A/N: Chuck has learned so many troubling details about his captor, Sarah Walker. What will he do with all of this new found knowledge? Perhaps more importantly, what are her plans for him? Let's rejoin them and find out.

Disclaimer: Don't own Chuck

Chapter 3

Chuck slowly woke, though he kept his eyes firmly shut, not wanting to face the world just yet. He'd slept in fits, haunted by visions of the blonde haired assassin, this "Ice Queen". He could still remember, in vivid detail, the after action reports, photos and surveillance videos he'd "seen" in her file. He was trying hard not to question why he had this information. Chuck wasn't certain that knowing the 'why' was as important as what he did with the information he now had. At least for the time being. He could worry about the how and why later. There was still something niggling at him about this Agent Walker. He had pieced together a large portion of the puzzle, or so he thought, but there were still large sections missing, preventing him from seeing what the finished picture was supposed to look like.

Chuck knew that he'd had a naive world view. While he'd experienced some tough times in his life, he was blissfully ignorant of the terrible things that went on around the world; the things that would never make it on the evening news. Seeing things through the lens of Sarah Walker's life as a spy had been an awakening. Despite what he'd come to believe growing up, the values instilled in him, a part of him was beginning to realize that things weren't always right and wrong, good or bad.

Now that Chuck was overcoming the initial shock and fear of learning so many chilling facts about the woman that was now his captor, he began to recall small details he'd overlooked before. It was like the fine bits of gold that were left behind after panning away the rocks and dirt. Most of Walker's targets had been the scum of the Earth; terrorists, gun smugglers and human traffickers. There were enemy agents, along with other enemies of the State, but in almost every case they were all bad, very bad, people. Reports by analysts and her superiors detailed the projections of the untold lives saved by her actions, the continued safety of the citizens of the United States, and the world. Reports from several missions noted she had nearly threatened the outcome of the mission, altering the mission objectives or going out of her way at great risk to herself, all to protect innocents from harm. He was beginning to see her in a slightly different light.

There was no doubt that Sarah's file had been bloody, but she was not an indiscriminate killer. She was given an order, authorized by those on high, and she carried it out. As much as the killing had made him queasy, some of the other tasks she was called upon to do made him sick for an entirely different reason. While there were no specific orders as such, the phrase "by any means necessary" carried with it a disturbing insinuation. Chuck had watched plenty of spy movies and knew what was often expected of female agents. A part of him had assumed that it was Hollywood taking some poetic license, but he could now see in black and white that these sorts of things were not out of the realm of possibility. The thought caused a knot to form in his stomach. While Agent Walker might not be on his list of favorite people, he would never wish that sort of thing on her; on anyone.

Chuck was dumbfounded as to how he could recall so much detail of what he'd seen in Walker's file and related documents. He could easily pull up any file, any page or picture, with perfect recall. As long as he could remember, he'd been able to do those sorts of things, recalling inane details, but never to this degree. Pouring over Walker's own mission logs and reports, he noticed that her descriptions of her own actions were sterile, clinical even. Chuck couldn't detect any sense of pride or boastfulness, much less any enjoyment gained from her work. It was much like his invoices at the Buy More, concise and to the point. There was no embellishment.

As he lay in bed, his eyes still closed, he let his mind wander, as if leisurely flipping through a magazine. He found the subject of Sarah Walker a sufficient distraction, helping him to keep from replaying the events of the past weeks over and over in his mind. On the previous day, Walker had indicated that she had reached out to Ellie, trying to glean details about his life, who he was as a person. That had both scared and infuriated him, but she had seemed sincere in her claims that no harm would come to Ellie. The fact that they hadn't done anything to her yet, that he knew of, might be a testament to that.

While she might want to know who Chuck was, on a personal level, that begged the question, who was Sarah Walker, the person? As his mind continued to wander, it was almost as if someone had placed another manila folder in front of him and began leafing through yet more documents. Aspects of her personal life, her habits, her finances, all became revealed. She lived alone in an apartment provided by the CIA. She drove a Porsche, a car she purchased at auction for herself. She didn't seem to spend money on much else, according to her financial records, so this must have been a luxury she afforded herself.

