You've got someone here

Wants to make it alright

Someone that loves you more than life

Right here

You got willing arms that'll hold you tight

A hand to lead you all through the night

Right here

I know your heart can get all tangled up inside

But don't you keep it to yourself

When your long day is over

And you can barely drag your feet

The weight of the world

Is on your shoulders

I know what you need

Bring it on home to me

You know I know you

Like the back of my hand

And you know I'm gonna do all that I can

Right here

I'm gonna lie with you

Till you fall asleep

When the morning comes I'm still gonna be

Right here

Oh yes, I am

"Bring it On Home"

Little Big Town

May 26, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

Chuck was tucking the last of the blankets around as he finished making the bed when Sarah walked into the room. Her hair was wet, hanging in wet spirals across her bare shoulders, a light blue towel wrapped around her and tucked in the front between her breasts. The scent of her shampoo was still on his hands, but it swirled around him as she passed.

"I forgot, none of my stuff is in here," she said, chuckling softly. "I mean, none of the stuff I use every day." Her side of the closet was still full, but with her dressier clothes, nothing she had needed to wear hanging around the apartment with Chuck. Her undergarments, pajamas, and all of her casual clothes were in the spare bedroom.

"Or," he said with a crooked smile, "you remembered your stuff used to be in here."

She giggled, placing two fingers over her mouth. "Maybe both?" she smiled. She scanned down his body with her eyes, seeing how he was dressed in ripped jeans and a tattered looking shirt. "Why are you dressed like that?" she asked. She glanced at the bedside clock, surprised at how late in the morning it actually was. They had slept late, then stayed together in bed, and later showered together, an inefficient use of both water and time, but worthwhile nonetheless.

He pursed his lips, thinking she should have known. "Bolonia and Big Mike are moving today…I told Morgan I'd help. I told you that, right?" he offered.

"Oh, that's right. Today's Wednesday," she said, as if she was reminding herself. It struck him as strange, but he realized in the past three months, this was the first time he had planned to leave Sarah alone in the apartment. They had literally done nothing but stay home together, with a loose routine for a schedule, a recommendation from his sister. It had made him uneasy at first, following instructions that were meant for dealing with hospitalized brain injury patients, to just live with his wife. But, as Ellie had reminded him with a sad resignation, that was the closest thing to her condition that was known and manageable. They were alone in the apartment on Tuesdays, dinner with Emma and Molly on Wednesdays, dinner with Alex and Morgan on Thursdays, a phone call with Ellie on Friday afternoon. Shopping on Saturday, movies on Sunday. Cleaning on Mondays. The routine removed the added stress of the everyday, allowing her to focus on triggered memories and recovering lost bits of her life. He knew it was for her, but sometimes it made him feel like an old man. "And my mother is coming with Molly later," she added.

He saw her smile, at the same time sensing her trepidation, as she seemed to realize she would be in the apartment by herself for a six hour stretch. "You know, you can come with me. They'd love the help, and they'd love to see you."

"No!" she said immediately, almost talking over the end of his sentence. "No," she repeated, less harshly. "I'm sorry, Chuck. It's just…Morgan's mother and Big Mike…it's worse than anything else, because they don't understand. The last time she asked me how my hair grew back so quickly after surgery for my aneurysm, or how I could have amnesia when that only exists on soap operas. Or worse, Big Mike asking me what changed my mind about divorcing you, asking me why I left you in the first place. It's awful, Chuck. I'm sorry."

He watched her close her eyes, rubbing her hand over her forehead in defeat. He recalled what she had told him this morning, about being more comfortable alone with him than mixed in with the remaining acquaintances left in their lives who didn't quite understand what she was dealing with or what she was going through. "Morgan did the best he could, trying to explain what happened to you…without, you know, telling them the whole story. I know you don't really remember, but they care about you. They were at our wedding," he told her, walking towards her and resting his hands on her shoulders.

