BEFORE

But all my words come back to me

In shades of mediocrity

Like emptiness in harmony

I need someone to comfort me

Homeward bound

I wish I was

Homeward bound

"Homeward Bound"

Simon and Garfunkel

May 9, 1949

Springfield, Massachusetts

For the first time, in his long back and forth travels across the nation, Chuck found he was dreading coming home. Dreaded it.

The knots in his stomach, the lead in his limbs, and the nervous palpitations inside his chest–before this moment–had been reserved for his departures, or his arrivals in California after a summer away. Misery registering in his body. This time, he had spent the entire trip on the train watching the now familiar landmarks as they passed, telling himself the uncomfortable buzzing in his head and heart were just anticipation, excitement upon finally returning home again. But each moment that passed, each mile closer to Worcester, his only feeling was of dread.

Home was not the same now and he would have to face it.

Gertrude and Casey were there, of course, and his thoughts of seeing them again were warm, for he had missed them as he always had. They were his family. A family he had trouble explaining to his friends, to other people who asked him who they were. Chuck could understand how it could be confusing. He called them by their first names, or in Casey's case, by his last name. Yet, when they phoned, they asked questions parents would ask. He answered them the way he would if they had been his parents. His parents were dead, but he had to admit, when he heard others talk about their own parents, his feelings towards Gertrude and Casey weren't any different than theirs.

Chuck knew Gertrude and Casey loved him; he loved them right back. The only difference was when, awkwardly, he would hear Michael or even Jill bid goodbye on the phone to parents with a quick, "Love you." Then he would feel it. Those words were implied at the end of his calls, but never spoken. It may not have been unique to his particular situation–some people were not outwardly demonstrative with their feelings. Even if by some twist of fate Casey and Gertrude had been his real parents, Chuck didn't think anything about how they were with him would be different. He accepted them as they were, knowing not every thought or emotion could be eloquently expressed or depicted, and knowing that sometimes, less was more, more real. He knew what he felt. And he had missed them every day he had been gone.

The home that was altered, he knew, was Sarah. His blonde, blue-eyed home. He had hidden, sheltered in her, since that first fort she built for them in her room.

Less was more. In her own way, Sarah was as undemonstrative as the Caseys when it came to her feelings. She had never spoken openly about her emotions, though he knew she spoke more freely to him than to anyone else. What existed between them was even more difficult to explain when his friends inquired. Sarah was his friend. That was the only word he knew. He had read in his coursework about other languages, Japanese for instance, that contained words that weren't directly translatable in English. Words that didn't exist without modifiers. Like the word shibui. It was but one way to say beautiful…only it implied a simple, subtle, unobtrusive beauty. No single English word was adequate to translate it.

His education for the past three years had been comprehensive. His required coursework included the humanities, like literature and art, a language, as well as his basic science courses. As the years progressed, more engineering mathematics and business courses had taken his attention. But in all of that, he had never learned the right word to classify Sarah in his life. Only home.

Not any longer. He was returning but he was homeless.

She had written to him, the same as she always had. But the frequency of her letters had gradually decreased over the course of the year. The first one, where she had deliberately ignored the kiss between them on her birthday, had begun the year. Letters four times a week were still common through the middle of October. Minus the omnipresent kiss which remained beyond mention but was somehow everywhere, her tone had been the same. In each letter, she wrote her heart out, as always, more expressive of herself than at any other time. Her words were descriptive, beautiful and thought-provoking. It had taken his growth to realize Sarah had the skills to be a writer, something she could pursue when she went to college. She was masterful at languages, too. Her future was boundless.

Just not with me. It just doesn't include me.

The words stuck, dry and painful in his chest and throat, like a wedge of stale bread choking him. He had no explanation for why that would be so, why he couldn't move beyond it. His friendship with her when they were young had meant everything to him–literally the difference between him wanting to live and wishing to die–but they weren't children any longer. He ought to be able to put away childish things.

Casey had warned him all along that their closeness, their need for one another, could prove problematic when they were older. He had constantly encouraged Chuck to expand his horizons, even as Gertrude at the same time had whispered to him that she understood. She understood everything–Casey's reasons for believing that, telling Chuck that, Chuck's reasons for not being able to do as Casey had instructed. Chuck himself was the one who couldn't understand.

But now he felt it all, all that Casey had warned him of, all the pain that being with Sarah the way he had seemed to cure…returned, no longer cured, masked, hidden, like an anesthetized toothache worsened by chewing something too tough. Had he ever really healed at all? Or had she only made him believe he had, her very nearness so warm it obscured the icy pain from him?

He had meant to let her go…when he had left for California at the beginning of this year.

He had promised himself he would.

She had her friends, a wider and more diverse group than even he had at college. He had wanted that for her as long as he'd known her, knowing her lonely travails had been unbearable the first years he was gone. She was happy now, happier than he had ever known her to be. He was happy for her. At least, he wanted to be happy for her. He promised himself he would, and yet, a part of him burned with a sinful, selfish jealousy that made him ashamed of himself. A serpent squeezing his heart.