Chuck snorted inwardly as he came to realize that she seemed to have no friends, no family. Almost immediately a pang of guilt shot through him. If it had been Decker's file he was reading through, he could justify feeling some satisfaction at the man's misfortune. As it stood, Agent Walker really hadn't done anything, at least not so far. Since she'd arrived, he was no longer dangling in a cold, dank cell, she'd gotten him a bed and medical attention. She'd also indicated that there would be no more interrogations or torture. He was cautiously optimistic that things were at least improving. In the past, he was always quick to give people the benefit of the doubt, always seeing the good in them. Unfortunately, that had literally been beaten out of him. Chuck could no longer afford to be that naive. While Walker seemed to be playing the role of "nice cop", and he was beginning to have a greater appreciation for the woman as an agent, she could still just be playing him.

He wanted to be able to trust her, to be able to just get all of this information off his chest, to be able to tell someone who would actually listen. Maybe then they would believe he was innocent. Chuck knew that the fact that she was an extremely beautiful woman likely had some impact on his willingness to tell her things. According to her file, it was a trait she used in her career to great effect. There was still an uncertainty that he felt, a sense that there was so much more going on, not just with Walker, but with his situation altogether. He had this suspicion that if he were to say too much to the wrong person, it could be disastrous to not just himself, but for his sister, the country...the world.

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Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, running her hands through her hair in frustration. She rarely had a full night's sleep, and last night was worse than usual. This assignment was turning out to be more than she'd expected. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have any issue with extracting information from a target. She had a variety of tools in her belt to accomplish that task, ranging from physical pain to psychological scare tactics or even seduction. With Bartowski, she was out of her depth. He'd already been tortured, physically and psychologically, and those had proved ineffective, not to mention exceedingly cruel. Even when the situation warranted it, she hated to use seduction, but in Bartowski's case, he'd shown nothing but disdain for her, showing no signs that her appearance had any effect on him. Sarah refused to use the man's sister, Ellie, against him. With other marks, perhaps, but Sarah couldn't bring herself to entertain that thought with Bartowski. Maybe something in her conversation with the elder Bartowski had softened her, or perhaps something about this man himself had affected her differently. Regardless, she was having to step out of her comfort zone for this assignment and she was struggling.

It was still early morning, so Sarah decided to go down to the small workout room the facility had, in the hopes of taking out her frustration and giving her a chance to think. After some light weights and a vigorous run on the treadmill, at its steepest incline, she set to work on the heavy bag. She needed to find a way of getting through to Bartowski, getting him to trust her, and the only way she could think of that might work was to be… human. As if she knew anything about being human, a normal human at least. Being comforting, compassionate, understanding, those things were not in her wheelhouse; at least she'd never had an opportunity to develop those skills. Those weren't things they taught at the farm, and certainly weren't concepts her father understood. Emotions, empathy, those things got you arrested or killed.

This conjured up old memories, leading her to strike harder, faster at the heavy bag, sending it swinging with each punch and kick. After a "kiai" and a vicious straight kick to the bag, she stopped it with her hands, sensing that she was being watched. Taking a few steadying breaths, she turned her head to see Wilcox standing in the doorway, his eyes wide.

He continued to stare in awe, or perhaps fear, for a moment longer before shaking himself. "S-Sorry to interrupt Agent Walker," he began, trying to find his voice. "Director Graham would like a video conference with you when you have a moment."

Sarah raised her eyebrow in question, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly. "When I have a moment? Graham said that?"

"Uh… no. No, he said, 'Fucking find her and tell her to call me ten minutes ago'. There may have been more expletives than that; I'm paraphrasing." Sarah let out a small chuckle, which seemed to relax Wilcox a bit, who chuckled as well.

"Did he say what it was in regards to?" she asked, toweling off the sweat from her face and neck.

"Oh yeah. We're old golf buddies. He tells me everything," Wilcox replied flatly. Sarah snorted, nodding her head at the other agent.

"I bet. Could you imagine Langston Graham golfing?" she asked with amusement in her tone as she made her way to the door.

