Chuck versus The Last Wish

Chapter 5 – One step at a time

Chuck stood by the front door, adjusting his jacket while Morgan impatiently honked outside. His hand was already on the doorknob, but he still hadn't left. On the television, the news was quietly broadcasting in the background.

“…in Mexico, unidentified gunmen killed several cartel leaders in a single night. Authorities believe the attacks were the result of a professional operation…”

“I have to go.” Chuck gave Sarah an apologetic look and switched off the TV.

Sarah was leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug held between her hands as she stood barefoot on the cold floor. “I know.”

Chuck walked over to her. “You’re not going to be too lonely?”

Sarah gave him a faint smile. “I survived yesterday.”

“Yeah, but…”

Sarah gently poked him in the stomach—a playful, easy gesture. “Chuck.”

“Yeah?”

“Go to work.”

Chuck laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, neither seeming in any hurry to say goodbye while Morgan honked again outside. Then Sarah stepped closer to him, as naturally as if she'd done it a thousand times before.

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

She gave him a gentle hug—brief and natural. Chuck still found it hard to believe that Sarah wasn't afraid to touch him anymore.

“You’ll tell me another story tonight?”

A smile spread across Chuck’s face. “Of course.”

“Then hurry home.”

“I’ll try.”

Chuck looked back at her one more time from the doorway. Sarah was still standing in the same spot, giving him a small wave, her smile still lingering.

The house grew quiet again. Sarah slowly walked through the living room without any real destination, not quite knowing what to do with herself.

She stopped in front of the bookshelf, where old DVDs stood lined up among movies and family recordings. Her eyes caught on a simple white case labeled with a black sharpie: Wedding.

She froze, unable to look away. Slowly, her hand trembling almost imperceptibly, she pulled the case from the shelf.

A few minutes later, she was sitting on the couch as the recording began playing on the screen, her fingers gripping the remote more tightly than she needed to.

On screen, Chuck was nervously adjusting his tie—that Chuck felt familiar. Morgan was frantically explaining something, Ellie was laughing, and the camera shook slightly as whoever was filming adjusted their grip.

Then she appeared.

In a white dress. Radiant. Smiling.

Sarah instinctively leaned closer, almost forgetting to breathe, her chest barely moving as she watched herself. The woman on the screen was happy—genuinely happy, completely without fear. Then she looked at Chuck in a way Sarah had never looked at anyone before.

That was what hurt the most.

Sarah felt her chest tighten. On the video, Chuck leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear. The audio didn't pick it up, but Sarah could see the reaction: first she laughed, and then Chuck laughed too, as if on that day no one else in the world existed.

A tear slowly slipped from Sarah’s eye, reaching her cheek before she even realized it was there. She didn't try to wipe it away.

“That’s… me…”

The rings. The kiss. Sarah instinctively touched her fingers to her lips, as though the memory of the kiss she'd just watched was still hidden somewhere deep inside her. She quickly lowered her hand, not understanding why she'd done it.

The embrace. Their first dance.

The video continued playing, and every scene tightened the ache in her chest, yet she couldn't make herself stop it. Chuck looked at her as though she were his entire world.

Finally, Sarah couldn't take it anymore. She paused the recording, leaving the smiling bride frozen on the screen—a woman Sarah didn't remember at all.

The remote slipped from her fingers and landed silently on the carpet. She pulled her legs up onto the couch, curling herself into a tight ball, hugging a decorative pillow against her chest as she slowly rocked herself.

At first, she cried silently. Then she couldn't hold it back anymore.

“Why…?” Her voice broke. “Why don't I remember you? Why don't I remember myself?”

Minutes passed. The living room was filled only by the frozen image on the television and Sarah’s quiet sobs.

When the tears finally stopped, she took a deep breath, wiped her face, and slowly stood. She didn't want to be alone; she knew she needed someone.

She put on her coat, crossed over to the neighboring apartment, and knocked.

Alex opened the door. One glance was enough; she immediately noticed Sarah’s red eyes, and her smile vanished. “Oh, Sarah…”

Sarah tried to smile, but couldn't. “I… don't want to be alone right now.”

Alex hugged her without a word, and Sarah immediately hugged her back. For several seconds, they simply stood there.

Then Alex stepped back. “Come in.”

Sarah slowly shook her head. “Maybe… we could go over to the guys.”

