A/N: Sandworm all in one chapter. An entire day passes in this episode without Chuck and Sarah interacting, so this one is on the shorter side as well. How did Casey hear a four hour discussion about sandwiches while feeling left out of Team Chuck? Not just the deep dive, but making sense of the sense-less, or at least trying whenever I can. Alma Mater proves to be much longer. Thanks for reading.
Once I understood the nature of Chuck and Ellie's relationship, I never looked at either one of them the same way again. The dinner we shared was a typical dinner at Ellie's—the food was fantastic, the conversation light and fun, and the company warm and inviting. I felt the way I had now come to expect…believing, pretending blissfully, even if just for a few hours, that I was the normal girl they thought I was. But as much fun and relaxation as I had, my mind kept wandering back to what I had just learned about Chuck.
From the conversation, I gleaned this was the 17th anniversary of the first of these dinners. Which translated to their mother leaving when Ellie was 12 and Chuck was nine. The other details were not spoken of, so I wasn't sure about their father. All I knew was he was nowhere now…Chuck had worn his suit to Bryce's funeral.
My dad was here…but he was never really here…
My life was no picnic compared to his. At nine, I had been on the run with my father for almost two years. I was barely in school and never did anything for fun except con people out of their money. I had no friends and I spent more time alone than I did anything else. However, at nine years old I had no idea that my life was as terrible as it was. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do–having adventures with my father. I wasn't mature enough to know having what I wanted with no boundaries, no discipline, is a form of child abuse. The worst of that time was the hours I spent alone, usually in a hotel room, waiting for him to return from somewhere. Even back then I told myself it was alright, conditioning me to live the life I was going to lead.
Ellie wasn't nine; she was 12. Twelve years old and basically in charge of her younger brother and her father. At 12, I had just started to feel that maybe what I was doing with my father wasn't morally right. I learned more as Chuck's father came up in conversation at a time much farther into the future than this, but that picture was painted bleaker than I even thought here. And while I at least had my father, which was barely adequate, they had only had each other…as children.
I marveled at Ellie Bartowski's strength and her grace. Sure, she mothered Chuck more than a normal sister might, but it was only because she had been forced to mother him before she was even a teenager. She was a doctor, which meant undergraduate degree plus medical school. She had somehow put herself through school while Chuck graduated top in his high school class and went to Stanford on a scholarship. Life had been extraordinarily cruel to both of them, and Ellie was as warm and loving as I was aloof and silent.
I began to worry even more about what Ellie thought. Or rather, what she would think of me if she knew the truth–that her brother's life was in mortal danger every time he left his apartment and I was a lethal assassin sent here to protect him. The scariest thing was that I wanted her to like me…because she mattered so much to Chuck and he cared what she thought. I sometimes would start to feel sick when I realized the person she seemed to like so much wasn't really me, no matter how close to the truth I let myself stay when the doors were closed and I was just Sarah and not Agent Walker.
When that evening was over, Chuck offered to walk me out as he always did. Ellie mentioned to him that she felt like sitting in the courtyard for a while if he'd like to join her when he returned. Because Ellie was in the courtyard, we had to fake another kiss. I had to remind him, opening my eyes wider and very quietly clearing my throat. This was only the third time we faked a kiss, but it was supposedly a month into our relationship. He did the usual–standing at a safe distance from me and leaning forward, kissing my cheek almost at my right ear.
That close to him I got a lungful of his cologne mixed with whatever else made him smell like…well, Chuck. I almost swooned. It was so pleasant. Ellie was watching and I heard Morgan open the door behind me, so I had to do something. I leaned to his right and kissed his cheek. His five o'clock shadow was rough under my lips. I let them linger, pressing my lips fully against his cheek rather than a hard peck like he had done to me, now three times. I had to stretch onto my tiptoes to reach his cheek. I couldn't understand why I loved that stretching so much.
