A/N: The Final Chapter. At last.

Thank you all.

Please read the A/N at the end.

One more time.

Don't own Chuck, et al.

—

AT LOOSE ENDS

Chapter Seventeen

One Year Later.

I'm waiting in the underwater viewing area, the light coming through the windows casting rippling patterns on the floor. I'm watching the stairs. The very flight I came down the second time I saw her.

Waiting. Hoping she'll be here. Soon.

My heart is going a mile a minute. I am almost sick with anticipation. And worry.

Carina has passed on numerous messages from me to Sarah for the past year. And, in return, passed on messages from Sarah to me. Usually nothing more than an assurance that she was safe. Not a word about her plans or how she used the information I'd gathered and passed on.

I knew she was protecting me by ensuring that I was ignorant of what was happening behind the scenes.

Which, for so long, seemed to be nothing at all. Everything remained as it was.

I began to lose hope.

Then, a month ago, the bot program I'd written alerted me to rumblings within the CIA and DOJ. Rumors that the NSA was somehow involved.

Hope flared up again. A hope that Sarah had finally managed to penetrate the defensive walls that Graham had erected around him.

The problem was that at almost exactly at the same time as the rumblings began, Sarah had gone silent. I'd eagerly awaited a message from her. But there had been nothing. Not a word for weeks.

Then, yesterday, Graham, citing health reasons, had abruptly stepped down as director of the CIA. Several other higher-ups had also chosen early retirement, giving a variety of reasons as to why they did so.

Sarah had done it. I should've been ecstatic.

But I couldn't be. There was still nothing from her.

Even though Carina had tried to allay my anxiety, reading between the lines of her secure text messages had told me just how deeply worried she was about her friend.

…

I'd closely watched the news after I'd cut my vacation short and returned to Burbank.

Graham had survived that congressional subcommittee, seemingly unscathed. I assumed that Sarah not being there to testify had a lot to do with that.

The man seemed to have nine lives.

I was discouraged, but I kept on stealthily digging, passing on whatever I found, letting Sarah decide what was valuable.

Once or twice, I'd had to make a virtual run for it, after I was almost discovered being where I shouldn't be. But they never actually caught me.

One thing I've learned from my snooping is this: Langston Graham is, as the English would put it, a right bastard.

When I came across what he'd done to Sarah, blackmailing her into joining the CIA, how he'd turned her into his enforcer, I was so angry that I'd soundly cursed the image of him on my screen, loudly enough that Ellie had knocked on my bedroom door wondering what was going on.

I'd apologized, telling her some story about writing a bad bit of code. Afterward, I was more circumspect.

Speaking of Ellie, she'd noticed that I was a different person upon my return to Burbank. More driven, more focused. I didn't tell her why. I just couldn't.

I was determined not to waste all that Sarah had given me. The courage and confidence she'd instilled in me.

To do so would be a betrayal.

So, I came to a decision. If they weren't going to let me run with my idea about the mobile security task force, I'd do it myself.

Less than a month after coming back from Vancouver, I cashed in all my sick days, personal days, banked vacation, and left the Buy More behind. Big Mike cried, begged, but I wasn't going to let his overly emotional appeal sway me.

Ellie was cautiously ecstatic. I was finally moving on with my life. Taking a risk.

And, as it turned out, I didn't have to do it all by myself. I had help. The four hackers I'd recruited up in Vancouver were quickly disillusioned at the way the VP who stole my idea wanted to run things.

He had no idea what kind of people he was dealing with. He expected them to show up at Buy More HQ each workday. Nerd herd dress code.

That's not the way they were used to doing things, and there was no necessity for it, either.

They'd complained to me, seeing me as their connection between them and the Buy More.

When I'd told them I wanted to start up my own company and do things the right way, three of the four joined me. The remaining guy decided he wasn't keen on the idea.

We'd all worked hard over the last year. After we'd managed to rescue a Portland hospital from a ransomware attack, the word got around and we picked up several contracts.

We don't have a physical office. All our collaborative meetings take place through video conferencing. We do meet twice a month at an Irish pub that's roughly equidistant for all of us, just to get to know one another better. We have a rule that any talk of business after the first thirty minutes is strictly prohibited.

However, for those thirty minutes, our table screams beware. Nerds in session.

The regular people heed the warning and stay clear. Except for this one time that a willowy, red-head model type decided, for some reason, to join us.

Albert and Joshua were immediately reduced to stuttering inarticulateness. Morgan, on the other hand, rose to the occasion, engaging the woman in conversation, even though she was sitting very close to him. Very close.

Hannah and I had just smiled, observing the going-ons.

After an hour, the woman left as mysteriously as she came. But not before bestowing a kiss on Morgan's cheek, which did finally take away his ability to form intelligible words for the next ten minutes or so.

None of us are rich by any means, but we're much better off than we were in our previous jobs.

