Song: "Oxygen," New Found Glory.

A/N: Thanks for the great response to Mai Tais! After the vicious reaction to Cole's first episode, I was kind of expecting a little tar and some feathers, but I'm glad that the majority enjoyed the story. Cole's not so bad, is he? :)

A huge thank you to GoldenGirl for reading this over not once but twice.


Sarah walks swiftly through the doors of the Buy More and heads straight for the home theater room. She's dressed in her Orange Orange uniform, her hair flying behind her as she rushes down the main aisle. Morgan meets her halfway, and the worry in his eyes is almost as great as her own.

"Hey," she greets, breathless with anxiety more than exhaustion. "How is he?"

"He was sleeping when I checked on him about ten minutes ago," Morgan replies as he struggles to keep up with Sarah. "We turned off the lights, shut the blinds, gave him some water, but I don't think he's any better than he was when he got the headache."

"When was that?"

They're outside the theater room now, and she's suddenly afraid to go in.

Morgan looks at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Close to an hour ago."

Sarah nods, her mouth thin. "Thanks for taking care of him, Morgan," she says.

Her hand frozen on the door handle, she takes a deep breath to steel herself before entering. The room is dim, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. Chuck's lying on the couch, holding an ice pack to his forehead, his face locked in a pained grimace.

She takes in the sight of him in a second, then rushes over to him. Kneeling beside the couch, she takes his face gently in her hands. Chuck's lip twitch at the contact, but he doesn't open his eyes.

"Hey," she says softly, running her hand down his cheek. "Hey, Chuck. Wake up."

He groans, blinks his eyes open.

"Hey," she repeats. "How are you feeling?"

He inhales deeply, managing a weak smile. "Hey," he says, his voice raspy, "I don't really know what happened. I flashed and . . . came down with this migraine all of a sudden . . ." He trails off, his voice thin, and he closes his eyes again.

"I know, it's okay," she whispers in an attempt at consolation, ignoring the information about his flash and trusting that Casey's taken care of that by now. Carefully, she takes the icepack from his forehead and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm going to take you home now, okay?"

He looks at her from under heavy lids and nods. She helps him sit up slowly, and she and Morgan help him out to the parking lot and into her car. Twenty minutes later, they're lying next to each other on the bed in their apartment. She's unknotted his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his work shirt, propped up his head beneath three pillows, and made him take four aspirin, but he's still mostly unresponsive. Every once in a while, he'll offer a 'yes' or 'no' to her questions, but mostly it's just a groan or a shake of the head. So she lies next to him, her hand against his chest, and watches him try to sleep.

The dim light in the room throws shadows over his face, still contorted in pain. His brow is perpetually furrowed beneath the icepack, and his hand is clenched tightly, only relaxing when she takes it in her own.

Having never dealt with this before, she doesn't know what more to do for him besides stay beside him and comfort him. She drifts into an uneasy sleep, waking when he shifts even the slightest bit. Near two in the afternoon, she awakens and notices that the ice pack has slipped from his forehead. Leaning up, Sarah takes it from the pillow and brushes back his bangs.

His eyes flutter open.

"Chuck," she whispers, her fingers massaging the crease in his brow. "Are you feeling any better?"

He turns his head slowly, looks her in the eye, and answers quietly, "A little, yeah." Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny, she looks down at him. "Come on, Sarah," he says, mustering up some energy to inject into his voice, "I've taken enough drugs to knock out a small animal. I'll be fine."

She sighs, wanting so much just to believe him. But it's been almost three hours. He should be getting better. The fact that he isn't visibly improving worries her. What worries her even more is the look in his eye, the one that says he's hiding something from her. And if he's trying to hide from her how bad the pain really is, trying to protect her . . .

Stroking his hair, she swallows down the raw fear that threatens to bubble up and explode.

"It's getting pretty late," she says in an attempt to get her mind off of the fact that this headache could be indicative of much worse things to come. "Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head and then grumbles, "I can't sleep anymore."

"It's okay," she reassures him as she helps him into a sitting position. "Let me get you a glass of water or something."

Chuck smiles gratefully, giving her hand a squeeze as she rises from the bed. "Could you maybe get me something to read, too?"

She nods and, as she walks by his desk, picks up a computer magazine. She holds it up. "This okay?"

He nods. "Thanks."

Strangely reluctant to leave his side, she leans over him, runs a hand through his hair, and places a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'll be right back," she whispers. "Don't strain your eyes."

She grabs her phone from the bedside table on her way out of the room and dials Casey's number as she heads down the hallway.

Her partner answers with a gruff, "Hello?"

"Casey, it's Sarah. Chuck's not getting any better."

Casey sighs. "Not at all?"

"It doesn't seem like it." Reaching the kitchen, she sits down at the table and rests her head in her hand. She swallows, her mouth dry. "This is serious, Casey. We need help. I don't know what else to do." Her voice falters with the confession.

"You want to call Beckman?" he asks patiently.

"Maybe she knows more than we do. Maybe she can get us in touch with whoever built the Intersect, or with a doctor who could help." Sarah pauses, feeling her sense of control slowly slip away. "Casey, the reality is that we don't know how to handle a situation like this."

"Okay," he replies. "I'll contact Beckman and see if she has any information that could help you. You keep an eye on him. Give it a few more hours. If he's not feeling any better by five, take him to the hospital."

Running a hand through her loose hair, she lets out a breath. "Okay, yeah. I can do that."

"Good." There's a pause before Casey adds, "He'll be okay."

She doesn't have the courage or the confidence to answer that remark, merely mumbles a goodbye and ends the call before grabbing a glass from the cabinet. As she fills it with ice and water, she hears things falling, the noise coming from Chuck's room.

"Chuck?" she calls. "Everything okay?"

There's no answer. The silence makes Sarah even more uneasy than the noise did. She finishes filling the glass and turns back to the bedroom. When his scream cuts through the air, the glass she's holding drops from her hands and shatters into a hundred pieces, the water splashing all over the floor.