I smiled as casually as I could, folding my jacket over my wrist the minute I was flat footed on the ground again. His return smile was soft and his eyes were dreamy. I lost my place for a moment, dazed, almost hypnotized. I forced my rational thoughts forward through this fog. If he walked me all the way out, I wasn't sure I could control myself enough to not kiss him on the lips. I had barely restrained myself here in front of the others. I told him to stay with his sister and I would walk out and everything was fine.
I went home, took a shower, and spent the rest of the night in bed with my vibrator. I don't remember how long it took…how many orgasms satisfied me before I was exhausted enough to sleep. All I know is I convinced myself I needed the release after the missions we had been on and I had no other outlet but this. And I consciously dismissed the fact that nothing really satisfied me…because what I wanted was Chuck.
Four days later, I was finishing a hot dog shift when I got a frantic call from Chuck. He had been asked to find Morgan by his boss, a strange request which he apparently went right along with, since Morgan had skipped out on work. Chuck had found him at the Santa Monica pier…playing video games with someone Chuck flashed on. He gave me the name Laszlo Mahnovski…what he had seen when he flashed. Chuck was apparently confronted by this person, but Morgan's presence fortunately scared him away.
I told him to just go straight home and I would meet him there. Then I called Casey and filled him in, after I questioned Casey a little sharply how Chuck had made it all the way to the Santa Monica pier without protection. Once I told Casey how dangerous even just that little excursion had been, I told him and he agreed that we needed more surveillance equipment inside Chuck's apartment.
I told him I was meeting Chuck and that I would plant the bugs. He needed to set up the equipment in his apartment and monitor whenever Chuck was out of his or my sight. He wasn't overly thrilled with the idea of that many hours listening to the life and times of Chuck Bartowski, but he took his job seriously and did it almost without another complaint.
I arrived about 15 minutes before Chuck got home. Ellie and Devon were home and invited me in, saying Chuck would be there any minute. They were in the kitchen. I engaged them in casual conversation and was able to plant almost all the bugs I had while they weren't looking. I only had one I needed to plant in Chuck's room. I asked if it was alright if I waited for Chuck in his room…because I had a surprise for him.
I had the CIA photoshop a picture of Chuck and me at Comic Con, dressed as Han Solo and Princess Leia. I am extremely well-versed in all areas of nerd-dom now, if you will, but back then I needed to look it up online to provide the CIA with the specifications. It was the next step, to protect our cover, that we would have pictures of each other…in our rooms and on our phones. I hid the bug in the frame.
Standing by myself in his room was the first time I had been back in his actual room since the night over a month ago I had broken in to steal the computer. That same scent that I had noted when I kissed him was everywhere in the room, surrounding me like a cloud. His clutter was familiar, more so now because I knew him at this point. I found myself wondering which side of the bed he slept on…or if he slept in the middle when he was alone, like I did. Then I started picturing how he would sleep…on his back, or side, or stomach. It stirred some longing in me that I didn't understand, so much so that I told myself to stop looking at his bed and look out the window instead.
Eventually he arrived. He came rushing into his room, worked up and nervous about what he had called in to me. I told him he had done the right thing calling me and staying out of trouble. I was ready to leave right away after that, not even thinking how strange that would look for the cover if I left five minutes after he got home. They could have thought we were fighting.
Chuck was the one who stopped me…saying Ellie and Devon thought that because I was waiting in his room, they thought Chuck and I were having sex. He asked if I would stay long enough to keep up that appearance. I was embarrassed and almost dumbstruck when he asked me that. When I fumbled over asking him how long he wanted me to stay, he gave this weird answer, down to seconds. Something about music…I know I made a face, because he mumbled nervously and turned on his iPod.
Chuck really did, and still does, love music. His tastes are varied and eclectic, especially for someone his age. He liked big band music, jazz, pop, alternative, oldies…there was no genre he didn't like at least something in. All I knew of music was random songs I'd heard on the car stereo when I was driving around with my father. No favorite music, no favorite songs or even genre of music. Chuck taught me about music…really everything I know about it I learned from him. I found myself drawn to the lyrics of the music he liked, which was the first thing he considered when he decided if he liked a song or not. Song lyrics were like poetry, but he always seemed to understand the meaning of songs, almost right away, even when I would have to think for a long time.
