able to gather from the little he'd heard when he was small. Chuck's father's parents had died in 1918 of the Spanish Flu, leaving him to fend for himself as an older teenager. Chuck's mother, Mary, had come from a wealthy family, the Carmichaels, whose legacy rivaled the Salisburys, the richest family in Worcester. Stephen had never forgotten his roots, always full of compassion for the factory workers he employed, always loyal to the people he knew from his old neighborhood.

Chuck made a silent wish some of that goodwill could come back and help him now.

"Look, Mr. Tolman, that jewelry box is full of Miss Walker's mother's jewelry. Her mother passed away from polio when Miss Walker was five. It's not worth thousands of dollars, but it's not technically costume jewelry. The real value is sentimental," Chuck explained.

Chuck saw the sympathy begin in the man's eyes, hopeful that his words had gotten through. "You're here, doing this, because her father is dead now too. Please, I will pay you whatever you think it's worth. I just don't want her to lose those things. They are all she has left."

"Is she your girl?" Tolman asked, his mouth pressed into an uneven line. Chuck had been asked that many times before.

Chuck felt his pulse rush at the words. "Yes, she is, lucky man that I am." One side of Chuck's mouth lifted in a smile.

Tolman patted Chuck on the shoulder. "Maybe she's the lucky one, Mr. Bartowski," he said gently. Tolman turned to a pile of banker's boxes stacked by the door. He lifted the lid on one, then another, until he found what he was looking for. Tolman reached in, pulled out the small wooden box, and handed it to Chuck. "We never saw this," Tolman announced quietly.

"No, no, sir, no one did, I assure you," Chuck stuttered. "Thank you, sir."

Chuck took the box in his hand and hurried back to Sarah's room.

The moment he opened the door, he knew he had interrupted Sarah and Diane. Sarah's face was flushed red, and he could see blotchy patches of purplish red on her neck and upper chest. The lines around Diane's mouth were pronounced as she puckered in distaste.

"Is everything…ok?" Chuck asked.

Again, the mask returned: Sarah spun to face him, resetting her expression. She avoided eye contact, fixing her gaze on his lips or his chin.

What was going on? He had to find a moment alone soon to talk to her.

"Oh, Chuck," Sarah gushed as she noticed what he held in his hand. She rushed to him, taking the box from him delicately as he held it out for her. She opened it, peeking inside to ensure the contents were intact. "How did you convince them to let this go?" she asked.

"The…uh, the guy in charge. His sister is married to someone my father grew up with, apparently," Chuck explained. "I just told him how important this was to you."

She hugged him with gratitude, still holding the box in her hand.

"He asked me if you were my girl," he whispered in her ear.

"Always," she whispered back. Her grip was fierce. Her muscles were tight again, but she slowly relaxed in his arms.

He reminded himself they needed to talk later, because he needed to know what was upsetting her, causing these strange shifts, her quick-change moods. For the moment, being sure that whatever it was he could help her feel better, simply by holding her, was enough.

A/N: Thank you to Zettel for pre-reading. Historical notes: the AFL-CIO did not exist until 1955, so the AF of L Shaw refers to was just the American Federation of Labor. Many of the unions were known to be infilrated by members of organized crime. Green Island is a neighborhood in Worcester settled by Polish immigrants and in the 1940s and 1950s, was still primarily Polish. Bennington College was known for performing arts in the time period, Carol Channing a high-profile graduate in the class of 1942.