A/N: I've had a very bad weekend and my mind went a little dark. This is the result.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck

She was done, it was over. She lowered her head and stared at the floor. She looked at the phone, lying on the floor, that she had let fall from her hand after Graham had told her that Bryce was dead. "Walker," she heard. She reached down and picked up the phone.

"I'm here…"

"I know it's a shock, Agent-"

"I'm done," she said, before he could continue. Years of her life had been spent taking other lives, and now, her partner had betrayed the United States. He was dead, having been shot before he could transfer the data that he had stolen. Bryce Larkin was a traitor, and she was a nothing to the CIA but a murderer; a tool, a means to an end for jobs that no one else dared do.

She had seduced and killed so many that she wondered if she had ruined the child's life she had saved, just by touching her.

"What do you mean, done?" Graham asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"I'm done," she said. "I'll be out of this apartment tomorrow. It's not like I have anything here."

"Where will you go, what will you do?" Graham asked, his tone changing. She knew what was coming… he was going to offer her time off. It was his go-to, but since the baby, since Ryker… "Agent Walker, you need a vacation."

"Director, I quit," she said, and hung up the phone.

}o{

One week later found her in Burbank, California. She had left the CIA, although she was sure Graham wouldn't file her papers until her six months of vacation time ran out. She had looked in on Molly and her Mom, and that's when she realized she had no one, she had nothing. She didn't know the last time she had spent so much time by herself, and her thoughts were creeping in on her. Her memories of everything she had done over the last eight years plagued her. Every con, kill, and seduction ran through her mind.

Letting men, and women, touch her; promise them things, only to end up killing them, or setting them up to look like they had no one to turn to except her… She wondered if she would feel less dirty if she had followed through with sex with any of them.

"I'm worthless," she said, muttering to herself at the hotel bar.

"I highly doubt that," the older man said behind the bar. Sarah jerked her head up, thinking the bar was empty. She had wanted to be by herself, but her room was a special shade of green she just couldn't tolerate. "What are you drinking?"

"I shouldn't," she began, when he pushed a drink toward her. "It's early."

"And yet, here you are, in a bar," the man replied. "It's a special mojito."

"It's good," Sarah said, taking a sip, and feeling the warmth spread through her body like a fire. "Sorry, I really thought no one was in here."

"It's fine," he said, giving her a smile and going back to work, stocking the bar. "Now, what do you mean you're worthless?"

"I mean," she paused… she really shouldn't do this, but… "Nothing makes sense like it should." The man picked up a glass and rag, and began to clean it, listening. "I threw a dart at a board as to where I should stay in California, and I ended up here," she said, looking around the bar. "Not the bar, but the hotel."

"I get it," the bartender replied, smiling warmly. "But that doesn't make you worthless."

"If you knew everything I've done," she began, but she just shrugged and shook her head.

"Hey," the bartender said, making her lock eyes with him. "I know that look, I've heard that tone." He shoved a card across the bar with a number on it. "Promise me that before you do what you're thinking about, you call this number."

"I'm not," she began.

"Promise me," he said, softly, but firmly.

"Okay," she said, nodding, and taking the card. "How much do I owe you?"

"As long as you promise to call, it's on the house," the bartender said.

"Promise," she said. The bartender nodded at her, and went back to the glasses. "Thanks," she said, standing up and heading toward the door. She turned back to say something, but he was gone.

}o{

Sarah stood there, watching Bryce being laid to rest. At least she assumed Bryce was in the casket. For all she knew it was an empty box.

She saw a tall, lanky man, that she thought might actually be someone who really knew Bryce. He was the only one that looked… uncomfortable. As good as CIA agents were giving the appearance of sadness, they all had trouble believing they were mortal. Even Bryce himself seemed to think he was immortal.

She watched the man, watching the coffin, and wondered what, if anything, did he know about Bryce's real life. As she continued to watch him, he suddenly turned, looking at her. She gave him a nod, and turned back toward the coffin. When the service was over, she wasn't surprised that he had made his way to her.

"Hi, Chuck Bartowski," he said, extending his hand. "I was Bryce's roommate in college."

"I worked with him," Sarah replied. "Sarah Walker."

"Nice to meet you," Chuck said. "I haven't seen him since college."

"Real life, drift apart, that kinda thing?" Sarah asked with a smile. She watched him struggle. She wasn't sure what had happened between them, but it was significant.

