AFTER

Seen my share of

Broken halos

Folded wings that used to fly

They've all gone

Wherever they go

Broken halos that used to shine

"Broken Halos"

Chris Stapleton

May 17, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

When Chuck arrived back home after work, he saw the kitchen table set for two. The food on the stove and in the oven smelled delicious, making his mouth water.

The stress of the day, knotting his muscles and his stomach, slowly faded as he watched Sarah and Gertrude working together to finish their cooking. Sarah wore an apron Chuck had never seen. It was new, not one of Gertrude's, he thought. Another new purchase made with her new life in mind. For a moment, he forgot how hungry he was to remember seeing her before in a different apron. His wife. Not a dream any longer, a fact.

He said his usual greetings, warmed by the smiles directed his way.

"Why only two places?" Chuck asked curiously, gesturing to the table.

Gertrude turned, wiping her hands on her apron. "Because you're not ten. Casey and I have already eaten," she added.

"Why?" Chuck asked as he moved further into the room, still mildly curious but also making conversation.

"Can you imagine what a pain in the neck he would be if I made him wait until after you two ate?"

"What's wrong with eating with us?" Chuck asked, his mild curiosity maturing into genuine puzzlement.

"I asked her that," Sarah hummed softly.

"You're newlyweds. John and I both appreciate you wanting us to live here with you, but you deserve time to yourselves. Sarah cooked this, so I thought you would like to eat it, just the two of you."

"It smells delicious," Chuck said as he smiled his thanks at Sarah.

"Chicken pepperoni," Sarah told him, apprehension and pride in her voice. "It's Gertrude's recipe. I hope it comes out the way you like it."

It was his favorite dinner, one that Gertrude regularly cooked. He was warmed by the thought that Sarah had asked Gertrude how to make his favorite dinner first.

Gertrude took off her apron and hung it on the hook next to the stove. "We're going to watch television. Later, I Love Lucy is on. Maybe come watch with us then?"

Chuck confirmed they would by saying yes. Sarah nodded. Gertrude left them alone in the kitchen.

Sarah told Chuck to sit as she started arranging the food on the table. She set all the serving dishes in the center of the table, filled their glasses with water, and then sat down across from him. She started serving the food, first his plate and then hers.

"So how was your day?" Sarah asked. Her voice was flat, not the usual teasing tone she used with that question—the private joke between them.

He looked up from his plate to study her face, her monotone focusing his attention.

"You looked so…anxious…when you came home. What happened?" she asked, able to read his expression before he spoke.

"Can I give you the good news first?" he asked.

She set her fork on the table and waited silently.

"Hartley Winterbottom came by first thing this morning to tell me about his plan, one that he mentioned before we got married. He has potential buyers for us in Europe."

Hartley's company, Wolf Enterprises, was the largest manufacturing distributor in Great Britain. He had made his fortune after World War I, capitalizing on the rebuilding of Europe. Almost seven years after the end of World War II, he was still profiting from it.

Hartley had become close to Chuck's parents and Jack during a previous venture to the States.

Burton Carmichael produced tools used in America, Hartley being the sole exporter. Hartley's discussion today was about expansion. With guaranteed buyers in Europe, and Hartley's company to distribute the goods, it was potentially a lucrative partnership.

"That is good news, right?" Sarah asked, perking up. She understood Chuck's business, and was always eager to hear about his work with real interest, not mere politeness.

"I know I can trust Hartley. So, yeah, it's great for us," Chuck answered.

"What's the bad news?" she asked with trepidation.

He had already told himself he wouldn't tell her the whole story, not right away. He started with the lesser issue.

"Dominic came to see me this morning. He spoke to Sal Cipriani about our…situation. Sal wants to meet with me."

"Why is that bad news?" Sarah asked in confusion.

"Because he's in New York." With the Genoveses. Chuck left that fact out. "He agreed if I meet him in New York."

Sarah's brow furrowed. She looked down at her food, picking up her fork then staring into Chuck's eyes. "That worries me, Chuck."

"I know," Chuck responded. "It's five hours by car. I would have to stay overnight."

" That's not what's worrying me," she said, her voice low but intense.

"Morgan said he would come with me. It would only be two days," Chuck said, knowing he was not really addressing the source of her concern.

"When does Cipriani want to talk to you?" she asked.

"On Wednesday," he sighed. "Morgan and I would leave tomorrow."

"I'd feel better if Casey were going with you," Sarah murmured, glancing down.

So would I, Chuck thought. But after his confrontation with Daniel Shaw that afternoon, he wanted Casey at home, there to protect Sarah.

The memory gripped Chuck. Shaw had ambushed Chuck in the parking lot, as he was about to enter his vehicle. In fact, he had his car door open when Shaw appeared, one hand on the door, the other on the roof of the car, Chuck trapped.

