A/N: All of Broken Heart in one chapter. There's a lot here, but also much that happens outside of Sarah's knowing. The titles are always multi-functional, but the worst "broken heart" here is Sarah. It's minimized for the show, but she had to have been in a tremendous amount of pain in this episode. A few WTF's: Chuck got in trouble for talking too much and what does he do? Talk too much some more. She had every intention of leaving without talking to him, as we see in the am as she's getting ready to leave. I touch on the charm bracelet. She declines his call. Was she REALLY going to say goodbye, like she told Forrest? She almost left the note in the mailbox, but then left it on Chuck's bed. What did she say in that letter? I speculate. Then again-Sarah had to go back and get it to give to him at the end. When? How does she find an address that's an airstream in the middle of the desert/mountains? More on that later, but still...weird goings on in the Chuckverse. This one was so much fun. I'm excited for the rest of season 2. Enjoy.
It was about a week later, at the very end of March, that I got the phone call from General Beckman–she had ordered a 49B.
Even before my fractured memory came into play, I don't think I ever remembered this morning all that well.
They say trauma does that to you–warps your memory in unpredictable ways. Make no mistake, that phone call was traumatizing. I don't remember what I said, other than a probable "yes, ma'am." I felt like the bottom had fallen out of my life and I was in this endless freefall…dizzy, nauseous, breathless. My absolute worst nightmare came to life.
I couldn't focus; I could barely think at all. I forgot which drawers certain articles of clothing were stored in, forgot what I was wearing as I built the outfit in my mind.
I have a sharp memory of just stopping, half dressed, and falling to my knees…because my legs were too shaky to hold me.
She knew. Beckman knew. I had said too much, done too much, let too much happen and she suspected it all. She was going to take him away from me. Bunker him, reassign me…God knew what else. His life would be ruined…and I was to blame, for allowing my emotions to take precedence over my mission.
Oh God, Chuck, I'm so sorry…
I know the words were screaming in my brain. I don't know if I said them out loud, but I stayed there on my knees, swaying, pseudo-praying, for too long. I was over 30 minutes late when I reported to Castle. Casey looked daggers at me and Beckman glared.
Then I met Alex Forrest, NSA agent. My 49B.
In terms of the NSA, Casey and Beckman were pretty much my full exposure in all the time I'd been with the company. The CIA worked outside the U.S. almost exclusively and even when the NSA was working overseas, they rarely consulted or commiserated with the CIA. Forrest was NSA, but I had known plenty of agents just like her. She was almost a cliche of herself. Rule follower, by the book, cold and precise and all about duty. Maybe how Casey had been when he started, before he burnt out and before Chuck reignited him with a different sort of flame. She barely acknowledged me, standing at attention like a soldier at reveille.
She terrified me, the very idea of her making an evaluation of my performance so unbearably unfair I almost protested, out loud. Casey glared even more harshly than usual, probably because he saw the defiance on my face, and I bit my tongue. Thank goodness he did that or I believe Beckman would have dismissed me right then and there, just based on my protestation. If I was doing everything right and following protocol, I should have no objections, nothing to fear.
Beckman forbade me from directly interacting with Chuck while the 49B was in progress. She didn't bench me entirely–she couldn't, because Forrest's role would not permit her all access to the top secret nature of the mission, and Chuck still needed round the clock surveillance and protection, even while the evaluation was in progress.
I was still in Castle when Beckman notified Casey she had a mission briefing, and that she had notified Chuck to meet us there, that we were awaiting his arrival. I was a wreck while we were waiting, and it only got worse when Chuck was finally there. I couldn't look at him; I purposely avoided eye contact. My composure was all but gone, my control barely hanging on. I didn't trust myself to stay calm and unemotional if I looked at him, seeing the concern on his face.
I felt like I had completely failed him…and I had no idea what to do, how to fix it. I hated feeling helpless–and I had never felt so helpless in all my life as I did at this point.
Beckman explained the mission in detail. An associate of Afghani terrorists was suspected of being checked into a Los Angeles hospital under an assumed name. She wanted Chuck to infiltrate the hospital to see if the man in question was the known terrorist. She never mentioned him "flashing" on anything, but that was what she meant.