Constantly connected to the total unexpected
I'm a con, a stealer of hearts
I only keep this facade
To keep you on your toes
I'll take a glance while you sleep at night
Right from under your nose
So don't leave me

The hospital room is dark, gloomy, just a small lamp on the bedside table for light. Visiting hours have long since ended, but Chuck's in a CIA-sanctioned room with two lower-level agents posted outside round-the-clock. Sarah's been by his bedside for over five hours now, just watching him as he sleeps. The drugs had knocked him out quickly, and since the CIA doctor Beckman approved won't be here until the morning, it's best that he gets to sleep for a while.

But, as she sits next to him, his hand in hers, the bleakness of the situation eats away at Sarah, and she can do nothing to stop it. She runs her thumb over the back of his hand, an attempt to soothe the tempest within herself.

Unable to look away for very long, she raises her eyes to look at him again. His face is peaceful, not at all like it was earlier this afternoon. The sight sends an ache through her chest. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here at all. There's a terror in the back of her mind, and she can't help wondering whether his work for the past two and a half years – what the government did to him – caused this.

Her mouth twitches as the thought flies through her mind. She'll never forgive herself if his life as the Intersect, his life with her, has driven him here.

Sarah reaches up to caress his face, her fingers gliding gently over his forehead and down to his cheek.

"Don't leave me, Chuck Bartowski," she whispers raggedly. "Don't you dare leave me."

She pauses a moment, as if waiting futilely for a response, before brushing a curl back from his temple. The door opens behind her, but she doesn't stir.

After a few seconds, Casey clears his throat. "Ellie and Devon are here." He waits until she looks at him before adding, "They want to talk to you."

Sarah glances back at Chuck, a silent query in her expression.

"I'll look after him," Casey responds gently.

She nods and leans over to kiss Chuck's forehead before standing. On her way out, Casey puts a hand on her arm.

"It's time we told them the truth," he says. "They may be able to help." Swallowing, she nods again, hesitantly this time. Casey tilts his head to the left. "They're down the hall."

"Thanks, Casey."

She finds them in the waiting room, Devon sitting tensely in a chair while his wife paces a few feet away. Ellie stops when she spots Sarah.

"How is he? How's Chuck? Why can't we see him?"

Sarah holds up her hands to stop the onslaught of words before they morph into accusations.

"Babe," Devon says, standing and holding her gently by the arm. "Calm down."

Sarah shoots a grateful look at him and suggests, "Maybe we should go somewhere more private."

"No," Ellie says, her face alight with worry. "This is fine. I just want to know how my brother is. We deserve to know what's going on."

The panic in Ellie's eyes is enough to send a shock of fear through Sarah's heart. She gestures to a cluster of chairs in the corner, selects a seat next to Devon instead of Ellie.

Taking a deep breath, she says, "To protect the two of you, I can't go into too much detail, but Chuck is an intelligence asset. Casey and I work for the government. We've been protecting him for the past two and a half years." She swallows, wishing she had a glass of water. "Chuck has . . . information in his head. It's very sensitive information which has helped us apprehend a lot of dangerous criminals. But now . . ."

She trails off again, loath to admit to the overprotective Ellie the situation the government has landed her brother in.

"Whoa, back up," Devon requests, keeping his voice quiet. "Chuck's like . . . a spy?"

"Oh, my God," Ellie breathes, her hand over her heart.

Sarah nods. "More of an analyst, but yes."

Devon grins. "That's awesome."

"No," Ellie says as she turns to him. "That is not awesome. My brother, my ridiculous, goofy little brother is living a dangerous, secret life! How is that awesome?"

He slips his hand into hers. "I just meant that he's not as unfocused as he seems to be, that's all."

Sarah purses her lips. "I know this is a lot to take in, and I expect that it will take a while to sink in. But the truth is that we're not quite sure what's going on with him yet. A CIA doctor will be here in the morning. We'll know more then."

Calmer, Ellie asks, "Does it have to do with what's in his head?"

"Most likely, yes." She offers a weak smile. "He has a very unique ability to retain information. This is the first time he's responded poorly to what we call flashes. Sometimes, if he has too many in too short a time span, he'll get headaches, but never as bad as this, and never lasting as long."

"Can we take a look at his charts?" Devon queries, genuine concern for his brother-in-law visible in his eyes.

"Of course," she nods. "We'd appreciate any help you can offer."

"Anything for Chuck."

For Chuck. Not for her.

Even though he says it unthinkingly, she feels it like an arrow through her heart. She rubs her eyes, her bones suddenly aching. The desire to do her job drains right out of her. What she wants most is to be with Chuck, but sitting by his bedside won't help him at all. She just has no willpower to do anything else.

"Wait," Ellie begins.

Sarah sighs inaudibly. She had thought the dreaded conversation was over with.

Ellie looks at her in confusion. "If you and Chuck have been working together all this time, then . . . how much of it was real?"

Sarah glances at the ground. She doesn't need Ellie to define 'it.' Softly, her face burning with shame, she answers, "To explain how much time we were spending together, to explain his absences when he was needed for missions, the government came up with a believable cover story."

"A cover?" Ellie's disappointment is palpable.

"So you two never dated?" Awesome asks for clarification.

Sarah straightens, needing the comfort that accompanies rigid posture and a job to complete. "No. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ." She starts to rise from her chair.

"I'd really like to slap you right now," Ellie seethes.

The abruptness of her change in attitude startles Sarah. She sits back down and stays silent, despite the overwhelming urge to let Ellie follow through on her words. But Chuck would be devastated if he found out his family was falling apart, and she doesn't need to be the one provoking his sister.

"Come on, El," Devon says delicately, wrapping her in a hug. "Can't you see how exhausted, how worried she is?"

Far from calming her down, his words merely serve to inflame her anger. Ellie rounds on Sarah, her eyes blazing and her voice lethally soft. "What right – what right – do you have to pretend to care about him? You've spent the last two and a half years lying to us all! Well, you can stop pretending now. We don't need you anymore."

"Ellie," Devon rebukes gently, a hand on her face. "Sarah's job is to protect him. Do you really think she asked for this?"

