Author's note: Boy oh boy has it been a while since I've written... I'm sorry! And thanks to Bill for the awesome beta! And sorry to Kayla who will probably be like "HEY! YOU DIDN'T LET ME READ IT BEFORE HAND!' Well, you weren't on. (And this is the story for that bet on test grades... it's not a crack fic, but I believe you'll deal) OH! Thanks sooo much BrickRoad for answering my questions and what not! Very helpful and supportive! (And extra speedy today! Hurray!)
Important: This story is based off a poem I'm studying in APEL. The poem is actually incorporated into the story. The bold and italixcized and centered scripts is the poem. (I also skipped some parts of the poem ((hence the three spaced out dots)), so if you're familiar with the full, actual piece, you'd recognize this) The line of dashes that are also bold and italix is the "separation line" from the poem to the story. I did not write the poem. The poem is "On the Beach at Night" by Walt Whitman. I do not own this poem and take no credit for writing the poem. I also, unfortunately, don't own Chuck and it's characters in any official way...
If you have any questions about this particular piece (because there were two things I wasn't totally clear on) feel free to shoot me a PM! I love getting them. Along with review... hehehe.
Thanks for reading! And... ENJOY!
On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
. . .
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those buried clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
"I'm so sorry," she had said. "Please..."
Chuck knew what was coming next and he just couldn't take it. Not again, especially not now. Not like this.
He shook his head and took in a deep breath of the sterile, grief filled air. He wasn't going to let her leave him; he didn't then and he most certainly wouldn't now. Back then there was less on the table. Now there was the family they had made together.
"Samantha..." Chuck's voice trailed off. He couldn't even fathom finishing the sentence.
"Take care of her, Chuck. For me." she whispered, her voice husky, a symbol of her worsening condition.
"Sarah, you can't-" Tears streamed down the two lovers' faces. They didn't want to part but they were both aware of death making its way.
"James." she said, her voice trembling, overwhelmed with emotion. "His name would have been... was... James."
Chuck rubbed the tops of her hands with his thumbs. He somberly nodded his head in agreement. "Ryan," he added. "James Ryan."
"Chuck, if you hadn't stumbled into my life by pure coincidence, I never would have lived. I cannot thank you more."
"Please Sarah," he pled, tears coming down his face at full force. "Please don't go."
After a pause, Sarah spoke. "Can I see Samantha?" she requested, her voice breathy, exasperated.
Chuck wiped his eyes and exited the room for a brief second to gather his four year old daughter from his sister.
Samantha, not fully comprehending what was happening, ran over to her mother's bedside and gave her a hug.
Chuck watched on as Sarah silently cried harder as she embraced the little girl with curly blond locks and warm, brown eyes. In any other situation, peering in on a moment like this would have made Chuck smile, but in this particular moment, it only made things worse.
"Mommy?" the girl asked, looking up from her mom's chest. "You 'kay?"
Both parent's hearts broke.
"Mommy's going to be just fine, baby." Sarah reassured, putting on a smile through her tears, a skill she had perfected through the CIA and motherhood.
"I love you, Mommy." Little Samantha hugged Sarah with her small arms.
"I love you too, Samantha." Sarah pressed her face into her daughter's skull, smelling her hair one last time.
"Princess," Chuck called. "Why don't you let Mommy rest and you go back with Auntie Ellie."
"Okay," she said to Chuck. "Bye Mommy."
Both parents watched the little girl's--their little girl's--hair bounce ever so slightly as her short, pudgy legs ran off.
Chuck reclaimed his spot with his wife, sitting on the edge of her death bed, holding her.
"I won't let you say goodbye, Sarah." he admitted.
"We'll see each other soon." Sarah had accepted her fate whereas Chuck hadn't quite acquiesced.
"Not soon enough." Chuck added as he physically felt her body grow weaker.
"I love you, Chuck. Always." Her voice barely made a sound.
"Sarah!" he cried. "Please, no!"
"Soon." She whispered. Her heavy lids finally fell. Chuck felt her body go limp in his strong, toned arms.
"I love you too, Sarah." He whispered before he was overcome with sobs. He laid his head on her chest, weeping. He stayed in this position for as long as he could, never wanting to leave. A single nurse came in to turn the flat-lined machines off, leaving him to grieve.
"What will I do now, without you?" he asked the empty room as he cried more.
"You'll know," he could imagine her saying in an angelic, soothing voice.
Merely four days later found Chuck at a grave, respectfully clad in black. On the inside, he knew Sarah wouldn't want him to miss him her like this, but how could he not?
Looking at her grave, he read the tombstone.
Sarah Lisa Walker-Bartowski
July 30th, 1982 - November 2nd, 2013
Mother, Wife, Friend
Nothing can ever break us apart . . .
Looking ever so slightly to the right, he read a smaller, but equally significant headstone.
James Ryan Bartowski
In loving memory . . .
The heavens showed their grief, adding to the already hard times with their dark gray clouds. Light drops of water--angel tears, Samantha later justified--fell from the sky, mixing in with Chuck's own tears as he sat in the wet grass, crying still over the loss of his one love.
Friends, family and various agents (Casey, Graham, Beckham, and Carina) were gone, taking Samantha with them, leaving Chuck alone.
He stayed there into the early night until he finally said goodbye, the words he dreaded, and drove to his sister's. He didn't stay and promised he'd be okay, fine to take Samantha.
From the back seat of the car, little Samantha, almost a splitting image of her mother, asked where they were going.
Chuck told her not to worry and drove on. He didn't stop or talk until they reached their destination; the beach.
Chuck helped her out of her seat and took her little hand in his. As they walked across the soft, mushy sand, Samantha asked a frequent question.
"When is Mommy and Baby James coming back?"
A tear escaped Chuck's already red, swollen eye. "Sweetie..."
"Are we meeting them here?"
Chuck stopped in his tracks at the place. The spot he sat all night on the beach that fateful night when fate had finally caught up with him. The spot where he symbolically proposed when she said she was leaving. The spot where, following tradition, they exchanged vows . . .
Every time Chuck answered the question, it ended in tears. The poor, motherless girl just didn't seem to understand. She thought that her Mommy and baby brother had gone to Florida for a few days and were coming back any day now. Every time a door opened, she ran to it with false hope, ready to give her mother a hug, only to be disappointed every time without fail.
"Baby," Chuck squatted so he could be eye level with her. Instead of warm brown eyes, he saw, in his head, bright blue ones like the ones he saw the last time he was in a position like this here. "Mommy's not coming home." She's gone forever, dead, he let go unspoken, as to not upset her more.
The little girl looked at her Daddy and started crying. Chuck took this as his turn to be the strong one, for her. But even he couldn't help but let a tear or two escape . . .
Weep not, child
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
. . .
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long enduring pensive moons shall again shine.