Epilogue

It had been awhile.

A few years, maybe. Time had lost its meaning since the attack and the devastation that had followed immediately after. But it did not really matter much anymore. He was there now. After all this time, all the agony and pain he had sustained since their passing, he finally managed to overcome it.

He was ready now.

A month or so had passed since Chuck had almost lost his life. He was still weak from his near-death experience, a bullet wound that had been fortunate enough to strike him in the back. It barely missed his spine; still nicking a nerve that reduced one leg to a slight limp. So he was recovering now. It was slow, but soon he wouldn't need to use a cane for support. He had already graduated from the wheelchair, mostly out of stubbornness (even if rolling around the hospital halls was exhilarating, not to mention fun) and being able to stand on his own, to actually walk, it gave him the strength he needed to move on.

It was the tail end of summer in Burbank, and the August sun shone through the cemetery with its hopeful light glimmering between the trees and tombstones. Chuck limped from the parking lot with Sarah by his side, Yorrick tagging along but staying unusually quiet. They walked down the leaf-covered path, hand-in-hand.

Chuck had been relatively happy the moment he had awakened from his medical coma three weeks earlier. It seemed after Shaw's death, he had somehow been absolved of that detachment—rage that became ravenous in his life since Sarah had originally abandoned him. He knew that it still lingered; but it was deep, buried beneath the emotion he never thought he'd feel again. It was impossible for him to completely recover from such trauma, and he wasn't a complete moron. There would always be that piece of him, that darkness just waiting to break out at a moment of weakness.

He knew that feeling of emptiness had temporarily left him once he had first opened his eyes in the hospital. Everything was so bright. There was color when he had though he had become blinded by the darkness within his heart to see vitality. And the first thing he had felt was the warmth of her hand resting upon his. Chuck learned from the nurses that Sarah had not left his side since he was admitted to the hospital. It touched his heart, causing it to respond in a way he thought was impossible.

And since then, Sarah had still yet to leave him. She made sure everything was going to be alright. Her softly spoken words managed to have a hold on Chuck, making him believe them to the fullest. Because with this second chance, he felt that he could not waste it on the past.

If he could survive a bullet that should've surely killed him (or at least paralyzed him), then Sarah deserved to share his second berth of life as well. She had earned it, and he had seen past his clouded thoughts of her 'betrayal' and could finally forgive.

So he was now in the process of this forgiveness. He forgave Sarah for leaving him. Now he had to just somehow forgive himself.

And yet, no matter how much relief and elation came into his life, it was never enough to cover the sorrow that would be there, with him until the end of time.

Chuck studied the headstones as he and Sarah walked past them, none of the names were familiar. It was uncomfortable to be there, where the dead rested. He tried to think of the last time he was there. He knew he couldn't bring himself to attend his sister's funeral. The state of shock had been still coursing through his veins, making it impossible for him to function sanely.

That meant the last time he was there was at Bryce's fake funeral.

They were nearing the end of the pathway and then the headstones grew in size; a gentle wind blew through the cemetery, tousling Chuck's growing curls in the breeze. Sarah touched his shoulder, her eyes searching into his, looking for some inclination of what he was feeling. If anything at all.

"We're here," she told him after a brief pause.

Yorrick sat on his hind legs beside Sarah. His tongue was sticking out, lapping because of the humidity. Chuck turned his shoulder a little, to get a better view of his them. Sarah's hand dropped down to her side; hands fisting a bouquet of flowers and a dog leash. She stared with her blue eyes, unsure but bright and sympathetic all the same.

Chuck offered a tiny smile to ward off her uneasiness.

He asked lowly, "Hey, do you think you can give me a moment?"

She stalled at first but her gaze dropped to the graves and then nodded with complete understanding. Her eyes were already misting and Chuck wasn't sure whether it was in sadness or some sort of relief. She wiped the tear from her cheek.

"I'll just go walk around," she said, voice thick. "Here are the flowers."

Chuck limped towards her, retrieving the flowers like they were some sort of priceless artifact. He then dropped the cane to the earthy ground, only to grab her hand in his and squeezed, his thumb tracing over her knuckles slowly. Her stared into her wet eyes and started to feel his moisten as well.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for everything, Sarah." He leaned forward and captured her lips with his in a loving kiss, something he did not think he could be capable of. When they parted, Sarah was now crying. Chuck felt a pang in his chest and his throat began to swell with overwhelming emotion.

