My love, my darling

I've hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time

And time goes by so slowly

And time can do so much

Are you still mine?

"Unchained Melody"

The Righteous Brothers

May 25, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

"Are you almost done in h–" Sarah called as she leaned into the bathroom door, her voice instantly catching in her throat at the scene before her. Chuck stood with his back to her, fresh from the shower, his hair still wet but combed back off his forehead, in mid-donning of his t-shirt that he wore to bed. The bottom of his back was exposed as he pulled at the twisted hem that had folded up, riveting her focus and holding her transfixed. On his right side, over his hip above the hem of his flannel pants, she saw the scar–shaped like a comet, starkly white against his olive skin, rough and uneven, puckered at the edge. It was over an inch long.

Instinctively, she knew what that was. He had been shot, while wearing a kevlar vest, at an awkward angle that had afforded him less than standard protection. Diving in between her body and a bullet, because she had been stunned, too startled to react, too in shock to pull her gun away from his head and point it at the true villain. She had known intellectually that the scar was there. Ellie had told her when she asked that the original wound had been the size of a grapefruit, slow to heal and causing him pain when he walked. She had asked his sister, because he would never have told her straight out. He cared deeply about how she felt, never wanting to contribute to her stress in any way.

But in this tenuous dance that had now become their relationship, she still had never seen it before. She felt her knees turn to liquid, her legs barely able to hold her on her feet. Her hand reached up over her mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat, even as her eyes misted.

All of that happened in the blink of an eye, in the moment it took for him to adjust his shirt and turn around. He had left the door open to air out the steam, surprised by her voice at the threshold. He opened his mouth to speak, but the look on her face stopped him dead. His forehead creased with concern, he took a cautious step forward. "Sarah, what's wrong?" he asked, worrying she had remembered something awful, or that she was struggling to remember something and was overcome. It wasn't that uncommon, in the past few months.

She had wrapped her arms around herself, bending forward as if she were in physical pain. "Your back," she whispered in a strangled voice.

The color flushed on his cheeks and the tops of his ears, and he shifted his eyes to the floor for a moment before looking back up at her. "Yeah. It ended up leaving a scar," he said quietly, self-conscious in the moment, speaking about that incident.

She sank down to sit on the edge of the bathtub, not trusting her legs to hold her up any longer. Groaning, she tried to speak, but couldn't make another sound. The dichotomy of that moment, emblazoned in her mind, was the hardest thing she had come to terms with when she had told him she would stay, work things out, and try to remember. Now, having fallen in love with him again, remembering what she had done to him was torturous agony. "Oh, Chuck," she finally managed to say between sobs. "How can you…" The words in her head, pressing to come out, were possibly still love me. It was an instinct to think that, based on logic and factual information. But she knew the answer, knew it in her heart. He had never stopped. He had never given up, never stopped believing in the strength of those emotions, believing that as long as they were together, that everything would work. He had saved her life while she was trying to kill him–he loved her that much. Selflessly, without any regard for himself.

He had seen this several times, in the three months' long journey that had brought them here, still married, living together, in love, but wary of each other, as her memories painstakingly filled in. He had hoped living with him would have opened up her mind, but it was so much slower than he had hoped. He was patient, knowing the alternative was losing her, completely intolerable to him. "Sarah," he said, reaching down, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

"Do you…do you…are… there more? Scars…from…from what I did to you?" she gasped, trying to back away from him even as he held her fast. She asked, but she knew, she knew without question he would never tell her, even if there were. She had kicked him, punched him, thrown him down a flight of stairs, and hit him with her gun.

"Sarah," was all he could say, her name but so much else. He was pleading with her to stop, to not drag him backward into the darkest day of his life. He had had plenty of wounds from all of that, but it didn't matter, none of it did, because the wounds on the inside were healed now.

She turned her head away, ashamed to look at the pure emotion in his eyes, knowing she would see nothing but his undying love there, feeling sick with the knowledge of who she felt was so different from the woman she thought he loved, even now. "Look at me," he said softly, but forcefully. He reached up and took her face in his hands, his palms against her cheeks. He held her still, not forcefully enough to hurt her, but enough to keep her level with his face. "Sarah, look at me," he repeated, seeing she kept her eyes closed.

She did as he asked, almost crumpling against him when she looked into his eyes. He was in pain, but because she was coming apart in front of him. She was hurting him, the thought unbearable. "Please, don't do this," he begged. She relaxed in his arms, calmed by the gentle tone of his voice. Without another word, he pulled her by her waist in front of the mirror, spinning her to face it, with his hands around her from behind. "Open your eyes, Sarah," he demanded, holding her chin so she had no choice but to comply.

