A/N: A little late, but part three of DeLorean. So much emotion in the last part! Only patch up...how did Chuck and Casey find Sarah after she left? I never understood what Sarah thought she was going to do by herself with a duffel bag full of guns. What was her plan? Death and destruction? Anyway, this is a cry in the darkness since FF . net is crumbling to dust (really hope not though.) Enjoy.

Walking back into that hotel room to face Chuck and Casey was one of the most mortifying experiences of my life.

Casey took one look at my face and bolted past me, out into the hallway. I'm assuming he thought he could catch my father, or at least get some clue about how to follow him. At the very least, he was trying to salvage some part of this failed mission.

That left me in the room alone with Chuck.

I couldn't look straight at him, knowing I would see sympathy, unbearable sympathy that would threaten my equilibrium. I was already fighting tears. I was so stupid! I chastised myself, telling myself I should have known better.

The tears turned quickly to anger. Anger gave me strength, steeled me for the situation. Chuck moved towards me, but I turned away, instead running my hand across my vanity top and sending all the objects on the surface crashing to the floor in a clattering jumble.

"Damn it," I cursed, clutching my hands into fists so hard my fingernails pierced my palms.

I spun, seeing Chuck on his hands and knees, collecting the scattered items in a desperate flurry. I couldn't see the expression on his face, but his cheeks were bright red, burning.

More hurting for me…so intense, he couldn't look at me either.

I knelt down beside him, grasping his shoulder hard to stop him. "Chuck."

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

I thought at first he was apologizing for the night, for trusting my father when I had told him to be cautious. But it was more than that. He glanced up at me, then back down, but that split second of eye contact penetrated to the heart of me. He was sorry, but not apologetic…sympathetic. More so…empathetic. Paying his condolences for my pain, pain he understood all too well.

That emotional connection, intensified by our closeness, dissolved my anger back into sadness. I blinked my tears away as best I could, but he was still aware of them, and my sadness.

This was dangerous. Without the anger as a buffer, I was too vulnerable, given our current untenable situation.

"Chuck, I just…I just need some time…alone," I told him, jumping to my feet and away from him like he had a contagious disease.

He stood slowly, his shoulders bunched to his ears, shuffling on his feet like he didn't know what to say. "Whatever you need," he whispered.

He had to have run interference with Casey, because no one ever came back to my room.

I got undressed and took a long, hot shower. I cried—deep, heaving sobs that came from a place I had almost forgotten existed. Here was Sam again, crying for the tragedy that had been my childhood…and the devastation that childhood had eventually turned my life into. What my father had turned my life into…and he had no idea.

Did he think I was happy? Did he care if I wasn't?

My father's words burned inside my head. My fun childhood.

Fun…without a semblance of happiness. I had no memories of true happiness. Rocky road ice cream was about as happy as it got.

The closest I had ever come to happiness…was when I was with Chuck. Pretending to be his girlfriend, secretly wishing it was real, that Chuck and I were everything Ellie and Devon thought we were.

And so I cried, alone in the shower, until I was just about dry. It was only then that I realized, if I ever let Sam come to the surface, this was when I couldn't stop crying. Sam's life had a beginning, but it had an end, and the calls back were just ghosts weeping in my head.

I didn't want to be Sam anymore, ever again. I wanted to be Sarah Walker.

I was Sarah, of course. I had been her since Graham had found me in the woods after my father was arrested. But I still didn't know who she was, down deep. All I knew…she was the person who Chuck always thought of, admired and adored. She was the person who he looked at the special way he did. I wanted to be her…the amazing woman that Chuck thought I was.

I wasn't sure if she was real yet, not here. Would she ever be…or would I spend my life pretending to be Sarah, wearing her like a second skin but never being her? But I knew the only way she ever could truly be real was if Chuck believed in her enough to infuse her with life. I decided this night, crying in the shower, that I needed to believe in her too.

I let Sam go, tucked her away with her tears. No more crying for my life or what my father had done to it. Unfortunately, Sam would wake up one more time, in an awful moment of weakness for me, when I believed the Chuck I had always known and loved had changed into a different person, a monster I had somehow created. But just that once, and never again.