"We have something to discuss, Chuck," Shaw had growled, his eyes adding to the menace in his voice.

"I have nothing to say to you."

Shaw frowned and puffed out his chest threateningly. "Oh, but we do," he had hissed. "Your coward of a business partner checked out before I got what he owed me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Shaw punched the roof of the car, making Chuck flinch with the surprise of the sound. "Don't play dumb with me, Bartowski. Word gets to me, even when you think it doesn't. You know that Jack owed me money."

"Jack's debts are canceled. You should have gotten that word, too." Chuck was cautiously parsing his words, choosing carefully, afraid to give away what he knew.

" Officially. But Jack ran out of money. He milked every last drop and came up dry. The only reason I didn't kill him before he could off himself was because he offered me…a replacement…a different form of payment." Shaw leered. "And I intend on collecting, over and over, until I tire of…it."

Chuck felt the nausea grip him, rise like bile, but he swallowed it. He couldn't show weakness in front of Shaw.

Shaw had no way of knowing about the letter Jack had left for Chuck, and while he was menacing, Chuck had to pretend he didn't know what Shaw meant. Didn't know that the payment Shaw was demanding was violating Sarah.

Chuck said nothing; he just glared. He could hear Sarah in his head from the last time Shaw confronted them, and hear her telling him Shaw wasn't worth it. Creating an altercation here in public served no purpose, and could either seriously injure or even kill him.

"Are you getting out of my door…or do I need to call the police?" Chuck said, his voice level and low, so much calmer than he felt.

Shaw took a step back, resting his clenched fist on his hip. "Watch yourself, Bartowski," he said, his voice deep and angry. He turned and walked a step or two away then stopped and looked back over his shoulder with another leer. "I think I prefer this form of payment. The figure's more…rounded."

Chuck made himself stand without reaction although rage boiled inside him. He finally let out his breath once Shaw had gotten in his black car and driven away.

Chuck then replayed the conversation he'd had with Dominic in the morning. Cipriani was willing to meet to discuss Shaw, specifically Shaw, but in New York. It was to be a type of meeting that Babinska assumed Chuck was familiar with. Iaconi was in New York as well, which may have been part of the reason for the request. Babinska assured him everything was on the up and up. Again, Chuck had to trust Babinska because he had no other choice. Babinska had used specific words that had put Chuck at ease, at least a little, in an otherwise treacherous situation.

Two days, Chuck had told himself as he drove away. Hold on for 48 more hours. It alarmed him that he was putting all his hope, all his faith, in a meeting with a group of mobsters.

"Two days, and then I'll be back home. And hopefully we can put all this behind us," he said to Sarah. And you can tell me the truth about what happened.

Sarah looked uncertain, but she smiled and nodded. He watched her push the food on her plate around in circles throughout dinner. But he noted, though it took her longer than normal, she ate everything on her plate.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

After watching television for most of the evening with Gertrude and Casey, Chuck and Sarah were getting ready for bed. Sarah was going through her usual routine, and was in the bathroom with the door closed, while Chuck lay in their bed under the covers. The light was on, but the switch was next to the bathroom door, so he assumed Sarah would shut it off when she emerged.

He looked at the clock on the nightstand, frowning when he realized how much time had passed while Sarah was in the bathroom; he had almost drifted off. She always took her time getting ready for bed, but this was excessive.

A few moments later, the bathroom door flung open, so hard the door ricocheted off the door stopper, vibrating with a low tone. The noise startled Chuck and he rolled over.

Sarah stood in the doorway to their bathroom, wearing her long pink satin nightgown. Her hair was lustrous, glowing after a careful brushing. One hand grasped the doorknob (she had caught it as he ricocheted) and the other held her stomach. Her expression held him rigid, unable to look away.

Her eyes were wide and unblinking. Her mouth was open in a small 'o', and her chest was rising and falling, like she had run up the stairs. She looked like she was laughing and crying at the same time.

Chuck sat up immediately, his heart thumping. "Sarah, what's wrong?" he asked in confusion, looking up into her unreadable eyes.

She stepped forward, moving the hand from the doorknob to her open mouth, covering it. He could see her shaking. She left the light on and approached the bed, stepping as gingerly as she might have if she were trying to avoid making the floorboards creak. She sank onto her side of the bed, her feet flat on the floor.

Chuck slid across the bed to her side, putting his hands gently on her shoulders, but placing himself so that he could see her face.

She looked at him, seeming unaware that he was waiting for a response. "Chu…Chuck," she stuttered, then licked her lips, like her mouth was dry. She reached hesitantly, gently placing her hand on his bare chest, smoothing her hand over his chest hair.

"What?" he asked, touching her cheek, feeling his stomach twist with anxiety.

"It's…early…too early…way too early," she rambled, shifting her eyes away from him. "But…I think…I might…be pregnant."

He let out the breath he was holding, not anticipating how difficult it would be to replace that air in his lungs. He started to hyperventilate.