"I know, Chuck. I know I need to try. But, after last night and…" Her voice faded as she looked up at him, catching his eyes. "It would just be easier, you know, if I could just have some time to sort it all out, be by myself, it would be better." She saw the questions on his face, as his smile stiffened. "Chuck, I think that came out wrong. I just have all these…random thoughts now, that I'm not sure where they fit and they're so jumbled I can't even ask you yet. I can just work on it while I'm alone, then we can talk when you get back. Oh, and I can move all my stuff back in here, clean out the guest room, really clean it, put it back the way it was supposed to be."

She finished with a smile, but he knew she was still dodging, avoiding the others who were harder for her to interact with. He never wanted to push her, instead heeding Ellie's advice and just being patient. He focused on what she had said, about moving back into their room permanently, and he couldn't help but smile in return. "I like the sound of that," he said slowly, leaning closer and kissing her.

She held the towel to her chest with one hand, and reached up behind his neck with the other, returning his kiss in kind. "Don't hurt yourself lugging furniture today. I need you back here in working order," she said softly as he pulled away.

He smiled widely, pecking her nose before he straightened up. "That's a roger on that." He walked out, turning back slightly once he passed the door frame and telling her, "There's leftover soup in the fridge for lunch."

"I know. Have fun. I'll see you later," she called, waving gently as he left, warmed by his constant need to take care of her. She walked down the hallway to the guest bedroom, dropping her towel onto the bed and pulling her clothes from the dresser. She slid into an old pair of yoga pants and a long sleeve blouse. With her hands on her hips, she surveyed the room. Cleaning as a task was something she only knew of post memory loss, not remembering what or how the housework had been divided when they lived together as a happily married couple. Now she always cleaned with Chuck. But she knew she could get this room straight again.

She pulled the sheets and blankets off the bed, stripping it down to the mattress. From under the bed storage, she pulled a new set of sheets out and moved about to remake the bed, walking in controlled circles around the bed. Then the blanket, bedspread, pillows, until it looked perfect again. She ran her hand over the surface, smoothing out the wrinkles, sighing with contentment with the knowledge that she wouldn't be alone in this room anymore. She put the laundry in the closet, then went back into the room. She dusted the nightstand and the desktop, plus the lamps on top. Then she could focus on moving her clothes.

She started with the dresser drawers, scooping them out in armfuls and walking them into the other room, taking the time to arrange them the proper way in the new drawers. The dresser was empty after just over two hours had passed. She dusted out the empty drawers, then opened the closet. There was almost nothing in the closet, just a few hanging items that she gathered over her arm and pulled out. She draped them over the bed, and went back to straighten the empty closet. Completely done, she picked up the hangered clothing and took them into their bedroom.

With one arm, she pushed the hanging items to one side to make room, then in groups placed the remaining items on the rack. After she hung up the last one, she stepped to the side, kicking something with her bare foot, seeing stars and pulling her foot up and massaging her big toe, panting in pain. She looked down, seeing she had actually kicked her empty suitcase pushed against the wall under her hanging clothes.

She dropped down on her knees, then flopped to sitting, still nursing her sore toe. Her elbow bumped the latch on the suitcase, the force of the pressure causing the lid to crash open, as it apparently had only been loosely shut. As she leaned forward to pull it shut again, something caught her eye. Peeking out from one corner of the elastic-edged pouch in the lid was what looked like a photograph. She pulled it out, tilting it to see it clearly in the dim light inside the closet. It was an old picture of Chuck and her. She wore a sleeveless beige dress, and Chuck stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist. He wore a red t-shirt and jeans.

