A/N: This is sad, but we knew this was coming.

BEFORE

As the sun hides his head

For another night's rest

And the wind sings

His same old song

And you on the edge

Never close, never far

Always there when I needed a friend

Yet it's hard living life

On this memory-go-round

Always up, always down

Spinning round and round and round

And all this could be

Just a dream so it seems

I was never much good at goodbye

"Goodbye"

Night Ranger

August 25, 1946

Worcester, Massachusetts

Chuck had been waiting. Waiting and waiting. Anticipation darkly striped by dread.

He had known all day that Sarah and her father were arriving for dinner at six. He had packed early in the morning, not long after he had gotten out of bed. Everything he needed to take with him to California had to fit inside two suitcases. Some of those things he needed to use until the last minute. The simple task of separating the two had made him inexplicably anxious.

Today was the last minute, the very last. Tomorrow morning, he had a 6 am train to catch at Union Station. Freshman orientation at Stanford began promptly on the morning of August 30, three days before the rest of the students were to report, after Labor Day. So he had packed everything but his toiletry case, things he would need to use tonight and tomorrow morning.

Preparing that early had left him unoccupied most of the day, and sitting around doing nothing frayed his nerves. All he had thought about all day was seeing Sarah. The summer had slipped away, each day and night slowly, like sand through the fingers of a fisted hand. Each day he had risen early, gone to bed late, lengthening the long days and savoring every moment. Still the time had flown, and now all of it was gone. Gone. He would go in the morning, and most likely not return to Massachusetts until next May. That thought was still mind-boggling.

So tonight, Gertrude had offered to make a special dinner and invited both Sarah and Jack. Today was Sarah's birthday, her fourteenth. It was a celebration…and a farewell. He dressed carefully, not overly formal, but in a button-down shirt and black dress pants.

The thought of leaving Sarah was torturing him–a slow, drawn out agony, like unanesthetized surgery.

Still, he had tonight, he kept telling himself, one more night, but he knew that tonight would pass in the blink of an eye, just like all the other summer nights, and then it would be morning and he would be gone.

He heard the doorbell and ran, eager for the calm he knew Sarah would bring to his jangling nerves. Casey was already about to answer the door when Chuck arrived in the foyer. Casey did a double take over his shoulder, eying Chuck up and down. "Looking nice, Kid. When did you get so tall?" Casey asked rhetorically. Casey had seen him every day, but was only commenting now that Chuck was nearly as tall as Casey. Gertrude had predicted that when Chuck was younger.

Casey often masked real sentiment beneath grumbling commentary, and much more so after his return from the war. Still, beneath the stern facade, Chuck knew the warm parental pride was underneath, visible in the older man's eyes whenever he noticed how Chuck had grown to a man, seemingly overnight. Casey had returned from the service almost the same, at least on the surface. Damage to his hip from shrapnel he had taken at Iwo Jima had caused a limp. But it was hardly noticeable, except when on rainy or humid days, like today. Every now and then, Chuck would see Casey staring into space, something he had never done as a habit before. Gertrude avoided him, tiptoeing, when he was like that, praying silently to St. Michael, the patron saint of soldiers.

When Casey had opened the door, all Chuck could see was Sarah. He never really understood the term "breathtaking", not as a physical phenomenon, until he stood there, drinking in the sight of her with his thirsty eyes, unable to manage breath. Her long blonde hair was loose, falling across her bare shoulders and down her back. She wore a pale peach sundress, with thin straps above a fitted bodice. The flowing skirt fell to just above her knees, her long legs tanned and toned all the way to her high-heeled sandals. She was wearing makeup, he realized with a start. The cosmetics were subtle and matched her dress. Her complexion was naturally peaches and cream. She glowed in the dusky twilight.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Breathtaking. He was dizzy, speechless.

"Hi, Chuck," she said softly, the sound of his name in her voice pulled him back to the moment. He caught a shallow breath. She smiled radiantly, the way she smiled only for him. She was fighting sadness valiantly, but her effort betrayed her. Her eyes were sapphire blue water troubled with anguish.

When she was 12 and he was 16, they had been the same height, Sarah having caught up to him. Sarah had stopped growing at 12, however, and now Chuck towered over her again. She stepped inside, walking toward him, tilting her head upward to gaze at him. He felt her eyes flitting down his body, then back again up quickly, her delicate blush showing on her cheeks, and down her neck and across her chest as well. "Hi, Sarah," he finally said, close to wheezing, hoping she didn't notice.

"Hey, Chuckles, nice to see you again," Jack said genially, brushing past Sarah to pump Chuck's hand in greeting. "Are you all packed and ready to go? I bet you can't wait to get out of this one horse town. Am I right, my friend? Am I right?" Jack's smile was dazzling, while his tact was dim. Chuck felt his stomach somersault at the words; they dredged up all the trepidation he had been trying to ignore.