"That would be an interesting outing. If he hit one in the rough, I suspect he'd have the ball terminated then call in a cleaner crew. That'd be a helluva mulligan." They both laughed at that, making their way down the hallway. Though they could joke about it, there was probably more truth in the statement than either of them cared to think about. The two went their separate ways, Wilcox to his office and Sarah to her private quarters.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Sarah went to her office. There were several missed calls from Graham while she had been in the gym, but her mind was too preoccupied to worry too much about Graham. She was already assigned to the middle of nowhere, what else could they do? Opening her laptop, she took a cleansing breath before initiating a connection with Graham. She didn't have to wait long before the call was accepted and Graham's scowl filled her screen.

"How nice of you to take a moment out of your busy day, Walker," he grumbled, clearly agitated.

"My apologies, Sir. I was in the workout facility when Agent Wilcox informed me you wished to speak with me," she replied, trying to remain cool, despite his gruff introduction. Graham simply nodded, sitting back in his chair. He took a single breath in through his nose and blew it back out in a slight huff, as if trying to collect himself.

"I had a meeting with the DNI and Beckman, with the NSA. Needless to say, that put me in a foul mood." Sarah tried to steel her expression but Graham was quick, nearly as good as she was at reading people. Letting out a grunt of amusement, he shook his head slightly. "OK. A fouler mood," he corrected, defusing some of his scowl. Refocusing, he glanced down at his desk and some of his scowl returned.

"I read over Dr. Siegle's report," he stated with a pause. His jaw was clenched in aggravation, which, thankfully, wasn't aimed at her. "Decker stepped way over the line with this one. When Wilcox informed me of his… concerns, I didn't imagine it was this bad. I should have kept closer tabs on Decker. I was up to my eyeballs in this Larkin and Intersect bullshit, the DNI breathing down my neck, so I gave Decker too much leash." Sarah sat in shock at the admission. It wasn't like Graham, or anyone at his level, to take responsibility for the actions of subordinates. She watched the Director's gaze drift off to the side before he shook himself.

"So I understand you spoke with the prisoner. How is he? This… Bartowski?" he asked, a strange expression coming over his face, blinking in contemplation.

"He's scared and angry, Sir," she replied. "What little I was able to ask him, he was still sticking to the same story. Is there… is there something wrong, Sir?" she asked, seeing how lost in thought he was. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he looked back into the camera.

"No. No. Just… I never really took the time to look at the name before, or maybe hear it out loud. It's familiar to me somehow, but I can't place it. No matter," he stated, brushing the comment away. "So what are your initial thoughts?" he asked, trying to bring them back on topic.

"May I be frank, sir?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter. Graham gestured to proceed, so she continued. "I've had an opportunity to look over his file and the reports regarding the Stanfield incident. I also took the liberty of reaching out to his sister, someone very close to Bartowski, to get more background on him. I even reviewed some of Decker's… interrogations. Sir…" she paused, uncertain if she should voice this opinion without more solid evidence, but her conscience was screaming at her. Graham's eyebrow raised, showing his growing impatience, so she pushed on.

"I have no concrete evidence to support this, but…"

"What does your gut say?" he asked, sounding almost encouraging. Over her tenure in the CIA, under Graham's watchful eye, Sarah knew that he valued her instincts, going out on a limb frequently based only on her gut feelings.

"I'm not certain, but my gut says he didn't have a hand in the bombing. He still knows something, I just don't know how."

"And the reports? The accounts of his involvement?" he asked, questioning how those factored into her assessment.

"I looked them over thoroughly, sir. Not to point fingers, but they all seemed a bit too similar. Almost as if the same person wrote them all, or they were looking off of each other's homework, so to speak. Someone is covering something up. I don't know who or why, but it concerns me," she admitted, her brow knitted in frustration. Graham nodded, hummed in contemplation

"Dr. Siegle states that Bartowski had an episode, a seizure of some kind? Did you witness this?"

"I did. It was rather sudden and … unnerving, to say the least. It only lasted a few seconds before he collapsed. I haven't seen him since the episode. I was going to give him some time to recover before I continued our … discussions." Graham nodded his understanding as he looked contemplative.

"I trust your judgement, Agent Walker. Employ whatever means you deem necessary. Find out what he knows and how he knows it. In the meantime, I have some inquiries of my own. Send me an update in forty-eight hours." With that, Graham disconnected the session, leaving Sarah staring at a blank screen.