She was ready to sign off when Chuck asked her what a 49B was. I felt sick for a moment, wondering what Beckman had said to Chuck, because he obviously knew what was going on before he ever arrived in Castle. Like I was an elementary school child, she called me out and made me answer Chuck.
I hated her for that. She had been abrupt, unfeeling, all the things she had been because she was who she was. She had rubbed me the wrong way on more than one occasion, I admit, but before I could justify her actions to myself when I thought about the job and what the standards should have always been. That moment–it was hate. That was low, almost cruel.
Many years, and many trials and tribulations since then, later, I know she was pushing like that because she wanted me to straighten up, snap out of it or whatever she thought I could do. Truth be told–whatever it was she had done to get herself over Roan Montgomery all those years before. She called the 49B because of what she had seen and heard, all the things that Casey had hidden from her all this time.
Casey did tell me, in private before Chuck arrived, that Beckman had requested his unedited report. He looked at me strangely, not elaborating, but it was then that I knew for sure just how much interference he had been running for me, and for Chuck. He looked sorry, hesitating like he wanted to say something else but didn't…or couldn't.
I would learn later his version of unedited was not quite what Beckman had asked. He had to give her something–she had too much on video already–but not all. Fortunately, by the time I actually asked him why he was so adamant about protecting us, he could answer me, not just silently clean his gun or find some other task to distract him from a direct conversation.
It was actually at my wedding that I asked him that question. I will never forget what he said to me.
Because you deserve to be happy. And I always had a strong suspicion that in all your life, Bartowski was the only thing that ever really made you happy.
He was right. I don't know how he got in touch with his emotions enough to grapple with that reasoning, but lucky for me he did. Maybe it was Chuck who started that humanization of Casey. He had an effect like that on almost everyone he came in contact with.
So I forced my emotions deep, used all my strength to keep my voice neutral, and explained what was happening to Chuck, while my back was turned to him. Once Beckman signed off, he approached me, panicked, asking me what this was all about.
Forrest's eyes were on me. I stiffened and told Chuck to discuss it further as a breach of protocol. Like a programmed robot. He had no idea, but the way a normal handler would have spoken to her asset in that situation. That was not us. The stiffer Forrest became, the worse I felt because it made the glaring problems in the way I handled Chuck more apparent.
I left Castle and didn't say another thing to Chuck. Casey and he went to the Buy More while I went to the Orange Orange.
I wished Chuck would have stayed away, but I knew deep down that he wouldn't, that he would want to talk to me. Forrest was watching me like a hawk and I was wound tighter than a clock.
Of course, Chuck came to the Orange Orange as soon as he could. I couldn't even warn him that she was right there, even if he couldn't see her right away. His first question was to ask me if Forrest knew about the Intersect. I told him no, and she would only be told if her position became permanent.
He went pale, anxiously asking what that meant.
I did my best to reassure him that would never happen, despite the fact that I was not as confident as I sounded.
"I'm sorry, Sarah." So sincerely contrite, for getting me into trouble, for causing me hardship.
It's worth explaining this here. Chuck only had bits and pieces of my life before I met him, so he had no real understanding of why or when I joined the CIA. He wouldn't know everything until we were on the train in Switzerland. At this time, Chuck believed my career was important to me, something I prioritized in my life. I mean, all he ever saw was me seeming to put my career first, never deviating from that path. He didn't know how much of what happened was me caring about him, wanting to protect him in every way and not just the way the government wanted me to.
That apology was because he thought his emotional outbursts on surveillance had cost me the most important thing in my life.
Ironic is all I can say. The truth was just that–yes, the most important thing in my life was at risk because of those outbursts. He thought that was my career. But in fact–it was him.
That split second, while he was talking as I stood there, arranging cups and spoons on the counter top in the frozen yogurt shop, was when I finally admitted it to myself. He was my everything. At the same time it was a relief to acknowledge it, I couldn't keep that thought long. I looked over my shoulder, afraid Alex might have heard him, if she was right there.
I was perhaps a little harsher than I should have been when I addressed Chuck, strangely, but even after that revelation, I was on edge. Admitting what mattered most…and almost sure I was going to lose it, all in the same breath.