He blinked during Jack's water-pump handshake. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a quick slip in Sarah's composure, a tremble of her lower jaw. She didn't want to be reminded of his imminent departure any more than he did.

"Dinner is almost ready!" Gertrude called from the kitchen.

"Let's go sit," Casey said to everyone, gesturing to Jack, Sarah, and Chuck to go first. Casey hated walking in front of anyone when his limp was pronounced.

Gertrude had prepared prime rib, baked potatoes, and green beans. It was Sarah's favorite, and it was her birthday. To him, the special occasion was Sarah's birthday. His leaving was not a cause for celebration, he thought. The idea of leaving the only place he had ever really been in his life was daunting. Chuck preferred lasagna, and Gertrude had suggested that, but he deferred, thinking of Sarah before himself, and preferring to think of the dinner as a celebration of her birthday and not of his leaving He had been uncertain he would have had an appetite either way, knew his stomach was full of butterflies. Or bats…crows…falcons.

The adults chattered away all through dinner, a nice distraction for his ears. But his eyes were on Sarah. She barely ate. She had cut her food, but was pushing it around on her dish with her fork. The bites she took were miniscule and she chewed each bite interminably. Throughout dinner, Chuck felt Gertrude's worry. She was smiling and personable, but her glances told him she knew the underlying tension.

Gertrude had baked Sarah a birthday cake, and that was to be the dessert for the meal. Gertrude emerged from the kitchen, carrying the cake with the candles lit and placed it before Sarah. She forced a smile and fidgeted nervously while a noisy rendition of Happy Birthday was sung . Gertrude was loud, Jack and Casey both sang off-key. Chuck only mouthed the words, not trusting his voice to be steady.

The song ended. Sarah paused, her gaze shifting downward. Chuck saw it very quickly, the mingled hope and defeat on her face, before she closed her eyes and blew out the candles. Like she was making a wish she knew would never come true.

She tried initially to decline any cake, but Gertrude was able to convince her to take a very thin slice, of which she only ate the frosting. Without thinking, Chuck reached across the table with his fork and ate the chocolate cake off her dish as he was still finishing his piece, alternating plate to plate. Sarah giggled, the perfect music of her giggle chasing away the memory of the off-key Happy Birthday.

Sarah offered to help Gertrude clear the table, but Gertrude insisted Sarah go sit with Chuck in the living room. Jack and Casey stayed at the table over coffee while Gertrude worked. Chuck heard the older men start discussing the news…the Truman doctrine and Muslim Hindu violence in India.

Sarah followed Chuck into the living room and sat on the sofa beside him. He reached for a small box he had stationed on an end table, a box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a purple bow. "Happy Birthday, Sarah," he said, smiling softly at her as he held it out.

She gasped at the box. "Sharfman's?" she asked, fully aware of the distinctive packaging of the upscale jewelry store.

"Just open it," he instructed with a crooked grin. She always tried to guess what was inside any present he had ever given her.

Carefully, she untied the bow, then removed the paper without tearing it. She held the box in her palm and opened the lid. "Oh, Chuck, it's beautiful," she gushed. She reached into the box, pulling the delicate silver locket from its purple velvet bed. It was an oval, intricate filigree on the surface that mimicked flowers and flower petals.

"It's a locket," he told her, his excitement blinding him to the obviousness of his comment.

She nodded and reached down, clicking it open with her fingernail. She pulled the chain free of the packaging and undid the clasp. She stretched out her hand to him, handing him the necklace, a silent request that he help her put it on. Once he was holding it, she turned in her seat, gathering her long hair on one side so that the back of her neck was exposed to him. He draped it in front of her and then fastened the clasp in one motion. Though he barely touched her, he marveled at the softness of her skin.

"It's tiny, so it might be hard to find a picture to fit in it," he said softly, a bit apologetically.

She turned around to face him, her face close to his. "I have a better idea," she said with a small, bold smile. She reached up, gently tracing the curls he had combed to the side of his forehead. She teased her fingers through his hair at his temple, sending involuntary shivers down his spine at her touch. She pulled her hand away, the result: a few stray hairs of his in her palm. She twirled them around her index finger, then placed them inside the convex interior of the locket, sealing it with a click.

It was an intimate gesture, one that made him feel peaceful and wild at the same time. She wanted a piece of him, however small, with her, close to her heart, at all times. He wished that he had some bit of her that he could take with him. And at the same time, he remembered Casey explaining that a little distance between them would do them good, that they relied too much on each other and not enough on their other friends. Sarah was older, reaching the age where boys would start asking her father if they could come calling. Despite Sarah getting older, Chuck, Casey insisted, was too old for her, too mature for a girl like her, and that it was now inappropriate for them to be alone in his room or alone in Sarah's room.