There was even enough coming that we'd hired Morgan as our coordinator, e-mail handler, and Internet presence promoter. He's done a good job, given that he's finally got something to do that he believes in.

We've all become good friends. Early on, Hannah, the petite brunette I'd recruited, hinted that she wanted to be more than just a friend, but after I told her I was engaged, she'd understood.

I know. I was jumping the gun. But I couldn't deny the way I felt.

Not a day has gone by where I haven't brought up pictures of Sarah in my mind, replaying the day we spent together. The best day of my life. I try to remember how she felt in my arms. How her lips felt against mine.

Time has faded those memories somewhat, I'm ashamed to say.

But her eyes, the way she looked at me, her smile, those images are indelibly stamped on my brain. The last thing I see before going to sleep each night. And the first thing I see each morning.

When Ellie heard—from Morgan, I assume—that I'd not only turned Hannah down, but how I'd done so, she took me aside for a little talk. Before she could get going, however, I told her about Sarah. About the day we'd spent together. All that I could tell her, anyway.

I had to hand it to my sister. When I explained to her how much Sarah meant to me, she didn't jump down my throat and tell me how foolish I was being. That I was passing up a bird in the hand.

No, she listened patiently as the story unfolded, asking only occasional pertinent questions.

When I'd finished, she told me that she would very much like to meet Sarah. I had to explain that it wouldn't be possible until September, still six months away, and that I would have to go back up to Vancouver.

When Ellie asked for an explanation, I'd asked her to trust me. That there were matters of which I couldn't speak.

She'd fumed for a bit, even going so far as to ask if Sarah was in jail.

I'd assured her that wasn't the case, but I couldn't add anything else.

In the end, she did trust me and only asked me to consider a few questions.

Do you feel the same way about her now as you did last year?

Do you think you'll feel the same way six months from now?

Do you believe she'll feel the same way about you as she did back then?

Do you believe she'll be there six months from now?

She told me not to answer her right then, to just think things over.

Which I did. And, after long consideration, I came back to Ellie and gave her this answer.

Yes. Yes. Yes. And yes.

I have faith. Along with a ticket to Vancouver, which I bought the day after Sarah and I parted. With the money I saved by coming home early. A ticket for the day we'd agreed to meet. A redeye so I'd have plenty of time to get to the aquarium.

Like I said. I have faith.

Ellie had smiled.

I still remember her next words to me. "In that case, Chuck, make sure you go up there and get her. Then bring her back here. I've always wanted a sister."

And that's why I'm here.

But Sarah isn't.

Yet.

I look at my watch again, for probably the tenth time in the last five minutes.

I'd arrived early, but the time we met is now rapidly approaching.

I look towards the stairway again. Still nothing.

Then I hear a feminine voice from behind me. "Chuck!"

I whirl instinctively, even as I realize the voice isn't hers.

It's Sam, the little girl we met last year. Except that she's not so little anymore. She must have grown six inches in the past twelve months. Beside her is a woman who is almost certainly her mother, judging by the similarity of coloring and features.

Coloring and features that are so similar to Sarah's, that she and this woman could almost be sisters.

Another trigger for my ever-present longing. As if I needed that.

I stifle my disappointment, but put on a smile.

"Hi, Sam."

"Hi, Chuck."

The woman speaks up, smiling. "I'm Melissa, Sam's mother." She holds out her hand, I shake it.

"And you must be the Chuck my daughter has talked about for the last year. The reason behind why we've come here so often dressed like this and armed with pictures of sea creatures."

It's only then that I notice that they're both wearing bright red T-shirts under their jackets.

I nod. "Yes, that would be me."

Turning to Sam, I ask, "Did it work? Did Hyak ever come over to take a look?"

She nods, excitedly. "Yes, twice. It was amazing!"

A serious expression settles on her face. "I've decided that when I grow up, I want to study Orcinus orca. To help to keep them safe."

Melissa chuckles. "She means it. I swear this girl knows more about killer whales than most marine biologists."

"Mom! Orcas, not killer whales."

The woman laughs. "Oops! I know better, but it slips out every once in a while."

I chuckle as well, seeing Sam so adamant.

I ask, "Are you here today to see Hyak?"

Melissa gives me a look laced with sadness. "You didn't know? Hyak got sick and died last week. We're here to say our goodbyes."

"I'm so sorry, Sam."

She nods. I see her sorrow, but also her determination. "They don't live as long in captivity. When I'm older, I'm going to make sure they don't pen them up anymore."

Melissa nods. "She's deadly serious. I pity the poor aquarium owner who tries to go up against her."

I try to smile, but I'm distracted, suddenly gut-punched by the sick feeling that Hyak's death might be an omen.

Please, no. Please.

No. She'll be here. She will.

"Chuck."

I realize that Melissa's been trying to get my attention.

"Sorry, I drifted off there for a second. You were asking?"

"We were wondering why you're here today."