He changed the subject, telling me he was stressed out because of his search for his father, for Ellie's wedding. Without thinking (which is what happened a lot when Chuck was leading with his heart) he asked me if I could help him find his father.
Hadn't he seen me anxiously looking over my shoulder the entire time we were talking? It amazed me how smart he was, how sharp and detail oriented he could be–and miss obvious things like that.
I quickly told him it was an impossible ask. Of course, Alex heard that and decided to step from the back room out to the counter to tell him to his face how much of a breach of protocol that would be, how illegal that was. Chuck looked appropriately chagrined. I think I may have rolled my eyes at him being so careless. We didn't have long to stew over it though, as the mission was about to begin.
All four of us took a van to the hospital. Of course, it was Westside Medical Center, where Elle and Devon worked. Alex had taken charge, which was irritating, especially because I knew Casey was the senior agent. But, the 49B took priority. I asked Casey if I could help and almost got my head bitten off by Forrest. I kept quiet after that.
The plan was for Chuck to make an affirmative ID of the patient and then Casey would plant the tracker in the pacemaker that was to be implanted during surgery. I told Chuck we had already checked Ellie and Devon's schedules and the coast should be clear. By the book, straightforward. Although, as always it seemed with us, the mission went sideways.
I had never been the subject of a 49B before and I did forget myself. I thought I would accompany them into the hospital, but Forrest nearly slammed the van door in my face and told me I was to do backup in the van. Chuck looked anxious to do his mission without me. I couldn't even give him any encouragement.
I watched the whole thing on the monitors and listened to the audio feed. Chuck got upset when Forrest tranq-ed a nurse. As I was double checking the other screens, I saw Ellie, on the same floor Chuck and Forrest were on. She was supposed to be off, but apparently our intelligence was out of date. I told Chuck on the com how close he was to contact with his sister. Luckily, he was able to duck into the patient's room before she saw him.
I heard Forrest tell Casey that Chuck had positively identified the suspect, and she instructed Casey to proceed. Unfortunately, I heard Casey get called away before he could make it inside the surgical suite. He told Alex on the com about the bogey, attempt aborted.
Later, I heard Casey tell them he couldn't break through the security code. He needed 40 minutes or explosives, both not acceptable, especially with both Ellie and Devon in the hospital and who could both blow Casey's cover. Casey and Forrest came up with the idea of stealing a key card from a doctor. I heard Chuck protest, saying the words, "Not Awesome."
It was the perfect plan. Casey and Forrest were all by the book, and that was the easiest, most logical plan of action. If it had been me in there with them, I would have found another way. Chuck would have made that same argument he just made, only I would have backed him up. Because hurting him, hurting the people he cared about, was not an option for me. He mattered more than any mission. Secretly, I was thankful that they left me in the van, because that would have been on brilliant display. I did push the point once we were back in Castle, though. Doing exactly what I always did. Put Chuck first.
Beckman was right; I was compromised. I knew that already, but that was the moment I couldn't deny it any longer.
Forrest was going to rule against me. I was going to be removed. Chuck would be left with Casey and Forrest.
Chuck, I'm so sorry…
Chuck's alternate plan snapped me back to reality. Instead of tranq-ing Devon, Chuck would grab the key card during Devon's bachelor party. He explained that the original plan had been for Chuck to take Devon and his friends on a camping trip, and Morgan plus the Buy Morons had wanted to plan a typical party at the Buy More with strippers, music, and alcohol. Forrest got impatient with his lengthy explanation and barked orders at him. They would try, but one way or the other, they were getting the card from Devon.
Chuck called Morgan, told him the plan was on for the night and that they needed to grab Devon at the hospital the way they had tried to grab him the night before. I made a face, not sure what Chuck meant.
Chuck and Casey left to help with the arrangements. I was told to stay behind with Forrest.
She was going to make her report to Beckman.
I felt so sick I almost threw up.
Chuck left, casually saying goodbye. I watched him go, fighting my emotions. I was very close to crying, and I prayed he wouldn't turn around on the stairs or I wouldn't have been able to hold them back. I watched him walk, memorizing each movement, each step, feeling that with each step he took he was pulling my heart farther outside my chest with him as he went. I felt a part of myself die once he was out of sight. I was certain I was never going to see Charles Bartowski again. I said the words in my head, "I hope someday you can forgive me."