Chuck understood theoretically why Casey would say such a thing. It was caution about how things looked, what other people might say. Casey's unspoken point was that Sarah's reputation mattered, and that Chuck should never do anything remotely to compromise it, even if the intention was innocent. Casey would always throw Carina's name out in such speeches, the perfect bad example. Casey and Gertrude worried about Sarah damaging her reputation simply by befriending Carina, a known high-stepper, and just like her mother, as Casey would always say.

But Chuck felt that no one understood. Everyone else was just forcing him and Sarah into a box that they never really fit. Square pegs and round holes, or something like that. Maybe Gertrude sort of understood, Chuck thought, when he would hear her say Sarah and Chuck were soul mates, that they were part of each other. Even so, Gertrude agreed with Casey about Chuck's time with Sarah now that she was going into high school. She seconded Casey's cautions. Chuck wished constantly that there was someplace that they could go and be themselves, by themselves, without worrying about everyone else watching, about what everyone else thought.

Sarah patted the closed locket and looked up at him. She smiled but her eyes were openly sad. He wondered what showed on his face, what she could see when she looked at him. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and stood. She guided him out of the living room, down the hallway, and onto the back porch.

Summer was heavy in the evening air, thick with fragrant humidity. A few moths fluttered about in the cone of light shining forth from the sconce on the side of the house. She led him to the railing, then released his hand. She leaned forward, bending over the railing until she could look past the roof, up at the starlit sky overhead. He watched her study the sky silently for a long time.

"What are you looking for?" he asked gently, breaking the silence.

"I know it's probably too late…but…I'm looking for the end of the Perseid," she said, intent on the sky and not her words.

They had viewed the Perseid meteor shower from the porch a week ago, when it was at its peak in Massachusetts. It was technically possible for some of the showers to be visible until the 22nd of August, but that was rare. By the 25th, it was long gone. He couldn't tell her that, though, and defeat her hope.

They were silent for a minute. "My wish…didn't come true," she whispered, slowly blinking away tears as he watched.

He tried to speak, but the painful lump in his throat forbade it.

"Maybe because I told you what it was," she whispered, as much to herself as to him.

"You did?" he asked, not sure what she meant.

She faced him. "I wished that you didn't have to go. I told you I didn't want you to go," she said, her voice trembling.

Her voice, her pain, was like an arrow piercing him. He put his arm around her, trying to offer comfort.

The dam burst. She fell against him, sobbing, shuddering with each breath as she wept. The entire summer's gathering sadness, sadness she had suppressed for his sake, poured out in a rush. He held her, forcing himself to be strong, though he had never fought harder to keep from crying himself.

"I miss you so much and you aren't even gone yet," she cried. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I know you have to go. I don't want to make this harder than it already is…but I don't know how I'm going to live without you here."

"You don't have to apologize to me for being sad," he told her, his voice broken. He took a deep breath and forced the words out. "But you'll be alright. You have high school. Boys asking your father if they can come calling." Why did I say that? he thought, accidentally recycling Casey's argument, an argument he did not want to hear, much less make himself. He squashed the jealousy that he felt wasn't right, but couldn't deny and wouldn't name.

She went rigid in his arms. "No, Chuck," she declared. "I don't want that."

"You say that now, but it's normal to want things like that. You'll feel better about it. I promise," he coached her, half-heartedly, hoping she couldn't tell how empty his assurance was.

"You never did that, Chuck. Even when I told you to," she mentioned.

It was true. He had taken Lou to the prom, both his junior and his senior prom. Sarah had told him over and over again how much she thought Lou wanted to go out with him, date him, only he had never asked other than the proms. He didn't think it was right to take her out when he wasn't the least bit interested in anything more. It wasn't fair to her, especially since he knew she wanted something more. He had a picture of the type of girl he wanted, a list of this imaginary girl's traits and attributes. At some level, he knew the picture was a picture of Sarah, her traits and attributes, but with her identifying features obscured. But as Casey kept explaining, Sarah's age ruled her out for Chuck. Added to that was their almost sibling relationship. Sarah was too young and too much like a sister.

With those thoughts swirling in his head, he didn't know how to answer her, so he stayed silent.

"Your makeup looks pretty," he said, finding his voice, knowing he hadn't complimented her. "I thought your dad said you had to be 16 to wear makeup."

"He said that, but he didn't really care if I did. When he saw it, he said it made me look grown up," she paused on that phrase, glancing at Chuck, "and that I looked just like my mother," she explained, dropping her head against his chest. "Carina showed me how to do it, how to look older."

That didn't surprise him at all. Carina was years ahead of Sarah when it came to everything of that sort, even though they were the same age. One of his greatest fears, one he would never mention in front of Sarah, was that while he was away, Carina would have the greatest influence on Sarah, and not in a positive way. The way Carina dressed, the way she acted, all of it was inappropriate for a girl of 14. She wore makeup early, dated early, and knew no restraint.

