A/N: Chapter 100. I can't believe it. More so, I can't believe we are only about half way through! This is cut into two chapters, only because there is a bit extra in the beginning and that added part made it too long. The break is 16 minutes into the episode, but a lot of the remaining is not Sarah or Chuck, so it works. This includes both the "what I should have done in Prague" line as well as him getting upset about the "faking" line. Added a bit here. Also important-there was a deleted scene from American Hero that implies Ellie knew he was running with Sarah, or at least trying to, which is why the running away part wasn't as harsh as it seemed. I chose to include that scene in my rationale. Sarah tells him not just Beckman was expecting them back, but Ellie, Casey, and Devon too...they had some idea. Unfortunately, this is where their crap communication starts to show for real, as well as Chuck lying to her, which goes on and on and I hate that, but it is what it is. There is a line in season 5 where Chuck says Sarah prefers him clean-shaven...I explain why here lol. Enjoy.

Chuck's scruff from his unshaven face brushing against the exposed skin on my shoulder woke me up with a gentle tickle. I rolled over to kiss him good morning and scratched my fingers against his fuzzy cheek.

"That's what…two days?" I asked him.

"Mmm," he hummed softly, kissing me back. He was still sleepy…and very adorable. "I always left the facial hair up to Morgan, except when I got back from Prague, but it's nice to take a break every now and then."

It was so faint I almost missed the wistful quality to his voice. He missed Morgan. And probably Ellie and Devon too. I was about to broach the topic, but he kept talking and I didn't want to change the subject.

"What do you think? Should I let it grow?"

I blushed and giggled. "Smooth is my favorite."

"Uh…is there some story there that you want to tell me?" He wiggled his eyebrows at me, like he knew what I was thinking.

"Well," I gave him a peck, "your beard tickles."

"Tickles?" he laughed.

"When you're…"

"When I'm what?" He wanted me to say it. Even after all this, I was shy about talking about sex just openly, when we weren't in the middle of it.

"When your face is in very close proximity." I was blushing furiously and I thought it was ridiculous. We had been pleasuring each other for days, to the abandonment of all else. But saying it still felt odd.

Going down on me sounded base in comparison to how I thought and felt when it was happening. There were several other terms for oral sex that were equally disgusting.

He laughed. I wondered how much he was really aware of how nervous I was talking about it.

"When you use your tongue," I whispered in his ear. Romanticized, maybe, but accurate. He actually used his whole mouth, even his teeth, but his skill was in his tongue.

He laughed again and nuzzled against my cheek. "As you wish, my dear." He kissed me softly.

I giggled again. "I shave for you…you shave for me, right?"

"Of course." He rubbed his nose against mine and kissed me again. He was laughing and then he was on top of me and slid down my body. "Does this tickle?"

His two-day five o'clock shadow did more than tickle, truth be told. I was still getting used to how much he liked pleasuring me this way. He could be gentle but at times positively voracious at others…and his beard was like sandpaper. I usually melted into a puddle and felt nothing but wave after wave of pleasure; afterward was when I was sensitive.

Chuck pretty much shaved every day after I told him that…and he still does. It became a joke at parties sometimes, only Chuck and I privy to the real reason why.

I reciprocated right afterwards. We were waiting, recovering before another round, when we talked again.

"Chuck, I just thought of something. If it's weird, don't answer."

He just looked at me, his expression open and waiting.

"If Jill was your first…am I really just the third?"

He held my hand at my side. "Yes. I was with Jill for a while. And then we broke up. In between that and you…less than a handful of times with two different women, both of whom you know." His voice was neutral, providing the facts that I asked for without emotion.

"You really went five years?" I asked.

"I kinda thought you already knew that," he chuckled.

"That's a long time is all. Especially when you're…" I blushed again.

"When I'm what?" he teased, rolling on his side and wiggling his eyebrows again.

"So good at it," I giggled and curled against him.

I was teasing. I knew full well Chuck wasn't a casual sex kind of guy. He had been so low on himself for so long, he never got close enough to anyone during that time that anything warranted sex. Maybe a kiss. But nothing more. Even his ill-fated romance with Lou had been only that—kissing and nothing more.

