Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own nor am I involved with the production of Chuck. On the plus side, I work cheap so if Zach is reading this - call me.

Synopsis: Chuck has been on the run from Casey and Sarah for the last two and a half years. He's tired of running and his car has broken down on the Missouri – Kansas border. He hitches a ride with a long haul trucker and the man's easy nature prompts a troubled Chuck to unburden himself. While talking he contemplates what brought him here, and how running from his fate has made him a different, and not necessarily better, man.

A/N: This story started forming in my mind when I heard the song Topeka by the St Louis band Ludo. I've wanted to do something like this since reading 'Sarah vs Green Bay' by Moe32, and 'If Love Was Enough' by Janeway1390. Both of these are excellent stories about two possible Chuck/Sarah futures and I can't recommend them enough.

A/N: Adult language and situations apply.

Chuck versus Topeka - Chapter One – You Can't Keep a Good Man Down

The smooth brow furrowed in frustration forcing a long wide scar to turn white. Curly locks of brown hair and dark eyes looked back at him in the rearview mirror. With a curse on his lips against old men and Oldsmobiles he tried the key again, and again he was rewarded with a slow sputtering start that rapidly died. If the car was a horse he'd have shot it by now. Swearing loudly he tried to turn the engine over again, this time there was nothing. He cursed again, this time he was cursing himself. He should have known better, it was such a rookie mistake. Never buy a getaway car without having a mechanic check it out first. Hell the old man even told him the catalytic converter needed to be replaced, now it had failed him. 'Probably clogged up since the engine wouldn't even start.' He thought.

A sigh of resignation escaped his lips and he cracks open his door, bracing against the cold, but the wind snaps the door out of his grasp and blows with such force it cuts through him like a knife. Walking to the back of the car he popped open the trunk and reached within to retrieve a large leather garment bag and a cheap looking canvas overnighter. The canvas bag possessed a small, cheap heart shaped lock that secured the zipper. He regards the lock with a smile. He'd learned a long time ago that it wasn't always the size or quality of a lock, it was the fact that it existed. Like so many things in life, just the appearance of something could change the course of events. Heaving his bags out of the trunk he slung them expertly over his shoulder and began to walk down the road. His steps were slow and deliberate, the crunch of road salt and cinders the only sound to break the silence, as a bitter wind blew and the light from a sliver of Moon cast a deathly pall about the land.

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The big rig roared down the deserted stretch of road highway. It was two in the morning and the only thing he'd seen in the past twenty minutes was an abandoned car nearly fifteen miles back. The radio was playing one of is favorite songs by Mojo Nixon and he was singing along tunelessly, the occasional howl of a large yellow lab his only accompaniment.

Well I'm a squishin' armadilla's out on innerstate ten,

Headin' down to Houston once again,

When I see something' shootin' right across the sky...

"Holy shit Elmer! Look what we got here." A large scarred hand reaches for the radio and turns down Mojo until his voice is just a whisper. A tall lanky figure was walking the shoulder, head bowed, two bags slung across his shoulder. "We better see if this fella needs a ride, ain't no night to be out walking that's for sure." He pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and the big truck eased onto the shoulder some hundred feet in front of the lonely figure. The Driver looked in his side mirror, the traveler showed no signs of running to catch the rig, but he was definitely heading for the cab. "Hmm, seems we got us a live one here Elmer."

The seconds ticked by until the passenger door to the big rig finally wrenched open. First thing to appear was a leather gloved hand followed by a mop of curly brown hair. The hair and the bag belonged to a young man in his late twenties. There was something about him, a friendly open face, a half grin that seemed to say 'hello', but his eyes were darting, tired, and wary. 'He's a runner,' Billie thought. 'I always seem to get runners and freaks.'

"Please to meet ya'," the Driver extended a hand. "Name's William Rogers, but most folks call me Billie." The young man seemed to hesitate as his eyes glazed over for a second, then took the offered hand and gave him a very firm handshake. "An' this here's my best friend Elmer," the golden lab's tongue lolled out it's mouth and gave the young man a mighty lick and Billie smiled in approval as the young man rubbed and nuzzled his head in return. "So tell me young man, where you headed?"

"Denver."

"I can take you as far as Topeka, that okay?" It was a rhetorical question, no one wanted to walk on a cold Missouri winter's night with the February winds sweeping across the plains.