A warm smile returned to Alex’s face. “Of course.” She grabbed her sweater. “Let’s go.”

As they walked down the street together, Alex stayed quietly beside her. Over and over, the same image returned to Sarah’s mind: the smiling bride, looking at Chuck Bartowski the way Sarah desperately wished she could remember looking at him.

XXXXXXXXXXX

“Can’t we send another team?” Morgan’s palm came down hard on the table, making the coffee in his mug jump.

Chuck nervously ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment. “We already did.”

“Then send someone else!”

“Who, Morgan?”

Morgan threw his hands up helplessly. “I don't know! Somebody! CIA, NSA, Delta Force, Batman… anybody!”

Chuck pointed toward the monitors. “We already told Beckman, Morgan. There’s nothing else we can do.”

Morgan started pacing, taking long strides back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck every time he turned. “Then what’s left?”

“Us.”

Chuck didn't take his eyes off the monitors; he had already made up his mind.

“Beckman’s never going to allow that,” Morgan said, stopping.

“I don't care.”

“Chuck…”

“If this really is what I think it is, Morgan, we might be able to find out who’s funding Quinn at the Blue Tide.”

Morgan let out a heavy sigh. “And Sarah?”

Chuck immediately shook his head. “No.”

“Chuck…”

“No.”

“But she—”

“Morgan!” His voice came out sharper than he'd intended. “I’m not taking her with me. We need to call my Mom…”

Morgan groaned, clearly disliking Chuck’s idea. “No offense, Chuck, but your mom isn't exactly known for her subtle spy techniques.”

Their argument completely shut out the rest of the world. The door opened with a soft hiss, but neither of them noticed as they kept arguing.

Alex stepped in first, the paper bag in her hand rustling softly. Sarah followed behind her, carrying two paper cups of coffee, smiling as she started down the stairs, her eyes searching for Chuck. She looked almost carefree.

“We brought—”

The sentence died in her throat.

Chuck and Morgan turned toward her at the same time, their argument stopping instantly. The silence that followed was so sudden that the quiet hum of the monitors seemed deafening.

Alex froze too.

Sarah took two more steps down the stairs, her smile slowly disappearing as her pace slowed, sensing that something was wrong. Her eyes moved across the operations table: satellite images of Nassau, the Blue Tide emblem, a date circled in red. It looked like a crime scene.

Then Chuck’s face. Morgan’s. And finally, Chuck again.

Sarah’s jaw tightened. She slowly lowered her hands, the coffee cups still held in them,m almost forgotten, as her expression grew more serious. She wasn't standing there like a guest anymore. She wasn't looking at the files; she was looking at Chuck, watching his face.

Several long seconds passed.

Then she spoke very quietly. “You have a mission.”

It sounded exactly like an agent giving a report. Chuck didn't answer.

Sarah slowly nodded, as if she'd just confirmed something for herself. “And you didn't tell me a word about it.”

Her voice remained calm—maybe too calm. Chuck held her gaze while Morgan instinctively looked at Chuck, then at Alex. And somehow, that made everything much worse.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sarah set the two paper cups on the edge of the operations table, her fingers lingering for a fraction of a second.

“We brought coffee.”

Nobody moved. The room went entirely still.

Alex glanced between them, then down at the bag in her hand. “I think… I should probably—”

Morgan nodded immediately. “Yeah. Come on.”

He guided Alex toward the hallway, giving Chuck and Sarah space. The door slid shut, leaving them alone in Castle’s command center.

Sarah scanned the monitors, taking in the data streams before finally meeting Chuck’s eyes.

“How long?”

“Three days.” Chuck didn't flinch.

Sarah nodded. “Three days…”

Silence stretched between them.

“You came home every night. You told me stories. You held me. You said everything was fine.” Her voice stayed low. “And the whole time, you were planning this.”

Chuck took a step forward. “Sarah—”

“No.”

She raised a single hand—a small gesture, but Chuck froze instantly. She didn't shout, and she didn't look furious; she just felt distant.

Terror hit him, cold and sharp. He had blown it. The mission vanished from his mind entirely.

“I’m so angry at you!” Her voice cracked on the edge of the sentence.

Her chest heaved with a sharp breath. Her right hand curled into a fist, then immediately went slack. She stared down at it, baffled by her own body's reaction.

