Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, and this is a work of parody. It's a parody of a fic by Malamoo, in case you're lame and you couldn't get that from the title.

A/N: Okay folks, yes, Sarah has some issues. And Chuck does too, for that mater. They're both more than a little screwed up. And it's SO much fun to write, haha. I guess I should thank Moo for giving me this wonderfully fun universe to play around in. And if she keeps up this break-neck updating pace, it will be the only universe I have time to play around in, haha. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it. Please review. Thanks!

Sarah knew she looked horrible. The tears she'd shed after her call with the Director had assured that her hours of work on her makeup had been for naught. She was able to hide her puffy, red eyes with sunglasses, but anyone that saw her would think she looked even older than she did the day before.

As she entered the convention hall, she saw a flyer for the upcoming lecture: "The Internet: An Eternal Means of Communication, or a Dying Filter for Shared Pornography?" it read. Knowing that most of the people from the conference would be at the lecture, thus making it a perfect place to try to make contact with some potential leads, Sarah began to make her way to the main hall where the larger panels were held.

Walking in, she saw that almost all of the seats down front were taken. It was just as well. She didn't want to sit before the scrutinizing eyes of others anyway. Looking to the back, there were two rows of seats that remained vacant, save one lone figure. It was the figure of the man that Sarah had hoped to avoid for as long as possible: Chuck.

She moved to one of those back seats as stealthily as possible, but she knew that she couldn't avoid his notice. He looked up, just slightly from the literature for the coming lecture he was going over, and she knew she'd been sighted. There was no avoiding contact now.

"Hi Chuck," she said weakly.

Chuck grunted in acknowledgement. Then, "Shades, Sarah? Really?"

"What? It's really bright in here," she defended lamely. "What I want to know is why you're wearing such a heavy sweater. It must be 80 degrees in this room."

Chuck was wearing a heavy sweater. Of course, he was using it to cover certain marks. Marks that he didn't want just anyone to see. But he couldn't hide it from Sarah forever. And she did kind of deserve to know.

"Fine, I'll lose the sweater, you lose the glasses, deal?" he asked.

Sarah nodded in reply, and they both removed the offending garments and accessories.

"Oh my God!" Sarah exclaimed. "Were you attacked by a vacuum cleaner?"

"Shhh!" Chuck chastised. "I don't need the attention, please? And why are your eyes so red?"

Because I've been crying over being ordered to be with you. Being ordered to be where I should be.

"I was sick," she lied.

"Uh-huh," Chuck replied unconvincingly. He'd long ago learned to distinguish a Sarah Walker lie. But seeing as he had love bites all over his neck that she was now seeing, he really didn't want to start an argument over that in the middle of all of these people.

"So who did that to you, Chuck? Jill?" Sarah asked dangerously.

"No, it wasn't Jill," Chuck admitted.

"Then who? Tell me!" she demanded.

"Don't worry about it Sarah. It's over."

"It's not over!" Sarah said, her voice getting louder and louder. "I want to know who was sucking on my husband's neck!"

"Sarah, shhh!" Chuck said. "This isn't the place for this."

"Fine," Sarah huffed. "Then later." Her voice didn't leave any room for argument.

Not that Chuck was really worried about that conversation to come. Sure, she might try to talk to him about all of this, but she had some demons to answer for as well that he knew she wouldn't want to be brought to the forefront. And now that he'd figured her out, he knew she would try to get off the horse. He knew that withdraws were in her future. And when they came, she'd be far too busy shaking, vomiting, and shitting herself to worry about his many sorted affairs.

God, how did their lives get so fucked up?

Sarah had been gone for two weeks on her latest assignment before she finally made it back home. Chuck wondered if she even considered it home anymore.

She'd come home sometime after midnight, and slipped into bed as quietly as possible. She thought she'd avoided waking him, but she hadn't. He never slept much anymore anyway. He was always worried about her. Worried about them.

But he'd let her think he was asleep, and he'd slipped out of bed to make himself some coffee. When he got to the kitchen, he saw Sarah's discarded bag sitting by the door. He told himself that he should leave it alone. That he shouldn't pry into her business, her belongings. That he should just let it go. But he couldn't. She was his wife, and he was supposed to worry about her.

So Chuck went over to the door to retrieve the bag. He started going through it, making special note of how thing were placed so that he could put them back exactly like the were before.

What he found troubled him deeply. There were four prescription bottles for Vicodin. Each bottle carried a different name, no doubt all Sarah's aliases, and three of them were empty. The other one was almost empty too, only having two pills left.

Chuck shook his head. He couldn't believe he'd let something like this fly under his radar for so long. Sarah had never taken more than an Aspirin for her aches and pains when they were working together. For her to now have a fully formed habit was unthinkable.

He sat the bottles on the counter, knowing that it was something that needed to be addressed in the morning. He'd long thought that he might be losing his wife, but he wasn't going to lose her to substance abuse. If she left him, it would be for something more important than that.

When Sarah awoke in the morning, she couldn't help but notice the absence of her husband in their bed. Slowly, groggily, she made her way towards the kitchen. When she got there, she went straight to her duffle bag and began to dig around, unaware of the presence of the other person in the room.

"Looking for these?" Chuck asked, shaking the bottle with two pills remaining.

"You went through my stuff?" Sarah asked indignantly.

"Well, someone needed to. What are you doing Sarah? If you want to kill yourself, why not just stick a gun in your mouth?" It was tough love. He knew he needed to get through to her somehow.

"I'm not killing myself, Chuck!" Sarah defended. "I have it all under control."

"Four bottles? Yeah, you look like you have it under control," Chuck snorted.

"It's just…it's complicated."

"Complicated? Since when is drug abuse complicated? You have a problem, and I think we need to talk about it," Chuck demanded.

Of course he wanted to talk about it. Chuck always wanted to talk about things. Sarah knew that about him. It's why she never told him about her problems. He'd make her talk, and she wasn't ready to talk. She couldn't admit yet that she had a problem. That they had problems.

"Not now, Chuck," Sarah said weakly. "I'm going to take a shower."

And with that, she left the room. They wouldn't have a talk now, nor would they ever if Sarah had anything to say about it. As long as nothing was ever said, nothing would truly be wrong.

A/N: You guys are awesome. Peace.