After that marathon crying session, I lay down to sleep, but I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, aching, wondering what my father was doing with all his stolen money…wondering if he thought it was worth shattering what little trust I had left in him to take it.

I don't know how long I actually slept, only that Chuck's phone call in the morning woke me up.

"What would you like for breakfast?" Chuck asked, his peppy voice jarring in my sleepy state.

"What?" I asked blearily.

"I'm bringing you breakfast before work. What would you like?" he asked. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Chuck, you don't have to do that," I said, unable not to smile, wondering if he could hear my smile the way I could hear his.

"I know, but I wanted to. Just a little something to brighten your day."

He had already brightened my day, just with his voice, and I had only been awake for five minutes. I asked him for a fruit cup. He said he would be at my hotel in 20 minutes. I got up and got dressed quickly, in my yoga pants and a sweatshirt. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun. I made sure I put makeup on; it helped to disguise my puffy, cried-out face.

He showed up at my door right on time, dressed in his Nerd Herd uniform, though the way Chuck looked before he got to work–his tie tied, his shirt unbuttoned behind the knot, the shirt not tucked in. It was like he couldn't stand it, and the stiffness was only tolerable if he left it only for when he was in the actual building.

He tilted his head, grinning at me when I opened the door.

"Hey," he said. "They were all out of fruit, so I was forced to bring up a couple chocolate croissants." He had a tray with two coffees balanced in his left hand and held up the bag with my favorite pastries in the entire world inside.

There was most definitely plenty of fruit, let me just say that.

It's a very special kind of person, kind of guy, who can cheer you up like that. It wasn't the chocolate croissants themselves (although they are my one weakness when it comes to treats,) but the fact that he knew that. I couldn't even remember when he had figured that out, not sure when he would have ever seen me eat one. But he also knew about how much I loved pickles, how I hated olives…he paid attention, better than anyone I have ever known. That in and of itself always made me feel so special.

My heart was still in tatters that morning, but the smile on my face was genuine.

"Oh, I guess I have no choice but to take those off you." I took the bag from his hand. "Come in," I added, and walked to go sit on my bed. He followed me inside and shut the door.

I sat cross-legged on the bed and reached eagerly into the bag.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," I told him, looking down at my pastry. "My dad will turn up somewhere, but, uh, I guess the real crime is that we didn't get to freeze the sheik's accounts." I was trying to shift the topic away from my woes, my near breakdown the evening before.

He sat beside me on the bed, so close I could feel his warmth close to my leg. "Well, I'm sorry if I pushed you into trusting your father."

I couldn't break down again, I told myself. My first instinct was to deflect, change the subject. But my walls, my layers of protection weren't what they used to be. Talking to him, really talking to him…made me feel better. Even if it was about something that I hated to think of him knowing.

"If there's one thing I learned from my father, it's be ready for disappointment. And if it's anyone's fault, it's mine." I was staring ahead, at the door. I felt his eyes on me, and I turned to look at him just as I finished speaking, but quickly looked away again, the depth of emotion in his eyes too much in that moment.

"No, it's not," he swore, softly but passionately. Three words, but I don't think I had ever heard him speak so adamantly about anything before. I turned back to look at him.

He started talking to me, in a genuine way, so much so that I felt that bond between us strengthen even as I listened, even though I already knew part of what he was telling me.

"Eleven years ago, my father left Ellie and me. He's a…he was an unusual man. I guess that's generous. An engineer. We used to get Christmas cards and birthday calls, and then one year it just…it just stopped." I could see the pain in his eyes, remembering what he had said when he found out Ellie was upset about their father. "I don't know why. What I do know is that it wasn't my fault." Firm, certain. Whatever pain he still carried with him, guilt wasn't part of it. Oh, I envied him for that clarity. "Granted, it took a significant amount of time and …" he blinked, hard, resetting his face, smiling a bit, "and incredible amount of therapy to come to that realization but…" He looked up at me, holding my gaze intensely. "You need to know that your father's sins are his and not yours."

It started as a way to comfort me, letting me know that I shouldn't feel responsible for the failed mission, because I had trusted my own father. But it went beyond just that. Chuck meant that last sentence he said not just for this moment, but for the entirety of my life. He had already forgiven me for it. Saying this meant, in effect, I didn't even need the forgiveness he'd granted.