She brought a hand to her mouth, stifling whatever came next, her brow furrowed as she looked past him.

She shook her head, unsettled. “Wait…”

Staring ahead, she muttered, almost to herself, “We’ve… been through this before.”

Chuck’s heart dropped. He didn't dare breathe.

“I was really angry with you.” She looked at him with uncertainty. “I don't know when, or why. But this—” she gestured between them—“this already happened.”

Chuck swallowed hard. “You really were.” The familiar, crushing tightness returned to his chest. “Sarah, I—”

“You didn't trust me.”

“I did.”

“Then why didn't you tell me?”

Chuck dropped his gaze. Several long seconds ticked by. “Because I was selfish.”

She watched him in silence.

“It’s only been a few weeks since I lost you. The best thing that ever happened to me. I thought I lost you forever.” He drew a sharp breath. “And then you kissed me. You came home. You stayed, you made breakfast, you laughed, you curled up next to me at night, you held my hand.” His voice broke. “And every second of it, I was terrified you'd vanish again.”

His eyes glistened, his hand shaking. Sarah saw it—truly saw him—vulnerable in a way he hadn't been in days.

“I couldn't risk losing you a second time.”

The silence returned, heavier this time. Sarah studied him. The anger hadn't vanished, but it had dulled, replaced by a strange, quiet certainty. Somewhere underneath, she knew this wasn't how their story ended. She had been this angry before, and she had forgiven him before, too. The details were gone, but the instinct remained.

Her features softened. The tension in her forehead broke, and she let out a long breath.

“You’re an idiot.”

Chuck managed a tired smile. “Yeah.”

“A really big idiot.”

“I know.”

She held his gaze for a beat, then closed the distance between them entirely, looking straight into his eyes.

“Next time, tell me. No secrets.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

Another pause hung in the air. Chuck assumed the interrogation was over.

Then Sarah spoke, entirely calm. “I’m coming with you.”

He looked up, startled. “Sarah—”

“If this is as big as you think it is—” she pointed toward the screens—“then I belong right beside you.”

Chuck closed his eyes. It was the exact outcome he had feared, even if he knew it was inevitable.

“I won't let anything happen to you,” she added.

He looked at her, surprised.

She paused, seeming just as shocked by her own words. “Just because—” she hesitated—“you matter to me.”

Chuck didn't speak. He stepped forward, and she didn't pull away. He wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her face against his shoulder without hesitation.

They stood together in the quiet until Sarah slipped out of his embrace.

“Show me what you've got.”

Chuck nodded, picked up one of the cups, took a sip, and walked to the main console.

“All right. Let’s start from the beginning.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Satellite imagery of Nassau lit up the main console—a beachfront estate, the crest of the Blue Tide Club, and a high-resolution portrait of a woman named Diane Moore.

Chuck tapped the screen. “Three days of digging on Quinn, and this is all we've turned up.”

Sarah stepped closer to the display. “Nothing actionable?”

“Practically zero,” Chuck said. “Nicholas Quinn doesn't exist on paper. No accounts, no property, no family records. Every alias he's ever burned left a dead end.”

“The guy's a ghost,” Morgan added. “A very paranoid ghost.”

“Someone scrubbed his history clean,” Sarah noted.

“Almost clean.” Chuck brought up the emblem for the Blue Tide Club. “We found one recurring connection.”

“The pirate bar,” Morgan chimed in.

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“Officially, it’s a high-end resort lounge,” Morgan clarified. “Unofficially? It’s where arms dealers, corrupt politicians, and offshore fixers grab a drink when they want to talk off the record.”

“Neutral territory,” Chuck explained. “Most of the deals aren't finalized there, but that's where the introductions happen.”

“And Quinn was a regular?” Sarah asked.

“Often enough to catch the owner's attention.” Chuck enlarged Diane Moore's photo.

“Diane Moore,” Sarah said, recognizing the face. “You briefed me on her files.”

“High-society philanthropist on paper,” Chuck nodded.

“And off paper,” Morgan said, “she’s the premier information broker in the West Indies.”

“She trades intelligence,” Chuck said. “High-tier, strictly vetted. We can’t tell yet if Quinn was buying from her or freelancing, but they’ve got a history.”

Morgan tapped his tablet, routing an ornate digital invitation onto the main display. “Which brings us to tomorrow night. Moore’s hosting an exclusive gala at her villa. Half the regional underworld will be in attendance under the guise of charitable giving.”