As Ellie shakes her head, Sarah can see the glint of tears in her eyes. "She never really cared about him, Devon. All this time, I thought he'd finally found someone who understood him, and she never really cared."

Sarah can't breathe. Ellie's words are a vice squeezing the life out of her lungs. She feels lightheaded, unable to combat the Woodcombs' words.

Still, she can't tell them the truth. How could she even hope to explain how deeply she'd compromised herself in those two and a half years? They could never understand. Devon might try, but her useless explanations would only tear her further from Ellie, a woman she's come to admire and respect and even look up to like a sister.

So she says nothing and wipes away the tears with shaking hands.

Devon frowns thoughtfully. "So you two moving in together, that was all fake?"

She sniffles and clears her throat, grateful for the distraction. "You guys were getting married, Chuck wanted his space, and this was the best option. It was the only way we could protect him and give him some semblance of normalcy."

"Protect him?"

"Yes."

"You mean watch him twenty-four hours a day like he's some sort of child, or monster," Ellie cuts in. Her voice has lost some of its edge but none of its despondency.

"No, Ellie," she replies softly, hoping the older woman is receptive enough to see the broken heart behind her eyes, "like he's the country's most important intelligence asset." But there's no empathy in Ellie's gaze. Sighing, she adds, "Chuck has a round-the-clock security detail, but you two can see him whenever you want. You just have to check in with . . . Casey. Check in with Casey."

She'd been about to say herself as well, but there's no need to add to the drama. She's tired, and her exhaustion comes through in her voice.

Devon seems to understand that she has nothing more to say, so he stands and pushes Ellie gently toward the doorway. Before he leaves, though, he stoops down to kiss Sarah's forehead and give her a squeeze on the shoulder. He doesn't say a word, which is good, because she think she'd break if he did, but the kindness in the action is more than enough to overwhelm her.

She doesn't look up as the two doctors leave, can't face the people who feel so much like family.

In all her years as an agent, it's never hurt so much to pretend.

Don't leave, don't leave me here
I can't breathe without you
Don't leave, don't leave me here
I don't want to be without you
I don't want to live without you
I don't want to breathe without you (You're my oxygen)

She's sitting in the corner still, watching Devon snooze comfortably and Ellie pace agitatedly, when Casey comes to get her. It's the middle of the night, and she hasn't eaten in over twelve hours, hasn't had a wink of sleep in nearly eighteen. She's been sitting in this chair, staring at the wall, her heart doing back flips inside of her chest.

"He's awake," Casey announces calmly, and, after a day of feeling like the world is crashing in, the news makes her feel suddenly alert.

Ellie shakes her husband awake. "Devon! Devon, wake up. Chuck's awake!"

Clearing his throat, Casey shifts from one foot to the other and tilts his head awkwardly toward her. "He's asking for Sarah."

Anger flashes in Ellie's eyes, but it's quickly replaced by acceptance. "Right, of course," she says softly, pulling her sweater tighter. She sits down next to Devon, who pulls her into a loose hug.

Swallowing nervously, Sarah rises and wipes her moist palms on the thighs of her jeans. She follows Casey, but before she steps into the hallway, she hears, "Sarah?" Glancing back, she sees Ellie looking up at her, a worried expression on her face.

"Tell us how he is?"

Sarah nods. "Of course."

Casey stops just outside of his room and indicates that he'll wait with the two sentries. She lingers at the door, peering inside cautiously. Chuck's awake and mostly alert, though, and as soon as she pokes her head in, his face lights up with a smile.

"Hey," he greets softly, lifting his hand toward her.

She comes into the room, shutting the door behind her, and walks over to sit on the side of the bed. "Hey, yourself." Taking his hand, she gives it a gentle squeeze. "How are you feeling?"

He groans. "Terrible."

"I'm sorry," she replies as she strokes his hair. He seems to find the gesture comforting, so she doesn't stop.

"You look tired yourself," he accuses lazily.

She looks up with a slight smile. Only he would ask after someone else while lying in a hospital bed. "That's sweet, Chuck, but you don't have to worry about me."

His mouth twitches, and there's a hint of sadness in his tone when he asks, "If I don't, who will?"

A lump sprouts in her throat, but his eyes drift shut before it becomes necessary to address the issue. She subdues another unruly curl and asks, "Are you tired?"

"I slept all evening," he protests. Gesturing to his IV, he adds, "I'm just drowsy from all these drugs."

Sarah chuckles and entwines her fingers with his. When she looks back up, he's staring at her with an unnerving intensity. Seeming to sense her discomfort, though, he gives her hand a squeeze.

"I was just thinking," he says lightly after a moment. "Does the CIA have a plan for zombie attacks? Because I feel like they plan for everything except that. I think that should maybe be remedied."

He has a silly smile on his face, his speech is slightly slurred, and the morphine starts to show again in the glassiness of his eyes. But just the same, she can't fight the urge to lean over and kiss him. His lips are soft, but she draws away much too quickly, afraid they'll get in over their heads.

Chuck cocks a sideways grin. "What was that for?"

"For coming back to me."

"Mmm . . . I'll have to get the Intersect to malfunction more often, then."

"You do that, Chuck Bartowski," she threatens, "and I will personally end you."

"Seems kind of self-defeating then." His eyes drift shut, and she sits stroking his hair, thinking he's fallen asleep again when, a few minutes later, he mumbles, "Sarah?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you realize how few blue foods there are on this planet?"

After a brief astonished silence, she chuckles. "No, Chuck, I did not."

"It's true," he continues, his words slow and tired. "Even the blue foods aren't properly blue. Blueberries are purple. I want something blue to eat."

She laces her fingers into his curls once more. "Want me to get you a blue slurpie?"

Opening his eyes and leaning up a bit, he replies, "Maybe later. Don't leave right now."

"No," she tells him softly, "I won't leave your side."

And suddenly things seem much simpler. He smiles, giving her hand a tug, and she falls onto the bed beside him. He pulls her close so she can lean into him. For the first time in almost a day, she closes her eyes, finally comfortable enough to go to sleep.

