Sarah vs. The Little Things

Summary: It's the little things that break her heart. She's tugging at the edges of a dream after waking up and the harder she tugs, the faster they seem to slip right through her fingers. (Spoilers through the show's finale; companion to Chuck vs. the Little Things)

A/N: Because the show's finale was heart-breaking and I wanted to explore that angst. As much as the dreamer in me wants that kiss to mean Sarah remembers everything, the realist in me is sure it cannot be that simple. Although I find myself a little more pleased with this one. Feel free to share if you don't agree. Also, this has been sitting for a while, but I just can't figure out how to fix it anymore.

Disclaimer: Lalala. Don't own Chuck. Although if I had the money, I'd fund the movie they keep joking about in interviews.

oOoOoOo

It's the little things that break her heart. She knows the major plot points of their relationship. What he missed, others have filled in. But she knows it more in the way someone reading a dossier or a book might know a story. They know the bits that someone deemed important enough to tell. But it's the things that aren't important enough to tell that make it real life. She's lost those pieces.

Morgan's magical kiss idea… worked. Sort of. Just in the most inconvenient way possible. The kiss awakens her feelings. She knows that she is in love with this man. But it doesn't awaken her memories. They lie dormant. All she's left with is this love she does not know what to do with.

The first time she walked back into their bedroom (because she would not let him sleep on the proverbial couch in his own home and he wouldn't dream of letting her sleep there if she didn't want to) she burst into tears because she couldn't remember which side was hers.

And Chuck… Chuck is nothing she would have imagined in a husband she would have picked. But something about him is strangely perfect anyway. He finds her and she leans into him and her body knows what it's doing because it melts into him. He leads her to bed, brings her to her side (the right side), holds her hand the whole way.

She can't remember what he likes for breakfast. She can't remember what his favorite clothes are. She can't remember which one of those hundred video game titles is his favorite (though she thinks she might never have known; he seems to have a new one every other week). Each little realization is an icy little stab to the chest because shouldn't she? She's married to the man for pete's sake. She has known some of her marks better than this man who is her husband and the thought fills her with despair.

Her days are filled with infinite amounts of awkward. Double dates with Morgan and Alex are full of not so subtle slips about Chuck and her recent past. Everyone seems to assume that he is the key. If she can remember him, the whole floodgate of memories will return. But they don't and each time out feels like a failure. She knows sounds, smells, touches. She knows Chuck's scent anywhere even if she doesn't remember why. She knows the sound of his footsteps. She doesn't remember anything though. The things that have been drilled into her body over the past five years (it takes 7 steps from the front door of their house to the couch, another 11 to the fridge) come naturally. But whether or not she tries, the memories won't really come. She's tugging at the edges of a dream after waking up and the harder she tugs, the faster they seem to slip right through her fingers.

She is an actor in someone else's life. Not even an actor. A marionette. She goes through the motions, but they mean nothing to her. Muscle memory. Laying out two plates for dinner. Putting game controls in their assigned spot. Actions from another life.

Bizarrely, she is closest to those memories farthest from them. The farther back in time she goes, the clearer the fuzziness of her mind becomes. The only memories that are completely lucid now are those of the first mission. Their first month together is hazy, as if she was drunk the whole time. Beyond that it's pretty blank. She substitutes the images people give her, images of their wedding, of Valentine's Days past, of various missions. But they are other people's memories and not her own.

oOo

She likes the night best. Likes it best when they have both crawled into bed, the lights are turned off, and whatever faus pax she's made that day just fades away. He doesn't hold her at first, tentative, giving her space. And by day, yes she wants her space, wants to figure out who she was. Wants to be the independent woman she knows she was, even if she became tied down. But under the cover of night when they are alone and have shed their pretenses of the day, all her body wants is him. So when he makes no move to cuddle, even after more than a week of her willingly sharing a bed with him, she stops waiting for him to make the first move.

She wraps her body aggressively, possessively around him as if to reassure them both that no matter what her mind does or does not remember, she knows that she wants this, she wants them. Slowly, he shifts, slinging an arm around her. Their bodies align with the ease of bodies that have done this a hundred times in the past and once again something clicks deep inside. Terrifying as it might be, she loves this man. She knows nothing about him, but she loves him anyway.