Chuck turned to Sarah. “It’s our best window.”

“What’s the play?”

“We fly to Nassau…” Chuck started.

“And walk right through the front gate,” Morgan finished.

Sarah glanced between them. “That’s the entry strategy?”

“Moore isn't a warlord,” Chuck said. “She’s a broker. Curiosity is her business. If Charles Carmichael requests an audience regarding Quinn, she won't turn him away—she'll want to figure out what hand we’re playing.”

“She'll want to see what information we have to offer,” Sarah realized.

“Exactly.”

Morgan grinned. “So we're knocking on a billionaire broker's front door and asking for a chat.”

“Sometimes the direct approach is the hardest one to anticipate,” Chuck said.

Sarah gave a single, resolute nod. “I'll get the gear.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sarah knelt beside the open suitcase in the bedroom. She carefully folded a T-shirt, then placed the photograph Chuck had shown her the night before on top of it. Her eyes lingered on the picture for a moment before she carefully slipped it between the clothes.

Chuck was packing on the other side of the room. Every so often, he'd stop to think, then toss another shirt into his suitcase.

Sarah watched him for a while. “Chuck?”

“Hmm?” He looked up.

“There’s something I don't understand.”

Chuck closed the drawer. “What?”

“At Castle… when I found out you'd been keeping the case from me… you said I'd been really angry with you once before. And I had this feeling that it wasn't something new.”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why was I angry with you?”

“Prague. And the choice I made.”

“What choice?”

“You wanted to run away with me. Leave the spy life behind. You wanted a normal life… with me.”

“And what happened?”

“I didn't go with you. I chose spy training.”

Sarah thoughtfully ran her fingers along the edge of the suitcase. “And… how long was I angry with you?”

Chuck laughed. “Well…”

“Is that bad news?”

“A little.”

Sarah waited, curious.

Chuck scratched the back of his neck. “About… six months.”

Sarah looked up sharply. “Six months?”

“Give or take.”

“That’s a long time.”

Chuck nodded. “It was.”

Sarah still looked at him in disbelief. “What did I do during all that time?”

Chuck smiled. “You were undercover. And… I don't know, probably doing whatever it is you were doing. Meanwhile, I spent about half that time sitting on the couch, eating cheese balls and feeling sorry for myself. Then we started working together again, and eventually we made up.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… complicated.”

“Sarah…” Chuck smiled. “You’re incredibly smart, you have a great sense of humor, and you're ridiculously beautiful.”

Sarah blushed. “But…”

“Of course there’s a ‘but.’” Chuck laughed. “But the two of us… we weren't always very good at talking things through in the beginning. So sometimes we made things a lot harder than they needed to be.”

Sarah lowered her head. “That bad?”

“Believe me. Morgan could probably list our ten dumbest relationship decisions.”

Sarah looked up. “Really?”

“Sarah…” Chuck shook his head with a grin. “Morgan wouldn't just list them. He'd rank them. I’m pretty sure there'd be separate categories.”

A quiet laugh escaped Sarah. “What would be number one?”

Chuck pretended to give the question serious consideration. “Tough call. Prague would definitely make the podium. Then there was our ‘let’s not tell each other how we feel’ era… I think that one could have an entire list of its own.”

Sarah’s smile slowly softened. “So… we weren't perfect.”

Chuck walked over to her. “No.”

“And yet we got married.”

“And yet.”

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, then looked down at the photograph lying inside the suitcase. “So… in the end, we always found our way back to each other.”

Chuck smiled gently. “Always. Sometimes by taking the long way around. Sometimes by being stubborn. But always.”

Sarah nodded. She carefully ran her finger along the corner of the photograph, then closed the suitcase. “So maybe this time we can try to work things out a little faster?”

Chuck laughed. “Morgan would appreciate that.”

“Let’s not let him actually write that list.”

“Knowing Morgan…”

“He’s already started it?”

“He's probably finished it.”

Sarah laughed freely. “So… hasn't that used up our bedtime-story quota?”

Chuck raised an eyebrow. “Come on. That was just Prague.”

“Just?”

“Sarah… in five years, we’ve collected enough stories to fill a small library.”

Sarah closed the suitcase. “Then I want another one tonight.”

Chuck smiled at her. “Deal.”