The music here was to disguise the noise we wouldn't be making. Later, when Morgan lived with us, it was to disguise the noise we were making. Even in the years where no one could have heard the noise we were making, we still listened to music more often than not. There were certain songs that just set the mood; sometimes hearing the same songs out of context could remind me of that so much I could barely wait to get him alone. Having four children has put a little bit of a damper on that, but only when it comes to finding the time.
Anyway, I sat on his bed, sitting up almost uncomfortably straight. It was decidedly awkward under the circumstances and worse because of my own feelings that he knew nothing about. He sat at a perpendicular angle to me, but his shoulder was touching mine. His breathing was a little strange, almost making me think he was trying to decide if we should talk or not talk…what would be appropriate if we were pretending to have sex. Instead, he asked me why I was waiting in his room.
I told him I wanted to surprise him and showed him the photograph. He liked it initially, but hated the fact that it was fake. He held it in his hands and studied it for a long time. "Wow, we…we actually look like a real couple," he said slowly. The wistfulness was unmistakable.
"Well, we are a real couple. We're just a different sort of couple," I said in reply. It was a strange thing to say, something I didn't think about before I said. I just spoke, trying to make him feel better.
"That we are," he sighed, agreeing but with a sad resignation in his voice.
We sat the rest of the time in silence, which was only more awkward. When the music ended, he unmade his bed and pulled up the blankets so it looked like the bed had been used. I went into the bathroom before I walked back out into the living room. I let myself out. I don't know what else Chuck did after I left, but despite our best semblance, Ellie and Devon still questioned why Chuck and I weren't having sex not long after this. I wondered if he'd left his uniform on instead of changing into his pajamas, but I never asked him specifically.
My meeting with Casey was early in the morning, before work, so I tried to go straight to sleep. My dreams were erotic, one after another, full of Chuck's bed and his scent and his music. I woke up in the middle of the night and needed the vibrator to fall back to sleep.
I ended up working a double hot dog shift, which is as close to hell on earth as one could imagine. Aside from a quick lunch with Chuck in the Wienerlicious, I really didn't see much of him the entire day. When I was closing for the night, I was surprised by a Special Agent for DARPA named Harrison, who was Laszlo's handler. He showed me the whole file, what the CIA had on Laszlo, which was similar to what Beckman had shared with Casey, although we weren't quite meshing as a team here in this instance. Harrison told me Laszlo had escaped and that he was violent and potentially dangerous.
I always maintained a healthy skepticism and lack of willingness to cooperate with other agents, maybe as much as Casey didn't trust me. It was the nature of the business, not being able to trust anyone…about anything. The only person I had trusted professionally had been Bryce and I was burned. This random agent had been condescending about my stupid hot dog uniform. But once I knew the backstory, that Laszlo was his asset, I warmed up a bit. Harrison had done a very poor job of handling his asset, but at the same time, his asset seemed like a loose cannon. My professional association with Chuck was like a dream, like I'd sort of told Carina, and this other situation made me see it even more, despite the fact that it was presenting an entirely different set of difficulties.
The moment Harrison was done, I called Casey, to try and align our intel. Casey told me Chuck had come to his apartment raving about the bugs he'd found in his own apartment and in the process had let it slip that Chuck had had additional contact with Laszlo since the arcade the day before. I had a bad feeling, especially considering I hadn't heard from or seen Chuck for over eight hours. I tried to call his cell and he didn't answer. I called Casey back and found out that the last place Chuck pinged on his GPS was at the Buy More. It was well after hours so it wasn't work. Harrison met Casey and they left in Casey's car. I left a message for him to just lock himself in his car and wait for me. I was frustrated and angry, thinking he'd allowed himself to be put in a dangerous situation again, even if he was relatively unaware of the real danger. Even here, I knew Chuck looked for the best in people, always, so he would have seen Laszlo as a kindred spirit first and a deadly psychopath second.