She sought him out in the reflection, not able to meet her own eyes. She sagged against him, feeling the warmth of his body along the length of her. The tenderness on his face, the warmth in his eyes seemed to sap all of her resistance away. "The woman I see," he said, slowly as he fought to keep his voice steady, "is beautiful. The most beautiful thing my eyes will ever see. She's that beautiful, even when my eyes are closed." He nuzzled his mouth against the side of her head, his breath warm in her ear. He had known what she was thinking, nearly reading her thoughts, and responding in kind.

She tried to see what he saw, looking at her face. It was so unusual, seeing her love for him in her own eyes. She didn't remember feeling like this, looking like this, but she had seen it, watching the video log Casey had delivered to her hotel room. There were a thousand days of memories in between that woman and her, but the look was the same. She caught her breath, reaching around her right arm to his back, pulling up his shirt and laying her hand against the scar. He flinched only slightly, the dead nerve endings creating a strange tingling sensation where her hand rested.

"You weren't even thinking about your vest, were you? If you had been, you would have turned around, used your chest to shield me, where the armor was thickest," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

He looked away. "Casey wouldn't let me leave Castle without it, when I left to go meet you and my sister. I wasn't thinking straight…and I…couldn't believe what they were telling me. I didn't want to believe it." She nodded, meeting his eyes in the mirror, knowing he was agreeing with her without just admitting it to her. "The only thing I was thinking about was you," he said, hoarsely, his jaw going slack. "No matter what else was at play in that moment, I couldn't live without you. And I knew that. That was the only thing that mattered."

She turned in his arms, hugging him tightly, not trusting herself in the moment if she continued to look at his face and how awash it was with love. "I love you, Chuck," she whispered.

She felt his hand on the back of her hair, smoothing it gently. He sighed, his chest shaking as he let her words wash over him. All of the misery up to this point, including the scar on his back, was worth it, to hear those words again and know she meant them. "I love you too, Sarah. Always," he said, pulling away from her, kissing her lips. It was chaste, his lips soft and gentle against hers.

She felt a pang as he pulled away, wanting more, almost aching to feel him against her again. He released her, reaching down to hang up his towel, and turning to leave. "Good night, Sarah," he said with a crooked smile, and walked into the hallway.

She had wondered if he had seen the longing on her face when he'd finished kissing her, and gasped at herself, looking up at the ceiling, when she saw her reflection. The naked desire had flushed her cheeks. She wanted him. That feeling alone was no strange thing–she knew what it was like to feel that need. But this wasn't the same. She wanted him. Only his hands, his mouth, his body next to her. This was what it felt like to love someone like that. Her desire for him came from a different place. She wanted to be close to him, with nothing separating them, nothing at all.

May 26, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

Sarah sat up quickly, the remnants of her dream still lingering though the images were hazy. Early morning sunlight, a white duvet cover, a dingy pillow dotted with tiny pink flowers. Her pulse was racing, her insides throbbing with a familiar longing. Like she had felt when Chuck had kissed her good night, sweetly and gently, as he always did, not meaning to light her on fire, but still he had. Her emotions were stirring, building, when she was in his arms, even for a delicate peck on the lips. She loved him, she knew this and she had told him so. Vague memories, so many vague memories, of loving him before and somehow always being denied the opportunity to just be with him, to tell him and show him. It made sense, from what he had said and continued to explain as she moved through daily life with him.

But she was here now, in love with him, married to him, and asleep in a different room, if the restless tossing and twisting in her night clothes and sheets could ever really be defined as sleep. He asked nothing, demanded nothing, only helped her and followed her cues as to what she wanted him to do. Every moment he amazed her, every word, every action made her fall more and more in love with him.

He was in the apartment with her, and she missed him like he was a thousand miles away. She couldn't stand it anymore, she told herself. She climbed out of bed, looking at her robe lying across the foot of the bed, telling herself she didn't need it. Modesty had its place while they were rebuilding their relationship. But not now. She stood, adjusting her twisted nightgown to fall straight down as it fell slightly above her knee.

On bare feet, she crept down the hallway to his bedroom, their bedroom, she thought. The bed she had slept in for two years, at his left side. The door was open, as he always left it, knowing some of her dreams ended up being nightmares and always coming to her room if he heard her wake up, offering comfort and a rational explanation to sort out her confusion. So many times he had done that, but she realized with a start, she had never come to his room in the middle of the night. She only had memories of what he looked like when he slept.