There's a nagging voice inside her head that sounds suspiciously like her father telling her that he could hurt her and that she might be just another sucker in an elaborate lie. What does she know about him anyway? Truthfully, nothing. But some version of herself gave into trusting him and for now she'll follow that version's lead. He needs less prompting after that. By day they do not know how to fit into each other's lives. But by night they don't need to know. They just do.

oOo

Sometimes he slips up. Calls her babe, references something she doesn't remember but ought to. And beneath this façade of a marriage, these things slip through. There's panic in her eyes, and pain in his when he realizes she doesn't know what he's talking about. And they walk on eggshells around each other for the rest of the day. Did it used to be this hard?

She tries. For the first few months she tries so hard. She wants to remember this wonderful life, this wonderful husband, this person she used to be. But she's drowning in a pitch-black pool of sunken memories that seem so tantalizingly close she can almost reach them. She keeps diving deeper and deeper only to resurface a little more out of breath and a little more disappointed at her failure every time. Eventually it proves to be so exhausting that she quits.

Casey is laughing at them when he returns to check-in. He sobers a little when he sees the pain in her eyes, but love has mellowed him at least a little.

"It's just so damn funny. You two were always dancing around your lady-feelings back then too. You still have those damn feelings. Does the rest of it matter after that?"

She wants to believe him, she does. But how can you be in love with someone you don't know? She might as well have been given someone else's heart and be told to love this man that this heart used to love. And what the hell would that mean anyway? Not for the first time she breaks down and cries.

She is not a crier, she is not and she hates what she has become. She knows it will break Chuck's heart, but she's breaking his heart every time she fails to remember something anyway. She can't stay here and be this emotional train wreck anymore so she leaves on a mission a few days later. She thinks that this will hurt less. For both of them. She doesn't say goodbye because she doesn't want to see heartbreak in his eyes for the hundredth time. Instead she leaves a note. A short note because she doesn't know what to say to this man who is still very much a stranger.

Had to go before I lose what's left of me. Hope you understand.

She knows it's less than he deserves and it sounds way more like a cheesy love song than anything else, but it's the best she's got because she's exhausted and doesn't know what else to do. Impulsively she signs it Sarah Bartowski because she wants him to know that some part of her will always belong to him. She just doesn't know that that's enough anymore.

Truthfully, no one thinks it's a good time for her to go and Beckman is surprised at the request. Sarah can see it in the woman's eyes that she is yet another person who wants her to be the Sarah that she once was. The Sarah who fell in love with Chuck, not this copy who's just left with the feeling. But she practically begs and the woman relents.

The mission is calming. It's routine and something she really remembers. She remembers that she is good at this and she is. She is the best. She takes out her target with ruthless efficiency. She rolls, she dives, she shoots, and crashes through windows. This is easy. This is her normal. But the mission is short and when it's over and the adrenaline rush is fading, she is left with the same problems as when she left. So she takes another. And another. She stops going home. She stays in hotels and takes the assignments that will get her out of Burbank fastest. It's easier for both of them this way, she thinks.

Beckman purses her lips, but after the first she does not argue. She can't argue with Sarah's results anyway. Agent Walker is back and she has always been exceptionally good at her job. She gives them no reason to kick her out. Every mission is perfect and by the book. She can't afford to lose them now.

A few months into her mission-bonanza Carina shows up. And it is Carina of all people that kicks her ass into shape. She is uncharacteristically quiet through Sarah's curt retelling of the story and then she drags them both out for drinks because "with the way your life's been going, you could use a little fun!" And Sarah doesn't protest. She can't really sit and enjoy the men in the bar because somehow her heart belongs to that man in Burbank that she still doesn't know, but she can at least knock back a few drinks and let herself relax. She deserves that, she thinks.

They're there for all of 20 minutes when Carina slams into her. Literally. She's clearly pretending to be more drunk than she is because Sarah knows this woman can hold her liquor better than that, would know even if she'd never met this woman before in her life. Carina is just the type. Except she's not pretending to be drunk at all. Or at least she's doing an inconceivably poor job of it for such an excellent actress. Mostly it seems she was out to get Sarah's attention in the most irritating way possible. By giving her what she is sure will be a solid purple bruise by tomorrow. But what's an outing with Carina without a few bruises?

"Look. You're being such a downer and it's killing my vibe. Why are you still hung up over that nerd anyway?"