Wrapped up in the feel of him, lost in his familiar scent, she's drifting asleep when she's roused by Chuck's voice.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

The silence unnerves her enough that she turns to gaze at him.

He hesitates, his brow drawn in fear. "Am I going to be okay?" he asks in little more than a whisper.

She takes his face in her palm, an effort to comfort herself as well as him, and offers a strained smile. "A CIA doctor will be here in a few hours to look at you. Until then, we're not really sure what's going on."

He starts to drift away, but she turns his face so his eyes meet hers.

"Hey," she says forcefully, "nothing's going to happen to you. I'll make sure of that."

It's hard to get rejected
By the one you most expected to be by your side
Your first thought being you should run and hide
I don't think you're to blame
I'll get you on your toes
I'll dream of you while I'm asleep at night
So nobody will know
So don't leave me

Though Sarah has hated many things in her lifetime, she's always been disciplined enough to not let her dislikes get in the way of her duty. But right now, sitting in this God-forsaken waiting room like she has been since the CIA kicked her out of Chuck's room this morning, she can honestly admit that she hates hospitals.

She and Casey have been relegated to mere bystanders, not allowed to do more than wait and worry. Chuck's with the CIA doctor, Dr. Beckett, right now, has been since nine in the morning, and no one's been allowed to see him, not his sister and brother-in-law, not his best friend, not his handlers who have come to see him and value him as more than just an asset.

She kicks idly at the legs of the adjacent chair as she listens to the hospital's muzak version of "Cruisin'" for the fourth time today and waits.

"Watch it, Walker," Casey advises as he walks in with a coffee in each hand. "I don't want to have to explain a broken chair to . . . well, anyone." Shrugging, he sits down in said chair and hands her a coffee.

"Thanks," she says, taking a sip of the hot liquid.

"How are you holding up?"

She frowns. "I'm going stir-crazy in here."

They sit in silence for a beat before Casey suggests, "Why don't you go home for a bit? Take a shower and get some sleep. I'll give you a call if we get any news."

Sarah glances over at Ellie and Devon, sitting in the opposite corner of the waiting room, their concern for Chuck telegraphed through their body language. She thinks of Chuck, being poked and prodded and tested by strange people. She wants to be in there with him, holding his hand and stroking his brow, not out here sitting uselessly.

She shakes her head. "No. I want to stay."

"You're a wreck, Walker," Casey frowns. "No offense."

"If he gets out, and I'm not here . . ." She trails off, trusting that Casey can fill in the blanks.

He grunts softly, obviously feeling the same way, and she returns to sipping her coffee and surreptitiously eyeing the Woodcombs, so striking in their grief. She's pulled out of her depression by the entrance of Dr. Beckett. He looks to be in his mid-fifties, his hair going gray at the temples and his forehead permanently wrinkled.

Sarah launches out of her seat.

"How is he? How's Chuck?"

Casey steps up by her side, and they're quickly joined by Ellie and Devon.

"Is there any news?" Devon asks.

"How's my brother?" interjects Ellie. "What's wrong with him?"

Beckett, looking slightly overwhelmed, takes a small step backward. "If you'll all just calm down, I can explain what we know so far."

Sarah's heart drops. After nearly a dozen years with the agency, she's learned to pick up on tiny tells, like phrasing. And Beckett's word choice does nothing to comfort her.

The doctor leads them into an empty room for privacy. Sarah hides in the back of the group, her arms crossed against her chest as she leans against the wall and tries to fight the sinking feeling inside.

"Mr. Bartowski is a very unique individual," Dr. Beckett begins, glancing down at Chuck's chart. "We haven't dealt with a scenario like this before. We believe the Intersect has somehow contracted a computer virus and that that malfunction is affecting Mr. Bartowski's brain and body."

"Is he going to be okay?" Ellie asks, flushed with anxiety. Devon slides an arm around her shoulders.

Beckett purses his lips. "He's doing fine as of right now."

"Oh, thank God," Ellie breathes.

"We tried a number of methods to correct the malfunction, and he's stabilized. He may be fatigued for a while, but we expect a full recovery within a few weeks." Beckett's gaze travels to Casey and Sarah. "Unfortunately, we don't think we were successful in retaining the encrypted information."

Sarah stands up straighter, feeling as if the floor is dropping out from under her. "What does that mean?"

Casey looks at her, a blaze of meaning in his eyes. Subdued, he says, "It means our assignment's over."

Lightheaded, she quickly takes a seat in a nearby chair. Devon and Ellie shoot her concerned, doctoral glances, but she ignores them, thinking only of the import of Casey's words.

An end to the assignment means a life without Chuck.

"He's awake if you want to see him," Dr. Beckett says, but Sarah hears his voice only distantly.

Her head sinks into her hands, and she's dimly aware of movement as everyone exits the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She hadn't anticipated this day, hadn't made plans. She's just been skating along in denial, praying this day would never come.

It's her move, and the rules of the game just changed on her.

Sarah's startled out of her thoughts when a hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She looks up to see Ellie's brown eyes, the Bartowski eyes, so full of concern.

"Are you all right?" the brunette asks quietly.

"Yeah," she stammers. "I just . . . never anticipated this, that's all."

"I thought spies never stayed in the same place for very long," Ellie says gently. "You've been here for two and a half years now. Surely you had to've known that it wasn't going to last forever."

"We were doing so well, as a team, I mean. I didn't want to think about what would happen when it ended." Sarah sighs. "Even if you hate me and everything I stand for, you can at least understand that."

Ellie frowns and clasps her hand. "No, Sarah, I don't hate you. What you told me yesterday was a lot to take in. I wasn't ready to dismiss what I had known as reality for the past two years and more as untrue."

Sarah regards her sadly. "I'm sorry, Ellie. I'm so, so sorry."

Ellie slides a hand to her back, rubbing it comfortingly. "You've been looking after Chuck all this time. I should be thanking you." She hesitates before adding uncertainly, "I saw you in there with him. You looked so peaceful sleeping beside him, and you've been sick with worry." Sarah lifts her eyes, finding a challenge in Ellie's gaze. "You can't fake that kind of emotion, Sarah," Ellie continues. "I need to know how you really feel about my brother."