Easy, he commanded himself.

His field of vision shrank, fuzzy dark edges appearing around what he was seeing. The objects in the room–the bed, the lamp, the bedspread, seemed suddenly foreign, like they belonged to someone else. He was in someone else's life, someone else's body. His conscious mind was floating above everything.

"Chuck…"

Sarah's questioning voice, shaking, breathy, brought him back to reality.

"Nine…nine days," he murmured. Louder, he repeated, "We've only been together for nine days."

"I said it was too early. I'm not even late yet. But…" She swallowed hard, both fists curling into balls to steady their trembling. "I…just have a feeling."

From experience, Chuck thought immediately. It was why she was so awkward, so agitated. Whatever symptoms she was experiencing, they must have been familiar to her, similar to what she experienced before.

Nothing was spoken, the understanding flowing between them, almost telepathy. It felt real at that moment. He trusted her enough to know she wouldn't have blurted it out like that unless she was sure. She seemed grateful that he didn't question her foreknowledge, that he accepted it as fact.

"What are you feeling? What makes you think so?" he asked, hearing his own voice shaking too.

"Tenderness," she answered, placing a hand on her chest. "The weight of my nightgown is making me so sore, and it weighs almost nothing," she added with a shy whisper. She giggled. "And I usually don't like pepperoni. I always picked it off the chicken. But tonight, I couldn't get enough. I almost asked for yours."

He laughed nervously, but his breath caught when he met her eyes. "Oh, my god," he breathed. "We're going to have a baby."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She nuzzled against him. "It's too early to even ask the doctor. I could be wrong, but–"

"I trust you, Sarah," he explained, the multiple layers of meaning all expressed simultaneously, "implicitly."

"Does it make you happy?" she asked. She sounded hopeful, but deeply unsure, needing to hear conviction from him.

He tightened his grip on her shoulders, but was careful still to be gentle. "Of course it makes me happy!" he beamed. "It's just a… surprise, that's all. You got pregnant on our honeymoon!"

"A surprise, maybe. But it's not like we weren't trying…even if we didn't really acknowledge it," she added with a wry chuckle, "we did talk about it, and we were… enthusiastic even after the talk."

He blushed at her tone. "That's for sure," he laughed. She leaned into his embrace again, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He heard her sigh, convinced.

"It…changes things, doesn't it? You aren't even 20 yet. Your degree or–"

She reached and put her finger on his lips. "Sssh." She squeezed him tightly around his middle. "None of that matters. This does. This was what I wanted most. To be your wife…and the mother of your children."

"Oh, Sarah," he sighed, reaching up and stroking the back of her head with his palm. "You know, I did too. I just spent so long, thinking the things I dreamed about weren't…possible. But they are."

She lifted her head and kissed him tenderly. She pulled him down beside her, draping his arm across her waist and scooting herself up against him. Cautiously, he rested his hand on her abdomen, that part of her she would never let him touch without fabric covering it. He was satisfied with his hand resting there on the fabric, feeling her breathe, thinking of the dual life that breath supplied. They fell asleep with the light still on, wrapped around one another.

May 18, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

Gertrude was clunking around in the kitchen early the next morning as Chuck came downstairs.

"What are you doing? It sounds like a marching band down here. Sarah's still asleep," Chuck said as he moved behind her.

Her hand motions were stiff, controlled. She didn't turn to address him and her tone was annoyed. "What's all this I hear about you traipsing off to New York to meet with gangsters?"

Boy, Casey really couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he?

"Where's Casey?" Chuck asked, dodging the question.

"He was up all night with a stomach bug," she replied. "He's sleeping now. But not before he told me about your cockamamie idea."

Sick? He needs to stay away from Sarah, Chuck thought quickly. Barely eight hours later, and his fatherly instincts were kicking in. That simple word made him feel like all the blood had rushed to his feet. Fatherly.

"It's not…cockamamie," Chuck retorted, sputtering over the word, frowning, annoyed himself. "I need to take care of Shaw before he does any more damage. This is the only way I know how."

"What does that have to do with anything? Jack may have owed money, but you don't. And John said Sarah had nothing to worry about when it came to that."

Chuck gestured, palms out. "Look, Gertrude, there are some things that you don't know. Things that I can't tell you."

"Did that awful man threaten you?" she quizzed. She sounded like she would have if Chuck were being bullied on the playground. She had been his champion, always, but this was bigger than any of them. He almost wished it were as simple as that, as calling the police and walking away.

Chuck couldn't explain it all without telling her about Sarah and the baby she'd had before, Bryce's baby. That was for Sarah to tell her, not him.

"Shaw was blackmailing Jack…and his boss never knew. You know, Salvatore Cipriani. Wasn't he close with my dad?"