"I'm here to meet someone very important to me. We met here a year ago today, but we had to part. So we promised each other we would meet here again. Today. If we could."

"Sarah."

"Yes, Sam. You remembered."

"No. Sarah." She points behind me, smiling.

I turn slowly, holding my breath.

…

I'd been so careful.

Using every trick of the trade to disappear. Utilizing all my training to wipe out every footprint they could use to track me. And doing my best to make sure that I never made any new ones.

Still, they almost got me.

If it hadn't been for the perimeter alarms I'd set up around my little cabin high up in the northern Cascades, they would've.

I had just enough time to grab my go-backpack and flee into the woods. But not before activating the sequence that would securely shut down my satellite link. My laptop I sealed in a metal fireproof box, along with a thermite charge. They would be welcome to the slag.

Ten minutes later, I heard the distant rattle of automatic gunfire. I assumed they decided to shoot first and ask questions later.

I kept on going deeper into the dense forest.

Somehow, they'd tracked me. How, I wasn't certain. But when you've got the whole weight of the US government behind you, including the NSA, I guess it wasn't too surprising.

Fortunately, I'd managed to send off what I hoped would be the last piece of damning evidence needed to bring Graham down. The threads that tied Graham to his personal hit squad and other illegal activities.

It had taken much longer than I'd hoped. First of all, I had to find someone with clout that I could trust. Someone who'd listen to what I had to say, backed up by the documentation Chuck had dug up. Someone who wasn't in Graham's pocket. Someone who wasn't threatened by the man. And his power.

I'd finally settled on General Diane Beckman, the head of the NSA.

Once, I'd been loaned out to her agency as they dealt with a problem in which I had a certain level of expertise. She had questioned me personally and listened carefully to my replies.

I know that going to her sounds strange, given that her people were actively involved in hunting me, but something about the way she ran things, the way she dealt with me, told me that she would, at least, give me a chance.

It took a long time, but I'd finally managed to find a way to surreptitiously contact her. She'd urged me to turn myself in, but I told her I wouldn't survive a day if I did.

(The day after I left Chuck, Carina had told me that, as I suspected, I had been officially sanctioned, labeled as a rogue agent, an armed and dangerous traitor to the U.S. government.)

After that sank in, Beckman curtly told me that I had five minutes.

I succinctly laid out my case before her. She believed enough of it to ask for more information.

And that's what I've been doing for the last few months. Moving from safe house to safe house. Always one step ahead of the teams that are pursuing me.

Of course, Beckman couldn't call off her dogs or interfere in any way without raising suspicions. She'd apologized, but I knew her hands were tied.

I spent almost all my time analyzing the data Chuck had sent. Trying to find the smoking gun. And writing down everything I could remember about every mission Graham sent me on. Everything. Even those matters that would cast me in a bad light.

And then passing everything on to the General.

When I wasn't doing that, I was thinking about Chuck. And dreaming about him at night.

Wishing he was beside me. Holding me in his arms. Kissing me. Loving me.

But there's also a part of me that believes, for Chuck's sake, it would be best if he never saw me again.

The baggage I carry is of such a magnitude that I don't know if any man could handle it long-term.

Even Chuck. Not that I have any doubts about his willingness or desire to help me move on to a normal life.

But I worry that I might not be able to make the transition. To become the woman he deserves.

And I worry that he may have come to that realization during our time apart. That a life with me would, in the end, be more than he could handle.

I worked hard to put those thoughts aside. Both the hopes and the fears.

Instead, I concentrated on staying alive. Doing what I had to do to give me at least the chance of seeing him again. The opportunity to make it work.

To help me focus, I've deliberately kept my communications through Carina brief, just assurances to Chuck that I was safe. I asked Carina to only tell me that he was still okay, and to not pass on any of his thoughts and feelings.

I know how that sounds. Heartless. Maybe even cruel, but if I'd been reminded, again and again, about how he felt about me, I know I wouldn't have had the strength to stay away. And that would've been disastrous for us both.

And if his feelings had changed, I didn't want to know that either.

But it's been agonizingly difficult.

Looking back, I know that I'd been lonely long before I'd met Chuck, long before I acknowledged it to myself that day in Vancouver. But that loneliness pales in comparison to what I feel now, cut off by necessity from almost all human contact.

Especially his contact.

Even the thought of how he held my hand is enough to bring on waves of anguish. Let alone the embraces.

And the kisses.

Oh, those kisses.

I've stayed away from civilization.

After leaving my cabin twenty miles behind me, I stumbled upon a small hut near an abandoned apple orchard. Someone's unsuccessful attempt to establish a business, I guess.

I've lived there for the past few weeks. The apples were plentiful, and there was a stream nearby that supplied me with water and the occasional trout. Enough to help me eke out the supplies I carried in my backpack.

And I've cut off all communication with the outside world. Despite my precautions, I eventually came to the conclusion that's how they must've tracked me.