He saw the part of me that had been victimized— empathizing, not judging. Understanding.

It takes knowing someone, really knowing them, inside and out, for someone else to absolve you of something because they know you as a person, and know that deep down, whatever those actions portrayed, they weren't you. Just something you did.

I know that now, of course. I didn't then. And I think if I had it would have scared me to death.

My eyes misted, and I had to look away. His gaze went through me and I couldn't help but smile, so touched by his concern, his care for me.

"That's pretty eloquent for 9 am."

He defused the intensity of the moment with humor. "What can I say? I am an articulate schnook."

He laughed, and he made me laugh, too. "Lucky for me," I beamed at him.

He watched me eat my entire pastry before he even touched his. I got the feeling that he liked watching me enjoy it, which is as sweet as can be, but how he always was, always is. The thing that makes my husband happiest is seeing the people that he loves happy.

I started on my coffee as he started eating. The pain from the night before was gone as I basked in the tenderness of Chuck and how he was with me. I had made the decision last night to bury Sam deep inside me, to keep her from being hurt anymore by my father. I had chosen Sarah Walker, and here Chuck was, believing in Sarah once again. I felt I had made the right choice, even though I know now Chuck loved all of me…Sam and Sarah and everyone in between.

He changed the subject, telling me about some crazy old car Morgan had bought from someone at the Buy More. From a movie or something…or at least the same model so it looked like the one from the movie. I guess it stalled if it went above 22 miles an hour. He could always tell a story the best possible way, making it even funnier the way he told it. We laughed and laughed, and it felt so good I never wanted him to go.

But he did excuse himself, saying he needed to get to the Buy More and that he would see me later.

Casey was nowhere to be found when I showed up at Castle, so I went to work out in the gym. I was using the body bag, practicing punching and kicking. Exercise was a great way to burn off steam, vent my frustrations in a positive way, training my body at the same time I was clearing my mind.

Each punch, each kick, and something my father had said or done flashed through my mind, fueling my anger. Nothing that came to mind was hurtful–it wasn't insults or harsh words. No, it was his syrupy kindness that was disingenuous, his smiles hiding his lies and deceit. Twenty-seven years of that poured out of me into those punches, those kicks.

My cell phone ringing interrupted my work out.

"What?" I barked into the phone. It said an unknown caller, but I had a premonition that it was my father calling…and I was furious.

"Baby, I'm sorry, but I got a perfect excuse for what happened," I heard my father breathing into the phone. He sounded oddly out of breath.

"Well, I'd love to hear all about it," I said through gritted teeth, even as I started running in the hopes that I could trace the call and find out where he had run to.

"Some other time." He paused. "Just remember, I did it all for you."

It was an odd thing to say. He used to say that when I was very small, but he had given that line up once he realized I didn't believe it anymore.

"So touching."

It was Amad's voice, no longer my father. My blood ran cold. "So touching, a family reunion."

Amad demanded to know where his money was. I told him I didn't have it. Amad said that was a problem, at the same time I heard my father yell at me not to give it to him.

Was that a code, something I should have understood? Did he want Amad to think he didn't have it, that I did? If Amad was threatening my father's life, the best way out was for him to admit he had it, not me.

I heard a blow land, like bone on bone, in the background.

"If anything happens to my father…" I threatened, feeling like I was 17 again, helpless. I told Amad I would kill him if he hurt my father, and I meant it. As angry as he made me, as hurt as I was, he was still my father.

Amad hung up on me, telling me he would call me back in an hour. I lost the trace on the call, so I had no way to know where they were.

I didn't have the money, and had no idea where my father had stashed it, but I had to think of something quickly. This was not sanctioned by the CIA. Hell, they were after him for his crimes. I was on my own.

I packed two large duffel bags to look like I was transporting a large amount of cash. I stuffed the bags with clothing…and as many guns as I could fit in there. I had no way of knowing what I would be going up against, but damn it, Amad thought I was a grifter, a cheat. He had no idea I was a CIA agent, that I had killed 11 men once in the span of one minute and never flinched. That me by myself was worth ten of his men.

I was confident, but I was still worried for my father.