I arrived at the Buy More just seconds before Casey and Harrison. Chuck was in his car, like I'd instructed him to do, but he wasn't alone. Laszlo was in the passenger seat. We drew our weapons. Chuck was in the driver seat and neither of us realized that Laszlo had the capability to drive the car from his vantage point. The car sped away. We all dove back into Casey's vehicle and pursued.
Laszlo was driving at a very high speed and extremely erratically. Casey floored it to keep up with him and I held onto the armrest for dear life, much as the same way Chuck always seemed to do when I was driving. I was very worried I was going to witness a horrible crash, with the potential to cause serious injury to Chuck. Most high speed chases ended that way. Laszlo actually tried to ram us head on, Chuck's Toyota Matrix against a government SUV, and swerved away at the last minute. Laszlo ended up ejecting Chuck's seat from the car. Chuck was very lucky he wasn't killed by another driver.
When we caught up to him, Chuck was still a wreck. His shoes were completely destroyed from dragging along the asphalt the way they had. Casey was angry and let Chuck have it. I intervened, telling him to calm down, even though I was almost as angry for his carelessness once again. I, however, had sympathy for his emotional state and chose to not berate him for not remembering that his normal life didn't really exist any more, despite the feeling that sometimes some things seemed the same. When he calmed down in the car, I told him just that. He was more embarrassed and contrite than anything.
He left us dejected, grumbling about filing a stolen vehicle report with the Buy More and his insurance company, saying his car had been damaged and or stolen more times in the past five weeks than any time in the past five years. He wasn't wrong. Once Chuck was out of the car, I told Casey we needed to run better interference for Chuck and his Nerd Herder or it was going to call undue attention to the situation. The CIA actually agreed to create two duplicates of his car for situations like this. The CIA could get something like that done in no time, almost as easily as our fake Comic Con photo.
I stopped at his apartment first thing in the morning before work to check on him, specifically because he seemed so down. Ellie let me in and told me he was getting ready, that it was extra special because he had the job interview today for the assistant manager job at the Buy More. She was so proud of him, just for that. Chuck was capable of so much more than just Buy More assistant manager, but he had been in his funk for so long that any move forward Ellie thought of as progress. She winked at me, like she thought it was because of me that he decided to take the chance. It was, I know, but in an entirely different way than what she thought. His situation, of which I was a part, had shown him he was capable of more than what he had ever believed about himself.
He was standing in front of the mirror on the inside of his closet door. He had on a light blue shirt, gray pants, and a navy tie. I told him he looked nice, politely. Seeing him dressed up in anything other than his work uniform made him look even more attractive to me than he already was. His dour mood tamed that sudden rush.
His tie was tied perfectly, but when he turned to face me, I reached for the knot, straightening it. That was that urge again to touch him, the only way I could when I wanted to offer him some form of comfort. He let me do it, straighten it, even tighten it, before I laid my hand flat on his chest before he walked away.
He flopped on the edge of his bed despondently. He told me he felt like an idiot for trusting Laszlo, for not being able to see how deranged he actually was. He brought up the bug. I hadn't noticed before but the picture I had given him was in pieces in the trash. It crushed me to see that. I told him trusting people, wanting to trust people, didn't make him an idiot. It was his nature, his willingness to look for the good. It was why, when I asked him on the beach to trust me, he did, without any logical reason to.
He actually said he should have trusted Casey and me more. He was right, but what reason did he have to do so? The bugs looked suspicious, and no one had ever explained that we were putting those there to protect him, not legitimately spy on him. I tried to encourage him, that we had a lead and we would find Laszlo and bring him in. I wished him luck and left.
I met up with Casey and we followed the GPS signal from Chuck's car through downtown Los Angeles. The route was random and he seemed to be stopping in strange locations. We had wasted several hours before we realized what we were following wasn't Laszlo. He had to have removed the GPS from the Herder and attached it to an 18 wheeler. We had just discovered it when Chuck called me and told me he thought Laszlo was headed back to the Santa Monica pier to blow it up. He had flashed on something, but didn't say so outright. We were too far away, but Casey drove like hell to double back to the pier.
