Author's Note: So, I know a few of you were frustrated with my disappearance, but who knew this school year would be so darn busy! I didn't, and I should've. Oh well. So, being the nice person I am, I've ben working on this story for months. Clearly, I've taken long, extensive breaks from it, and it's not totally perfect, but it's share-able. And you! You're pretty snazzy for reading it! And so I'd love to hear what you have to say...

Disclaimer: I don't own the show (Chuck) despite my deepest wishes, and just so we're clear, the idea came to me from a song. It's called P.S. I'm Still Not Over You by Rihanna, which was the working title. At some point in time in the story, I actually use lyrics (or paraphrase the lyrics) from the song. And therefore, I sadly don't own those either. Just so we're clear!

Postscript Messages

Prologue

There are so many things I've wanted to tell him for far too long, the first and last things on the list being goodbye; the same word with two different connotations.

When I left him, I went without saying goodbye. I up and left him, leaving him stuck, not knowing what hit him. I regret it, I do. I may never know if my choice was of the right, not saying goodbye and leaving, but regardless of right and wrong, I have to tell myself that it had to be done, no matter how hard.

And then there's the second, arguably harder, goodbye. A goodbye that I truly hope I never have to vocalize to him.

The goodbye of leaving him in the past, getting over him for good.

The physical goodbye and the emotional goodbye. First and last on my list.

The list that will doubly ever be acted on with a multitude of reasons backing up why I mustn't.

In my line of work, we don't get attached. Actually, it is the polar opposite that we practice--detachment. All emotions, personal feelings and desires are to be pushed away, locked up and stored away, hidden from not only others, but ourselves. As an agent, you simply can't have such distractions. We are told to lock such things up and lose the key.

But that's the problem. My key was somehow intercepted in a very unknown way by a brown haired angel.

He found the key that belongs to me. He found the key that opens up that stored away vault of emotions and desires. He found the key to me.

But not only that--he found the key to my heart, and as if it was his own home, he welcomed himself in.

And I couldn't have that. Not only professionally, but personally. I had grown so accustomed to our style of living, keeping to ourselves, that I was lost as to how to act.

And being flustered and out of control scared me.

So I left. Up and left like it was nothing, being comforted by the sound of the roar from the jet's engines as my plane took of.