Sarah ran her fingers over Chuck's face with a soft caress and a smile grew on her lips. Her hand dropped and she backed from him, giving him the necessary privacy. She bent down and picked up the cane, handing it back to Chuck. He took it.

"I won't be far," she promised.

Chuck nodded. He watched in silence as she turned her back on him and walked down the cemetery path, with Yorrick padding along, barking with excitement.

He sighed. His throat had closed on him indefinitely. Rotating back so that he was facing the next row of graves, Chuck saw the three he had been looking for. The knot in his stomach twisted some more until he could no longer breathe.

Chuck let the cane slip from his grasp once more. He knelt in front of the headstones and then, while never taking his eyes off the three names, presented the flowers only to set them carefully down on the graves. Tears silently streamed down his cheeks, which were blemished from the heat. He sniffed and pressed the palm of his head on the middle headstone.

"Ellie," he started. The sorrow was plain as day in his voice. His brown eyes sparkled with recent tears as he swallowed and willed himself to continue. "Ellie, a lot has happened since you left. Most of them weren't very good…I blame myself for that though. But I'm trying to get better." He gave a watery smile while thinking of Sarah, Casey, Morgan, Alex: what remained of his family. He sniffed again. "Uh, Sarah came back and we're trying to make it work. For real this time, because it was never real and I lied about that to you for years…I'm so sorry. All I did was lie to you and that's why I couldn't get myself to come see you. The truth is, I am a spy and—"His voice cracked as he spoke and his bottom lip trembled. It was so hard. "Because I couldn't tell you, I've been feeling like all of this is my fault. The fact of the matter is that it will alwaysbe my fault. I let you, Devon, and little Rebecca down…"

Chuck used the back of his hand to dry his eyes that were leaking. Through blurry vision, he could see the three graves marked by three marble headstones. Each of them engraved with the lives lost: Eleanor Faye Bartowski, Devon Christian Woodcomb, and Rebecca Lynn Woodcomb. Even with such a somber mood surrounding the cemetery, these graves were strikingly beautiful. They sparkled in the waning sunlight; the brightly colored flowers vibrant and adding life to such a lifeless place.

"—But living in the past, feeling all of this guilt, constantly blaming myself for something I think I could've prevented even though it was out of my control," Chuck went on, "It needs to stop. If I continue to think about how I could not save you Ellie, I…" He could not find the words to finish. "So that's why I need to leave. I know you would be happy to know that I am leaving Burbank," he chuckled in spite of his tears. "For good this time, I think. I, uh, I'm not going to be a spy anymore. And Sarah is quitting too; we're going to go do what we should've done years ago…"

Chuck inhaled a long winding breath, his hands gripping the grass in order to retain some semblance of control. The feeling of suffocating under his heavy burden weighed him down to the graves. But he had to push on. He had to face this.

Chuck was shaking now, reading the names over and over again because they did not belong there. He forced himself to speak: "I miss you, Ellie. I miss all of you, so, so much. I promise that I'll make you proud. I'll be the man you wanted me to be, okay? I won't let you down again. I'm so sorry."

When he finished, Chuck tightly closed his eyes and then buried his face in his grass-stained hands. He breathed in and out until his heart no longer threatened to burst from his chest. He was slowly finding it easier to think, and what remainder of the blame still resonated deep within him, began to dissipate. It would always stay there, like he said, but it was lessening.

Just like everything would eventually.

"I think Ellie misses you too, son." A voice spoke up after a moment of silence.

Chuck looked up from his hands, craning his neck to see his father standing over by a tree. He was dressed casually; hair long and untamed, matted to his forehead. Wrinkles lined his aging face, proving just how old he was becoming. Stephen approached his youngest, holding a hand out for Chuck.

Looking up at his absent father, Chuck took his hand and was lifted to his feet. He wobbled off-balance without using the cane as a crutch. But he soon steadied himself and stared unsurely at the man who had told him he wanted nothing to do with him.

"I heard you replaced the Governor," Chuck mumbled. His hand absently touched the silver watch on his left wrist.

Stephen nodded. "It broke after Daniel Shaw shot you. Sarah, when she wasn't waiting for you to wake up, was trying to find me to build you a new one."

Chuck's heart warmed when thinking of both Sarah and his father. But then his brows furrowed in confusion when he asked, "She did not know about the Governor."

