A/N: Well faithful readers, here it is (finally)! This is the epilogue, the final wrap up of No One Here to Save Me. I apologize a million times over for taking so long to get this and other chapters up! I appreciate all you awesome people who stuck with me and continued reviewing and pushing me to finish. Couldn't (and probably wouldn't) have done it without you guys!

On another note, this story is nowhere near close to canon anymore. LOL. But I suppose that's the point of FanFiction anyway. I've decided that Sarah is stupid on the show, so I don't know how good the Chuck/Sarah scenes are...but it's what I've got. :)

I did not run this by my wonderful beta, so all mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: The song is "Where the Story Ends" by The Fray, an absolutely amazing song. I recommend it highly. I do not own it, just borrowing it for the purposes of this story. I also do not own any of the Chuck characters. Sadly that's all NBC.

Thanks once again for sticking with me and this story. Hopefully this ending does it a justice.

Enjoy!

Trying not to lose my head
But I have never been this scared before
Tell you what I'll do instead
Lay my body down on the floor
To forget what I've done
Silhouette 'til the good lord come

Chuck slowly awoke to the sound of someone else's breathing. His heart momentarily stopped as his brain raced to recall his location. Had he been rescued from the basement? Or was that scenario some horrible trick his mind played on him while he slept? He kept his breathing even and his eyes closed so as not to alert the person he was conscious. He focused instead on things he could hear and smell: trickling water…a fountain? Like the one in the courtyard outside his bedroom window maybe? There were soft sounds of a conversation coming from what seemed like a long ways away. On his next even intake of air he focused on scents…fresh laundry and…bacon maybe? He decided to risk it.

Opening his eyes turned out to be a mistake. Hovering beside his bed was a man in a smooth white mask.

Chuck let out a decidedly un-manly yelp and leapt out from under his covers, scrambling across his bed and tumbling limbs-over-head to the floor.

The laugh that followed was not sinister however.

The man crossed the room, standing above Chuck as he lifted the mask.

"Morgan! Geez you scared the crap out of me!" Chuck tried to control his breathing and the horrible throbbing in his shoulder.

"Sorry Chuckster," Morgan began reaching out a hand to help Chuck off the floor, "I didn't know you were so afraid of masked men." He laughed again. Chuck smiled an uneasy smile and let out an unconvincing laugh.

"Yeah, well…I'm feeling a little off my game these days," he replied, massaging the slowly healing gunshot wound that was frighteningly close to his heart. Luckily his best friend always seemed to be more wrapped up in whatever was going on inside his mind than what Chuck was dealing with. "So what's up buddy? Any special reason you decided to scare the living daylights out of me this morning?" Chuck straightened out his t-shirt and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Halloween," was Morgan's response.

Chuck's face contorted in confusion.

"Morgan, it's September. You can't honestly be thinking about Halloween costumes already!"

"Well, since the untimely demise of our beloved Sandworm costume—"

"May he rest in peace," Chuck interjected solemnly.

"Right, well I just figured we needed an awesome new team costume to keep up tradition."

Chuck narrowed his eyes.

"And so you chose…?" he gestured to the mask.

"Freddy and Jason!" Morgan exclaimed, holding the mask to his face. Chuck shuddered and swiped at Morgan's arm.

"I hate to break this to you buddy, because I can see you put a lot of thought into this, but that was a hockey goalie's mask. Not…whatever this is," he tapped the mask with his knuckles. Morgan looked at the mask then back at Chuck.

"Right…well this was cheaper," Morgan responded with slightly less enthusiasm.

"Maybe you should go back to the drawing board on this one," Chuck said, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder and guiding him toward his "Morgan Door".

"Sure, sure, crush my idea, kick me out and make me do all the work on our joint costume. That seems fair," he shot sarcastically at Chuck.

"Sorry buddy, but I've still got 'recuperating' as the only thing on the agenda for the next week and a half, so you're just going to have to work it out," Chuck patted Morgan's shoulder before releasing his friend to climb out the window.

"Fine. But don't be surprised if I choose Jeff or Lester to be my number two this year," Morgan pouted before climbing out.

"Alrighty," Chuck responded, shutting the panes behind Morgan, locking them and pulling the curtains. Shuffling back over to his bed, Chuck flopped face first onto the sheets. His life could be exhausting at unexpected times. But what was really stressing him out was the unfinished business on his plate.

Unfinished business pertaining to a ring and a certain woman.

He had some serious work to do.