They were in Palm Springs…waiting for Roan Montgomery to sober up enough to transport him in Casey's car without threat of him vomiting on the upholstery. Cover photos, she had told him, asked Casey to take them. They needed photographs of them together, for the cover. There were three…facing each other, him behind her facing the camera, him leaning close to her cheek…

In that instant, it was as if she had been transported into an alternate reality. The room, the objects surrounding her seemed unreal, things that belonged to someone she didn't know. She felt like she was floating up like a balloon, away from the world she inhabited. She couldn't breathe and her head swam with dizziness. Her eyes filled with tears inexplicably, pouring down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away, though she tried. She pulled her knees up tight against her chest, shaking as her body was wracked with sobbing. Time seemed to have stopped progressing forward, the patterns of light and shadow dancing in a slow progression on the floor as hours stretched, and she sat frozen and unmoving on her closet floor.

XXX

"Sarah?" Chuck called frantically, running down the dark hallway, seeing the closet light. "Sarah?" he called again, a panicked shrill in his voice, wondering where she was.

He ran into the bedroom, circling around the bed, seeing her crumpled form on the floor of the closet. "I called your cell phone ten times and you didn't answer," he said in a rush of words, crouching down on the floor in front of her. "Sarah, what's wrong?" he asked in fear, seeing the tears streaked on both cheeks, the dazed and blank expression on her face.

"Sarah?" he yelled louder, grabbing her by her shoulders and shaking her gently, noting how disoriented she looked, like she wasn't even aware he was there. Opening his mouth to breathe as his lungs strained in his stress, he looked down and saw she had something clutched against her chest, her hands clamped down and white-knuckled. He had to pry her fingers open, slowly so he didn't hurt her. He pulled the crinkled photograph out of her hands, realizing it was the old photograph from her suitcase pocket. Dropping it, he reached back for her shoulders again, pulling her forward, reaching for her face and turning her head until eventually the fog seemed to clear and she realized he was there.

"Chuck," she gasped, moaning deep inside, a quiet whimper like from an animal in pain.

"What happened? How long have you been in here like this? Sarah?" he demanded, his tone more strident.

He slowly came into focus in front of her. His hair was messy, curling from sweaty exertions during the day as he'd assisted with lifting and moving furniture. The grime was lightly streaked on his cheeks and his clothes dusty and dirty. Sickness exploded in her stomach as she saw the dismay on his face and in his eyes. "The picture," she murmured, her voice weak and small.

He held her face in his hands, waiting. She shifted her eyes back up to his face, meeting his hazel eyes. Her voice strangled and deep, nearly breaking, she forced out the words. "When I was packing, in my hotel room, after I ran away from the house…I looked inside the pocket. I couldn't figure out what I was looking for…but I knew something was missing. I was racing around, throwing things in there…but I couldn't shake that feeling, that I was missing something."

He didn't know what to say, just sat waiting. She averted her eyes briefly, but when she looked back up, her eyes were huge orbs, reflecting some deep, unknown terror at him. He could feel her trembling, and he slowly pulled his hands away. "Talk to me, Sarah," he urged. "What's happening?"

He knelt first, shifting his weight and eventually sitting propped up against the doorframe, never taking his eyes from her. She leaned against the opposite side, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. "How did all of that stuff end up in my old hotel room? How did any of that end up that way?" She looked at him again, so obviously terrified it broke his heart, seeing her so helpless it was disconcerting. "What happened to me?"

He visibly flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he could somehow block out the pictures in his mind. His stomach acid burned at the back of his throat as the sickness boiled inside him, remembering the bloody handprints on her body, in places where before only he would have been permitted to touch her. "I don't know. No one does. The only person who knew…is dead," he added, sounding winded from the strain of speaking about it.

She closed her eyes, turned her head away, the tears streaming down her cheeks. He continued, speaking slowly in a deep, rough, anguished voice. "You and Casey were trying to rescue me, on the bullet train in Japan. I found out you'd downloaded the Intersect. Casey told me you did it because there was no other way out. We were…trying to remove it, but we got separated. He," Chuck stressed the pronoun, not letting himself say the name out loud, "kidnapped you." A thin sheen of tears made his eyes look glassy in the dim light. "You did set off your emergency beacon, about 36 hours later, in L.A., but we were too late. I don't know what he did to you there, or…afterward," he forced out, the tortuous agony in the words piercing her heart as she listened. "It was another 30 hours before you came back here."