I was still shoving things into the duffels when Chuck came running down the stairs in Castle, out of breath, telling me that his bank account had an extra ten million dollars in it. I was dismissive of him until he told me that.

Then, I was flabbergasted. I asked out loud, rhetorically, why would my father have transferred the money into Chuck's account…the answer to that question would leave me reeling, but not for a while. Here, I was just confused.

But I wanted Chuck to be safe, away from what I was planning. I told him to stay put…and I took off.

I didn't find out until later, but while I was kicking a punching bag in Castle, Beckman had sent Casey after my father. Casey had seen his hotel room ransacked, knowing he had been taken by Amad. He went back to Castle looking for me, but I was already on my way to meet Amad. Chuck told Casey he saw me leave with two duffel bags and a lot of guns.

Amad called me when he said he would and set up the meeting. It was on the rooftop of the hotel.

Casey had tracked me there. I didn't see him when I was getting out of my car, but I know he saw me. I'm not sure how he knew I was there, other than the very simple idea that Casey was tailing me and I never noticed because I was so wound up.

I walked towards them with my duffel bags, demanding that I see my father. Amad's henchman dragged my father out of the back of his car. My father's hands were bound and he had wounds on his face from where they had beat him. It made him look…vulnerable.

I had never thought of him that way, that anyone or anything could ever hurt him. I wasn't 17 anymore, but a part of me would always be young when I was around him. I think, in general, that's the nature of parents and children and how they relate when they are adults and don't need each other in the same way from when they were younger.

Anyway, Amad had a lot of firepower. I counted at least three against just me, with my one gun I had tucked in my belt. One of his men approached me, gun pointed at my chest. He started to look in one of my bags. The gig was up.

My plan was to start shooting…and hope my father could take cover.

Not a very solid plan, now that I hear myself say it. I'm very lucky that both Casey and Chuck came there to back me up, because chances were, if I had been alone, we probably both would have been killed.

Chuck showed up first…in Morgan's ridiculous car. As crazy as the situation was, I remember actually wondering if Chuck had tailed Casey, the way I had explained to him how about a year ago. It made sense. Otherwise, I don't know how Chuck would ever have found me.

He jumped out of the car and produced his laptop, proclaiming that he had all the sheik's money. I told Chuck no, but, of course, he didn't listen. He never quite figured out appeasing the demands of terrorists and criminals was a no-win situation, that people like that played by their own rules…and almost never kept their word.

Chuck told Amad we were just bad con men, and that he was giving back all the money. Chuck just needed his account number.

Did Chuck just do what I think he did? I thought. Was his laptop under surveillance? Would Beckman get that info?

Amad ordered his men to kill us after the transfer was complete. I knew that was coming; Chuck always seemed surprised when evil men weren't trustworthy.

That was when Casey showed up, posing as a U.S. Treasury agent. Casey had the advantage of not being recognizable to Amad, so that actually worked pretty well. Casey pretended to arrest us, banging Chuck down on the hood of his car and handcuffing him. He started to do the same to me, but he passed me a handgun behind my back where Amad couldn't see.

I commanded Amad to drop his weapon, but he grabbed my father as a hostage and pressed his gun against my father's neck.

I saw my father nod, knowing he knew what I was going to do.

I shot my father through his left shoulder.

That was the last thing Amad expected. I gained the upper hand, and then Casey started shooting, taking out Amad's sniper and two other of his men. Amad ran for the DeLorean during the crossfire.

Chuck reminded us that the DeLorean only went 22 miles an hour. Chuck called it in as a stolen vehicle.

I ran to check on my father.

He was surprised that I used real bullets. But it was a clean through and through; it wasn't even bleeding that badly. I made sure I stayed clear of his vital organs and even his bones. My aim was that good. The CIA trained me well.

I had made a similar shot over Bryce's shoulder once. This time I trusted my aim to go through my father's body safely.

I still wouldn't have been able to take a shot like that…if the hostage was Chuck. I most certainly couldn't shoot Chuck, even a simple flesh wound like that.

I tried not to think about that, what that meant, while I was breathing in relief that my father was alright, and that, despite whatever it was he tried to do, our mission succeeded in the end. Thanks to Chuck.