"Bryce got me kicked out of college," he said softly.

"Oh my God," Sarah said, covering her mouth. She looked at the casket and then back to Chuck. "So, why are you here?"

"Because, there had to be a reason," Chuck replied with a shrug. "And while I am… still not happy about it, no one is past redemption."

Sarah scoffed a laugh. "Sorry, it's just… there are some people that are."

"No," Chuck said, shaking his head. "At least I don't think so. But maybe I'm naive, and that's what went wrong. I don't know," he said with a shrug. "Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you."

He stood there looking uncomfortable. He was going to ask her out, that's what was coming. She steadied herself for it.

"Is there any chance he ever mentioned me? I hate to ask, I'd just like to know if he ever… I don't know, regretted it."

She stood there, a little surprised. She couldn't tell them how close they had been. "No, Chuck, I'm afraid he never did."

Chuck nodded. "Pleasure to meet you, Sarah Walker, and, I'm sorry for your loss."

"You too, Chuck," she said.

She watched him walk away. He thought no one was past redemption. She shook her head. Someone should scoop him up, cherish and protect him. He was special, and that was why she was never going to let him know just how much she had enjoyed just talking to him.

}o{

It was days later when she finally accepted it. She was a killer, she was a con artist, and there wasn't one redeeming thing about her. She stared at the gun on her table, and picked it up. She checked, making sure there was a round chambered in the pistol. She closed her eyes, and stuck the barrel under her chin, pointing up.

Promise me came through her thoughts.

She sighed, laid the gun down, and grabbed her purse. There, lying on top as soon as she opened it, was the card with the number.

"Oh, what the hell," she muttered. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number.

"Nerd Herd, Chuck Bartowski," she heard on the other end. She stared at the phone, and quickly hung up. Someone had pranked her. But who? How? She stared at the gun.

"I gotta figure this out," she said, taking the magazine out of the gun, and ejecting the round from the chamber.

}o{

She felt like she was becoming a stalker. It started three days prior, after Chuck had answered the phone at the Buy More. She went to the bar, described the man who gave her the card with the phone number, but no one matched that description. She found the security guard, and convinced him to let her see the security tapes of her in the bar that morning. There was footage of her entering and exiting, but nothing on the bartender.

She began to follow Chuck, and compile a dossier on him. She had all of his academic records, had called in favors and had his NICS record run. It had come back clean. He seemed to be exactly what he appeared to be. But if that was so, why then did the bartender tell her to talk to him?

She followed him home, to his sister's apartment, and began surveillance again. So far, nothing, but she would figure this out. At some point, she would figure all of this out.

}o{

For three weeks she watched him, and she found absolutely nothing. The door opened, and he came outside to sit at the fountain. That was nothing new. What was new this time, was that he sat on the edge that faced the entrance way. He stared in her direction, but she knew he couldn't see her. He patted the seat next to him, and her eyes grew wide. She started the car and pulled away. How had he known?

}o{

A few days later, she pulled up in a service van with tinted windows. She still hadn't figured out how he had seen her, and she was beginning to think he hadn't… that she had just freaked out, for no good reason. Her stomach grumbled, and she shook her head. She had forgotten to eat. A knock on her driver's side window almost made her jump through the roof of the car. She looked over, finding a GrubHub delivery driver.

She rolled down her window. Checking the receipt, he said "Delivery to… the pretty blonde lady, courtesy of Chuck Bartowski," as he handed her the bag. She took it, her eyes wide. "He left instructions that if you would like to share this sizzling shrimp, go knock on his bedroom window." She stared at him. "Lady, I think he'll go out with you if you just ask." With that the delivery man walked away. Sarah stared at the bag she had placed in the passenger seat. She rolled up the window, and drove away.

}o{

She hadn't trailed him in a few days, and she began to wonder what she was doing. It had been a little over a month since she had decided it was over, that she needed to end things, but she felt like she had one loose end: Chuck Bartowski. She felt like if she did it now… she would regret it. In fact, if she were absolutely honest, she hadn't even thought about doing it in weeks. The only reason it crossed her mind today was she found the loose bullet, that had been in the chamber, in her purse. She had stared at it, and then at the card.

For the first time since she had thought about ending her life, she found she wasn't ready. She found she had something more to do. She looked over in the passenger seat of her car and saw the bag. He came out of the Buy More, just like clockwork. Starting the car, she left her parking spot, and pulled up beside him. He stared at her. She reached over, grabbed the bag of sizzling shrimp, and held it up.