I couldn't take the chance that they would be able to connect me to Carina, or worse, to Chuck. So I shut everything down. Besides, there's no cellular service in the bush.

In any case, my phone battery is dead. I didn't bring any sort of battery pack to charge it. I'd smiled a little when I recalled the conversation Chuck and I had on that subject.

Yes, I knew that going silent would cause my friends anxiety, but I prayed they would hold on just a little longer, just until I knew for certain that Graham was no longer in a position to hurt the people I care for.

About five miles from my hideout, there's a town by the name of Precipice. For the past three weeks, before dawn each day, I've made my way cautiously into its streets.

I needed information and, in my haste, I'd forgotten to bring a radio. So this was the only way to find out what was happening in the outside world.

I'd find a house with a rolled-up newspaper on the porch and borrow it, just long enough to see if there was anything about Graham. Then I'd carefully replace the paper where it belonged.

I had to duck for cover twice when a PPD Chevy Tahoe passed by on patrol. Once, I caught a glimpse of the officer who was driving. He looked a bit like Chuck.

That had brought on a fresh wave of tears when I got back to the hut.

Then this morning, I finally saw what I'd been looking for, hoping for, for so long.

Graham had stepped down. Along with a number of his cronies. A woman by the name of Janice Sherman, a former UK station chief, had stepped in pro tem. I didn't know her well, but I'd heard she was a straight shooter, strictly by the book. Someone who hadn't been intimidated by Graham. He'd pushed her into retirement for that very reason.

She's someone I could trust.

It was time to come out of hiding.

But before fully exposing myself, I need to contact Beckman to ensure the dogs have been called off. If not, they would likely suspect I was in the general area.

I can't take any chances, not when I'm this close to the finish line.

That means going to the safest place in town for me. The Precipice PD.

I make my way there, sticking to the early morning shadows whenever possible.

From an alley across the street, I observe the building for ten minutes without seeing anything suspicious.

Just as I'm about to cross the street, one of the PPD vehicles pulls into a marked parking spot. A tall blond woman in a deputy's uniform steps out of the vehicle, stretches, and then walks up the stairs, her steps a little weary. She's probably finishing her night shift.

After she goes through the doors, I take one more look around and then quickly cross the street.

As I enter the office, the woman has her head down, her attention focused on the laptop on her desk.

Upon hearing me, she looks up.

I wouldn't say it's quite like looking in a mirror, but the resemblance to me is uncanny.

Same coloring, same eye color, and similar bone structure. Even her hair is similar to the way I usually wear it. Or wore it. Now it's unkempt and long, tucked under a knit cap.

And the clothes I've worn for the last few weeks aren't in the best condition either. I must look a sight.

I'll give it to the woman. She barely blinks before greeting me kindly.

She stands. "Hi, I'm Deputy Irvine. How can I help you?"

"My name is Sarah Walker."

She's very good, but I can tell she recognizes the name. She tenses. Her hand drifts ever so slightly towards her sidearm.

I raise my hands slowly. "Don't worry, Deputy. I've come to turn myself in. If I'd wanted to harm you, I could've done so before you even knew I was here."

She nods. "Makes sense. You're armed?"

"Yes. I'm going to open my jacket, slowly. I have a pistol in a holster on my right hip. I'll remove it with two fingers only. I'll then place it on the floor and kick it toward you. Okay?"

She nods again.

I do as I said. She picks up my S&W while keeping her eye on me.

"I also have three knives strapped to my right calf. But by the time I could reach them you'd have your Glock trained on me, so I won't bother with them."

The tension drops down a couple of notches.

She gestures to a chair in front of the desk. I sit. She does, too.

"So, you're the ghost who's been haunting Precipice for the past few weeks."

I'm surprised. "I've been spotted?"

"Yeah, a couple of times, nothing more than a passing glimpse. A shadow of a shadow. My husband thought he saw you once while he was on patrol."

"Your husband?"

"He's the chief of police." She looks at her watch. "He'll be here in a couple of minutes to relieve me." Shaking her head, she adds, "Hate the graveyard shift, but two of our deputies are down with the flu."

Then she gives me a long look. "So why would a rogue CIA agent be so anxious about the news that she'd chance coming out of hiding just to check out people's newspapers?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I thought you recognized my name."

"Uh-huh. We received an APB about you last year. And we got complaints from a couple of the old-timers who made a federal case about someone who'd read their papers before they did." She shrugs. "I put two-and-two together."

"What did the APB say?"

"That Sarah Walker, a rogue CIA operative, had attacked a federal agent up in Vancouver."

She shrugs. "Didn't think much of it until a month or so ago when a particularly nasty piece of work came into the office. She flashed her CIA credentials. An Agent Smith. Apparently. Woman with a scar."

She draws a line on her face to describe it.

I nod. "I know her. She's the one I attacked. After she tried to kill me."