The bachelor party scene played out on the screens in Castle while Forrest made her report about her assessment. Her conclusion: that I was too entwined with the asset, that I placed his feelings above the mission.
Beckman thanked me for my service.
I was falling, falling…
I tried to speak, but she kept talking like I hadn't said anything. I was terminated. She instructed me to report back to Langley at nine the next morning.
With my heart literally breaking inside my chest, I asked Forrest to take care of him. I don't know any other reason why I would have asked that of her unless my broken heart had taken over. Her demeanor scared me, made me worry for Chuck. She told me she intended to do her job.
I still had time. I could say goodbye to him upstairs. I was seized with desperation, my mind racing ten steps ahead.
Was there anything I could do? I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking, what I would have done if she had let me go. I hate to think it, but it's not outside the realm of possibility that I would have suggested we run…like I was about to do in a few weeks. It's odd to think I have no idea what I would have done, like I didn't know myself.
But I didn't. I had no idea who I was, not if I couldn't see myself through Chuck's eyes. That was who I wanted to be. Without him, I was no one again.
She physically grabbed me to stop me. She ordered me to have no further contact with Chuck.
I was glad I held that moment in my heart, when he was leaving. Far too often, the last time we do something is only known in retrospect.
The least, the very least I could do was help Chuck. Sure, I had told him it was impossible for me to look for his father, especially because Forrest was listening. Without her presence, I wouldn't have hesitated. Now, I literally had nothing else to lose. In the end, it was the only thing left I could do for Chuck. So I started the search in the CIA database for Stephen J. Bartowski.
She told me to leave, but I told her I was tying up some loose ends. I waited until Forrest left Castle–something about some difficulty on the mission. It killed me to not be a part of that, to not know what was going on.
But then I left Castle, for what I thought would be the last time.
That was one of the longest nights of my life. I didn't sleep; there was no way I could shut my eyes and rest when I was knotted up inside. It took me all night to pack my things. Not because I had so much stuff–far from it. I was used to living out of a suitcase. Everything I owned had to fit in one bag. Not very much at all.
But even those few things took an eternity to pack. My hands shook and my eyes were constantly filled with tears. There were two framed photos of us that I tucked away in my suitcase. I was almost finished, around four in the morning, when I remembered the charm bracelet. The gift Chuck had given me for Christmas the year before.
I had worn it whenever I could, but holding it in my hand, knowing it would be the very last thing I would have to remember him by–I lost it. I clutched the piece of jewelry tight in my palm and fell onto my knees, weeping hysterically. I don't know how much time passed, only that I felt like I cried until I was dry. The imprint of the bracelet was left on my palm once I released it.
Should I give it back? It was his mother's, after all, and we were just pretending. That would have been the right thing to do. I could mail it back to him.
I could hear his voice in my head, assuring me, no matter what, he wanted me to have it. It was a gift, given to me because I was special, because I mattered to him. Giving it back lessened the meaning, belittled the truth about how we felt about each other.
No, I would keep it. I could take it out and look at it sometimes…and remember the closest I had ever come to being happy. I packed it away and got ready for my flight. I could sleep on the plane, I told myself. It was a long flight back to DC.
Chuck called me in the morning, right before I was walking out of my hotel room for the last time. I didn't know how I could talk to him, what I would say. It was easier, I told myself. I declined the call, telling myself a clean break was less painful. Although everyone knows snapping your bone in half hurts far worse than a hairline fracture.
I was on the freeway, headed to the airport, when the search I had initiated the night before finally came back with the information I requested. I got off the highway immediately. I had no intention of seeing him, or letting him see me. I wrote the information down and sealed it in an envelope. I carefully entered the courtyard, making very sure no one would see me. I thought about putting the note in the mailbox, but there was a chance that Ellie or Devon could see it first, and I had put just enough information on the note that would make them suspicious about everything. It was early morning, and Chuck wouldn't have left for work yet, so I was taking a chance to try and sneak it into his bedroom. His window (the Morgan door) was wide open and he wasn't in his bedroom, so I climbed in to leave the envelope on his bed.