"Casey told her," Stephen explained. "I was surprised too. She somehow found me, again. This time without my help."

There was a pause.

"I thought you didn't want associate yourself with me?"

His father sighed. "After your sister passed, I was devastated just like you. I thought that all of this could've been avoided just if you would've stopped being a spy. To know you joined something I thought you wanted out of…it angered me." Stephen looked towards the graves then back at Chuck. He looked older. "Because being a spy is how I lost everything, I didn't want you to relieve it."

"I quit," Chuck mentioned suddenly.

Stephen smiled, "I know. I heard. You're aces, Charles."

Chuck's eyes began to water and he looked down and away, ashamed. It was surprising to hear his father actually speak to him again. It was a nice gesture.

"Thank you, Dad." He said breathlessly.

It surprised Chuck even more when he felt his father's arms come around him, enveloping him into a tight embrace. Chuck went rigid and still at first, still not so used to hugs. But then he muscles weakened and he felt more relaxed. He returned the hug; they parted an instant later, father and son reconciled.

"Live a good life," said Stephen wisely.

Chuck nodded mutely. He was still unable to formulate a coherent sentence. He was a bubbling mess filled with lady feelings that would make Casey bleed from his eyes. It was such a foreign notion, but as the feeling continued to return, it felt like these emotions had never really left him. They were just locked away, like everything else.

It was like life had been on hold for the past several years.

Someone had just finally found the switch to push everything back into motion again.

"—I love you, Charles," his father was saying. He slowly backed away and began to leave. "Be careful."

"Wait, Dad!" Chuck yelled. He took a step forward but stumbled from his injured leg. He winced. "What if I need you?"

A grin spread across his father's features. It made him looks years younger. "Sarah has it."

Chuck straightened up, his leg throbbing. He was smiling as well. Of course: Sarah. It was always Sarah.

"Goodbye…" he said in a hushed whisper.

"Who were you talking too?"

Chuck blinked, turning around. There was Sarah. She had a perplexed look on her face but it was so endearing that it elicited a smile to form at the edges of Chuck's lips. Yorrick came dashing down the field of graves, barking happily to see his master.

"No one," he replied. It was better not to say anything. Sarah saw the lie but let it go.

"Well," she said reaching into her purse. Chuck's eyes dropped and he groaned inwardly. "I almost forgot that that you have to take your pills. I had to make a run back to the car for them."

"That's not really necessary," Chuck protested.

Sarah laughed, "You've been saying that since you woke up."

"For good reason."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you want the Vicodin for your back and leg, you're not that tough Mr. Bartowski." She handed him a few capsules. Chuck blanched. "And then these are your anti-anxiety/aggression pill. Don't spit it out again Chuck. I saw you try that last time."

Chuck studied the large pill with distaste. Taking them made him feel like he was crazy or something of that nature. But truth be told, he sort of was. He knew that after suffering from so much psychological damage he needed something to curb it. Sarah had told him that Casey went to General Beckman directly after the incident and requested for him to be granted the best prescription for what the Colonel called, "Anti-psychopath medication."

Even if he did not want to believe it, they worked like a charm.

There was no more darkly dreaming Chuck…he was mostly at bay. For now, anyways.

Chuck tossed the pills into his mouth and was able to swallow them without water. A month in the ICU of the hospital and he was a pro at pill-popping. He smacked his lips at the bitter taste and looked at a satisfied Sarah.

"We can go now," he said and scratched his nose, a habit of his.

Sarah eyed him and then the cane that was still lying on the grass over by the Woodcombs' gravesite. She let it go; Chuck seemed to be doing just fine without it.

"Go where?" She inquired curiously. "We aren't spies anymore, Chuck. We don't have to report to anyone. You've been discharged by the hospital. We can go anywhere, be anyone, and do anything."

Chuck thought about this for awhile. There was so much to do with so much time left. This was a new chapter of his life. It was a better one. With one last look at the graves, he knew exactly where he wanted to go. Acceptance in his demeanor, he was sure that Ellie would've been proud of him.

Taking Sarah by the hand, Chuck gave her his trademark grin that had been missing since the day she left. She brightened up with amusement.

"You know," he said, meeting her sparkling gaze. "I still have never seen the Eiffel Tower."

Yes, Ellie would've been proud.

END