Sarah tightens her mouth, prepared to lie, so used to it being the first option. But it's Ellie, who's become an older sister to her, and whom she can't look at without seeing Chuck, without seeing the possibility of a family.

Taking a deep breath, she says simply, "I love him." She shakes her head. "But the truth is I'm not allowed to."

Ellie's confused expression betrays her. "Not allowed?"

"I have a duty," she continues sadly, feeling the weakness of the excuses with each syllable. "Feelings . . . get in the way. The government doesn't approve of handler-asset relationships. If I acted on my feelings, I'd be taken away, shipped off to an assignment halfway across the globe. I couldn't do that to him, to either of us."

"Oh, Sarah . . ."

Sarah accepts her embrace, taking comfort in just being hugged. She's been taking care of herself for so long that she can't remember the last time she's let someone support her, can't remember what it's like to have a friend.

Don't leave, don't leave me here
I can't breathe without you
Don't leave, don't leave me here
I don't want to be without you
I don't want to live without you
I don't want to breathe without you (You're my oxygen)

Sarah fidgets agitatedly with her necklace as she paces the short length of the hallway outside of Chuck's room. He's inside with Ellie, catching up after a full day of extensive testing. Seven hours into the second day and a full report from Dr. Beckett, General Beckman had declared the first human Intersect project officially over. Sarah's too afraid to tell him, and he's barely seen Ellie since this began, so she's biding her time until she can string the words together in a coherent manner.

As she reaches the end of the hallway and turns around, she sees Casey at the other end.

"Ellie still in there?" he questions, walking her way. She nods. "You haven't told him?"

She hesitates, arriving in front of the window to his room. "No," she admits. "I don't know how to say it."

Casey's expression tightens, and she can tell he understands. "So," he begins, "what are you going to do?"

Crossing her arms, she stares at Chuck and Ellie and doesn't answer right away. Softly, she says, "We've barely known anything else for almost three years. This was the best team I've ever had the privilege to be a part of." She sighs, using the exhalation to steady herself. "I've always known that it wouldn't last, that I'd be asked to walk away from him. And I knew it wouldn't be easy, or fair. But now that it's here, it's even more difficult to accept than I'd anticipated."

He lets out a low grunt. "You're really going to try to leave?"

She regards him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I'd like to see you last five minutes without him." He turns to challenge her directly. "Go on. I dare you to walk out of those doors and see how long you last."

She swallows. "You think I should stay with him?"

Casey frowns thoughtfully. "I think you need to make that decision yourself. But just an observation: both of you are better together than you ever could be alone."

Turning her gaze back to Chuck, she suddenly feels the enormity of the decision. The room grows hotter, her face grows flushed. "I think I'm going to get some air," she says quickly before walking off and heading towards the elevator.

Once outside, she stops to breathe in a lungful of fresh air, her face turned upwards toward the sky, toward the sun. The afternoon warmth is comforting, but she feels the loss of Chuck's proximity acutely. Exhaling deeply, she turns left out of the hospital and heads down the sidewalk, her sneakers slapping against the concrete.

Chilled more by her thoughts than by the weather, she tightens her jacket around her torso as she walks, and her spirits sink with each step. She had meant what she said to Casey, that she'd walk away from him. It doesn't mean it won't tear her heart out to do it, but over the past two and a half years, she'd come to accept the fact that her life isn't fair, that she doesn't get to live the life she wants with the man she loves.

Besides, doesn't he deserve better than her? She wants more for him, wants him to live his life the way he wants to live it. After all, he's entitled to a normal one after he's waited so long. She watches the pedestrians pass her by, listens to the traffic on the road, and all the while ignores the ache in her heart. She's gotten through so much in her lifetime – a childhood full of cons, a broken relationship with Bryce, the loneliness that accompanies being an agent – but somehow the prospect of leaving Chuck seems to trump them all.

Still, when she imagines her assignments post-Chuck, she knows she'll never be as good an agent as she is now, as she is with him. No matter how many tribulations she's braved in her thirty years, she knows, in the dim recesses of her mind, that erasing Chuck from her memory will be the one to break her, will be something she'll never recover from.

She'll be a burn-out within a year.

Even so, she can handle a tanking career. She can handle being relegated to a desk job because no one thinks her stable enough to work in the field. She can handle living alone, and sleeping alone, and dying alone, if only it means that Chuck gets the future he deserves.

Because if she stays, she'll be in his way, the emotionally-stunted girlfriend who takes more than she can give. Can she handle holding him back like that?

As she rounds a corner, she turns her eyes up and sees a convenience store across the street. Remembering that ridiculous conversation and her promise from two days ago, she jaunts across the road and into the store, in search of a blue slurpie, and purchases a Rockin' Blue Raspberry slurpie in the largest size.

Ten minutes later, she's back in the hospital elevator, grateful for the mission, simple though it is. Having something to do, even if it's delivering a slurpie, keeps her mind from dwelling on tomorrow.

Sarah sighs as she exits the elevator and walks down the hall toward his room. She stops short when she sees Morgan and Devon inside, but the latter sees her and waves her in.

"Hey," she greets from the doorway. "Special delivery for Charles Bartowski."

Chuck, sitting up against the pillows, smiles. "Come in."

Morgan and Devon acknowledge her before discreetly slipping out of the room. She sits on the edge of the bed and hands the cup to Chuck.

"It's blue. Just like you asked," she teases softly.

"Excellent. Thank you," he drawls, and she can pick up on the fatigue still present in his voice.

He sips the slurpie lazily, smiling at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, brushing back his hair.

He swallows a mouthful of blue slurpie. "Better. My headache's gone."

"I'm glad." She smiles softly.

Chuck looks up at her and asks, "So how much longer do I have to stay here?"

"I think Beckett's giving your chart one last look-over, so you should be discharged and on your way home within a few hours."

"Home," he chuckles, "wherever that is anymore."

"Hey," she says forcefully. She uses the hand still cradling his head to make him look at her. "Home is wherever you and I are together."