"Employ whatever means you deem necessary," she repeated to herself, shaking her head. If only she knew what those were.

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Sarah took a deep breath in through her nose, blowing it back out, before nodding her head to the guard standing beside the door. The man nodded his head in return and unlocked the door, opening it for her to enter. Shoulders back and head high, Sarah walked into the room, the door closing behind her with a metal clank, followed by the sound of the lock sliding into place. There was no escape, for either of them.

Bartowski was sitting up in his bed, looking better than the last time she saw him. The overall color in his face was better, though the number of colors hadn't diminished any. There were still healing cuts and heavy bruises, a spectrum of blacks, purples and yellows. His previously swollen eye was notably less so, which was what caught her eye the most. She noticed he was looking her over, not in a leering or lecherous way, as many men did, but more as though he was sizing her up, trying to figure her out. That was fair, she reasoned, given his situation. He met her gaze and she tried her best to offer him a warm smile, though she wasn't sure how well she pulled it off. Sarah wasn't sure if it was the situation they were in, or the man himself, and all she'd come to learn about him, but she felt off balance.

Strolling further into the room, she approached his bed, taking stock of the room. He was no longer on an IV, the stand removed from the room. She could make out that he was wearing a pair of light blue scrubs, which she could make out beneath the blanket that was haphazardly draped across his body. From his file, she knew he was tall, well over six feet, which was evident as his feet stuck out from under the blanket. The nursing staff had at least seen fit to put hospital socks on him, with rubberized patterns on their soles.

"How are you feeling? Better?" Sarah asked, trying to start their conversation on a less formal note. After a moment, he nodded, his eyes never leaving her. She assumed that was all she would get. Surprisingly, he spoke.

"Better. Thank you," he stated flatly. It wasn't a glowing response, but what more could she expect from a man who'd nearly been tortured to death. He was at least speaking, so she'd take the win.

"Good," she replied, giving him a closed mouth smile. "I'd like to talk some more about what happened. The days leading up to the events of September 14th. Can we do that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in question. She saw him fidget, his hands and feet working against his restraints. At first she thought it was out of fear or nervousness, but the more she watched him, the clearer it became that he was just physically uncomfortable. After having been strung up by handcuffs, now having to be restrained in this bed, it had to irritate his wounds. Chewing her bottom lip for a moment as she made up her mind, she held up a finger before he could reply.

"Guard!" she called loudly, not taking her eyes off of Bartowski. She saw his eyes widen and throat bob as he swallowed thickly. The door rattled and the guard entered, a steel baton in hand. The large man looked between Sarah and the prisoner, trying to assess the situation. Sarah rolled her eyes, but tried to maintain her professionalism.

"Will you please remove Mr. Bartowski's restraints?" she requested, gesturing to the hospital bed.

"What?" the guard and Bartowski voiced in unison. The two men exchanged a glance before turning their focus on Sarah.

"Aren't you afraid I'll try to … attack you or… or escape or something?" Bartowski asked, looking at her in confusion. Everything she'd read about him, what she'd learned from his sister, told her that Chuck was not an aggressive person. She also knew he was in no shape to pose a threat to her, or anyone else, and Sarah hoped that this gesture might gain her some points with him; help to earn his trust.

"Are you going to attack me and try to escape," she asked, giving him a questioning look. She held his gaze and watched as he licked his lips. He deflated slightly, mutely shaking his head. Sarah gestured with her head for the guard to continue. Pulling the keys from his belt, the guard unlocked the restraints on Chuck's wrists and ankles, cautiously stepping back from the bed once Chuck was freed. The guard gave Sarah a questioning glance, trying to gauge the situation.

"Thank you. You can go, but be sure to lock the door behind you. Just in case Mr. Bartowski gets any ideas." Sarah gave Chuck a wry smile, hoping that her attempt at humor hadn't missed the mark. He didn't laugh or even smile, but he did seem a bit more at ease.

Gingerly, Chuck rubbed at his wrists, careful not to tear at the bandages. "Thank you Agent Walker," he said in a quiet voice. Chuck began to stretch his body, moving his limbs after being stuck in the same position for so long. He winced in pain when he pulled at his ribs or shoulder the wrong way.