She grimaces a little and dodges, "His name is Chuck." Because she knows that much about him.

"Yes exactly. And you're Sarah. Very good."

Carina's patronizing expression rubs her the wrong way so she chooses not to respond, glaring instead at the plant in the corner. Carina scowls at being ignored. And then she smirks.

"You know a night with me and you'd forget all about your little nerd."

"I'd never forget him." Her response is automatic; she says it without thinking.

"But you already did."

Sarah whirls on her because isn't she supposed to be helping? The rage of these past months comes tumbling out of her as she all but spits back at her friend,

"Ok fine, I forgot some things. My head forgot. But my heart didn't! Even completely brainwashed, I couldn't bring myself to shoot him. Don't you dare say that doesn't mean anything!"

Carina's expression softens and she gives her a small grin.

"Exactly."

She's still thinking about that confession when she goes on her next mission. Maybe because it's finally out of her lips and not someone else's it means something. She messes up, Agent Walker has cracked a little, but she thinks Sarah might be a little closer than she once was. She's still smiling at this revelation when the bullet rips through her.

oOo

Chuck wakes one morning and thinks he is still dreaming. The empty space beside his bed is no longer quite so empty and a warm body is pressed into his side. He vaguely panics when he realizes that there is actually a body next to him and not another Sarah-hallucination, but he takes a deep breath to calm himself and a distinct scent fills his nostrils. Suddenly whatever tension flooded his body is released and he relaxes. Sarah. She still smells the same; whatever perfume she used to use is still her favorite. And that thought is comforting in the way few things are these days. For the first time in months, she is home.

But then he sees the blood. And then he's panicking and calling her name, but she won't wake up and damnit he did not get her back now of all times for her to die on him. It's only now he notices that there is literally a trail of blood from when she walked in and she's still bleeding and she looks so pale. He pales himself when he sees that there is a hole in her stomach and she can't have been here long because not that much blood has pooled in the sheets, but it's still way more blood than he wants flowing out of her and he's hyperventilating a little.

He pulls himself together because Sarah needs him. So he carries her out, retracing her bloodied trail and stops short at her beloved Evora. The engine's still warm and it's a little less cramped than his NerdHerd so he puts her in quickly, but carefully. She stirs, but does not wake, cannot reassure him. He pales further when he sees needle and thread covered in blood and dropped carelessly in the cup holders. From what Chuck can tell she attempted to stitch herself and came straight here, came straight home. The implications dizzy him and he can't afford the thoughts so he straps her in and hurries to the other side. He grimaces at sitting in her blood, but he'd rather this discomfort than the discomfort she'd have jammed in his car. Also as she likes (liked but those thoughts seem morbid now) to point out, her car is faster.

He speeds to the hospital in what is a personal best and thanks God for Ellie and Awesome insisting on introducing him to their coworkers because even after they're gone the staff remembers him and everyone is extra helpful and attentive. They usher him into the staff lounge when he can't be in for her operation and ply him with food. He's not hungry, but he's grateful for anything that takes his mind off the fact that his wife could be dying in there. Again. He knows he's being melodramatic because Sarah would never be quite that reckless with her life, even this newer, stranger Sarah, but he can't stop worrying.

He says a second prayer of thanks when he is still listed as her emergency contact. He mentally kicks himself after because why wouldn't you be you dope. You're still her husband. Followed by the slightly vicious retort only when she's Sarah Walker. Who knows what other identities she takes on during missions? And that stings.

But when she finally comes to (one fairly quick transfusion and re-stitching job for her bullet wound, bullet wound later which he knows means this is pretty light as far as her hospital trips are concerned and she's gotten off easy), she is calling his name and then nothing else matters. Why would it? Wherever she's been, she's come back to him. And he'll ask where she's been because how can he not? He is Chuck after all. And her answers will be evasive at best, but she has come home to him. Sarah has come home to him and for the first time in a long time (7 months, 3 days, 2 hours give or take) his heart is home. And he can breathe again.

Of course, as soon as he's in there and sees how drawn and haggard she looks, his heart constricts again. But she looks up at him and smiles one of those brilliant smiles at him and all he can do is smile back. He's always been helpless under the power of those smiles (or her eyes or the way her nose wrinkles just the littlest bit when she's displeased or a hundred thousand other things that he can't recall under the knee-buckling power of her smile). It's been so long since he's seen it and he forgets just how much it lights up the room. He moves towards her in a trance.