The words tumble out of her mouth, surprising even her, but as soon as they're out in the open, she knows that they're true, and that she needs him more than she can ever say. She needs him selfishly, needs him like a parasite needs its host.

But her fingers curl in his hair, and for the first time the only thing between them is truth, and she can't go back.

He sits up to lean closer, the expression on his face dangerously close to disbelief. "Are you saying . . ." he begins before licking his lips and collecting himself. "We can finally be together?"

Sarah nods, a hesitant smile spreading across her face. "Yeah," she answers breathlessly as her hands clench in his hair. "We can." Her brow wrinkled, she adds desperately, "If you want it. Only if you want it."

One hand at her neck and the other arm wrapped around her waist, Chuck pulls her close enough so their foreheads touch. The slurpie lies forgotten on the bed, nearly spilling and staining the sheets a garish shade of neon blue.

"Of course it is," he breathes. "You're all I've wanted, ever since I met you."

Oxygen

"No, no, no," Sarah says, motioning for Chuck to lie back down when he tries to get up from the bed. "Let me get it for you."

She's almost out the door and on her way to the kitchen when he says, "I'm not an invalid, you know."

"Then why have you been so tired?" she smirks. "Explain that, genius."

He chuckles, a smile growing on his face. "You've been keeping me up all night, that's why."

Sarah shakes her head with a smile, unable to argue with that. Maybe he's right, and she's being overprotective. But she can't help it. She's naturally protective of the ones she loves. He grins charmingly at her, reaching out a hand, and she falls onto the bed beside him. In one swift motion, she sidles up against him, her hand against his chest, and captures his lips sweetly.

Acting anything but the invalid, Chuck responds by wrapping his arms around her waist and flipping her onto her back. As she fists her fingers into his hair, he slides one hand up her t-shirt and against her stomach.

"Hey, now," she says softly as she pulls away, a smile lighting up her face. "I'm supposed to be grocery shopping."

"That can wait," he grins.

She frowns. "But dinner can't. I need to do this well, to impress Ellie. I'm not exactly on great footing with her right now."

"Why can't we just have pizza? I'm sure she'd be okay with that," he says, running his hand through her hair.

She laughs, patting his chest. "We have pizza all the time!"

"That's because it's the food of the gods," he exaggerates.

"Fine, if you love it so much, we'll have some for lunch. But I still need to go shopping." She edges out from beneath him and sits up. "Wait 'til I'm gone half-an-hour, then order and I'll pick it up on my way home. Okay?"

Chuck nods, but his eyes are distant, thoughtful. He holds onto her hand as she rises, giving it a tug when she gets too far away. She turns.

"Hey," he says quietly, looking directly at her. "Is everything okay?"

She purses her lips. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's been three days and you haven't said a word about what's really going on," Chuck shrugs.

She sighs, looks away. "Chuck . . ."

He pulls her down onto the bed again, sitting up slightly to slide his arms around her waist. "Just tell me, Sarah. I can handle it." When she hesitates, his eyes rise to meet hers. Quietly, he asks, "The government has no more use for me, does it?"

The answer's in her eyes, and he buries his face in her chest before she can respond verbally.

"Listen to me, Chuck," she urges, running her hands through his hair. He looks up, an expression of sad resignation gracing his features. "We're going to be okay," she continues. "You can do anything you want to now. You can have the life you've always wanted to have."

He smiles uncertainly, asking, "And what about you?"

Her fingers still tangled in his hair, she kisses his forehead gingerly. "What about me?"

He takes a deep breath. "I mean, how does this work? How do we make it work? Are you going to be away a lot? Am I going to spend my nights worrying about you?" She opens her mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. "And before you say anything, I know this is going to be hard. I know that, but after all we've been through, I need you in my life. Look, I know it's going to be complicated, but –"

"Chuck." She cuts him off, her tone brooking no room for argument.

Chuck sits up, waiting patiently for her explanation. Her fingers still in his hair, she massages his head.

"I told you I wanted to be with you, and I meant it," she says, drawing him closer until their foreheads are almost touching. Emphatically, she says, "I'm with you, Chuck. I'm one hundred percent committed to this."

"Sarah," he whispers, swallowing, "you don't have to convince me of that." He hesitates, and a grimace forms on his lips. "But there's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Sarah doesn't answer right away, pretending to focus on fixing one of his fly-away curls. "I quit," she admits quickly.

She looks him in the eye, finding disbelief and detachment there. He's already withdrawing, untangling his limbs from her waist and pushing himself away from her. He's looking out the window, but his eyes have that distant look like he's not really seeing anything. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and asks simply, "When?"

She frowns. "The night you came home, while you were sleeping."

Shaking his head, Chuck climbs off the bed and stands with his hands on his hips. "I can't believe you didn't even talk to me first. When were you planning on telling me?"

"Chuck, it's no big deal."

"No big deal? You just gave up your life for me. How is that not a big deal?" He's upset now, the words tumbling from his mouth in quick succession.

She rises to face him, dismayed by the width of the bed separating them. "Chuck . . ." she falters, "I thought you'd be happy."

With a sigh, he walks around the bed and takes her hands in his. "Sarah, I get that you're just trying to make up for the past few years. I get that, and I love you for it." He pauses, taking a deep breath and locking gazes with her. "But we're a team now, and a decision like that, one that's going to affect the rest of your life, don't I get a say in that, too?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she replies quietly, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her thumb. "But this way we can start a new life together. Why would you want me to have a job that constantly takes me away from you and puts me in danger?"

He smiles softly as his arms envelop her. "Because you love it." Before she can object, he cuts her off. "And don't even try to deny it. I've seen you these past two and a half years. I've seen how, through all the craziness of our relationship, being an agent was the one thing that kept you grounded. I can't let you give that up."

"All I need now is you," she whispers. "Can't you see that?"

Chuck's brow wrinkles as his lips turn in a frown. "I can't just sit back and watch you sacrifice your entire career for me. There has to be some kind of compromise."

Sarah smiles despite the fact that this is their first real disagreement as a real couple. She loves that he cares about her so much, enough to put aside his own happiness for hers. But if they continue this dance, both trying to outdo the other in their sacrifices, they'll just end up at a stalemate.

