Coming Home

By MySoapBox

Between seasons two and three. AU after season two.

In honor of the end of a great season three of Chuck, I thought I'd post my entry from the Who Are You Compilation that was hosted by fAted lOve last fall.

Sarah felt the weight of the knife in her hand. She examined the blade, drawing the edge across her thumb nail. Unsatisfied, she went to the leather strop (she had brought it from her apartment for this exact purpose), and pulled the blade across the fine abrasive surface over and over, falling into a familiar rhythm. Testing the edge once more with the tip of her thumb, she returned to the counter.

With skill Morgan would envy, she let the knife fly, slicing easily through tender flesh. One after another, she decimated her victims; panting slightly, her hands dripping red, she surveyed her work. She had sliced more tomatoes than the Subway would use for a week. At least she felt better. Something about knives just put her mind at ease.

The bell on the door clanked and Sarah looked up in anticipation. To her disappointment Jeff and Lester walked in. Since she had opened the Subway in place of the Orange Orange last month, they had been her most regular customers.

"Hey, Beautiful," Lester said. "We are two hungry men…if you know what I mean."

Sarah refrained from an eye roll and settled on a neutral smile. "What can I get you?"

"Five," Jeff sang and held up his spread out fingers, "five dollar footlong."

Lester silenced his performing friend with an elbow to the ribs. "Jeff here would be happy with a footlong. They are delicious." Lester leaned up against the counter and licked his lips. "What about you Sarah? Chuck's been gone for a long time; are you hungry for a footlong?" He raised his eyebrows and parted his lips, what Sarah assumed, must have been intended as a sensual expression.

Without losing eye contact with Lester, Sarah spun a large knife from under the counter and slammed it point down into the cutting board in front of Lester's face. In a sweet voice she said, "No, Lester, this little footlong is all I need while Chuck is away."

"Oh!" Lester squeaked. "I mean…"

"That's a nice knife," Jeff supplied. "I bet it's good at cutting…and stuff."

"Wow, look at the time," Lester said, pulling Jeff towards the door by the arm. "We've got to go,"

"But what about my footlong?" Jeff whined.

"Just forget about your footlong," Lester grumbled, "It only gets you into trouble."

The door bell clanged as they left the store.

Sarah stared at the door long after they were gone.

Chuck looked anxiously out the window of the car. He was excited to finally be seeing landmarks he recognized: the bowling alley where the Burbank Buymore team won the corporate title, the marina where he had blown up Casey's Crown Vic, the hotel where he had diffused his first bomb.

In a lot of ways it felt like coming home from summer camp. He was glad because he would be back with people he loved. He was nervous because he didn't know how he would fit in with those people after all that had happened.

As soon as team Bartowski had reported to the General about the upload of the New Intersect, Chuck had been immediately whisked away to Camp Peary for super spy training. In three months on base, he had learned to use firearms, munitions and hand to hand combat. He had learned the physiological aspects of espionage, deception and seduction. The trainer there had deemed his performance "barely satisfactory" but Chuck didn't agree; he thought he had done darn well for a nerd from Burbank.

In addition to the basic CIA stuff Chuck work on mastering the New Intersect. His physical responses to flashes were varied and often unexpected. Even after three months, he felt as if he was just barely getting them under control; but the government must have thought he had control enough; they were letting him go. They wouldn't let him go back to Casey and Sarah if they thought he was still dangerous – would they?

"Sir?" he heard the driver say. He was a large burly man, whose neck was the size of Chuck's head.

"You know you don't have to call me sir. You can just call me Ch..I mean, Agent Carmichael, or just…agent…agent would be fine."

"Sir," the driver repeated, "would you please stop hitting my seat."

Chuck looked down at his foot bobbing up and down against the back of the driver's seat. He uncrossed his legs and tried to sit up straighter. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly.

Casey strode out the door, relieved to have a small break from Buymoria hell. What was the general thinking sending him back to the Buy More? Didn't she know that a person would go crazy in that place? If it weren't for the release of the new Grill Master 500 to distract him, Casey might have been forced to slit Emmett's throat with the blunt edge of his own plastic name badge. The mental image made one corner of Casey's mouth turn up – almost a smile.

He pushed through the door of the Subway and the bell clanked. Sarah looked up from behind the counter; a small expression of disappointment crossed her face.