"I know a place," he said, his eyes soft. She nodded, and he got into the car.

}o{

She sat on a blanket on the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore. He sat quietly beside her. "You sure you won't get fired?"

"Even if Big Mike did, he'd have to rehire me next week to straighten out the damage Jeffster did," he replied with a shrug.

"That sounds like some sort of infection," Sarah said, having no idea what a Jeffster was.

"There is not a strong enough antibiotic to rid us of that plague," he muttered. She snorted at that, and he turned to her, studying her. "So, you've been following me."

"How do you know that?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I kept having a feeling, you know?" She nodded. "I may have… uh… hacked the security cameras around the apartment complex."

"What security cameras?"

"The city's…" he replied, swallowing loudly. "I was a little freaked out at first." She just stared at him, more amazed than ever. "I-I thought…" He laughed, and then shook his head. "That funeral was weird. You were the only 'real' person there."

"I was," she said softly. "Bryce and I worked for… a government agency."

"Spies," Chuck said, excitedly. "OMG! It makes so much sense, all those in attendance…"

"I've told my former boss that those sent didn't grieve convincingly," she muttered. Chuck turned to her with a smile. "Listen, I need to know something… did you really mean what you said to me, about redemption?"

"I did," Chuck replied. "Is that why you were following me?"

"I followed you, because someone gave me your number to call you if…" she trailed off, shocked at how close she had come to admitting the truth to him.

He was watching her, a look of utter amazement on his face. "I used to come here after Bryce… after Stanford," Chuck began. "One night… it hurt really, really bad. It was dark, and I screamed. I looked up at the heavens, and I screamed why am I here, what did I do to deserve this? First my mom, then my dad, then Bryce."

Sarah watched him, the pain on his face, the raw emotion.

"I screamed that unless there was a reason… I was going to end it all." He dropped his head and was silent for a moment. "I had it figured out," he said softly, his head still down.

"A man came into the store the next day, his cell phone broken, and I fixed it for him. It took a few seconds, and he made a call, to his little girl. He hung up, and looked at me. He pulled out a blank card, and asked me to write the phone number down of the Nerd Herd desk, so I did."

Sarah's eyes went wide. She grabbed her bag, dug in it, found the card and pulled it out. She looked at it, and thrust it at him. He glanced at it, and locked eyes with her. He gave a simple head nod.

"He told me that I'd helped someone talk to their little girl. I make a difference, and it must seem like a dead-end job, and I may hate it." Tears were running down Chuck's face. "One day, someone may really need this number. He held the card up and looked me right in the eye, Sarah."

She held his gaze, enthralled with each word. "He said asked me if he could give it to someone who really needed it." He was quiet for a moment. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"I do," she replied. "I shouldn't, but I do." There was silence for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"That's the story you get the next time we meet," Chuck said softly.

"There's not going to be a next time, Chuck," Sarah replied.

"You're not irredeemable. I have no idea what you did, but I know if you were given this number, then…"

"Who gave me that number, Chuck?"

"You know," Chuck replied. Deep down, she did.

}o{

She stared at the woman in front of her. The CIA agent, the Ice Queen. She stared at her for a long time. "It ends today," she said, tears falling down her face. She aimed at her forehead, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger. A bullet hole appeared in the middle of her forehead. She kept pulling the trigger until the gun was empty, and the life size picture of herself didn't have a face left.

She dropped the gun and stared at the picture. A warm hand slid over her hand that had just emptied the magazine. "It's time to begin a new life," he said to her. She nodded. "You made a brave choice, and that's one of many reasons why you're redeemable."

"I'm still not sure, but I'm willing to let you change my mind," she said, turning toward him.

"How long do I have?"

"Oh, I dunno… how long do you need?"

"I could probably think up reasons until I die," Chuck replied with a shrug.

"Okay," she said, scared, raw, but excited. "Chuck, I need to tell you a long story, and if you run away or change your mind, I understand."

"I'm here," he told her. She nodded. He was. And maybe he was right, maybe she was redeemable.

A/N: Thanks for reading. If you find yourself in such a spot, and aren't comfortable talking to me, or anyone, 1-800-273-8255. No matter what anyone else ever tells you, I'm here to say, we need you, you would be missed, and I am begging you to stay. Hate is an awful thing, but there are those here that need you, stay.