"Figured there was something personal there. I'm good at reading people. She was an accomplished liar, but something in the way she spoke of you made me suspicious. And when she embellished the story by adding some crap about Sarah Walker being a person of interest in a series of brutal homicides up and down the west coast, I called her on it.

"When I told her we hadn't heard of any such thing, she hastily added the CIA had kept it quiet for reasons of national security.

"She told us to be on the lookout, that you'd been seen in our area. She instructed us to avoid contact, but, if possible, try to determine your current whereabouts and contact her.

"We didn't like her. And we didn't trust her, but Carl and I made all the right noises, and she left."

"Carl? Your husband."

I hear the door behind me open. "Yeah. Speaking of which, that's him right now."

She directs a brilliant, adoring smile over my shoulder.

"Hi, Sal."

The man walks over to the desk.

He's tall and lanky, like Chuck. His hair's curly, too, but lighter, almost blonde. And he sports a neatly trimmed beard. He's dressed in civilian clothes.

Overall, he doesn't look that much like Chuck, but the kindness, the warmth, in his eyes are very much alike.

I manage to choke back a sob.

He sits on the corner of the desk. After noticing my S&W on the desk, he gives me a long look.

"Who do we have here?"

"This is Sarah Walker. The ghost."

Like his wife, he barely blinks.

"So, you're here to turn yourself in before the CIA finds you, and maybe makes you disappear."

I glance at Sal.

"He's quick. One of the things I love about him."

Carl blushes, then after giving her a grin, turns his attention back to me.

"But why now, Sarah Walker?"

Sal jumps in. "This, I would guess." She turns the laptop so we can all see it.

It's an article on CNN, about Langston Graham. I give it a quick read. It confirms and elaborates upon what I read in the borrowed paper.

Carl gestures to the screen. "This your doing?"

"Yes. Partly. But I had help. Lots of it."

He nods thoughtfully. "I never did trust that man. Can't abide spooks."

Smirking, he adds, "Present company excluded."

Sal and Carl share a look. I wonder what that's all about.

"So, now you need to come in from the cold."

Sal chuckles. "You've been reading too many spy novels, Carl."

He grins at her again, a little sheepishly.

"Yes, Carl, in a way that's not too far off. I have a secure cell phone but the battery's dead. If I could borrow a wall plug, I'll call in and get matters sorted out."

Sal gestures to a desk near the wall. "You can use that one. We'll stay here and give you some privacy."

"Thank you."

I fish my phone and its charger out of an inner pocket and go over to the desk Sal had indicated.

I plug the phone in and, after a couple of seconds, the chime comes on.

I punch in the private number for Beckman. After four rings, she picks up.

"Walker."

"General Beckman."

"It's good to hear from you, Sarah. I was a little worried that one of Graham's people had caught up with you."

"They almost did. I've been living in the bush for the last few weeks. No way to communicate even if I felt it was safe, which I didn't."

"You were right to do so. My tech guys had somehow tracked your encrypted comms. We couldn't read them, but we were almost certain they were coming from you. I had no choice but to pass on the info to Graham."

"I understand, General."

"You've read the news, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any objections to bringing Director Sherman in on this call? I think it's important that she hears from you directly."

"No, I trust her."

"Good. I'll put you on hold and set it up."

About a minute later the General comes back on the line. "Director Sherman, Agent Walker."

"Agent Walker, you've been busy."

"Yes, Director."

"General Beckman has filled me in." She pauses, then dryly adds. "It was quite fortuitous that all the information needed to bring Graham down just happened to drop into your lap."

"Yes, Director. It was."

"I would mention, in passing, that we've beefed up security. We wouldn't want something like this to happen again, would we?"

"No, Director. It won't."

"Good. I'm glad that's clear. Moving on to other matters, the APB concerning you has been amended. You have been cleared of all charges. All of the teams looking for you have been recalled.

"Even the…unofficial…one. Three days ago, using the information you provided, we were able to track down and apprehend former CIA Agent Alexandra Forrest. And her team. She told us the whole story of what happened in Vancouver. She's also agreed to testify against Graham in exchange for a reduced sentence."

"Testify?"

"I didn't mention that, did I? Langston Graham isn't going to just ride off into the sunset. He'll be prosecuted for his actions. The many illegal, heinous acts he's guilty of, including the ones he used you to carry out."

"Oh!" Sudden anxiety makes my voice go up an octave.

She hears it. "Don't concern yourself, Agent. We know you were not responsible. His orders always appeared to have the official stamp of approval."

"Thank you, Director."

"Now, since that's been cleared up, you can return to Langley." After a pause, she adds, "If you choose."

I shake my head, even though I know she can't see the gesture.

"No, Director, I'm done. Consider this my resignation."

She sounds sympathetic. "I understand, Sarah. As soon as this mess is cleaned up, I'm heading back to my retirement.

