|Sarah vs the Third Time
Author: Notorious JMG PM
Sarah loves Chuck, that much she knows - but not much else. Just how long will it take for her to regain all her memories?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Romance - Sarah W. & Chuck B. - Chapters: 5 - Words: 3,407 - Reviews: 37 - Favs: 28 - Follows: 48 - Updated: 03-26-12 - Published: 01-30-12 - id: 7789709
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
As it turned out, the kiss on the beach hadn't exactly been the magical Disney fairy tale kiss that Morgan had been hoping for. Now, don't get me wrong, it was still pretty magical. It truly did confirm the feelings that had been creeping back into my heart. I love Chuck Bartowski, I really do – I just still don't entirely know why. I mean, yes, mentally I know why – the DVD that Maj- COLONEL Casey gave me saw to that. But the two haven't connected yet.
I guess you could say that even though Quinn wiped my memories, there was something inside that he couldn't take away. If I believed in God, I guess I would call it my soul. As it is, Ellie thinks that there was just an unbreakable part of my personality that was irrevocably changed by Chuck over the last five years, and nothing the Intersect could do was going to change that. Morgan, of course, embracing his inner teenage girl as he does –
How did I know that?
I'll get back to that in a moment. Anyway, as Morgan does, he's ever the closet romantic, and he's convinced that when I said my vows to Chuck, "for better or for worse", it permanently changed something about reality, and now reality won't let me fall OUT of love with Chuck.
It's a ludicrous explanation, sure, but deep down, I kinda like it.
Anyway. So, about me knowing that about Morgan. Though we have no idea what Quinn ACTUALLY did to me, and since not even General Beckman can access the Intersect files at this point (basically, if there's more than one degree of separation between you and President Obama, you can forget about it), we have no way of knowing exactly WHY my memories are returning piecemeal. Ellie again has this theory that what Quinn did was suppress my memory, and little by little, the suppression is wearing off – like an amnesia patient slowly regaining their memories. I guess my knowledge of Morgan is just one of those things.
But there are specific memories that come back at certain times, due to certain stimuli. Like when Chuck and I were at the Wienerlicious in Berlin, and I started rearranging the counter. Or when I brought up Irene DeMova as we were staring death in the face. And later, when I actually think about those things, I can actually remember the original events. I actually remember now that night at the Wilshire Plaza when Chuck defused the bomb just before it blew up General Stanfield.
Then there was what happened today.
I was in the kitchen at our apartment – and yes, I've moved back in with Chuck; he's sleeping on the couch for the moment, and even though I told him he didn't have to, he insisted, for which, realistically, I was grateful, because I'm still adjusting to the situation – and all of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with the urge to make a chocolate soufflé. I had no idea why. I can't ever remember having made a soufflé before.
So I made the soufflé. Chuck brought home dinner, and I brought out the soufflé for dessert.
As I did so, he started to smile. "You're not trying to poison me, are you?" he asked, a note of humor in his voice.
"No, Chuck, I'm not," I replied, "but if you drown this soufflé, I might consider it."
That was when his smile turned into utterly joyous laughter. He jumped out of his chair, hugged me almost uncomfortably tightly, swung me around in a circle, and kissed me. Admittedly, I was taken aback by this show of emotions, but it wasn't unwelcome. The happier he is, the happier I am, even if it's just from emotional transference.
I didn't understand at first, though. "What's gotten into you, Chuck?" I asked, amused.
That's when I realized. I remembered. I remembered the night, about a week after I met Chuck, when he thought I was trying to poison him, and I thought John Casey was trying to kill him. Unconsciously, I started smiling too, and knowing how happy it would make him, I looked Chuck square in the eyes and said, "Better be careful, lest Casey show up with microtracker-infested mini-quiches."
If you can show me somebody who smiles with more joy and happiness than Chuck did at that moment, I'll give you my Porsche.