"Sounds good to me."

He pulled the big rig back onto the road, and as he got up to speed he evaluated the young man again. He hadn't given his name and his voice was tired, almost beaten. Billie had been driving for over forty years, and he'd learned to read people pretty good, but this young man was an enigma. He seemed to want to keep to himself, but the Billie didn't pick up hitchers for nothing, he wanted the company.

"So tell me young man," Billie gave him a sidelong glance. "You gotta name?"

"Charlie... I mean Chuck," the young man had hesitated.

"Well which is it, Charlie or Chuck?" Billie smiled back, but noticed the young man's face had gone cold.

"Chuck. It's my name, I-I just haven't heard it in a while."

"Sorry about that, Chuck. I didn't know."

"That's okay, no one is supposed to." Chuck was quiet, almost wistful.

"So what are you running from Chuck?"

"Why?"

"Why what? Why do I want to know? Because it's another two and a half hours from here to Topeka and I'm looking for some conversation." Billie gave him toothy grin.

"No, I mean why do you think I'm running away?"

"Son, I've been driving rigs like this for longer than I can remember, and in that time I've picked up a thousand folks just like you. After a while you can just tell."

"I see."

"Shit, you sure aren't much for talking are you?"

"Sorry." The young man hesitated, "I'm just wondering what to tell you."

"Why not try the truth?"

"I don't think you'd believe me."

"Try me."

Why not he thought? It's not like anyone Billie tells is going to believe him - he's a semi-retired small time hood who'd been employed by the Lombardi family as a fixer and did ten years in the Potosi Correctional Center. Even if someone does believe him, he'll be long gone. After two and a half years running from everything he knew, the urge to tell someone the truth, the whole unvarnished truth for once, it was like a drug. Like an alcoholic being offered a drink. He hesitated, smiling at the old man he shook his head.

"It's bad then?" Billie was interested now. "Gambling debts? The mob? A woman?"

"Sarah." The name escaped his lips before he knew what happened.

The old man smiled, the boy had girl problems and he knew girl problems. "Figures, It's always a woman. So who's this Sarah?"

"I don't really know," He grinned, but it was devoid of warmth or humor. "See, that's part of the problem."

"Okay, then let's start at the beginning." Billie's grin had faded, the boy was being obstinate. Still Billie could out stubborn a rock, so he tried again this time twice as friendly. "Tell me about this Sarah you don't really know." Billie tried to be jovial.

His face softened, "Sarah. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Not just beautiful, she's perfect. She's smart and funny, strong, fearless, and she has a generous heart even if she doesn't always know it."

"Sounds like you got it bad there Chuck, so what's the problem? She already got a husband."

"No, its more an occupational hazard. See her job..." Chuck gave him a blank look. "Her job is to kill me."

He started to laugh, but the young man's face was dearly serious. "Maybe you should go back and tell me how this all happened."

Chuck looked at Billie, he was a large man with big beefy hands covered in a crisscross of scars, he had a nose that had been broken numerous times and reset badly at least once, a pockmarked face, and a sparse grizzled beard. The overall visage was one of a man who'd lived a rough life and come through the other side, a man not to be fucked with. Chuck knew from the Intersect that he'd done hard time, but not recently. It didn't matter, he wasn't really afraid of the older man even now. He had faced down hard characters before, heck in the last two years he'd dealt with men bigger and tougher than Billie and they'd wanted to kill him. In the end it was his eyes that finally convinced him to talk.

Something in Billie's eyes said the old man had experienced a world of hurt and pain, but still there was a twinkle of laughter in them. He was tired, tired of running, tired of lying, he just wanted to tell it all to someone, and these eyes were the eyes of a man who would understand.

"I was working at this Buy More and she came in to get her phone fixed, but that wasn't the real reason she was there..."

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Billie laughed again, another genuine from the gut belly laugh, and just like the ones before with each laugh his shoulders would jump up and down and his head would shake like a bobble doll's. He looked over at Chuck with tears in his eyes that were wiped away by the back of a beefy hand.

"Oh my damn Chuck, you don't half tell some whoppers do ya?!" Billie snorted as he tried to regain control of his breathing. "I gotta say this is the best story anyone's ever told me, sure as shit beats the normal 'lost my house, lost my car, my old lady's out to get me' crap I'm used to hearing."