"So sorry, I'm not your lover-boy," Casey said.

Sarah ignored him and turned away. He heard the familiar quick tap, tap, tap of her knife against the wooden board. She hadn't exactly been the most pleasant person to be around since Chuck left for 'The Farm'. At first she was always angry, then sad, then depressed, and now anxious. He would have slipped some Paxil in her coffee, if he'd thought it would help.

Casey walked past the counter and toward the back room entrance to the Castle. He was punching in his access code when the chopping noise stopped and he heard her ask, "So, have you heard anything or not?"

Casey leaned in to the control panel for the retina scan. "You were at the briefing. I know the same as you." The door clicked, Casey pulled the heavy door open; he turned to Sarah, "Don't worry, Chuck will be back soon and then you can pick up playing footsie right where you left off."

Finding only fleeting pleasure in his little dig, and knowing better then to hang around Sarah when she had a knife in her hand, Casey entered Castle and took the metal stairs down by twos. Secretly, he didn't blame Sarah for missing the little twerp; he missed him too. At the bottom of the stairs he looked at the empty control room and realized he didn't have anything to do. The monitors blinked silently. You better get home soon, Chuck, he thought, or Sarah is going to go crazy and I'm going to die of boredom.

Chuck wiped his sweaty palms across his black wool slacks. They were getting closer to home now, and he couldn't get Sarah out of his mind. When he first told her he had uploaded the New Intersect, she was shocked. But then her face twisted into this look: It wasn't anger, like he expected; it was more like – betrayal. That's the best way he could describe it. She was almost free from him, free from serving yogurt, hanging out with his geeky friends and having to hold his hand every minute, and he had stolen that freedom from her when he had uploaded the New Intersect.

At least she was free of one thing. Neither she nor Casey would have to hold his hand any more. The hard bulge of his concealed handgun was a constant reminder that he was an agent now; maybe not the fastest, or the best, but an agent non-the-less.

He looked at his suit coat, draped across the seat next to him, topped by his dark sun glasses. He had everything he needed to be a spy. Maybe now he could be the kind of man Sarah had always wanted.

The lunch rush was over and Sarah brushed a stray hair out of her face. She glanced up at the clock; Chuck should arrive any time now.

As she began restocking the fixings from the piles of chopped vegetables in the refrigerator, she tried to get her anxiousness under control. Whatever she thought she and Chuck had, had been thrown away when he uploaded the New Intersect. Now it had to be all business, for his sake and for hers.

For the past several weeks she had tried to silence the little voice in her head that told her that Chuck was an employee of the CIA now and that they were free to pursue the relationship she always wanted. However, the agent in her knew that the New Intersect was even more valuable than the old. Even though Chuck was an agent, it didn't mean that he didn't still need protecting. She had failed Bryce, she wasn't going to fail Chuck.

But how much protecting would he need now that he had gone though the CIA training? The CIA had the best instructors in the world, and Chuck certainly had shown in the past that he could rise to any occasion. He could do whatever he set his mind to do. He could even become a spy.

She felt her chest tighten. Would Chuck come back to her a cold, hardened spy? Could he set aside all those genuine qualities that she admired so much in him? It would certainly make her professional life easier, but what of her heart?

She bushed the hair away from her face again. Whatever changes Chuck had gone through didn't matter. What mattered is that she was a CIA agent, and she had a job to do. Focusing her mind on that fact, she turned back to her work unwrapping lunch meat.

Casey finished his shift at the Buy More early, and was clearing a space in Castle's armory. The new Agent Carmichael would need somewhere for his personal gear and weapons. Casey shook his head. Agent Carmichael, he thought, how desperate could the CIA get?

But he had seen Chuck Kung Fu those guys. In all his years of martial arts training he had never witnessed anything like it. What else could the New Intersect can do? Casey certainly hadn't received any briefings on the subject, but he guessed it would only lead to trouble, for both the team, and for him personally.

He paused as he reached for the tac jacket Chuck had always borrowed from him, and then decided to leave it there. Chuck would need that. No amount of training, or super Intersect would stop a bullet. He thought of the day he rescued Chuck in Roark's office; Chuck was wearing that vest. What Chuck had done to try to rescue his father was stupid - but - also very brave.