I learned all of this after the fact, but against better judgment, Chuck took off on Morgan's bicycle to try and get to the pier before us. He missed his interview in the meantime.
We made it in record time, but while we were running through the throngs of people, most of whom were dressed in Halloween costumes, Casey got the notification that the Herder's self-destruct sequence had been armed. He stopped briefly to tell me, then continued running while he called Chuck. Casey shouted to me that the Herder was under the pier.
There were tons of people on the beach, sunbathing and in the ocean, but we didn't have time to warn anyone away. We just ran. We heard shouting–Chuck and Laszlo. We ran further down on the sand, guns drawn. I screamed, "Chuck!" the moment I saw him.
Chuck warned both Casey and me back, loud enough to be heard over Laszlo screaming. Before I knew what was happening, Chuck just bent over the engine of the car and cut the wires on the bomb. I don't know how he knew which ones to cut, but he did.
Again, with objectivity I never had then, I wonder what would have happened if Chuck had done what we'd told him. Without Chuck, it would have taken Laszlo three times as long to break through the encryption and arm the bomb. But Casey and I might still have searched for a very long time before we found him. Chuck would have been alright, and Casey and I would have been blown to bits, along with the pier and hundreds of innocent people. Chuck took off after Laszlo first for those innocent people, people he didn't know, those faceless and nameless people I had convinced myself I was helping by doing my job for the CIA. He risked himself and his invaluable secrets, but for the greater good.
And as much as he would lament his own cowardice, there was nothing cowardly about Chuck when he told an NSA and CIA agent to stand back while he disarmed a bomb. That was Chuck at his best, his bravest. My Chuck. My hero, though I couldn't accept that yet, not here and not like this.
We arrested Laszlo. The cleanup from that was extensive and because Chuck had actually defused the bomb, he had to stay for the whole thing. They evacuated the pier and the beach, stating a gas leak. LAPD called in the bomb squad for disposal, but the CIA always sent cleaners as a backup. The paperwork took hours and we were otherwise occupied, so I had very little time to actually talk to Chuck. The moment he could leave, he did, zipping away on his bicycle. He said it was Morgan's and he needed to return it, and he also couldn't wait for us to give him a ride.
I was due at Ellie's Halloween party, so I left the pier and went to my hotel to get changed. The same outfit I was wearing in the photo I had made for Chuck, Princess Leia. The CIA made that almost as quickly. I told myself it made the picture more real, considering Ellie might not have remembered us ever going to San Diego for Comic Con and proving I had such a thing was more believable. (The fact that I know it's in San Diego is a more recent development. We have since gone for real, many times.) I would be lying if I said I didn't think even for a moment that the costume was extremely sexy and I wanted to see Chuck's face when he saw me in it.
I was running late. I arrived as Chuck and Morgan were dancing in their Dune costume. I heard Chuck tell Ellie that he didn't get the job because he skipped the interview. I could feel Ellie's protectiveness flare. None of this was his fault. He had literally saved hundreds of people's lives by boldly disarming a bomb that couldn't have been stopped any other way. I tried my best to not let Ellie nag him about it. I covered for him, telling her that he had helped me with a personal emergency instead. I didn't leave out telling her I thought he was a hero–because he was, and he deserved to hear it, out of my mouth, even if it was in that ridiculous scene.
The way he looked at me, the way he smiled…turned my insides to liquid once again.
He took a break from the dancing sandworm. I asked him if we could go to his room for just a second, that there was something I wanted to do. I took a picture of him and me together, a selfie but with a digital camera, which were still somewhat in use in 2007. I told him I wanted to give him a new photo…and I wanted it to be real. As real as I could make it, anyway.
He put the Comic Con photo back on his nightstand, telling me he wanted it there. It reminded him that I was protecting him. He put the real photo I took that day in his locker in the Buy More, where it stayed until the day the old Buy More exploded. That's for later.
I took that to heart. I had another one made and kept it in my hotel room. For the cover, I told myself. But every time I looked at it, I would think that I put it there to remind me that I was protecting Chuck. For everything that meant–both good, and sometimes, bad.