Gertrude faced Chuck, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms tightly. "This is all from a long time ago, Chuck. When your parents took us in, hired us. But yes, all four of them were thick as thieves. And I don't mean that figuratively."

"I was talking to Dominic. He arranged the meeting. He tried to explain about the past, but…"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "He's a number runner, that one," she spat, contempt on her face.

He's connected, but not mafia.

Carina had explained that to Chuck. Now it made more sense, though how Gertrude knew it, he wasn't sure. Number running meant he acted as a courier for the illegal gambling the organized crime ring in the area hosted. He was outside of the hierarchy, probably given the job as a favor, a way to earn some extra money, while more innocent than being an actual gangster…like Cipriani was.

"Can you tell me what you know?" Chuck asked, now more curious.

"Your mother hated all of them, even Jack, though she would never say so to your father's face." Gertrude paused, her eyes in the past. "Your father grew up with them. When your grandparents died, your dad was left worse off than even John and me. He was 17 and all alone in the world. The Ciprianis took him in, let him sleep on their couch, fed him. Vito, Sal's father, was a gangster, but he was still Italian. They take care of family, in every sense, and Sal thought of your father like a brother. But the Sicilian families…"

She shook her head, crossed herself. "They talk about God and family…but they murder in the name of family and then somehow think that God deems it acceptable. Sal's father was a boss. And Sal was the oldest. He had to take over for his father. I say had to…I think there's always a way out, but sometimes, it requires being a martyr. Sal was no martyr; he did not have that kind of courage. He tried to recruit them all, Jack, Dominic…and your father.

Chuck looked at her. She went on. "Stephen refused. He left Sal's house and slept on the street, in the park. He got a legitimate job driving a delivery truck, sleeping in the van. Do you know he delivered furniture to your mother's house when she lived with her parents? That's how they met. He wanted to do right by your mother. He worked himself nearly to death to get where he was. To be worthy of your mother. And he tried to save all of them. Your father was proud of the fact that at least he had saved Jack from that life of crime. And I think, God rest his soul, your father would spin in his grave if he knew everything he did was for nothing, how far Jack fell."

It was the clearest, most straightforward explanation he had ever gotten about the past. Strange to think his mother had confided all of that to Gertrude and he had never thought to ask her about it.

"Gertrude, Sarah thinks she's pregnant," Chuck blurted out. It didn't seem to fit with her monologue, but it was nagging at him, on his mind despite his attention to what Gertrude had said. He needed to make her understand what was at stake, now more than ever. "And Shaw, for whatever reason, believes Jack paid him the last time with…well, with Sarah. With her person, do you understand? That's why Shaw was at their house the night Jack killed himself."

She gasped in horror, her hand over her mouth. "What kind of man would do such a thing? Promise his daughter's body to a criminal?" she shrieked.

Chuck shushed her. "Sarah doesn't know that, Gertrude. And I don't want her to ever know that. I don't want her to know about her own father what you now know about him."

"Even if it's true?" she snapped.

"Jack never intended to let him do that to her," Chuck insisted, trying to find a way to put Jack in some favorable light, dim though it was. "He killed himself to prevent it."

He widened his eyes, imploring her to understand without words. He watched as comprehension dawned, her eyes widening in turn. "Oh, Chuck, that's heartbreaking," she uttered finally, her voice quiet.

The rest of Chuck's statement sunk in then. "Wait, Chuck, Sarah's pregnant?" she asked in amazement. "You've been married for less than two weeks!"

He cleared his throat, rolling his eyes, waiting for her to accept it without him having to spell it out. He shrugged and grinned.

"Oh, that's wonderful," she gushed with a smile.

She never questioned how Sarah was so sure and only nine days' pregnant. He thought about asking her why, but refrained. There was something mystically female about the process, the connection, not only of mother to child but of mother to mother, and how the changes in the female body were detectable to other females. He wasn't sure he wanted the mystery explained. Better to live in it than to explain it.

"So, back to my point," Chuck added, changing his tone. "I'm going to New York to finish this and protect my wife, and the mother of my child, from Daniel Shaw. And I will do whatever I have to. As long as I know Casey is here, I know she's safe."

She nodded, conceding to his argument. "Please be careful, Chuck. Don't trust anyone, even the people you say you have to. Look out for yourself; no one else but you is going to do that."

"I will. I'll call when I get there."

A/N: Thanks to Zettel for prereading. Historical/scientific notes: Pregnancy can cause symptoms in the mother at 8 or 9 days past conception, obviously more noticable when its not the first pregnancy. In 1952, as weird as it sounds, the only way to test in the lab for pregnancy was to inject a woman's urine into the skin of a frog, Xenopus. HcG was not detectable in the lab until the 1960s and home pregnancy tests not until the late 70s. Sarah may have suspected at 9 days, but at best, a doctor would be able to tell for sure after 2 months. That's why they aren't sure, can't be sure, even if she is.