"You're welcome. I'll admit, my intentions aren't purely benevolent. I'm hoping that by showing you some trust that you'll show some to me in return. Does that seem fair to you?"

Chuck's eyes narrowed, as if he was boring into her with his eyes. After a moment, he finally replied, "Fair? I don't see where fair plays into it. I'm at your mercy here. I understand what sort of future, or lack thereof, awaits me. I'll try to answer your questions, but like I told the other guy, I don't know anything." Sarah nodded her understanding. He was right, this situation wasn't fair, especially if he was innocent.

"Alright. I can appreciate your position. Why don't you take me back to the days leading up to the bombing? What happened?" Sarah asked, pulling a chair up to sit near the bed, crossing her legs. Pulling out her phone she began to record the conversation.

Chuck looked at her phone and then back at her, shifting slightly in his bed. "Well, nothing really remarkable, just like every other day. Let's see," he said, letting out a breath and shifting his gaze to the ceiling in contemplation. "My sister was having a party for my birthday. She does it every year, even though I beg her not to. She invites all her friends from the hospital and tries to set me up with them. Every year it's a spectacular failure, this one was no exception. I invariably end up talking about… well, I end up talking and they get bored and leave. So, like every year, my friend and I-"

"Morgan Grimes?" Sarah asked, interjecting.

"R-right," he continued with a surprised expression. "Morgan and I played some video games but then I called it a night and he went home."

"OK. So, nothing out of the ordinary? No odd conversations, people that you or your sister didn't know?" Chuck looked torn, like he was debating telling her something. He had a terrible poker face. "If there's something you're worried about telling me, even if you think it's insignificant or that you might get into trouble, I'd recommend erring on the side of telling me. This will all go a lot better if you're honest with me."

He seemed to still struggle, but she could see his resignation wash over him. "I got an email."

"An email? From who? What was it regarding?"

"It was from an old college roommate. I hadn't heard from him in years. We weren't exactly … close anymore. I thought that he'd remembered my birthday and that's why he sent the email, but there was no message, just an attachment."

"An attachment?" Sarah asked, sitting up straight and moving closer to the edge of her seat.

"Yeah. We used to code adventures for this old text-based game called Zork. The attachment was a game file. Now, I don't normally open attachments I get from out of the blue, but it passed all my malware detection tools and it wasn't a file type that would normally be associated with malware. So, I opened the file using a copy of Zork that I had saved on my computer. It was one of the adventures we had worked on together. I remembered the phrasing, the questions it asked. So, I put in the answer. When I hit Enter, it all got…."

"Got what, Chuck?" Sarah questioned, her sense of panic beginning to build. She had a sinking feeling she knew which college roommate this message was from, but she couldn't let him know that just yet. She needed him to divulge what he knew without leading him to conclusions.

"There were… images. Thou-thousands of them. I… I don't remember much after that. I woke up on the floor the next morning. I had a killer headache and my computer was fried." Sarah's heart was racing. Unable to sit still any longer, she stood up and began to pace the room.

"These images, what were they? Were they pictures of people or things? Places?" she asked, trying to dig more details out of him.

"Yes. It was like a never ending stream of random stock photos. I can't really remember any of them specifically. I just recall them being ordinary, everyday places and things, maybe even people. Like if you were browsing through stock photos on the Web or… the generic photos that come with a wallet or picture frame," he said with a shrug, wincing in discomfort at the movement. Sarah began to bite her thumbnail as she paced the floor beside his bed. She knew this was bad; very bad. There were pieces missing though, some link to tie it all together. She needed something definitive.

Sarah needed to keep him talking, hopefully giving her some more pieces to the puzzle. "Alright, Chuck. So, what happened that day?"

"I had a shower, went to work. I remember having this nasty headache all day. I didn't have much to drink the night before, so it wasn't a hangover or anything. It was just annoying and made it hard to focus." Sarah nodded her understanding, encouraging him to continue. "Um…. later, I went to the Large Mart to get some lunch."

"The Large Mart? Is that where you met Vuk Andrić?" Sarah interrupted, stopping her pacing to stare at Chuck pointedly, bracing her hands on the bedrail.

"Um… y-yeah. I-I mean… not really. I never really met him."