What would become of Team Bartowski when Chuck returned? Chuck would be an agent, not his asset, but he would still need protecting – he was still very valuable. Casey didn't care if Chuck trained for a year or two or three; Chuck just didn't have what it took to be a killer. At least Casey didn't think so.

The car pulled to a stop and Chuck looked out the window at a big yellow and brown Subway sign.

"Hey," he said to the driver, "it isn't time to stop for a snack, I'm pretty anxious to get to my base."

"This is the address," the driver said as he put the car in park and opened his door.

Chuck furrowed his eyebrows as he fumbled for the car door and stepped out onto the pavement. The Buy More was across the parking lot, right where it should be, but what happened to the Orange Orange?

The driver had opened the trunk and was placing Chuck's suitcases on the curb. Chuck peered through the restaurant window where he saw Sarah helping some customers. The green polo shirt wasn't as attractive as her old uniform but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was Sarah, and seeing her now took his breath away.

Wanting to make a good first impression, Chuck slid on his suit coat, and patted his pockets in search of his sun glasses. Realizing his pockets were empty he quickly dove back into the car and found where they had tumbled to the floor. Glassed in place, he buttoned up his jacket and straightened his tie. He would show Sarah that he could be the kind of man she could find attractive.

"Thank you driver. I can take it from here," he said in his best deep spy voice.

The driver looked him up and down. "Whatever you say," he said, slamming down the trunk and getting back in the car.

Chuck picked up his bags, turned towards storefront and took a deep breath. This was it.

Sarah heard the clang of the front door and looked up, catching her first glimpse of familiar curly hair. But it wasn't Chuck that walked through the door; it was the new Agent Carmichael, with black luggage, a thousand dollar suit and dark glasses that hid his eyes. All the things she wanted to say to him: how much he had hurt her, how angry she was, how much she had missed him, all faded and was replaced with an overwhelming feeling of loss. So many nights she had lain awake practicing the things she would say to Chuck, and now, facing Carmichael, she could think of nothing. She stood there, taking him in and wondering what it all meant. Moments passed.

"Chuck, I…" she began.

"Sarah, I..." he started at the same time.

Sarah looked down at her hands. He chuckled.

"You go ahead," Sarah said.

"No, that's okay. Ladies first."

Another moment passed. She hated that she couldn't see his eyes, and suddenly, a desperate need to see her Chuck overwhelmed her. She took a tentative step forward and raised her hand slowly towards his face. She wondered what he would do, if he would step back from her, but he stood stone still as she removed the dark sunglasses.

There, behind the glasses, was the Chuck that she knew. But rather than putting her at ease, seeing him made her heart beat a little faster. She paused, and tried to pull herself together. But as she tried to form a thought, she was distracted by the flicker of his warm brown eyes, which seemed to be taking in every detail of her face, and the curve of his lips, that were parted slightly as he breathed short and shallow. She remembered intimately what it was like to kiss those lips and she licked her own unconsciously.

"I um… " Sarah flushed and mentally checked herself; she stepped back from him. "…I just wanted to say…" Not knowing what else to do, or how to recover from how close she was to losing her resolve, she awkwardly thrust out her hand for a handshake. "Welcome Back."

Chuck looked confused for a moment at her proffered hand. "Oh, thanks," he mumbled. He shuffled the cases he was carrying so that he could free up his hand; in the process, he dropped the smallest one and the contents spilled out across the floor. He laughed nervously and bent over to pick up his things. Sarah got down to help. She reached for a piece of clothing that had fallen at her feet.

"That's okay," Chuck said turning pink, "I'll get it," and he quickly grabbed up the pair of Star Wars boxers. More things fell out of his bag, clattered to the floor and he chased them under a nearby table. As he tried to stand, he struck his head hard on the underside of the table; Chuck, and his thousand dollar suit went sprawling. Sarah lunged to catch the napkin holder before it went crashing on top of him; she was too late for the salt and pepper shakers.

Sarah heard Casey laughing from the doorway to the backroom - a full, loud, belly laugh.

Sarah and Chuck turned to looked at him. "What?" they asked simultaneously.

"Nothing, nothing." He pulled out a cigar from his pocket. "I was just worried that things were going to change around here." He chucked to himself and shook his head. "I guess I was wrong."

The End