"Glad you like it Billie" Chuck's voice was light, his face relaxed, but there was a glint in his eyes. "I guess it's funny if you aren't the one living it at the time."

"Ahh, shoot Chuck, it has to be a joke. I mean how do you expect a guy to believe you when you tell 'em that the two biggest spy agencies in the world jammed all their secrets into one computer and you got it stuck in your head?"

"Well when you put it like that" he chuckled quietly, "it does seem a bit far fetched."

"Yeah, but I ain't complaining mind you. It's one helluva story so far. I really like that bit about saving the world from nuclear war by playing video games while listening to that Rush band." He wiped a tear from his eye, "that one was a hoot."

"Yeah. I remember standing there with Sarah when they bounced the satellite off the atmosphere, she said I should make a wish. I should have wished for something different."

"What did you wish for? More money? A bigger dick?" Billie started laughing at his crude joke.

"No, I just wished I could spend every day of my life with her."

"I thought you said she was trying to kill you?"

"She is, but that doesn't mean I don't love her." Chuck smiled at Billie, "It's complicated."

Billie shook his head at Chuck, poor sap had it bad. "So did you ever get her?"

"I had her, for a while anyway..." Chuck's eyes seemed to lose focus as he stared out the window.

Billie looked again at the young man, he was funny, smart, told one helluva story and as crazy as a loon. He felt absentmindedly at the .38 revolver in his pocket, the comfortable weight of the snub nosed gun gave Billie some added reassurance. He was older than the kid, close to twice his age in fact, but he could still handle himself. But crazies? They were tough nuts to crack even if you were twice as strong and had a few years experience as a bare-knuckle fighter. He looked again at his now silent passenger, staring aimlessly out the window at the moonlight illuminated snowscape. 'Wonder what crazy thoughts he's thinking now?'

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He curled his fingers loosely and brushed away the stray hairs that had fallen across her face. Then gently as he watched her eyelids for any sign of movement he allowed his fingertips to traced the outline of her lips. His caress gentle, his touch so delicate that she never stirred. He pulled his hand from her face and let his eyes follow the waves of golden hair that framed her face and cascaded down to her shoulders. Every contour of her body was a work of art, the slender turn of her neck, the rounded cusp of her chin, the full sensual lips, cheeks so perfectly defined that only a master could have crafted them and beneath those flawless eyelids and delicate lashes were the two most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. How much time he'd passed simply watching this flawless beauty sleep he couldn't say, but he wouldn't have given up a second of it for anything in the world unless it meant more time spent with her, the woman who held his heart.

"Mmm, Chuck?" Sarah turned to see him laying next to her, head propped up on one elbow, eyes staring intently at her. "How long have you been awake baby?"

"I never went to sleep." He beamed a smile at her, his fingers brush against her cheek and she smiled.

"You must be exhausted. Why didn't you get any sleep?" Sarah caught his hand with hers and turned to kiss his palm.

"Not tired, besides" he leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips, "I love watching you sleep, and I think that's a much better use of my time."

"Mmm, not quite mister." Sarah moved a hand down Chuck's stomach and then lower until he began to squirm. "I can think of much more productive things for you to do."

Chuck's eyes rolled back in his head as Sarah's delicate touch brought him to full arousal. Unable to take her teasing anymore he grabbed her shoulders and rolled on top of her but Sarah's instincts kicked in and he soon found himself pinned beneath her weight. Sarah straddled him, one hand on his chest the other guiding him into her until they were fully joined. Their rhythm was disjointed at first, Chuck bucked under her like a stallion trying to throw its rider but Sarah squeezed her thighs together gaining better purchase and within a few thrusts the two were moving as one. Their bodies pitched to and fro, and Sarah rode atop Chuck with reckless abandon until her stamina finally failed her. Chuck felt Sarah begin to shake, her nails dug into his shoulders and she fell forward burying her face in his chest where she loosed a primal scream of pleasure. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body until she could barely contain herself. She gasped for breath as Chuck's body stiffened and then spasmed, his breathing so ragged it frightened her. They collapsed together, utterly spent. A delicious shiver ran down her spine as the cool air touched her glowing skin and the smell of musk and sweat filled the room. Chuck's hand brushed aside the bangs that had become plastered to her face by their exertions, and he kissed her forehead. Then as if inspired by what he saw he cupped her chin and pulled her face to his, slowly raining kisses upon her until they fell back exhausted.