Early in the summer, Sarah had explained how someone Roxanne had hired to paint her house, an 18 year old boy named Marcel, had become fascinated by Carina. Sarah had recounted Carina's tales of dating an older boy, and of losing her virginity to him. At 14. It was disturbing and pitiful. Sarah had been appalled, telling Chuck the secret because it upset Sarah to think of her friend making such a poor decision. Carina had pursued Marcel as much as he pursued her, intending to lose her virginity.

Chuck trusted Sarah to make better decisions, but he also worried what might happen while he was gone and she was alone, or alone with Carina. He had seen Sarah almost every day for almost eight years. To then suddenly spend almost ten months apart was too drastic, he thought. But he had no choice.

She understood. She told him that repeatedly. He had graduated valedictorian of his class. He had been accepted at every school to which he had applied. But Stanford was paid for, and none of the other schools, Harvard, Brown, Dartmouth, or Yale, could match that amount with their offered scholarships. Even with what the other schools offered, their tuition was too much. He had chosen Stanford, 3000 miles away, to ensure Casey and Gertrude had enough money to live on once he completed college. They had sacrificed for him all along; it was the very least he owed them. But it was the hardest thing he had ever done, choosing to leave Massachusetts and everything, everyone, he had ever known.

"I promise I will write to you as often as I can," he assured her. "And I can call once a week. There's a phone in the common area of the dorm." Long distance was expensive, but he had a work study job at the college library already secured and it would cover his expenses beyond his tuition. Even if it meant sacrificing, he would make sure he had enough money to call Sarah on Sunday nights.

"Me too," she replied. "I'll write. Every day if I can. Not that you'll have time to read all of those."

"I'll make time," he said pointedly. "Don't leave anything out, ok? Fireflies, frogs, baby owls…Carina's new dresses…her next Marcel, all of it."

She giggled, the sound easing him, making him feel like flesh, not stone. Mentioning those things made him sad–he missed them already–but he banked the emotion down, determined to lift her spirits. He wanted to remember her giggling, laughing, not crying in his arms… as he traveled cross-country on the train.

She never let go of him, her head again on his chest and both arms around his waist as they swayed gently in the dark, in the humid breeze.

"Ready to go, Darlin'? It's getting late and Chuck has to get up early for the train," Jack said as he leaned through the door.

She hesitated, but called back to her father that she was ready. Releasing Chuck with a grimace, like the action itself was painful, she stepped away. "Everything will be fine, Chuck," she said, so sure, so calm it made him believe. "You're amazing. Everyone will figure that out soon enough."

She stood on her tiptoes, her hands folded behind her back, and gave him a sisterly kiss on his cheek. "Goodbye, Chuck," she whispered, smiling brightly.

"Knock 'em dead, Chuckles," Jack called from the doorway, winking and pointing.

Chuck waved as they departed. He stayed outside with no sense of time. It was true his train was early, but he was sure he wouldn't sleep. He was nervous, anxious, and heartbroken all at the same time. Stanford would be a gain but at such a loss.

As he expected, he stared sleeplessly at the ceiling for eight hours. He felt sick when he got up, his stomach rejecting the breakfast Gertrude made for him. He ended up taking a banana for the train, something he thought his stomach could handle once he was settled and in motion. He was so fatigued, the hustle of the morning was a blur. Gertrude told him to sleep on the train, seeing the tiredness on his face.

On the platform, Casey shook his hand firmly, patted his shoulder proudly, and wished him luck. Gertrude kissed both of his cheeks and hugged him ferociously, whispering in his ear how brave she knew he was, how she knew everything would be alright. She promised she would look after Sarah as best as she could.

He forced himself to turn away and board the train. He stashed his suitcases in the compartment and took his seat. He leaned his head back against the headrest, yielding to his exhaustion. He felt lightheaded as the train started pulling away and the scenery started moving, disoriented as his point of reference changed. He glanced back and saw

Gertrude waved enthusiastically despite the tears on her face, then his attention drifted to the scenery in the background.

He was never sure if the flash of blonde hair he saw just inside the doorway of the train station, almost hidden in the shadows, was real or imagined as he drifted to sleep.

A/N: Thank you Zettel for both pre-reading and making me think. Historical notes: I have often in FanFic heard Chuck referred to as a National Merit Scholar, which could have been, although it was never specifically stated in the show, only that he was on a scholarship at Stanford. That program began in 1955, too late for Chuck here. Sharfman's is a real jewelry store in Worcester, still in business today and founded in 1937. Silver boxes with purple bows. Union Station was the train station in Worcester at the time, and it was refurbished in the early 2010s for use after decades of vacancy.

A/N #2: This story is all about the time period. The drama in the story is created by the setting as well as the characters. In the 1940s, reputation, particularly for females, was a major concern, as it is mentioned here. Different times.