She stands on her tiptoes to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Let's just give this a try for a few weeks. Let me look for a job, and if I don't have any luck, then I'll see about getting back into the agency. Okay?"

Chuck sighs deeply, a smile growing on his face. "All right, we'll give it a try."

She kisses him softly on the lips before saying, "Good. But I really need to get to the grocery store now."

"I'll come with you then," he suggests as she pulls out of the embrace.

"Are you sure you're up for it? I don't want to tire you out."

"Sarah, it's the grocery store," he pleads. "Besides, between the hospital and the house arrest you've placed me under – not that I don't adore being with you all hours of the day – I haven't seen the sun in almost a week."

"All right, mister. But the first sign of fatigue, and I'm taking you straight back home."

She grins, settling her hands on his waist and pulling him down for another kiss.

With me, is where you belong
Right with me, is where you belong
Right here (Right here)
Right here (Don't leave me)

She has a sister.

In the aftermath of Chuck's hospital scare, Sarah's starting to realize that. After two and a half years of family dinners and fake double dates, it's taken a mere two and a half weeks of movie nights and girls-only lunches to convince Sarah of that. Of all the things she's thankful for in this world, having Ellie Woodcomb as a sister figure beats most every one of them, beats every blessing except Chuck.

So sitting here, across from Ellie, just eating lunch, Sarah knows how lucky she is. For everything.

She and Ellie don't get to talk much without the men, so today's lunch is a special treat for both of them.

"We talk about Chuck all the time," Ellie says, "but you never told me how you've been adjusting to life without the government."

"I'm . . . doing well," Sarah smiles. "I like having more time with Chuck, but I haven't had much luck finding a job yet."

Ellie lowers her voice. "What about . . . you know – would they help you out in finding a new position?"

"Maybe," Sarah shrugs noncommittally. "But I'd rather use it as a last resort."

"There's an ER position available at the hospital if you want to work there," Ellie suggests with a laugh.

"Thanks," Sarah replies, a smile on her face, "but somehow I find it hard to believe they'll accept the CIA as a good enough medical school."

"Well, if I can be any help, just let me know."

"I appreciate that. Chuck and I agreed to give it another week or so before we make a decision."

Ellie nods, and they lapse into the easy conversation they've become accustomed to. Sarah's happiness is still evident two hours later, when she returns home to find Chuck in the bedroom, lying on his back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

She flops down beside him. "What's the matter?"

Chuck turns his head to look at her, and the disquiet in his eyes takes her aback. "Beckman called while you were out."

Sarah sits up and asks shakily, "What?"

Propping himself by his elbows, he nods. "Yeah, she's going to call again later tonight, to make sure you're here."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

He tries hard to keep a smile off of his face. "She wants us back."

"'Us'?" she asks.

"Yeah." He pushes himself up and holds her, one hand on her waist and the other on the back of her neck. "The both of us."

A thousand possibilities swim through her mind, most of them involving the word "Intersect." "In what capacity? She's not thinking of making you the Intersect again, is she?"

Sensing her anxiety, he shakes his head quickly. "No, just a regular analyst. But she does want me as part of the new Intersect initiative." He offers a small smile. "It'd be based in L.A. We can stay here."

Sarah takes a deep breath. Over the past eighteen days, she had convinced herself that giving up the agency was the best thing. It's hard for her to wrap her mind around the fact that Chuck is the one trying to drag her back into that world. "I'd be a field agent?"

"Basically. Beckman has the details, so you'll have to go over it with her, but you could work with the Intersect project if you wanted to, which means that you'd go on field assignments but you'd also do behind-the-scenes intelligence work." He pauses so she can take in the proposal. "What do you think?"

She tangles her fingers in his hair, a self-comforting gesture. Swallowing, she asks, "What do you want to do?"

Cautiously, he answers, "It's a great opportunity."

"But what do you want to do?"

He breaks into that lopsided grin that she's comes to love so much. "I want to take it."

Though she had suspected he was going to say that, the thought of turning around her life for the second time in the space of a month floors her. "You realize that we'll just be going back to what we had before? That you'd be lying to your family about where you work and what you do?"

Chuck nods. "But this time I'll have you."

She kisses him, desperately, and her lungs are straining for air before she gets her fill of him.

"Sarah," he chuckles breathlessly, "I know you've spent almost three years trying to protect me from this world, but the truth is . . . I think I belong in it. I'm never going to be a superspy like you, but maybe I was still meant to do this. Maybe it was no accident that the Intersect was sent to me."

Stroking his cheek, she asks, "You really want to do this?"

Still smiling, Chuck nods. "Yeah, I do," he says softly. "But only if you're with me."

Don't leave, don't leave me here
I can't breathe without you
Don't leave, don't leave me
Cause I can't live without you
(So don't leave) Don't leave, don't leave me here
I can't breathe without you
Don't leave, don't leave me
I don't want to breathe without you
You're my oxygen
I don't want to breathe without you
You're my oxygen

Sarah keeps her pace normal as she walks out of the reception and into the afternoon sun, heading toward the indiscrete black van parked in the back of the lot.

"I'm on my way," she says in an undertone, just loud enough for her mike to pick up her words.

"Roger that," Chuck replies, his voice crackling through her earpiece. "You got it?"

She smiles. "I've got it."

And a minute later, she slips into the passenger's side of the van, holding up a small USB drive for Chuck to see.

He grins and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. "Awesome." Shifting the car into gear, he adds, "Now let's get out of here."

Sarah relaxes into the seat, grateful for a relatively easy mission, and they're back at regional headquarters before she knows it. Once inside, Chuck gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before snagging two other analysts and heading into the conference room with the flash drive. Rolling her eyes, she heads to her office to write up the mission report. She keeps herself occupied until five o'clock. Emerging from her office, she finds Chuck, Noah, and Gwen still working to decode the drive.

She sends him a smile and a wave before departing, expecting him back at home in an hour or two. But when five hours go by and the kids are in bed and he's still not there, she knows he needs an intervention.

