This alternate ending would come after Chapter 13. Warning: character death.

A/N: This was my original plan for the ending, but it was seriously depressing, and I couldn't handle writing it as the real ending. So I give it to you in this form. Feel free to let me know which you like better.

He stands off to the side, away from the small crowd gathered. His Converse All-Stars are little protection against the three inches of snow on the ground, but he's been so numb the past two days that he needs to feel something.

The snow falls thick and fast, and the wind seems to blow more fiercely with each passing moment. His unbuttoned overcoat flaps uselessly in the brutal gusts. His face is red and stung with the cold, but he barely registers it.

A fat snowflake falls onto his nose, and his brain dimly tells him that he's cold.

He's cold. But it's better than heartbroken.

Snow. Ice. Cold.

Vermont. At least now he knows she lives in Vermont.

Lived.

Without warning, a sob escapes his chest.

Casey turns at the sound, flicking a glance over his shoulder.

Yes, Casey's here, wouldn't take no for an answer. Bryce and Carina, too, both looking more subdued than he had ever seen them. And Graham. Even Beckman.

Across from the small group of government agents stand her parents and sister. Her parents.

He finally meets her family, finally gets to know who she is, and he can't even enjoy it.

Running a hand over his eyes, he pretends he's wiping away snowflakes that have fallen onto his cheeks. He wants to run somewhere – to Russia, or Argentina, or Australia – to live out his days in peace and solitude. He wants to run away from all the pain, from the harshness of the world that won't let him forget her. But even as he contemplates it, he knows what she would think of that, and he doesn't want her to see him as a coward.

So he puts on the bravest face he can muster, and listens absently as the priest finishes up the ceremony. Almost unable to bear it, he watches the small group of people pay their respects. He's shaking as he sees Casey approach him out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't you want to say something, Bartowski?"

He swallows, shakes his head numbly, thinking he'll go through the rest of his life in a haze, never experiencing anything with the vitality he felt when she was next to him. He shakes his head again, but he knows Casey understands what he means. He just can't say goodbye. Not now.

Casey sighs, "It's not your fault, you know."

Casey doesn't understand. He never will. He's a part of her world, always was and always will be. But Chuck, Chuck had to fight every day to be worthy of her. And now she's gone, and he has nowhere to turn.

"It is, Casey," he spits out bitterly, his breath hitching. "It is my fault. She got sloppy because I distracted her and . . . and –"

"No," the NSA agent says firmly, placing a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "You give yourself too much credit. She was never sloppy. I reviewed the report, and," he pauses, swallows, taking the time to phrase his next thought, "sometimes things happen beyond an agent's control."

Chuck takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying his best to keep the tears from cascading down his frozen cheeks. "What am I supposed to do?" he asks, his voice finally breaking down. "How am I supposed to live without her?"

Casey sighs, surprisingly reluctant to step into his role of the tough guy. "You got through the past two years, didn't you? Give it time. You'll be surprised at how fast the memories fade, at how quickly the pain dulls."

Chuck glances over at the older man, realizing that he's been through this before, that he's speaking from experience.

"I don't," he falters, "I don't want them to fade."

Casey looks him directly in the eye. "Then don't let them." Reaching inside his jacket, he takes out a faded envelope and hands it to Chuck. "She wrote this just before she left. Wanted me to keep it safe for you and give it to you when the time was right."

Chuck nods almost absently and takes the envelope, his fingers shaking uncontrollably. His name's written on the outside, the writing discolored. Seeing her writing jars him. Casey nods in commiseration, returning to stand near Bryce and Carina. With a sob, Chuck wanders absently to a nearby tree, leans against it, and sinks down into the snow.

His fingers, purple with cold, tremble as they open the envelope. His breath comes in harsh gasps, and he suddenly feels lightheaded. Unfolding the letter slowly, he lets his eyes rest on her handwriting, allowing himself to drink in her words.

Dear Chuck,

I'm writing this while you sleep. I've spent many hours watching people, but watching you sleep is the most calming thing I've ever experienced. I'm sorry that you won't get to read this until either I've completely withdrawn from the agency, or

I'm sorry, but I need to write this.

You asked me last night if I regretted anything.

Now you're probably expecting a confession of my life story. But that's the thing. I've come to think of my life in three phases. There's the beginning – the time I spent as Katharine Lisa Callaghan. Then there's my induction into the agency and my reinvention as Sarah Walker. And finally, there's us. Because I've come to think of the day we met as when my life truly began.