She stood in the doorway, tracing the contours of his body in the darkness with her eyes. He was on his back, the sheets tangled about his legs, sleeping on his side of the bed, as if leaving room for her though he slept alone. Apparently his sleep was just as troubled as hers. She took a step closer, stepping into the dim light to see more clearly. His hair was slightly messed, flattened and softly curling against his forehead. His face was relaxed in sleep, his eyelashes dark against the lightness of his face in the pale moonlight. He was beautiful, so attractive to her–knowing she was not only looking at him with her eyes, but her heart. His face was indelibly stamped into her soul.

The urge to touch him, run her fingers through his hair, hold him against her came at her in a wave, almost making her knees buckle. How was she so blessed to have this man here, waiting for her, loving her despite it all? She had tried to do as he had suggested, standing behind her in the mirror, telling her how beautiful he thought she was, even when his eyes were closed. He knew her, apparently now better than she knew herself, although with the strong suspicion that that had always been the case. She could still see the darkness inside herself, believing herself unworthy of such selfless love, trying to look away even as he held her face forward.

A gouge, caused by him diving in between her and a bullet meant to end her life, while she had at the same time been holding a gun to his head and threatening to kill him. She could still see that moment, see the bruises on his face and the pain in his body all caused by her brutal attack on him, made worse by his complete lack of self defense, not wanting to hurt her in the slightest bit. She recalled the loose binding of her wrists on the chair, how even then he couldn't tie them tight enough to even dig into her wrists and cause pain. The dive to protect her had been instinctive, at an awkward angle. He may have been wearing a vest, but the vest wasn't on his mind then–only protecting her. He had, in the split millisecond in between knowing and acting, offered his life for hers.

This love, this unfathomable love he held inside for her, was boundless. The ugliness she saw in herself was invisible to him. He thought she was deserving of the magnificence of who he was. She wasn't, but she wanted to be. She wanted to be the person he saw when he looked at her. She wanted to love him the way he deserved to be loved. Her eyes filled with tears as the feeling bloomed like a rose in her chest. If not for him and his indefatigable devotion to her, she feared she would have walked away, never knowing she was discarding the greatest gift the world had ever given her.

"Sarah?" he asked, groggily, coming awake at her approach to his bedside. "Are you all right?" he asked with concern, seeing the tears in her eyes as the moonlight slanted across her face.

"No, Chuck, I'm not," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. She moved to his bed, sat beside him, feeling the warmth from his body on the sheet under her leg. He sat up, searching her face in the dark, worrying. "I want my husband back," she said vehemently.

She felt his breath rush out, warm against her cheek and still lightly scented with his peppermint toothpaste. He reached up, threading his fingers into her hair and resting his thumb against her cheek. "You never lost him," he whispered, caressing her skin gently, making her shiver under his touch.

She let out a soft cry, the words piercing to the center of her. Her chest heaved, the breath coming in labored puffs. "Then let me be your wife," she pleaded, leaning close enough so her lips were almost touching his.

"Sarah," he gasped, breathless at her nearness, struggling to hold himself back. "Are you sure this is what you want? Now?"

Her answer was to kiss him, deeply, passionately, pressing her body against him, letting all of her emotion pour out into it. He was so hesitant at first, but in the end gave in to the sensation, aching in his need for her, after so long. She could feel his arousal under the sheet, pressed against her stomach. And still he pulled his mouth away from her, "I don't want you to regret this in the morning, Sarah."

"The only regret I have is waiting this long," she murmured against his lips. He kissed her again, gently, unable not to with her lips on his mouth, but he held still, his hands behind him, propping himself up on the bed.

"Please," she pleaded, her mouth just inches above the skin on his neck. Her hands were roaming, reaching for him under the sheet, pulling at his pajamas. The raw desire for him was there, unmistakable in her voice. He loved her more than anything on the earth, and despite the strange situation, could never deny her anything, certainly not something she needed so desperately. He circled his arm around her waist, pulling her across him and laying her down beside him. She yanked her nightgown over her head and off in one motion, then pulled at the rest of his night clothes. She couldn't pull her eyes away from him, all of him, unable to resist the urge to touch him, caress him. She watched him close his eyes, moaning softly as she ran her hands over his body.

"I've said this before, but you need to hear it again. You're beautiful, Sarah. You're so beautiful I almost can't breathe when I look at you," he said, laboring to breathe as she continued to touch him, lifting herself up so that more of her skin was in contact with him. He kissed her, stretching himself over her body, as he began making love to her.