"Three years for me…the last time with Bryce before he went rogue up until Shaw. It was so bad with him I can't count it." I realized as I was saying it, I hadn't been as clear as I maybe should have been before.

My explanation that I had fallen for him at the very beginning didn't necessarily exclude me having sex with other people. I'd done it myself.

I looked at him. "Chuck, both times Bryce came back, even when he was staying with me, we didn't sleep together." He was studying my face curiously. I wondered if he had believed that in the past. I had never made an effort to explain my feelings for Bryce, not plainly. Chuck deserved the truth.

"Believe me, he was hoping, maybe even expecting it. I don't think he realized how I felt about you until I…couldn't take the shot in the train station."

"What do you mean?" he asked. He was definitely interested. He wasn't jealous any more, but it was still there in his head.

"We were in that same situation in Colombia. But I shot the guy holding Bryce…right over Bryce's shoulder. It was worth the risk to me. Accidentally shooting you? I…I couldn't make myself do it."

He blinked, so many times, like he was trying to come to terms with it.

"He told me…that you had feelings for me. He convinced me that those feelings were going to get you killed."

That conversation on the fountain…was because of Bryce! Of course it was. It made so much sense! It would have been exactly like Chuck to do what he did—tried to push me away without hurting me, too much, and without lying to me.

"I cared about him, Chuck. He…saved me, in a twisted way, when he manipulated Graham into having us work together. I would have done nothing but assassinations if he hadn't. I may not have had any of my soul left to save if he hadn't. That was what you saw…in the Intersect room. You thought it was more than that, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"I think he maybe thought that I loved him. I didn't. That just sort of added to the tragedy."

"He was always trying to be the hero. Trying to fit in…somewhere in between being a nerd and a cool guy. I think he must have thought being a spy was the ultimate way to ensure he was both things. I hated him for so long, Sarah, but…he was only trying to do the right thing. Misguided as to what that really was…but…" He shook his head.

"He admired you, Chuck. That was where that need to protect you came from. He knew how good a person you were. He wished he could be more like you." It was, after the conversation I had with him on Thanksgiving years ago, exactly what he thought.

And Bryce was exactly right about Chuck.

We ate and talked some more. One of the stewards knocked on our cabin door, asking to carve the meat we'd ordered. I told him I would do it. He had a heavy French accent. I was standing there in my lingerie, oblivious to everything. Chuck shut the door and pulled me back to bed.

The same steward seemed to be assigned to deliver our food all hours of the day and night. I think he got tired of us because, the next afternoon we ordered champagne and chocolate covered strawberries as a snack; he informed us politely that the train had a dining car.

Chuck answered the door in a middle of a conversation about music. He couldn't believe that I didn't have a favorite band.

I told him music hadn't been at the top of my list as I pulled him back into bed with me. He thought it was something we could work on, although he admitted he didn't ever want to leave our cabin. I wholeheartedly agreed.

Chuck's cellphone interrupted us. It was Beckman. She had been expecting us back in Burbank. Today, actually, but we were on a train bound for Switzerland and no plans to leave.

"Beckman expected us to be back in Burbank today. So did Ellie and Casey and Devon…" I left out Morgan, but he got the idea. "We can't just run away like this."

That had been his plan, a plan he had told his sister about before all the stuff with Shaw went down. But the reality of it was sinking it. Did I really want him to abandon the people he cared about?

"Why not?" he challenged.

"Chuck—"

"Casey's been reinstated. Ellie and Awesome are going to Africa. Everyone else is moving forward with their life." His voice got quiet, more intense. "Sarah, for the first time since I've known you, nothing is holding us back. And if Beckman finds out, she could stop all of this—us. I can't risk that. I won't." His eyes felt like they burned a hole right through me.

"You're right," I admitted, leaning closer to him. "I can't go back to how it was before. Before this. Before you." I had been in utter agony for years and now I was finally happy.

The CIA had 11 years of my life. I wasn't willing to give them one more day. Chuck was more important than anything.