"Oh God Chuck, I think you broke me that time, I can't feel my legs." Sarah let out a little giggle, her fingers tracing a lazy figure eight on his chest.

"S'okay Sarah, I can still feel them."

Chuck gave her ass a hard pinch and as she yelped in surprise he covered her mouth with his own, initiating a long passionate kiss that they luxuriate in for several minutes. When they finally separate his head lay next to hers on the pillow, and he stares into her eyes, so blue and alive he expects them to consume him. Wordlessly Sarah slowly caresses his face, running her fingers through his silky brown locks and brushing the dampened curls from his forehead. With a sigh he settles in to her, their bodies seem to melt together, arms wrapped around one another's waists and, and finally his head resting on her shoulder, her lips on his brow, he falls into a deep and peaceful sleep.

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He moved quietly about the room collecting his things, praying Sarah wouldn't wake up. He'd slipped 10mg of Ativan into her tea less than an hour ago and she'd fallen into a deep sleep within minutes. He sighed at that thought, they'd barely enough time to get in one last good kiss and exchange 'I love yous' before the drugs knocked her out. The last ten days had been incredible but they'd changed him more than he cared to say. Before this he thought he loved her, and he was prepared to spend his last days with her until the termination order came down. He was an idiot to think he knew what it was to love this woman then. Now that he'd shared a bed with her, now that they'd shared even more intimate things than simple flesh, talking about their hopes and dreams, her past and their future, now he knew what love was.

So completely did he love her now he couldn't bare to think of what would happen to her if she got the order. He no longer feared for his own life, he would die eventually – Fulcrum, the CIA, the NSA, some agency would get him in the end, but not Sarah. He knew she lived for her job, he also knew she loved him. He didn't know who would win out, he didn't want to know and he didn't want her to be forced to choose. If she chose the CIA he would still love her, he would die with his last breath being a protestation of love and a command that she forgive herself for doing her duty. But he knew she would hate herself, he knew she would be destroyed if that happened. It was no better if she refused the order, she'd be reassigned and someone else would kill him, and if she tried to protect him she would die too. No, this was the only way. He kissed her gently on the forehead, then pausing his lips met hers briefly and he felt her kiss him back, if only for a second. A whispered 'I love you' in her ear, and he laid three envelopes on her nightstand. Chuck turned out the lights and as he pulled the door closed behind him he felt his heart break into a thousand pieces.

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Billie glanced over at the kid and snorted. He'd been staring out the window now for twenty minutes and a Kansas road at 1AM isn't exactly the most interesting stretch of highway to drive down. He was about to say something when the lights came on behind his rig. Red and Blue flashing lights and the accompanying siren were enough to jar the kid out of his daydream.

"Looks like we've got company Chuck. Now'd be the time you want to tell me if you're in some sorta trouble."

"Just what I've already told you about, if they really are the police there shouldn't be any problems."

"What do you mean if?" Billie pulled the big rig over to the shoulder, "Who else would they be? Listen, you keep that crazy talk to yourself and let me handle this."

Chuck shifted and his hands disappeared inside his coat. Billie was suddenly nervous and again felt his pocket for the comforting weight of the .38. As the two state troopers walked up to the cab of the truck Chuck went deadly still, as if he were a statue. Billie opened the door to turn and look down at the Trooper, his log books in hand ready to protest that everything was in order.

"How do Officer. Listen I've got my logs right here, and I know I was going the limit, so what seems to be the problem?"

"Sir, would you mind stepping down so we can take a look inside? We're searching for a fugitive."

"Fugitive? None of them around here, but I picked up a hitcher a ways back."

"His car didn't break down on the Missouri side of the line by any chance?"

"Don't know, you'll have to ask him yourself." With that Billie slid out of the truck to make room for the Trooper to look inside.

"I don't see anyone." The Trooper leaned out of the driver's side door and shouted to his partner, "Cassidy, did he come your way?"

"No Frank, no activity on this side and the doors still locked."

"Okay, stay there, I'm going in." The Trooper climbed into the opening of the cab cautiously.