"You'll have to come in for a terminal debrief at some point, but we can put it off for a month or so. And as far as fiscal matters go, we'll make sure that you're adequately cared for. The government owes you that."

"Thank you, Director."

"Since you're no longer my subordinate, you can call me Janice."

"Thank you…Janice."

"You're more than welcome.

"Now, Sarah, put the life you've lived behind you. Get out there and try and find some happiness in this crazy world."

"I will."

"Goodbye, Sarah."

"Goodbye, Janice."

She hangs up.

Beckman speaks up. I'd almost forgotten she was still on the line.

"Sarah, just a couple of things I want to add."

In a flat voice, she says, "If, in your post-CIA wanderings, you, by chance, ever happen to run into a hacker known as the Piranha, you might want to mention to him or her, that we're very close to figuring out who he or she is. You would also want to strongly suggest that he or she bring their illegal activities to an end before they wind up in a federal penitentiary."

I'm glad she can't see my face as it flushes. "I will keep that in mind, General. If the situation should ever happen to arise."

"Good. Secondly, on a personal note, I would like to say that I'm very proud of you."

I'm taken aback by her words. It's suddenly a little hard to swallow. "Proud?"

"Yes, Sarah. The Agent Walker I knew by reputation would have simply eliminated Graham. While that would've done the world a great favor, it still would've been the wrong way to go about it.

"Instead, you took the time—a year out of your life—and the effort to show us what kind of sick bastard Langston Graham truly was. You gave us the tools to bring him down legally.

"And now that Janice is in charge, she'll make sure that the CIA never becomes one man's, or woman's, fiefdom again.

"We owe you a debt of gratitude."

It's hard to speak, but I finally manage a quiet, "Thank you, General."

"Please call me Diane, Sarah, you're not in my chain of command."

"Okay…Diane."

"May I ask a personal question?"

I hesitate. "Yes, Diane. I'll answer if I can."

"What happened? What brought on the changes?"

I pause to gather my thoughts. "I guess you might say that I had an…epiphany. Up in Vancouver. I was at loose ends when, by chance, I met a man who helped me see that the was doesn't necessarily dictate the is."

She doesn't reply for a few seconds. "You don't have to be who you were. You can be who you are."

"Yes. I grew very…fond of that man."

"And you had to leave him behind."

I feel the tears well up. I choke up again. "Yes."

"Then why are you still talking to me? Go to him, Sarah!"

"But what if.."

"What if what?"

I let all my pent-up insecurities out in a rush. "What if a year was too long? What if he realized that I bring too much baggage into this relationship? What if he's found someone else?

"What if—"

She barks, "Sarah, stop!"

I snap my mouth shut.

She goes on in a kinder voice. "Sarah, I let someone go once. A long time ago. I let the what-ifs come between us. And I've regretted it ever since."

I'd heard the rumors about Beckman and Roan Montgomery but never expected to hear even this degree of confirmation from her.

"Ask yourself. Is this man worth the effort to at least find out for sure?"

"Yes, Gen…Diane. He's worth the effort. Definitely."

"Good. Do you know where to find him?"

"Yes, we agreed to meet on September the…"

My voice trails off.

The desk calendar is staring me in the face.

Tomorrow.

How did that sneak up on me?

"I've got to go, Diane! I need to get to Vancouver."

"Then go. I would ask that if it goes well, you'll think of sending me a wedding invitation."

Wedding invitation?

Of course.

"I will. Thank you so much for all you've done. For taking a chance on me. You saved my life."

"You're welcome." Then sounding like the General she is, she orders, "Now hang up and get a move on!"

"Yessir!" I disconnect.

I look around helplessly. There is so much I need to do. I'm not sure where to start. Or how to start.

I look over to see Sal and Carl looking at me, sympathetically.

Sal speaks up. "Sarah, we couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation. You need to get up to Vancouver to meet someone, right?"

I nod.

"How can we help?"

"You'd do that?"

"Yes. Well, more me than us. Carl has to stay on duty, but I'm free."

"But you just came off your shift. You must be exhausted."

"Nonsense. I'm not going to let a little tiredness stand in the way of love."

"You could tell?"

She nods. "It was all over your face when you spoke of him."

I blush.

"Chuck."

"That's his name?"

I nod.

She stands. "We can be in Seattle in three hours."

Carl hands her a set of keys. "Here. Take the Land Cruiser."

She takes the keys and kisses him on the cheek. "I'll be back by supper."

"Take your time. Adam texted me. He's ready to come back to work. So you can do all the girly stuff you need to make Sarah presentable again."

He looks my way. Smiles. "No offense, but you really could use a shower."

"None taken, Carl. And thank you."

"You're welcome. And, by the way, we just received an update on your APB. You're officially free to go and you shouldn't have any trouble at Customs."

"Thank you, Carl.

He nods.

"We should get going, Sarah."