After she had mistakenly kissed him while intoxicated, saying words he was certain she never would have said when sober…never could have meant when sober, he felt blitzed, overrun. Discretion, he told himself, discretion. Pretending it never happened had been his internal solution; he shared the event only with himself. He even tried not to share it with himself, relive it. But all year long, at the worst of times, he found himself dreaming of her. Not the boyish way he had dreamed about her before…the summer sky in her eyes, her smile warm like the sun, lightning bugs in the twilight.

He had become a man while she was technically still a girl. But he dreamed of her as a woman. He dreamed of her lips, her body…of what would have happened if he hadn't stopped himself. Sometimes he worried that it had only been her words to him that had shocked him out of the trance he had been in while he kissed her…that the intensity of the kiss, and his powerful attraction to her, would have led to the very act she described.

He had begun to worry, thinking himself wrong, deranged…perverse, after so many dreams where that did happen…there in the heated, panting dark, in the fertile green garden outside her house. Uncomfortable, frustrated dreams that tied him in knots and destroyed his peaceful sleep, stained his sheets. He had been so troubled that he had spoken to Casey about it, much to the older man's embarrassed displeasure.

Uneloquent as Casey was, Chuck knew Casey approved of being asked for advice. "The little head does the thinking sometimes, and the dreaming too, even when the big head knows better. It's perfectly normal. There's nothing wrong with you. The only thing abnormal is the fact that you waited until you were 20 to ever ask me about it."

Chuck had waited, not because he was hesitant or shy, as Casey believed. He had just never experienced it before. Not until after that kiss. He had spent his high school years quiet and awkward…his college years working himself to exhaustion each day. Kissing Sarah had awakened something deep in him, something he could no longer deny…and now something that had no proper outlet. What Sarah had awakened belonged to Sarah, but she no longer seemed interested in claiming it.

In November, the time between Sarah's letters had increased. In an indirect, roundabout way, she had told him she was dating Bryce. She mentioned him taking her places–the movies, the hamburger stand, dances, concerts. Bryce ate dinner at Jack's house, something Chuck had only done when working late at Jack's during the summer. Sarah hadn't explained how she had ended up with Carina's ex-boyfriend. Chuck assumed it had been Sarah Bryce had been interested in first, perhaps Sarah he had wanted all along, only Carina was…available, as she always was. Chuck remembered that strange jealousy he had seen on Sarah's face when she'd introduced him to Bryce.

Half of his heart had felt better, knowing if Sarah was Bryce's girlfriend, she had what he believed she wanted. On his weakest days, he could convince himself the only reason she had thrown herself at him at all was a way of acting out, frustrated at what she thought Carina and Bryce were doing. The other half of his heart felt sick, broken, when he thought about what Sarah and Bryce were doing on their dates.

Jack as a chaperone was useless. Sarah's father never took the time to know the people Sarah chose to spend her time with. Chuck was trustworthy and respectful. If at any point in their time together Chuck had chosen to disregard his upbringing, anything could have happened…even in Sarah's bedroom, and Jack would have been clueless. Carina and Bryce had a physical relationship, perhaps solely a physical relationship. While Chuck had enough faith to know Sarah was not exactly Carina when it came to her motivation or desires, he knew almost nothing of Bryce. And there was always that strange jealousy in Sarah's eyes. He could not forget it.

What young man would end a relationship with a girl like Carina…to be in a relationship with a girl like Sarah, unless he expected the new relationship to be…comparable?

His mind railed against the thought. There were no girls like Sarah. She's incomparable. She was one in a million, one in a lifetime…the rarest jewel, the most exotic flower he could ever hope to find.

Chuck was sure, no matter what else he knew or didn't know about Bryce, that Bryce had no idea what it was he held in his hands. No sense of her preciousness. She was merely another girl to him, another conquest. The thought flipped Chuck's stomach until he feared he would vomit.

Maybe Sarah loved Bryce. She had been with him for months, a lot longer than Bryce had been with Carina. Chuck had no right to deny Sarah that happiness. He wanted her to be happy, to find what he knew she had been searching for all the time he had known her. He wanted her to find that but somewhere in his heated dreams he had been forced to admit the truth–that he secretly hoped it was him. Maybe Sarah had found something in Bryce that Chuck couldn't see. Sarah had a way of penetrating to the heart of things, quiet and introspective as she was.

All he knew now was she had been his home…so now he was homeless. Adrift. She was still his friend, and would always be his friend. He would always want the best for her. But there was too much in between them now, pushing them apart. That feeling of relief upon returning he had always known was gone now, and he reckoned it was forever.

Chuck checked his watch, startled at how much time he had lost as he sat ruminating. The scenery was now Massachusetts, the rolling green hills of the Berkshire mountains unmistakable. In less than an hour, he would be back in Worcester.

But home? He could never go home again.

May 9, 1949

Worcester, Massachusetts

Chuck stood, pulling the bags from the overhead compartment as the conductor announced the stop in Worcester's Union Station. As he shut the door, he could see clearly out the window of the train.

Sarah… with Bryce. It was automatic, to search for her blonde hair in the crowd. Each time he had returned, she had been here, waiting to greet him.