She was looking at the floor, speaking in a slow monotonal voice. "It was a warehouse…empty…there's a light in my eyes, and my hands are tied behind my back…" He sat forward, lurching towards her, both wanting to hear what she was saying, and a part of him not able to fathom the words, or the thought of listening to what had happened to her when he had been helpless to save her.

"Nightmares," she whispered, looking back up into his eyes. "The nightmares. It's always like that. Those images." He figured as much, but those times, in the middle of the night, holding her, trying to calm her shaking and ease her screaming, she could never coherently explain what she had seen in her mind. "And…so much pain…like an ax hitting my skull, over and over and over…"

He put his head down on his arms, stretched out over his knees, fighting the wave of nausea at her description. "Oh, god, Sarah…" he moaned, as if he could feel it himself. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice broken as he sobbed.

Immediately she was up, on her knees, moving to kneel next to him. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against the side of his face. "Chuck," she whispered lovingly. "Please don't do this," she pleaded, echoing his words to her from the night before in the bathroom. Perhaps for the first time, she understood that he felt just as terrible about what he believed he had allowed to happen to her as how she felt about what she had done to him. His reaction outraged her, that someone who had done nothing but give of himself for her, could feel like he had ever in any way failed her. "Even in those nightmares, the thought of you kept me going. I know I was focused on you, even if I can't remember the rest of it."

He reached for her clumsily, pulling her against him roughly, as he breathed out a rattling sob. "I love you so much, Sarah. If you need to talk about that, sort through those memories, you should be able to talk to me. I can't just lose it like that, every time. I'm sorry."

The circuitous logic in the moment stunned her. How was she here, listening to him heartbroken over the fact that it was too difficult for him to hear about the awful things that had happened to her? When again, the utmost reason why it was killing him, was because her pain, in any form, seemed to cut into him equally. She was overwhelmed, trapped in a continuous loop, feeling like she was falling down into a bottomless pit, no hope for even a crash landing to end the reeling panic. How could they ever get past this? she thought desperately.

"This isn't fair," she swore, lifting up and sitting back hard into a sitting position. He wiped at his cheeks, lifting his head to see her lean back against the door frame again. "You can't spend the rest of your life like this. Taking care of me like I'm a head injury patient, never able to leave me alone in our apartment. Like I'm an invalid. You deserve so much better than that," she ended in defeat.

"Don't you dare, Sarah," he warned, a taint of anger in his tone. He jutted his left hand outward, inches from her face. Pointing to his wedding ring, he said with staunch conviction, "Do you see this? There was no asterisk with this, no footnote, no what-if clause. It means forever, no matter what. That's what I promised you, and that's what I'm doing. I'm here, fighting for you, every day. And I always will be."

He was quoting his vows, she knew. That was a memory that had returned, what had allowed her to tell him she loved him, now, with just a sentence or two from the past and a week's worth of knowing him and who he was. Whatever pain had surfaced, she only saw his emotion radiating back at her from his eyes, the depth of his love and devotion. It was entirely humbling, knowing as amazing as he was, everything to him was just her, in his life, beside him every day.

She dove forward, into his arms, pressing her face against his chest, breathing him in, the scent of him stronger from his hard work all day, but no less comforting. "I will never leave again, Chuck, I promise. I'm here. It's just so hard, sometimes."

"I know," he whispered, cradling the back of her head with his hand. "The only way we're ever going to get through this to the other side is together." She lost herself in his embrace, only vaguely aware of the light in the room slowly fading as the evening turned to full night. "Your mother and Molly will be here soon," he eventually said, in a soft voice that sounded loud in the deafening stillness.