"Yes, Sal." I unplug the phone and slip it back into my jacket pocket.

"We'll head back to our place. You can have a shower. I can lend you something to wear until we get to Seattle. I'll take you to a place I know for a haircut and your nails. And then to the mall for some new clothes."

She wrinkles her nose as she gestures at what I'm wearing. "Those we can burn."

I chuckle. "Thank you."

As we head to the front doors, she stage whispers, "And on the trip, I can tell you how Carl and I got together."

She smiles at him over her shoulder.

"And you can tell me about, Chuck."

"I will."

Just as we reach the exit, Carl calls out, "Sarah, your pistol."

I stop and turn to face him. "You can keep it, Carl.

"I'm not going to need it anymore."

…

I stand at the top of the stairs. Hesitant.

I'm ninety-nine percent certain that Chuck is waiting for me at the bottom.

But ninety-nine is not one hundred.

I'd called Carina as soon as I had a few minutes of privacy.

At first, Carina had tried to make out that it was no big deal that I was okay, that she'd never given any thought to the idea that I might've been dead, But as the conversation progressed, we both broke down a little. I heard her sniffles, and she heard mine.

I confided my fears about Chuck to her. The ones I mentioned to Beckman.

Carina had laughed. "Girl, that man loves you. If you'd been willing to read the messages he asked me to pass on, you wouldn't have any doubts."

When I objected to her reading Chuck's private missives, she'd told me that she had to be sure the man was worthy of me.

Then, along those lines, she'd admitted that, on a free day in L.A. she'd tracked Chuck down and trailed him, just to see what he was up to. When he'd met a petite brunette outside an Irish pub, she followed them inside, suspicious, only to discover they were part of a group occupying one of the round tables.

It was clear to Carina that the woman and Chuck were nothing more than friends.

I was relieved to hear that, but chided myself for having even a small doubt.

They were also workmates, as Carina quickly discovered after insinuating herself into their group.

A gaggle of nerds was the way Carina put it. Members of a cyber-security firm. Run by Chuck.

I was very happy to hear that he'd moved on. I only hoped he hadn't moved on too far.

After telling Carina I would call her after my rendezvous in Vancouver, I showered and put on the clothes that Sal lent me. My clothes went in the trash.

Even though my concerns were mounting, the trip with Sal was very enjoyable. We bonded even though we only spent a few hours together.

She told me how Carl had been there for her during a very difficult time in her life. How their friendship, over many months, had transitioned into love.

In light of that story, I was a little embarrassed to admit, in my reply to her inquiry, that Chuck and I had only known each other for a day.

She expressed no surprise, no disapproval. No, she'd simply said the love at first sight thing had happened to her once. Then she told me how wonderful it'd been.

Her empathy opened the floodgates. The openness that Chuck had engendered in me had, perforce, lain dormant for the past year, but, at that moment, it came back to life.

I told her about the day Chuck and I had spent together. About how he helped me push away the numbness, the hopelessness.

How he made me believe that I was worth loving. That I could love.

How he made me feel.

Again.

When the tears started, she reached across and handed me a tissue. Of course, I'd burst out into even more tears. It took me some time to be calm enough to tell her why.

After driving me around for all my errands, Sal dropped me off at a Sea-Tac hotel. I'd already returned her clothes after changing at the boutique in the mall. We hugged and promised we'd see each other again. Then she'd headed home.

I'd booked a flight for the early the next morning.

I tried to relax, to have a decent meal for the first time in many months, but it wasn't easy. My appetite deserted me.

After a fitful night, I showered again and changed into one of the outfits I'd bought. Jeans, black leather jacket. And a red silk blouse.

The original had been lost many months ago in a hurried move, but I thought Chuck would like this one just as much.

Assuming he would be there.

I know.

Why didn't I call? Confirm that his promise still held?

Because I live in hope. In my heart I want to believe, to hold onto that belief for as long as I possibly can.

Right down to the moment I see him again.

Or I don't.

No. Don't doubt. He will be there. I have faith.

But I need to walk down those stairs, put my faith to the test.

I take in a deep breath.

Take the first step.

Then the next and the next.

As I near the bottom, I close my eyes.

Please. Please. Be there.

I take the final step.

As I do so, I hear a girl's voice. "No. Sarah."

It sounded like…Sam. The little girl from last year.

I open my eyes.

Just in time to see Chuck turn slowly toward me.

…

He walks to her, slowly, almost shyly.

She walks to him, slowly, almost shyly.

They stop.

He holds out his hand.

She takes it.

"Chuck Bartowski."

"Sarah Walker."

"It's nice to meet you, Sarah."

"It's nice to meet you, Chuck."

A long pause.

"Sarah, will you walk with me?"

"Yes, Chuck. I will. For as long as you'll have me."

He nods. "For the rest of my life, then."

She nods. "And mine."

He smiles through his tears.

She smiles through her tears.