"Hey now Mister, my dog Elmer is in there and he won't hurt no one. He's as gentle as a lamb, so don't shoot 'em please." Billie backed away when the Trooper turned on him with his gun drawn and motioned for him to shut up.

"Okay Cassidy, no one in the front of the cab, I'm going to unlock your door. When I do I want you to cover me while I check the sleeper."

Billie heard the automatic door lock release followed by a soft airy thud, then two more in rapid succession. He was about to ask if everything was alright when the Trooper's body jumped into the cab as if he was being devoured by a B-movie monster. He walked slowly toward the open door and took a cautious step up only to be surprised by the sight of a silenced pistol in his face.

"Get back down Billie." Chuck leaned out of the cab, his voice was pleasant but his eyes had gone cold and his face was as hard as chiseled stone.

"N-now don't do nothin' stupid Chuck." He backed down onto the pavement and stepped away from the opening.

"Not much chance of that Billie, now let's walk around to the other side of the cab. Okay?" Chuck slid out of the cab and faced the older man.

"You killed them didncha? Killed them two cops." Billie continued to back away as Chuck advanced.

"No, I didn't kill two cops Billie. They were Fulcrum." Chuck motioned for him to keep going.

"Fulcrum? That make believe spy outfit you were talking about?" disbelief and shock make Billie bolder than he's been since the police pulled them over. "You're crazy Chuck, ain't no such thing as Fulcrum. You just killed two cops."

"William Anthony Rogers, aka Billie Rogers, aka Billie Preston, aka Tony the Hook. Former middle weight boxer turned bare-knuckled brawler, employed by the Lombardi family as a fixer and numbers runner. Charged with seven counts of assault and battery, three counts of assault with a deadly weapon, and three counts of extortion, you served ten years of a twenty two year sentence at Potosi Correctional Center." Chuck gave Billie a mirthless grin. "How am I doing so far?"

"How'd you know all that stuff." Billie stood bathed in the big rig's headlights.

"You know how, I already told you." Chuck motioned with the pistol again, and followed Billie around to the other side of the cab.

"So you weren't lying?" disbelief was wrote large in the big man's face.

"Nope, I was serious. Okay, now reach in your pocket and hand me your gun...carefully. Thumb and forefinger Billie, we don't want anyone getting accidentally killed now do we?"

With a grimace Billie reached into his right coat pocket and pulled out a snub-nosed .38 revolver holding it between two fingers he held it out for Chuck to take. "How'd you know I had a gun?"

"Thanks." Chuck took the pistol and tucked it inside his jacket. "You kept checking your pocket to make sure it was still there, I guess I made you a litte nervous." Chuck smiled understandably. "Now lets get those dead Fulcrum agents out of your truck, and hurry – we've only got a few minutes before someone comes by and sees us."

"What if someone already saw us, I mean you?" Billie grabbed the first Fulcrum Agent by the back of his jacket and pulled him out of the cab letting the body fall with a sickening thud to the shoulder.

"Not much of a chance. Didn't you notice that there was no traffic at all for almost five minutes until that cruiser came up on us?" Chuck's tone was reproachful. "Fulcrum either staged an accident or found some way to stop or divert traffic. It won't last long, when these guys don't report back in they'll send in a cleaner team to take care of the mess."

"So what do we do now?" The second Fulcrum Agent's body rolled out of the cab of the truck, and Billie jumped down next to him. Chuck motioned for him to walk around him toward the rear.

"I need you to get in the police cruiser, turn off the lights and drive it off the road right here." He motioned toward the embankment just a few feet away. "We'll dump these guys and be on our way in a minute."

"Then what happens to me?" his voice is cracking, it's obvious the big man is shaking now.

"You drop me off in Topeka." Chuck's face softens.

"That's it? You're not going to kill me?" confused Billie stops backing toward the cruiser and just looks at Chuck.

"Why would I kill you? Are you going to try and kill me or torture me for the information in my head?"

"No"

"Then we're good. Now move the cruiser Billie, please?"

"I ain't never picking up a hitcher again" Billie mutters under his breath as he runs toward the cruiser. "Sumbitch can freeze to death next time."

Two minutes later they were on the road again, Chuck examines a pistol he'd removed from one of the dead Fulcrum agents, checks the magazine and two spares that he'd salvaged and apparently satisfied he tucks them inside his jacket. Rolling down the window he tosses his silenced pistol out into a snow covered field as they drive past. Rolling up the window he catches Billie staring at him.