She whispers his name, reaches out for him even when he knows that's got to be painful and so he hurries forward so she doesn't have to reach so far. She sighs as her hand makes contact with his face.

She looks at him somberly.

"I still don't remember."

He wants to laugh.

"I don't care."

She sits back a little, takes this in. He barrels forward.

"Sarah how could you?"

His gaze is accusing and she shrinks a bit from this. She should have known her disappearing act would have left its scar upon his heart. Along with a hundred other things his heart has suffered under her hand. She bites her lip. He's still talking.

"Why didn't you get this properly looked at? Why on earth did you feel the need to do it yourself? Why didn't the CIA give you a proper medical exam when you got shot? Do you know how worried I was when I saw all the blood? You know how I feel about blood."

The last is meant to be lighthearted to soften his accusation. Something resembling a laugh escapes her lips not because she remembers, but because while she doesn't technically remember how he feels about blood, she can certainly guess given the way his eyes keep darting nervously to her bandage. She pauses for breath because that stupid sort-of laugh hurt damnit. Chuck quits babbling to cast a concerned gaze on her and her brain catches up.

He is not accusing her for her leaving. He does not care that she does not remember (well, she suspects he cares somewhere deep down, but he's not letting it affect him). All he wants is her well-being.

Chuck.

She smiles again because how can she not? And she replies, her voice still a little husky,

"Just wanted to come home and see you."

"That was incredibly stupid and you need to promise me to always get medical attention first."

Is what he says. But his tone is soft and laced with worry and warmth so she knows he gets her explanation even if he's not terribly pleased with the outcome.

For the first time in a long while she feels like she's really reading all his signals.

She reads, I don't care if it takes a little longer just as long as you come home safe to me.

She finds she is ok with that. Even if the illogical part of her still prefers her lie of omission to her employer, so that she can find her way into his arms just a little bit faster. And honestly, it wasn't that bad of a wound.

They keep her under hospital supervision for the night and he won't leave her side even when she teases him that he needs a shower. When she is finally discharged (with a stern remark from both the doctor and Beckman), they go home together.

It is a few weeks later after they've finished the Chinese takeout (she doesn't remember his favorite from before, but since they've ordered Chinese at least a dozen times since then she sure as hell remembers his favorite now) that he's humming "Feeling Good" under his breath as he moves about the kitchen. She walks towards him, puts her arms around his waist, leans into his back, and feels his whole body thrum a little at his humming.

"I really like that song," she breathes.

He turns around and quirks a smile at her.

"I know."

She has no idea why these are the next words out of her mouth, but she just can't stop them.

"I love you."

His grin is wider and he replies,

"I know."

She smacks him a little for the audacity and because he's quoting that movie they watched last week when she means to be serious, but then she's rising up on her toes and fusing her mouth to his and she gets a vague image of a bomb and seconds to live, but she banishes it. She won't give up this feeling, not even for a lost memory, not when she hasn't been with her husband in so long.

She's tugging insistently at him and they stumble into the bedroom. And they fall into the sheets and it isn't the most graceful of things, but it is him and her together for the first time in her memories and what must be the first time for him in a little under a year. He hits every spot that makes her gasp and even a few she didn't know she had and she thinks hazily that there are advantages to having a husband used to loving you.

Then she doesn't think and stars explode behind her eyes and she is perfectly content for the first time since maybe she came to. They fall asleep tangled in each other's arms and she wouldn't have it any other way.

oOo

He had always loved her even when all he really knew was that she didn't like olives. But he knew that he liked her enough to share a cheeseburger with her. Her video self said so. Now it's her turn. She doesn't remember the details like which is his favorite Star Wars film or which is his favorite soda. She can't recall how he likes his coffee or what he's like after a double on-call shift for the Buy More. But she's learning. And meanwhile, she loves him anyway.

They will build their home and rebuild their lives and they can make new memories. She might not remember the old ones, but that's ok too. Because they're Chuck and Sarah. And she loves him. And together they'll find themselves again.

oOoOoOo

A/N: This is sort of the best I've got for them. Morgan didn't remember Star Wars or how he felt about things. He had to re-learn them. In my mind it stands to reason Sarah does too. But it gives them a second chance to fall in love again.