"But you said you knew him. How did you know him if you never met him?" Sarah challenged, her voice becoming less calm. In turn, Chuck was becoming increasingly nervous.

"I-I don't know. I just… I just recognized him somehow. I knew he was a Serbian demolitions specialist and he'd never been in the US before. I d-don't know how, I just did. I can't explain it," he rushed out, shifting in his bed.

"Did he see you or talk to you?"

"Yes, I mean no. Uh.. he saw me, in one of the isles, b-but I never talked to him. He was testing out these dangerous looking tools… and-and giving me this glare. I just got the hell out of there. I tried to warn one of the Large Mart staff, how he was suspicious and all, but he just checked out of the store and left."

"And that's all the interaction you had with him? Did you see him again that day?"

"N-no. I-I went back to work."

"Alright, then what happened. When did you become aware of the bomb plot?" she demanded. She was drawing close to something and she was growing more fearful the closer she came. Chuck's breathing was becoming more rapid, the nervousness in his voice becoming more evident.

"I-I don't know. I…. I was at h-home," he continued, stammering even more as Sarah's anxiety increased. She looked like a coiled snake ready to pounce and it looked like Chuck might be her target. "On the TV… the news. They said… they said Stanfield was going to give a talk. They-they showed the hotel.. And… and then…" Chuck was close to hyperventilating, pushing himself against the far side of the bed away from the icy stare of Agent Walker. Her knuckles were turning white as she squeezed the bedrail, her mind racing.

"What?! Then what?" she barked, making him flinch. Chuck shook his head defiantly, closing his eyes tight as his lower lip quivered. "Chuck! Tell me! You have to tell me what happened!"

"I don't know!" he shouted, his eyes opening to show tears pooling in the corners. "The-the NSA, they… they intercepted the blueprints for a h-hotel. That-that hotel. And-and… the CIA, they discovered the blueprints for a bomb in Prague. The bomb that was in the hotel."

"How did you know? Where did you see these things?" she demanded, her own fear coming out as anger.

"I told you! I-I don't know! I just… see things. Things I don't know… things I … I shouldn't know. Like … like you and-and bombs and hotels. I don't know how I know," he continued, his voice cracking, nearly breaking into tears. "I swear. I tried to tell them. I tried to warn them … warn them about the bomb. But they wouldn't listen. THEY WOULDN'T LISTEN!" he yelled, his bottom lip quivering as tears began to spill down his cheeks. "They … they tased me and locked me in the car. I… I couldn't save them. I tried… I tried and I tried but they wouldn't listen…." he trailed off, breaking down in sobs, trying in vain to turn away from her.

Sarah covered her mouth, struggling not to break down herself under the gravity of what she was hearing. The edge pieces of this puzzle were starting to click into place. Bryce. An email. It could coincide with the transmission of the stolen Intersect. The things that he "knew" that he shouldn't. The bombing. She struggled to accept what had befallen this man. He had simply opened an email from a man that he'd once considered a friend, and in doing so, was somehow imparted with knowledge that he was ill-equipped to deal with; that anyone would be ill-equipped to deal with. Chuck Bartowski was an innocent man, a good man, trying to do the right thing. He must have somehow figured out the plot to the bombing of the Sheraton Grand, but since he was a civilian, talking about a bomb he should, by all rights, know nothing about, he was treated like a nut-case.

Once it was too late, the authorities that had dismissed him must have realized their error. They had no choice but to cover it up. That's why the stories were so similar. They needed their stories to match, but in doing so, they unwittingly sentenced that innocent man to a deep, dark hole in the middle of nowhere, into the claws of Clyde Decker. The tears burned the back of her eyes, forcing her to shut them tight and look away. She took a deep, shaky breath, calling on her training to try and get her emotions in check.

One comment he'd said stood out, now that she could reflect on it. He's said he knew things he shouldn't know, like "her". Had he seen information about her in much the same way he'd learned about Vuk Andrić? What details of her life were in the Intersect? If he knew about her career, getting him to trust her was going to be much harder than she first thought. Pushing that worry aside for now, she needed to address the issue at hand.

"Chuck," she said in as calm and comforting a tone as she could muster. His sobbing was beginning to wane, sniffling and wiping at his cheeks and eyes with the sleeve of his scrubs. "Chuck," she said again, a little louder, trying to get his attention.