She wore a fuchsia dress, the skirt more snug than the flared kind he had always seen her wear. Her long hair was pulled back into a high ponytail tied with a satin ribbon that matched her dress. The ponytail was curled, swirling, and turned up at the end, like she had used curlers to get the effect, something he had never known her to do. She had always ignored fashion. She stood with her arms crossed, while Bryce had one arm draped across her back, his hand firmly cupping her right shoulder. There was a distinct space between them, despite the fact that Bryce appeared to be leaning on her.

Bryce was…overdressed. Weird thought, but it stuck. He wore dress pants and a white button-down shirt, opened one more button than was necessary. He was soon to be a senior in high school. Why did he look like he had just come from a business meeting?

Chuck looked away, scanning the platform, finally finding Casey and Gertrude standing side by side, apart from Sarah and Bryce. Before, the Caseys had always brought Sarah with them. Now, Bryce had probably driven her in his car.

Lugging both his suitcases, Chuck hurried down the stairs of the train onto the platform. He had braced himself, telling himself what to expect, and yet, it still hurt that the first person to greet him was Gertrude, not Sarah. Normally, Sarah launched herself at him and sprinted into his arms. Gertrude squealed, hugging him, commenting quickly, breathlessly on his height, though he had stopped growing last summer. Casey took his bags, allowing him to embrace the older woman.

Chuck had read many letters, and talked to her on the phone many times, but he realized this was the first time he was seeing Sarah in person since she had run from him in the garden on her birthday. He shook his head, forcing the thought from his mind, fighting the color that he felt creeping onto his skin with the heat. As the Caseys stepped away, he got a better view.

Sarah smiled at him, and her smile was the same…radiant, her eyes a calm sea blue. For a moment, her companion was forgotten and she stepped forward. "Welcome back, Chuck," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. He felt it in her muscles, the way she was standing…how restrained she was, how much she was holding inside. Feeling her in his arms again was almost too much, but he held himself in check, placing his hands on her back instead of squeezing her, as he had always done before. She pulled away too soon, but he let her go.

"Hey, Big Man on Campus!" Bryce chuckled. He didn't sound sarcastic, but Chuck still felt belittled by the tone. "Good to be back, huh, Chuck?"

The forced amiability was annoying. He and Bryce weren't friends. They barely talked. He didn't need to be friends with Bryce now, did he? It was almost too much to ask, but if it was something Sarah wanted, he would try.

The moment Sarah stepped away from Chuck, Bryce pulled her back. This time, in full view of Chuck, his grip on her became more possessive. Bryce reached the arm that had been on her shoulder around her waist, but high, his thumb inches from the side of her breast. He reached his other hand around the front of her, resting his hand on her hip, far too close to her behind to be appropriate in public. She shifted awkwardly, as Bryce's hug now almost blocked her view of Chuck.

"How've you been?" Chuck asked her, embarrassed and awkward.

"She's better now that you're back, right, Babe?" Bryce teased, laughing, although Chuck had the strong suspicion that Bryce was laughing at her instead of with her. Sarah seemed to ignore it, though he had answered for her.

Babe? What a condescending jerk, Chuck thought to himself. Sarah hated pet names, starting with the 'darlin'' and 'angel' her father had always used. Chuck knew she hated it now, seeing her squirm and almost visibly flinch. Why wouldn't she tell Bryce to not use terms like that with her?

"I did miss you, Chuck," Sarah replied, the sound of his name seeming different, the u harder and the k unemphasized. It was unnerving, and it made him search, scan her face for lost familiarity. The look in her eyes, the brilliant blue that enveloped him, was the same. He never wanted to look away from her eyes, the only place left where she seemed known to him.

Bryce turned her, pulling her by her hip to face flush with his body. "Let's go," he said, and then kissed her hard, standing there in front of Chuck.

Chuck hurried away, Gertrude fortunately (or, perhaps, intentionally) blocking the kiss from his view. Gertrude tugged his arm and he followed her, keeping his eyes downcast. He was embarrassed for himself, and embarrassed for Sarah, that Bryce seemed to be putting her on display the way he was, making a spectacle of her, of what ought to be private. Chuck walked towards the exit carousel, Gertrude hustling him ahead, as if she was protecting him.

He didn't look back.

However, as he was ducking into the back seat of Casey's car in the parking lot, the bright pink of Sarah's dress caught his eye, even though he hadn't wanted to see it. Their figures were far in the distance, oblivious to Chuck's observation, but Chuck couldn't look away. Bryce and Sarah were in the shadows, under the stone archway. They were kissing again. The kiss was too much for a public place, Bryce's hands squeezing her bottom worsening the scene. His hands still in place, Bryce spun her and backed her into the wall, pinning her, his mouth still fused to hers. It was a spectacle he would have expected to see with Carina, but never Sarah.

His heart liquified. All was lost.

He tried to compose himself. He wanted her to be happy, he told himself. Happy, happy, like he was chanting a mantra. He had promised himself.

But all promises now seemed meaningless.

He was in Worcester again…but he wasn't home.

His home had been lost to him long before. This was only the final confirmation. He turned his eyes so that he would not have to watch it burn.

A/N: Huge thank you to Zettel for pre-reading. The angst has shifted to the past.