She wasn't sure if she had ever used that term before, knowing before this moment now, and most certainly before she had known him in the past that she couldn't quite recall, she couldn't have described what she had done that way. This was something she had never experienced before, though she had to remind herself, for him, this was a familiar comfort instead of an intoxicating new experience. He ran his finger down her chest, in between her breasts, reaching up and pinching her nipple, as it sent tiny electric shocks deep to the center of her. When he followed with his mouth, she could no longer control the noises that sprang forth from deep inside her body.

He loves you, he has always loved you, she told herself, as she quickly became overwhelmed in the moment. Her husband had taken his time in the past, studying her like a book. His hands and his mouth went exactly where she wanted them, where she needed them, before she even could form the thoughts. She was lost, swimming in a warm, comforting place, almost outside of her body. She could hear herself moaning, though her voice sounded like it was coming from far away, intruding on her thoughts as she marveled at the way he was making her feel. Quiet descended only when she pressed her mouth against his body.

It was soon a twisting dance, a tangle of arms and legs, as they rolled back and forth on top the covers, alternating pleasing each other in a passionately slow and tender exchange. The moaning vibrated deep in her chest as he gradually worked her into a frenzy, first with his hand and then his mouth. He lost his concentration as she traced her fingers over his skin, crying out her name when she replaced her hands with her mouth. He lifted himself over her, propped up on both hands, sliding his hands up her arms and holding her wrists together over her head. Effortlessly she joined with him as she angled her hips up to him, all the while sighing as if in relief, like one expected from a soul dying of thirst finally given a drink of water. Her moaning reached a crescendo just as he could feel her muscles undulating against him, comforted in the knowledge that despite everything, this was still the same, being with her like this. He crushed his lips against hers, even as the moaning continued into his mouth.

She wrapped her legs around him, both hands reaching to the back of his head and holding tight, pulling him closer, inviting him to take what he needed from her. He groaned, shuddering in her arms, his breath warm against her neck. He lay against her, slowly catching his breath. Once he was flat on his back, he saw her face, the tears wet on her cheeks and glistening in the moonlight. He felt her shaking against him, softly weeping.

"Sarah, what?" he asked, terrified in the moment that he had done something wrong, upset her or hurt her, pushed her farther than she felt comfortable in his desperation to just be with her again.

There were no words she could find to express her emotions, completely overwrought. She clung to him, not able to let go of him, never wanting to be farther than this away from him for the rest of her life. She continued crying, what felt like years of pent up emotion for him pouring out of her.

"What is it? What did I do?" he asked again, an edge to his voice.

Realizing her reaction was being misconstrued, she lifted her face, finding his eyes in the darkness. Words were difficult now, as she was still overwhelmed. But she could not let his distress continue. "Chuck," she said, continuing to look into his eyes.

He couldn't breathe, seeing her emotion radiate outward to envelop him. There was no mistaking the look, the depth of her love in her eyes. "Why are you crying?" he asked her.

"It was always like that, with us, wasn't it?" she managed to say. He sighed, relieved in the moment. "I never dreamed that was even possible, to feel like that, to be…like that. Every time we ever made love, it was like that," she said in awe. "It felt like you were part of me. I couldn't feel where I ended and you began, like our bodies were meant to fit together like that. It felt like you knew what I was thinking, the way you touched me."

His heart was still pounding, his breathing labored, but he ran his hand over her cheek, drying her tears and brushing back her hair. She had never said anything so emotionally deep and profound to him, ever. It just wasn't how she was, preferring to keep her thoughts internal and let her feelings for him show in how she acted. "We always communicated best this way," he said, sounding winded. God, there was nothing sexier than the sound of his voice, husky and breathless from making love to her, she thought.

"I have so many memories, they all just came flooding back into me. I can't sort them out, there were so many," she said softly, resting her head against his chest, twirling her fingers in his chest hair.

"Rest now," he whispered, seeing the hour on the clock for the middle of the night. "I promise we will explore those memories, one by one, until you know where they're from. Even if we need to reenact it, so it jogs your memory again," he smiled, his white teeth shining in the moonlight that fell in patches over his face.

She turned, grabbing his hand and holding it against her chest as she tucked herself against him. They lay perfectly still, side by side, until morning, at last rediscovering the deep sleep that only seemed achievable when their bodies were in close contact, their legs intertwined. Holding onto each other, everything was all right again.