It took most of that night for the cleaners to get everything situated, and for us to process all of Amad's men. The CIA intercepted the local police who had arrested Amad on an unrelated charge.

I spent that night patching up my father's wounds in my hotel room. We couldn't go to the emergency room, for the law demanded all gunshot wounds be reported to the police and all of our exploits would be hard to explain, especially to keep my CIA status a secret. It fit with my father's wishes and his beliefs. That was what we grifters did to stay under the radar.

Casey and I had a meeting with Beckman the next day. She thanked us for our efforts, but informed me they were arresting my father for the original theft of the funds. He had already done ten years and hadn't been out of jail for a year. His sentence this time would be harsh.

I think Casey knew that too, because he put in a good word for my father to Beckman, while I was standing there. I can't imagine how much it took for Casey to do that for me. Once Beckman signed off, Casey put his head down and walked away.

I thanked him.

He never acknowledged me, didn't even look up. It didn't hurt my feelings that he acted that way. He was Casey. He hated outward displays of emotion of any kind. He kind of still does, only many years of being friends with Chuck has softened him pretty good. I know he appreciated me saying thank you, even if he didn't respond.

The fact that Beckman gave me the exact time that she was sending the Feds to arrest my father was odd too. She would never admit it to me, ever, but I think that was her running interference for us as well. It was so strange, so unusual, I can't attribute any other motivation to it.

So I went back to my hotel room to spend as much time as I could with my father. He had his arm in a sling from the gunshot wound. I made sure it was dressed ok, and I readjusted the sling, making sure he was comfortable.

I saw that it was five minutes to five. I asked my dad to get me some rocky road ice cream at the store around the corner. He was very nonchalant.

"Why did you put the money in Chuck's account?" I blurted, when his back was turned. I had to know. My mind had been kneading that as I couldn't stop wondering since Chuck had said so.

"I needed to put it somewhere 'cause I didn't trust Cop Face."

"But you trusted Chuck?" I asked.

He smirked at me. "I read people. That's the only real talent I got." He stepped towards me, looked me in the eyes. "One thing I know…that kid would never betray you."

I almost lost my composure. I felt like I had been shot straight through with an arrow.

"I made a ten million dollar bet that he loved you."

I huffed, a nervous chuckle. My father…said that Chuck loved me.

What did my father know about love?

"Turns out I was right."

Think about it. Someone is standing there, millions of dollars, all yours. Would you trade someone you love for that? Most people say no, outraged, thinking about how money can't buy love. It can't, but it's amazing what people will trade, will risk when the choice is not so subtle.

It's an amazing feeling to know, with 100 percent certainty, that someone loves you…more than all the money in the world, there in their bank account, theirs for the taking…but they don't. Because you matter more.

How could I have not fallen even harder for him after that?

My father turned to go, to get my ice cream, with just enough time so that he could get head start on the Feds.

I called to him before he left, a lump burning in my throat when he turned back and smirked at me. There were so many words in my head I wanted to say, but I didn't say any of them. I couldn't.

"Can you make it a double scoop?"

I love you, Dad.

An imperfect as he was…I couldn't not love him. My heart wasn't as hard as it used to be. Maybe we just crossed paths again at the right time. But I was tired of hating him, tired of blaming him.

I started crying once he left.

The police showed up, sirens blaring. I decided to be proactive and met them outside. I told them my father had gone to the corner store a while ago, but hadn't returned yet. I was hoping he was far away enough that he saw what was happening and stayed away.

I didn't know until I saw my father again two and half years later that he had run into Chuck while the police were there. Chuck never told me about that interaction, or what he said, only that my father asked him to take care of me.

I was still outside the hotel, in my short sleeves, when Chuck showed up. He saw me rubbing my bare arms and took off his Buy More windbreaker and draped it over my shoulders, just the same way my father had four days before. I tucked it around me, comforted by how warm it was, still full of his body heat. It smelled like Chuck, so much so it made me dizzy.

Chuck put his arm around me, resting his hand on my shoulder, as we walked back into the hotel.

He said something about my father being back soon. I hated that I sounded bitter, but I told Chuck he was wrong, that my father wouldn't be back.

I wasn't a part of his life, and even though it made me sad, he wasn't part of mine.

But Chuck…Chuck was there, always, when I needed him.