Sarah finds him still in the conference room, now dim and empty. The white board is covered in different colored scribbles; the table boasts books and pages of notes in a dozen separate, messy piles. He's staring at a computer screen, his face contorted into a thoughtful frown, the light throwing a bluish tint over his face, and she can't help but smile.

"Chuck," she calls softly from the doorway.

He starts, but a smile immediately graces his features at the sight of her. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she asks, "You are aware that it's nearly ten-thirty at night, aren't you?"

Chuck looks at his watch in dismay. "What? It can't be."

"Yeah," she nods with a chuckle, "you've been here all day. Everyone else is gone. It's time to come home." She takes a step forward and reaches out to him.

He points to the flash drive, stuck in a USB port on the computer. "I just wanted to decode this. I think I'm close."

Sarah wraps her arms around his waist and makes him look at her. "That can wait until tomorrow. Your family can't."

"Wait," he says, sounding confused, "you've been here all day?"

"No, I went home to be with our kids. You remember them? The tiny people who kind of look like us and make us laugh?"

Chuckling, Chuck hooks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I must have lost track of time."

Pecking him on the lips, she replies, "I know, sweetie. But our children wanted to know why Daddy wasn't there to tuck them into bed and tell them a story."

He answers with another kiss. "Which one did you tell?"

"The one where our three brave heroes save the world from a nuclear missile attack by winning a video game."

He grins. "Good choice."

"And now the good choice for you would be to come home and get some rest," she replies with a smile, taking his hand and pulling him toward the door. Chuck, thankfully, makes no objection, simply locks up the conference room and follows her out.

In the parking lot, Chuck stops walking and tugs on her hand. She turns.

"I really am sorry," he says, the regret evident on his face.

Sarah smiles, stepping forward and placing her hands on his chest. "Chuck, honey, I know." She peppers kisses on his face, starting with his eyebrows and working her way down to his cheeks and nose. "You don't have to keep apologizing."

Chuck takes her face in his hands, leaning forward until their foreheads touch. And for a moment, in a parking lot under a yellowish street light, Sarah feels like she's ten years younger and they're just starting to figure out their relationship, just starting to fight for it. Simply the thought of how far they've come is enough to put a grin on her face.

"Come on," she urges gently, "let's get you home."

Oxygen
Oxygen
Oxygen

Sarah loves Saturday mornings. She loves waking up early to the sound of her children's laughter, loves taking them to the park after making breakfast for them. Chuck is usually up just as early as she is, almost as big a fan of their Saturday morning routine as she and the kids are, but this morning he's still sleeping like a log in the bedroom.

Sarah stands at the stove, keeping one watchful eye on the pan full of bacon and another on Sean and Patrick, five and four respectively, as they color at the kitchen table. The brothers look as different as genetics allow. Sean, blue-eyed and fair-haired, takes more after Sarah, while Patrick inherited his father's curly dark locks and warm brown eyes.

Their elder sister, Ava, at seven years old, is the spitting image of her aunt Ellie. Sitting on the counter, an apron tied around her waist, she stirs pancake batter in a bowl on her lap.

"Sean, sweetie," Sarah begins, "do you want to get Dad a glass of orange juice?"

A crayon still in hand, Sean springs out of his chair, collects the juice from the fridge, and carefully pours a glassful, his tongue poking out from between his lips as he concentrates on his task.

"Don't forget, Mommy," Patrick interjects. "Daddy likes lots of chocolate chips in his pancakes!"

"I won't forget," she assures him with a chuckle.

Twenty minutes later, the four Bartowskis are creeping down the hallway in a line towards the master bedroom. Ava's in the lead, carrying a heaping plate of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon. Sean follows close behind, a glass of orange juice between his tiny hands. Patrick, his hair sticking out messily, carries the morning newspaper.

"Balls of your feet, Patrick," Sarah tells him. "Like your sister."

Young though he is, he looks to his sister for the example and follows it swiftly. Sarah can't stop the rush of pride that comes over her, pride that their children have already begun picking up the best of their talents and interests.

They're able to successfully infiltrate the bedroom without waking Chuck, still sleeping and blissfully unaware of the party making its way toward him. Before Sarah can wake her husband, though, Patrick breaks rank and, with a cry of greeting, jumps on top of his father.

"Wake up, Daddy!"

Startled, Chuck bolts upright, his expression of surprise softening when he sees his son sitting in his lap.

"Hey, buddy. Good morning," he says happily, his voice crackly with sleep. He looks up at the other three expectant faces. "What's all this?"

Sarah takes a seat on the foot of the bed. "You had a long day yesterday. We thought we'd cheer you up."

Spotting the breakfast, Chuck lets out a groan of anticipation. "Are those chocolate chip pancakes?"

Ava beams. "Yep! Mom and I made them!"

Chuck moves into the middle of the bed and pats the covers. "Well, come on up here, you two," he says to Ava and Sean. "This thing's big enough for all of us. And I hope you're gonna help me with these pancakes. I don't think I can eat them all."

Grinning, he watches his children set down their burdens and scramble onto the bed before he turns his gaze to his wife. "Thank you," he says softly.

"You're welcome." She leans over to give him a peck on the lips.

"Dad, remember you promised to go fly our kites with us?" The question comes from Ava, who asks it with the perfect expression of innocence.

"'Course I remember," Chuck laughs. "In fact, how about I call up Aunt Ellie and Uncle Awesome and see if they and your cousins will come meet us at the park today? We can have a picnic and, if it's windy enough, we'll try to fly the kites. How's that sound?"

The children agree readily and, in Patrick's case, noisily.

Watching her family, Sarah feels a surge of warmth in her chest. After ten years, it's become a familiar feeling. But up until this moment, she hasn't been able to name it.

It's the little things in life, she knows, that constitute happiness – the breakfasts in bed, and thefamily game nights, and the chaos that accompanies a five-person household. It's the looks Chuck gives her across a room. It's the way he knows how to take care of her when she's had a rough day. It's the falling asleep beside him each night, and waking up with him each morning.

Happiness, for Sarah Bartowski, is right in front of her eyes.