I didn't hear him anywhere in the apartment. Why was he gone so early? He didn't need to be at the Buy More until nine. I was breathing in the scent of him that lingered in the air in his bedroom when I saw his phone on his bed.
Why was he gone…without his phone?
Something was wrong.
Forrest was his new handler. Damn it, did she know he was missing?
I raced to the Orange Orange to get into Castle, but my access had already been denied. I had to call Casey on the com to let me in. I told Casey Chuck was in trouble, and I showed him that I had Chuck's cell phone. He let me in.
I told Casey I found his phone when I went to say goodbye. That wasn't what I had actually done, but I wasn't about to admit to Forrest that I'd accessed the CIA database illegally. Saying that was enough to piss her off, telling me I had disobeyed a direct order, that I was fired.
I'd had enough of her.
"Then there's nothing stopping me from kicking your ass," I snarked and pushed my way past her.
I quickly accessed all of the surveillance. He was nowhere. Forrest said he was in the courtyard, that he was fine.
Really? I thought. Did she even check? His signature was reading in the fountain. I got the extreme close up of the fountain to show Chuck's discarded watch at the bottom of the water.
I turned to glare at her. I was smug, but I had every right to be.
Casey was right there, telling me they had lost the signal from Ahmad's heart, that the two instances were probably connected. I figured out that Ahmad was most likely being held in a bank vault, to shield the signal from us.
We took off for the First Bank of Dubai.
We went in guns blazing, taking out guards as we went. Apparently the terrorists had commandeered the entire bank. I called out to Chuck as we moved towards the vault. He didn't reply, but I did see him right before the door was sealed shut. He was here, just like we thought he would be.
I let loose on Forrest, telling her it was her job to protect him and now he was locked inside the vault with a dangerous criminal. She was ready to blow the door with nitroglycerin. Casey said he saw a nitrous tank inside the vault. Was she really that stupid?
I got to work trying to crack the combination of the vault door.
"What makes you think he isn't already dead?" she sneered at me.
This was the best the NSA could do to protect the most valuable intelligence asset in the world?
I could hear the sounds of a struggle, fearing we might be too late. But I also heard Chuck laughing, which was odd.
Forrest called Chuck on the radio. Hearing his voice calmed me down. He was adorably intoxicated on laughing gas. He at least knew that was what happened. He made a drunken but impassioned plea that someone bring me back to him.
I heard Chuck ask Zamir where Khalid was…and Zamir told him. Casey was amazed, positively animated as he looked at me. That was my Chuck. Always thinking, even high on laughing gas.
Casey warned Chuck to turn off the gas or his exposure could turn fatal. He was too high to comply. Forrest shouted at him to open the door, but he was still refusing to obey her and wanting me instead. She was ready to blow the door, but I cracked the combination just in time.
I found him sitting on the floor, next to Zamir. He gushed my name, like he couldn't believe that I was here. There was no hiding his feelings, not when he was so uninhibited. The look on his face, the adoration in his eyes–quite humbling, that I mattered so much to him, that just looking at me made so much difference to him.
Casey rounded up the bad guys and called the cleaners. It blew my mind that Zamir was a doctor, and thought that he could kidnap a heart surgeon to perform surgery in a bank vault. Even if he had managed to grab Devon, how would Ahmad have survived open heart surgery like that? It took a few hours but we were all back in Castle again. Beckman was happy with the outcome, despite the unconventional way we had completed the mission.
Beckman started to dress me down for disobeying orders when Chuck interrupted. I told him it was ok, that he didn't have to defend me.
I got the shock of my life when Casey interrupted me. "No, it's not. Let him finish."
Chuck looked just as shocked. "Thanks," he replied to Casey, his throat tight.
"Um…General, what I'm trying to say is that…I think that maybe because my relationship with Sarah is so…" I almost cringed, afraid of what he was going to say, to start this all over again, or make it worse. "...you know, we're close. We care about each other. That's what I'm trying to say and I know it's not protocol or whatever, but it's those feelings that wound up saving my life."