As terrifying as defusing bombs and foiling terrorists can be, it's nothing compared to being in love. I've never been able to discuss my feelings very well, and I'm not much better with writing them either. Even with Bryce – we can talk about him now, right? It's been over two years, after all. But even my relationship with Bryce was important step in my emotional growth. I feel like it was necessary to my --

Sorry, you stirred, and I thought you might have woken up. As much as I love you, Chuck, that would have been disastrous. But now you're sleeping again, snoring away lightly. Yes, Chuck, you snore. No matter what you say. I'm listening to you right now. You're snoring. But I'm smiling (in case you can't tell).

Even my relationship with Bryce was a necessary step in leading me to you. I'm sorry that it caused you so much pain. I only hope you understand that he helped me become the person you fell in love with.

It must seem strange to you that I'm writing this farewell letter when you will probably never read it until many years later. Or perhaps something will go horribly wrong on a mission relatively soon, and you will read it sooner than I wish you had to. I don't know how old you are as your eyes read these words. Maybe we've spent fifty years together – had a long and happy life. Maybe we've had children who have grown up and had children of their own. Maybe we didn't have nearly as much time as we needed. Maybe I didn't get to say the things you needed to hear, everything your expressive eyes begged me to articulate during the past few years. Maybe we didn't get any time at all.

I hope the last is not the case. Because even as I write this, you're still sleeping peacefully, and I know I will not last very long without your gentle touch. I've never needed anyone in my entire life. And then you came along, and with your lopsided smile and your ridiculously expansive knowledge of geek – excuse me, nerd - culture, you flipped my life upside down, and made me care about something outside myself.

So when you wake this morning, I hope you realize that though I am gone, my love stays with you. I hope you realize as you live your life that I'll come back. I'm not sure how long I'll be, how long I'll need to figure things out, but I promise to come back. And I know that you won't get to read this until it's too late, but even if you spend the rest of my life hating me, or not understanding, I hope this letter changes your perspective.

You asked me last night if I had any regrets.

Just one:

That I never told you.

Love eternal,

Sarah

Since the letter's opening line, the tears have been violently coursing down Chuck's cheeks, and there is no sign of their cessation. In anguish, in desperation, he crumples the paper in his hand, futilely wishing that he can turn back time and set everything right with her.

Far from alleviating a portion of his pain, the letter only serves to confuse him further and make his thoughts even more jumbled. He feels like he has absolutely no one to turn to now that she's gone. He's completely purposeless.

Seeing someone approach, he chokes back his sobs, trying to check his tears. The woman stands a few feet in front of him, and Chuck can see a reflection of his own pain written on her face. She looks . . . she looks so much like her that it's nearly insufferable. Her hair's darker, not as golden as hers was. And she's younger, he can tell. But her eyes. They're the same brilliant shade of blue.

She looks down at him somberly. "I'm Molly." When he doesn't respond, she continues, "You must be Chuck." She kneels down, the snow soaking through her skirt. He looks away. "We didn't get to talk much, but she did mention you." He glances back at her. "She told me that she finally found someone she could give her heart to. She was so excited for us to meet you."

If it wasn't already broken, Chuck's heart would break right now. Not just break – shatter. A fresh wave of tears washes over him. Molly reaches out, holding him in an awkward hug. But instead of comforting him, she attempts to hoist him to his feet.

"Come on, Chuck. You need to go. You're going to catch pneumonia sitting out here in the cold, wet snow."

He complies unwillingly, barely able to stand on his own two feet. She supports him under one shoulder, and he leans on her more than is necessary. She starts to walk away, and Chuck drags his feet uncooperatively.

"Where are we going?" he says in between sobs, his voice unsteady.

They stop walking, and Molly gazes at him earnestly. "Back to our house. There are some things she wanted you to see, to know. And you need some dry clothes."

He looks at her curiously.

"I'll take care of you, Chuck. For as long as you need me to."

"Why?"

She looks away, and they start walking again. He makes an effort to lean on her less. When they reach the car, he sees her parents sitting in the front seat, holding hands in their grief. The sight is oddly comforting.

Molly opens the back door for him. "Because she's my sister. I love her, and so do you."

Chuck slides into the back seat, and Molly shuts the door behind him. She circles the car and climbs in next to him. She looks over at him, giving him a small, sad smile. He returns it, and glances around the car at these strangers who have taken him in on their daughter's word. They trust him because she loved him. The thought buoys his heart.

Watching Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan, he can't help thinking about Ellie and Devon, and Morgan, and Anna – his family back home. They'll be waiting for him, ready to help him mourn.

Mr. Callaghan starts the car and pulls out of the cemetery. The melancholy smile stays on his lips as he realizes that even in his sorrow, he is not alone.

Finis.