He sat up. "We should do what I should have done in Prague. We should run." He had said that before, that he hadn't known how I felt when I asked him to run back then. I know his regret was wasting time and causing pain, not becoming the Intersect 2.0. I don't think that would have changed.

I sat up, matching his intensity. "Chuck, is that what you really want?"

"I want you." My insides all melted and rushed from my head to my toes.

He asked me if I would quit the spy life, and I said yes. I asked him the same, and he said yes. I tossed his ringing cell phone out the window of the moving train.

We fell back into bed, into each other's arms, and made our peace with the fact that we were ordinary people again.

The next morning, while we were now in Lyon, we decided to take the steward up on his suggestion that we eat in the dining car. We were eating breakfast. He stopped at our table, commenting on our choice.

He was being polite, making our acquaintance, but he assumed we were married. On our honeymoon most likely. Old-fashioned perhaps, but who could blame him for thinking that? We were certainly acting the part.

Chuck stumbled over our name, almost calling us Mr. and Mrs. Charles Carmichael, quickly changing it to Charles. I flushed warmly, even if it was only pretend. It felt realer than anything else.

Chuck apologized once the steward left, saying it was presumptuous of him to say we were honeymooning. I made it a point to remind him we were running away together.

We started talking about what we would do next. He thought me worldlier than he, but I told him the truth. I had been lots of places, but none of the world had ever been available to me, just a place on the map where I was working.

We were still googly-eyed at each other when I noticed another passenger coming down the aisle with a concealed firearm. My spy senses kicked it, making me pay close attention.

I realized then that though I wanted a different life, the one I currently had just walked away from was all I had ever known. It would take some time to leave it behind in earnest. I kept my knife on my lap as a precaution.

Chuck flashed, but I missed it. And—he never told me. Sounds bad, right? Not a good precedent to set, not being fully honest.

Our biggest problem was communication. It caused lots of problems, including things like this.

We didn't mention what we'd seen in the dining car at all. The day passed smoothly. It was only when we were getting ready for bed that it came up again.

I just mentioned, generally, that it was going to be hard to get out of spy mindset. Chuck agreed. He even asked me if he flashed, we would ignore it. I told him sure, we were just regular people.

But the incident from earlier wouldn't just settle out of my head. It was like I had to convince myself of it.

I kissed him goodnight and shut off the lights.

But my mind wouldn't shut off. I decided that I was going to go investigate. I made the excuse that I was going to get ice cream. He talked over me, saying he wanted to get some air. I left in my robe and headed out.

Lucky for me, I saw the men in question exiting their cabin right down the hall from us. I broke into their cabin.

The bag I found on the bed had a passport in it of a man known as a Basque terrorist. He had a small book of codes with him as well. It was quite concerning.

I wasn't in there long when I heard someone coming. I locked myself in the bathroom. I heard someone rattling the door handle. I had to think of something fast.

I put on a southern accent and pretended to be surprised that these men were in my room. One of them had a gun on me. I pretended to be drunk, flirted a bit, and escaped without incident.

I had to run and get ice cream or else I would look suspicious. Chuck was acting weirdly when I returned, but I was so keyed up I kind of let it pass.

It was thinking that I didn't even want ice cream that made me tell him the truth.

"You know, Chuck, I can't fake this, not with you."

He was genuinely shocked. Appalled, actually. He thought I meant faking faking.

I would go back to this and remind myself that he was insecure at this point, despite everything. Really? How could he question that? He had physical proof that he was pleasing me, even if I was quiet.

Here, because of the situation, I pushed it aside.

"No, no, no, not that." I sat up, touching his arm. "I spotted a Basque terrorist on board. Juan Arnoldo Diego."

Chuck already knew, telling me about his previous flash. He realized I was the one in the bathroom and I realized he was the one jiggling the handle.

We climbed up on our knees, facing each other on the bed. That realization seemed to increase our attractiveness to the other, as strange as that was. Or maybe it was just the thrill of us being a spy team, even if it wasn't real anymore.

We agreed to take care of the terrorist together, one last mission before we ran for good.