Always, Chuck. I thought it loudly, wishing he could hear it. Because it was as close to the truth about my feelings as I would ever have been with him.
Then Beckman shocked me. She said Forrest diagnosed our closeness as a liability, when clearly, it was an asset. She didn't understand the full meaning here (or maybe she did, and just chose to ignore it) but it worked, so I didn't question it.
I was reinstated. Chuck smiled with relief. I kept my outward appearance as neutral as I could, but his face mirrored my feelings. Relief. I could breathe again.
Fortunately, I had time to go back to Echo Park while Chuck was finishing his shift at Buy More to remove the note I had left for him about his father. I was afraid Ellie would see it, and like I said, it said more than it should have if we were maintaining our covers.
I had just finished unpacking my things again when Chuck showed up at my hotel, visibly agitated and upset. He had never done that, shown up unannounced like that. And I couldn't remember the last time I saw him so upset.
He said he didn't know who else he could talk to. But he was worried he was going to get me in trouble again. Always me first, even in something like that.
I told him the hotel was my private residence, and there was no surveillance there. It was weird when I said it, and if Chuck hadn't been so upset, I might have dwelt on it. In my hotel room, where I slept, we could relax. Any of the things he had said to me all along that got us in trouble–he could have said in my room and no one would have known. Why hadn't he?
I know the reason now. There would have been nothing to stop us, no hope from the inevitable–us together, making love in my bed. In my past, despite my overall hesitation, I had had sex pretty quickly with the two men I had chosen to bed, once things got heated. Things with Chuck were beyond heated–boiled over and burned on the stovetop. I still believe one kiss in that room would have been all it took. One kiss and then we would be undressed, all over each other, almost without thinking about it.
And as much as I wanted that–needed that–giving in to him would have complicated everything beyond my ability to redirect or refocus.
But he was rambling, upset. He fell sitting on my bed, near tears, telling me he wanted to be able to tell Ellie the truth. He was sick from how badly the government had hurt the people he loved.
He explained later that night, as we drove together to his father's location, about what had happened at the bachelor party. Jeff and Lester had taken photos of Forrest all over Devon after she'd tranq-ed him. It looked like he was unfaithful to Ellie. Chuck was in a terrible position, not just lying to protect his cover, but allowing his sister to believe something about her future husband that wasn't true.
I have to add, he also meant me when he said that. I didn't pick up on it then, instead too focused on how emotional he was being. But he knew what denying my feelings was doing to me–he knew that our situation was causing me pain. That was something else we talked about on that all-night drive.
I sat down next to him on the bed and handed him the envelope I had previously left on his bed. He looked at me, his eyes so close to mine.
"What is this?" he asked.
I looked away, down at the carpet. "I left that on your bed this morning. That was when I found your phone."
"Were you…coming to say goodbye?" he asked. I thought of his call that I didn't answer.
"I…wanted to just leave this. I…didn't know how to…" say goodbye. I couldn't say it, but he knew.
He opened it and pulled it out. It wasn't an address per se, rather a set of geographical coordinates. Stephen J. Bartowski was registered off the grid, in the mountains, about 100 miles outside Barstow, in an airstream. Those coordinates were on the paper. Along with what I wrote.
I was able to find your father in the CIA database. I wish I could have done more, but this was the least I could do. You're an incredibly special person, Chuck. Please don't forget that. I promise, I will never forget you. Sarah.
I could see the tears standing in his eyes. "You…could have gotten into trouble for this," he said, his voice broken from emotion.
"It was important to you. I could do it, so I did."
I was suddenly acutely aware of how close he was to me, how close his face was to mine. It was dangerous, sitting like that and feeling the way I did, so vulnerable and exposed.
"We can make it there in the morning if we leave now," I suggested. Anything to get us out of the room and the threat of what would happen between us.
"Let's go," he said without hesitation. A little too quickly, maybe. He must have been feeling what I was feeling.
We drove all night, talking. We said a lot, but there was also so much we didn't say. Maybe if I had the courage to say it all, what happened next might have been different. No way to know for sure. All I know is that drive, that visit, set things in motion. Things that soon would devastate me beyond any despair I had ever felt in my life.
It was coming, like a storm, only I couldn't feel it. I was too much in love.