AN: I don't own nor make any $ from Chuck. On a personal note, I have not forgotten my other stories; I'm still working on them. I just got this idea and wanted to run with it.
The man slowly approached the door with a sense of despair, not because he feared what was waiting inside, as a matter of fact it was a very pleasant sight. There would be a kindly looking white haired man sitting in a luxurious chair with a warm and friendly smile. Across from him there would be an empty chair and he would welcome him to sit down. He slowly opened the door with the enthusiasm of a man on his way to the gallows, and felt his frustration billow up as his thoughts was confirmed. The despair the came from a feeling of hopelessness, as he began to think this ordeal would never end.
Chuck sighed as he sat down in the chair and waited for it to begin. He hated this. Hated having to face the same questions over and over, hated the monotony of his answers, but mostly hated being here.
Here..he thought to himself, was a relative term when your involved with the CIA it seemed. In truth he didn't exactly know where here was, but somehow he found himself getting here everyday…..Sitting here in same room everyday….Talking to the same white haired man everyday….Explaining what happened everyday….Losing his grip on reality everyday….Everyday since the incident.
"So how have you been doing Chuck?"
"We have been over this before Gideon," Chuck replied sharply.
"Yes, and we will go through it again," Gideon pressed.
"What's the point?"
"Chuck please," he pressed.
"How have you been?"
"The same," Chuck replied with frustration
"I see. And Sarah?"
"The same."
"Still not talking?"
"Nope."
"Look Chuck I know its hard but.."
"But what!" he lashed out.
"It's hard to have a wife that doesn't talk to me? She ignores me? We barely have any interaction at all," he yelled, the frustration and anger overflowing.
"And it's not just her! Ellie, Devon, Casey, hell even Morgan! All of them!
They all treat me the same way!"
"And how is that," the white haired man asked.
"Like I'm not even there! Like I don't exist! Jesus ever since that fucking incident, its like..,"
"Just a minute there Chuck," Gideon interrupted.
"Why do you keep calling it an incident? Why don't you call it what it was?
You were shot."
"I know I was shot goddamn it," he replied angrily.
"And yet you refuse accept it."
"I don't refuse to accept it! I know I was shot! I just can't accept why my family is treating me like this! I understand that they are afraid that I could have been killed, but for Christ's sake I'm still alive," he yelled the emotion evident in his voice.
Gideon pushed his hand through his long mane of white hair and sighed. The fact that his questioner seemed frustrated only served to feed Chuck's anger.
"Frustrating isn't it! Try living it," he snapped.
He ignored Chuck's anger and calmly spoke.
"Chuck we reach this point every time," he began.
"We always get to the point of you telling me how you being shot was essentially not a big deal for you. That it affected your family and friends more then it affected you."
"It did Gideon! How many times do I have to tell you I'm fine!"
"Alright Chuck. Let me go in a different direction," Gideon said.
"What's the point! This isn't working! I'm not getting any better, as a matter of fact I feel worse then before this started," Chuck said.
"Just humor me," he replied.
"Fine," he replied in a huff.
"Thank you. Now if I have this correct, every time you leave here, you go back to your apartment and try to talk to Sarah. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And what is she doing when you come home?"
"Gideon what's the…"
"Please Chuck. What is she doing?"
"She is looking at our wedding album," he replied.
"Every time?"
"Yes! Every….every time," Chuck said slowly as if he began to realize something was wrong.
Chuck blanched as he began to realize that Sarah was always doing the same thing when he got home, as a matter of fact she even seemed to be wearing the same clothes. It was the clothes she wore on their first date.
"So every time you leave here, you go home and find your wife, looking at your wedding album," Gideon said.
"Yes. Gideon why….what…what does that mean?"
"What does she say when you try to talk to her?"
"Gideon wait, I don't know if."
"What does she say," Gideon pressed.
"She asks me why did I go, and then I tell her that I am under orders to go see the psychologist to get cleared for field duty," Chuck replied.
" What does she say after you tell her," Gideon asked.
"She just keeps asking me. What does that mean," Chuck replied with a sense of fear.
"I want you to close your eyes..,"
"What for," Chuck snapped.
"Just do it."
"But I don't...," was as far as he got before he felt his eyelids getting heavy and he fell into a dreamlike reality.
He saw himself with Gideon, and they were in a room much different from the one they were just in. It was a very clinical room, one you would see in psychiatric hospital with what appeared to be a large observation window through the wall. Chuck looked through the window and saw a large grey haired man and an older woman sitting at a table. He was dressed like doctor, but his unkempt hair and scraggly beard suggested he might be the patient. The woman had her back toward Chuck, and he couldn't get a good look at her.
"Gideon? What's going on? Did you hypnotize me?"
"Something like that Chuck."
"I don't understand? Where are we?"
"We are at the military hospital Chuck."
"Yes I know that Gideon! I've been coming here everyday since I got shot! I mean what are we doing here? What's going on?"
"Relax Chuck. We are visiting."
"Visiting? Who?"
"Just follow me," Gideon said as he walked through the door.