All we know is distance
We're close and then we run
Kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one

Trying not to lose your own
Boxing up everything, you've got
All you ever knew of home
You're scared, scared to see
Your mother there in the door
You wonder where did the years go

Two hours and fifteen phone calls later, Chuck had managed to secure a private room in a quaint restaurant that happened to be Sarah's favorite. At seven that evening, Chuck and Sarah met for a romantic candlelit dinner, talking easily about everything and nothing and simply enjoying each other's company.

"Chuck," Sarah said seriously during a lull in their conversation. Chuck looked up from his pasta. "I need to discuss something with you. Something important."

Chuck felt his stomach drop. No, this can't be happening, she can't-

"I've decided to take a new job," she said calmly, avoiding his disbelieving gaze. Chuck's heart pounded in his chest. No, no, no, no, no- "Here. In Los Angeles. Permanently." She finally looked up, grinning. Chuck's head was spinning as he processed that information.

"You…what?" he responded. She laughed lightly at his confusion.

"I broke protocol, and disobeyed a direct order by coming to find you. If I even had a job with the CIA it certainly wouldn't be worthwhile," she clarified. "The FBI field office here was looking for a new counter-terrorism agent and I happen to have the qualifications. It's a desk job, but I think that's what I need at this point."

He still looked dumbfounded and Sarah laughed again, reaching across the table for his hand.

"So what do you think?"

Chuck dropped her hand and stood up from the table abruptly. Sarah's face fell.

"I thought you'd be happy-" she began. Chuck held up a hand to stop her then moved to her side of the table. Dropping to one knee, he pulled out a somewhat battered ring box and opened it.

"Agent Sarah Walker, will you marry me?" he asked simply, already knowing her answer.

All we know is distance
We're close and then we run
Kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one

But this is how the story ends
Or have we just begun
To kiss away the difference?
I know you hate this one

Far on the outskirts of the city, Casey stepped out of his SUV. Striding around the front of the vehicle, he patted his pocket for the object he was to deliver. Approaching the lone figure in the desert, he called out.

"General." The woman turned ever so slightly to glance at her subordinate.

"Major Casey," she gave him a once over as he came to a stop beside her. "I can't say it's a pleasure to see you, but nonetheless, here we are."

Casey merely grunted in response. He couldn't say he was pleased to see the general either. The circumstances were unfortunate at best.

"I've been thinking, and although you disobeyed a direct order, I've decided to let you off with time already served. A continuing sentence, if you will." Confusion flashed across Casey's features.

"Forgive me general, but what do you mean?"

"You've hated Project Bartowski from day one, I figure there couldn't be a harsher punishment for you than permanence. You are officially assigned to protection of the Intersect from now until resignation, retirement, or death. Whichever comes first." She handed him papers with the NSA's official seal, essentially his career's death sentence. He simply accepted them silently and turned to face the scene before him.

"Understood general," he said after a few moments, keeping his face neutral.

"Good," she responded. "Do you have the bullet?"

Casey retrieved the bagged item from his pocket and dropped it into the general's outstretched hand without a word.

"Thank you Major," she said before pulling out a radio. "Team leader, the final item has been received, proceed with cleanup over."

"Roger general, cleanup commencing upon retrieval of item over," a voice crackled over the radio. Casey looked at the general, confused. But before anything could be said, a man in a jeep pulled up in front of the pair. The general handed the bagged bullet over to the driver without saying anything and the driver sped off.

"What's going on?" Casey finally asked, not concerning himself with formalities. He'd already received a severe punishment. Things couldn't get much worse.

"We are cleaning up this mess," she replied. "You're dismissed Major Casey." Casey stared at the general a moment longer, grunted, headed back to his SUV, and drove back towards civilization.

"Ready for detonation General Beckman, confirming orders over," the radio crackled.

"You have a go team leader over," Beckman replied mechanically.

"Roger that, commencing detonation in T minus 10 seconds over."

Beckman watched silently, hands tucked in her jacket pockets as the original Intersect compound rocked with explosions of varying degrees. Soon the entire compound was engulfed in flames, destroying any and all evidence of a mission gone wrong.

"Team leader, remain at the compound to oversee and ensure completion of cleaning, then return to base over."

"Roger that general, over and out."

The general's car pulled up behind her and she turned away from the burning remains of the building, immediately eradicating this memory from her mind.

The violins make no sound
And I begin to feel the ground

All we know is distance
We're close and then we run
Kiss away the difference
I know you hate this one

But this is where the story ends
Or have we just begun
To kiss away the difference?
I know you hate this one

Like it? Love it? Hate it? Last chance to speak your mind!