He reaches into his jacket pocket. "You know, I've got some tissues here if you need—"

She throws her arms around his neck. Pulls him down. Crashes her lips into his.

A muffled yelp escapes him, but then he wraps his arms around her, drawing her as close as possible. Returns her kiss. With equal enthusiasm.

…

"See, Mom! I knew that one day they would be boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Yes, Sam, you were right."

Melissa gazes at the young couple, so wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the outside world.

She sighs and affectionally ruffles her daughter's hair.

"Come on, Sam, let's give them some privacy."

They turn to leave, but a voice calls out, "Wait!"

Melissa turns to see Sarah, while still in Chuck's arms, gesturing to her and Sam. Gently disengaging herself from his embrace, Sarah takes Chuck's hand and leads him to where Sam and her mother stand.

Sarah asks, "Sam, is this your mom?"

"Yes, her name's Melissa."

"Hi, Melissa. I guess you already know this, but my name is Sarah."

Melissa smiles. "Yes. Sam has talked about the two of you a lot."

Chuck speaks up, smiling, "Did she tell you that she asked if I was Sarah's boyfriend? And that when I said I wasn't, she asked if I could try to be. Because Sarah was lonely."

Mellisa shakes her head. "No, she didn't mention that little tidbit. But that's Sam for you. She can be very…intense. And direct."

Sarah chuckles. "Yes, I—we—noticed that last year.

"But she was also right. I was lonely, isolated. Your daughter saw that we would be good for each other."

Chuck adds, grinning at Sam, "Out of the mouth of babes."

Releasing Chuck's hand, Sarah crouches down, and asks, softly, "Can I have a hug, Sam?

The little girl rushes into Sarah's arms, into her embrace.

She whispers in Sam's ear, "You were right, Sam. He's a very nice man. The best I've ever known."

Sam turns her head, and stage whispers in in Sarah's ear, "I knew it. Are you two gonna get married?"

Sarah glances up at Chuck with a shy smile. He returns it. "Yes, Sam, we are."

"Am I invited to the wedding? I could be your flower girl."

"Sam! You don't ask questions like that!"

"Sorry."

Both Sarah and Chuck laugh over Sam's boldness and her mother's embarrassment.

Sarah smilingly replies, "That's something your mother and I will discuss. Okay?"

Sam grudgingly concedes. "Okay."

Sarah stands and takes Chuck's hand again. Turning to Melissa she asks, "Do you happen to know if they rent out the aquarium for private events?"

"I think so. Why do you ask?"

"This is the spot where Chuck and I first met. I would like to be wed here, if possible."

She looks at Chuck, a little anxiously. "If that would be okay with you?"

He nods enthusiastically. "Of course. That's a fantastic idea."

"Who knows, Hyak may even decide to drop in to observe."

Observing the suddenly fallen faces of those around her, Sarah asks, "What's wrong?"

Chuck softly says, "Sarah, honey, Hyak died."

"Oh! I'm sorry."

"Melissa and Sam are here to say their goodbyes."

Sarah reaches over and places her hand briefly on Sam's shoulder. "You okay?"

The little girl nods determinedly. "I'm sad, but Hyak was trapped here, swimming in circles. He had to die to escape."

Chuck and Sarah share a long look.

He leans in and whispers, "No more circles, Sarah. No more circles."

Sarah nods, tears in her eyes.

She dashes them away, and asks Sam, "Would it be okay if we join you and your mom in saying goodbye?"

Sam nods and takes Sarah's free hand. "Come with me. I'll show you the way."

She leads them up the stairs, out of the shadows into the brilliant light of day.

…

One week later.

A tall blonde woman and a taller brown-haired man stand before a closed door.

They're holding hands.

The sun glints off the diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand.

She's nervous.

He reassures her and whispers in her ear that she has nothing to be nervous about.

She nods, but smiles uncertainly.

He quickly kisses her, and then knocks on the door.

A woman with long brown hair opens the door.

"Ellie, this is Sarah."

THE END

—

A/N: It's been a long road, but we're finally here. At the end.

Not just of this story, but also, I believe, at the end of my contributions to this site.

I would like to finish Cliffside and add one more Plan story to finish it off, but I don't think it's likely that either will happen.

I would like to especially thank my beta michaelfmx. Without his patient assistance and insightful suggestions I wouldn't have improved to the point where I am now.

There are many writers who've inspired me on this journey.

Zettel, first and foremost. Grayroc. Brickroad16. Detttiot. jwatkins. David Carner. Quistie63. Marc Vun Canon. SteamPunkChuckster. And many others too numerous to mention. I thank you all for your words.

And, of course, I thank you, the readers, without who there'd be no reason to be here.

I'll only mention one, atcDave, who's been around since the early days and still is here.

But I thank you all for your encouraging reviews (and even for the not-so-encouraging ones.)

They mean a lot to me.

Wayne

The End.