"If we get stopped by real cops I don't want a weapon that can be traced to two dead bodies." Chuck gave him a half hearted grinned, "Even if they were Fulcrum, it's hard to explain."

"Why don't you just tell 'em what you told me?"

"Did you forget something Billie? The CIA and NSA want me dead, tell the police I might as well walk into Langley and give Beckman kiss on the lips."

"Yeah, I guess." Billie didn't say anything for a long time until some realization struck him. "So your Sarah really is out to kill you?"

"It's her job." Chuck's eyes just fall to his hands as he stares at them intently.

"And she's really as good as you say? Better than you?"

"Definitely better than me Billie, she's amazing." His voice becomes wistful for just a second.

"Then she must still be in love with you Chuck, because if she weren't she'd have got you by now." Billie smiles at him.

Chuck thought about what Billie said and sighs. If only it that were true, but he knows she's been on his heels since he first ran, dumb luck and divine providence have gotten him this far, and he feels it's all but run out now. They approach a Holiday Inn Express just outside a small municipal airport on the outskirts of Topeka. Chuck motions for Billie to pull into the parking lot.

"This'll do Billie. I'm sorry for the trouble but I appreciate the chance to talk to someone about it, and thanks for the ride." Chuck takes the .38 out of his jacket and with one hand flips open the cylinder and dumps the bullets on the floor of the cab. He tosses the gun to Billie and then hands him a small wad of cash. "that's for gas and to get the upholstery cleaned."

"There must be two thousand dollars here, I can't take this much."

"Believe me Billie, I can afford it. Thanks again for the ride and remember to forget me."

"Shit, who'd believe me anyhow." The old man waved him off. "Take care Chuck, good luck with Sarah."

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Hot water rand over his face, pushing the shampoo out of his eyes and he let out a small sob as he tried to choke back the tears of frustration and shame he felt. 'Two and a half years, thirty fucking months of this shit!' he thinks, 'I can't do this anymore.' He lets out a few more tears before stepping out of the shower and stepping into a robe. He sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his head down with a towel and stops suddenly to contemplate his hands. How much blood has he spilled? How many lives has he ended just to save his own? He could justify it, Fulcrum, Triumvirate, SWORD, gang bangers. drug dealers, even a few NSA agents. There was that time in Moab when a Fulcrum cleaner team captured him and were preparing to gun down John and Sarah. They thought he was harmless, after all he was just an untrained analyst who was wanted because of his connection to Bryce Larkin. The first two never even knew it when he slipped a knife in their backs between the third and fourth ribs, killing them almost instantly. The other two had been messier. He escaped there just a few minutes ahead of his friends, the very friends who were there to kill him. God he hated this shit.

Two more tonight, a total of thirty seven men dead by his hands. And to think he used to get nauseous when he saw someone cut themselves. Hell, it only took slitting a few throats for him to get over that fear. He sighed and reached into his bag and pulled out a twelve year old bottle of Balvenie Doublewood and a cut glass tumbler. Fishing some ice out of the bucket it drops it into the tumbler and adds a generous portion of the single malt scotch. He takes the half the glass in one sip, tops it off and then settles in with the remote. Clicking on the news, searching for any information that might indicate his activity. The reporter mentions a chemical spill that closed down I-70 for two hours but that's it. Then he sees him, standing in the background with a bunch of suits from DHS, he can't believe it.

"John Casey, you old sonofabitch." Chuck smiles as the camera pans over the crowd of Washington suits and he gets a better look at his old friend. Casey's put on a few pounds but still looks fighting fit, only with a few lines in his face that weren't there before. "Sorry about those wrinkles John, I know how you hate to leave a job undone. You'll forgive me if I don't stick my neck in the noose right away though?"

He smiles now, if John's on his trail that means Sarah can't be far behind. Thirty months on the run from the two best agents in the NSA and CIA and it all ends in Topeka. Chuck starts to laugh, a genuine from the gut belly laugh as the tension and fear of two and a half years pours out of him. He drains the glass and reaches for the bottle to have another drink. They say you can't keep a good man down, but Chuck Bartowski hasn't thought of himself as a good man in a long, long time. He wonders what that means for him?

A/N: Feedback is always welcome.