She didn't know how or when it happened, but she found herself holding his hand, squeezing it firmly. It must have been a subconscious act to offer this man some sort of comfort, but she found that it surprisingly had a calming effect on her as well. She couldn't recall ever holding someone's hand when it wasn't part of some cover; a means to an end. Perhaps during her childhood, before that had been taken from her.

Shifting her gaze from their joined hands to look up at Chuck, she caught him staring back at her, dumbfounded. She wet her lips with her tongue, trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry." she said, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry for what happened to you." Sarah paused for a moment, looking around the room. There was a camera in the corner behind her and a small window in the door, but nobody was watching. Thankfully, her body blocked the camera's view of her hand in his. She released her hold and stepped up closer to the head of the bed so she could speak more quietly.

"I … I don't know why your roomate… why Bryce sent that email to you, Chuck, but you're right. Those are things you shouldn't know. I'm not certain what's happened to you, but we'll figure it out." Chuck blinked several times, clearly confused by her reaction and likely her use of Bryce's name. "Look, I'm still trying to make sense of all of this, but I believe you. I believe you about Bryce, the email and about the bombing. But… there are things in play here that I don't fully understand yet. So, before anyone else realizes the connection between you and Bryce, I need to figure out what's going on. That means… you're going to have to stay in here." Chuck's eyes grew wide with fear at her statement.

"Hey. Listen to me," she rushed out, grabbing his shoulder. He hissed in pain, his jaw clenching and his eyes shut tight. She gasped slightly, pulling her hand back as if it was on fire. As he relaxed and opened his eyes, she winced, mouthing, "Sorry". Clearing her throat, she began speaking softly again. "Like I said before, Decker's gone. It's just me now. No more interrogations. OK?" Chuck nodded hesitantly, clearly apprehensive. "I may have to stage some things to keep up appearances. Otherwise, people might grow suspicious." She gestured with her head slightly toward the corner where the camera was mounted. His eyes widened again, but when his gaze flicked in the direction she'd gestured, his expression softened with realization. He faintly nodded his understanding.

"Wh-why are you helping me?" he asked in a whisper, his eyes darting, searching hers. She could see a light in his deep hazel eyes that she hadn't noticed before. She wasn't sure she knew the answer to his question. In part, she felt guilty for what had happened to him, even though she hadn't been a participant. Maybe she felt a bond with him, both having been betrayed by Bryce Larkin, or perhaps it was her sense of right and wrong, as subjective as it may be at times. None of those seemed to adequately explain it in her mind. There was just something about him. Something in her gut just told her that she should trust him. In her world of deceit and death, there were few she trusted; even fewer now. She needed someone she could trust and she suspected he would need the same.

"Because I … I believe, from what I've seen, you're a good man, Chuck. You deserve far better than you've gotten. I… I know that you have … information about me." She saw his eyes widen in surprise at that statement, further confirming that she was right. "I don't know how much, but I need you to look past what you may think you know and … and trust me. If we're going to find a way through this, I need you to trust me, Chuck." She looked into his eyes, holding his gaze in the hope that it would prove her sincerity. When he looked back at her, searching her eyes, she couldn't help but feel vulnerable, exposed. It was like he could see through her, somehow.

"I used to be a very trusting person, Agent Walker. I've, quite literally, had that beaten out of me," he choked out, swallowing thickly. "But… from where I'm sitting, I don't see that I have much of a choice. It seems we both have … trust issues," he stated, his tone indicating there was deeper meaning to his words. Perhaps he knew more about her than she'd feared. "That's something we'll both have to work on." Sarah stoically held his gaze, not wanting to reveal the vulnerability she was feeling, and mutely nodded, not certain what else to say. Backing away from the bed, she turned around and knocked on the door. Moments later she was out of his room and walking back to her office.

Once inside, she pushed the door closed, leaning against it and thumping her head against the door. Closing her eyes, she blew out a long, shaky breath, as she allowed what she'd learned to wash over her. This mission had grown into something far larger than she could have ever imagined. She had no idea who she could trust with this information. Telling the wrong person could likely get him, and herself, killed.

A/N2: Some emotional revelations that only seem to lead to more questions.

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JW