"Go shower. I'll put the lasagna in the oven to heat up," she told him, kissing his cheek and shifting to stand. She pulled him up by his hands.

Dinner was more subdued than a usual Wednesday night. Emma could tell upon arrival that Sarah was in a low mood, something simmering under the surface. Molly was too young to understand what had happened to Sarah, and Chuck always tried extra hard to keep her involved and entertained elsewhere, so she wouldn't worry. Tonight was all the more difficult. The night ended with Emma and Sarah talking on the couch, while Chuck played video games with Sarah's young sister. Chuck was heartened to at least see Sarah smiling as she talked with her mother.

When it was time to leave, Molly had her arms sleepily wrapped around Chuck's neck as he held her at the door. Sarah kissed them both and smiled, walking away to get ready for bed, knowing Chuck was carrying Molly to the car. Once Sarah was out of earshot, Emma smiled, a tinge of sadness in her eyes. "I know I say this all the time, but she's so lucky to have you, Chuck. I can't imagine what it's been like for you, dealing with all of this. A lesser man would have given up, you know."

"I love her," he said, definitively but nonchalantly, the answer to any question that anyone could ever ask about his motivation or his devotion.

"I know you do, but it's so much more than that," she said as they walked out and shut the door. "Her father loves her too, but he was always quick to quit on her when things got hairy. But you know that too," she added softly.

"There's nothing that I wouldn't do for her," Chuck swore. "I don't care how hard it is."

"That's exactly what I mean, Chuck," she said, turning to smile at him as they reached her car. "I used to lie awake at night, wondering where she was, if she was all right. If she was hungry or cold, or alone. Once I knew she was in the CIA, I worried about that a lot. She was always alone. You cured that, you know. Even now, now that she doesn't remember it all."

He stood back up, after putting Molly securely in the car, half asleep but smiling. Emma's words touched him, a salve for his wounds from earlier. She placed her hand on his chest. "Sarah knows it's all in there, everything that she can't remember. And you're two halves of the same whole. It'll be alright, Chuck."

He hugged his mother-in-law. "Thank you," was all he could say, not trusting his voice to say anything else.

He watched them drive away, then walked back into his apartment. Everything was dark, and he walked back towards the bedroom. He peeked in the bedroom door, seeing Sarah already asleep, her head on his pillow. He sighed with contentment. He showered, brushed his teeth, then quietly slid into bed next to her. She stirred awake as the mattress lightly gave way under his weight. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, and she snuggled into him, the warmth under the blanket slowly surrounding them both.

He kissed her gently on her forehead, at the same time he felt her lips on his neck. He felt her hands, against the skin on his back, underneath his t-shirt. The idea of making love, as a means to comfort each other was something he had never contemplated, but he knew it was real. It had happened between them only once, he knew, after his father had died.

She wanted closeness, comfort from him, at this moment. Today had been very difficult, ups and downs and a swirling miasma of emotions. Her feelings for him had intensified, now that they were lovers again, but something dark and heavy, something ominous and frightening was inside her as well, and she at least now understood if she was trying to remember more, there was a chance that could surface as well. No matter what, she was safe with him–she knew that like she knew the sun would rise in the morning.

With a patient gentleness, and a soothing tenderness, they made love again, the need inside her to reaffirm her connection to him, that she was part of him, and somehow through that bond the broken parts of her could start to heal. Focused intently, the memory flooded back into her mind, solid this time, and she remembered.

May 27, 2010

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

She felt him brush against her, gently pulling her from her dream into the soft darkness of their bedroom. The outline of his face was dotted with shadows, but she could see the silver gleam from the moonlight on his eyes, open and glistening in the darkness with silent tears. So much had happened in the past few days that he still hadn't brought up to her.

First he had been in shock, just minutes from watching his father die in his arms. Grief had almost crushed him, guilt and regret pulling him down into a helpless, defeated pit. Then Shaw and the mission to stop the coup, coupled with his quickly advancing mental deterioration had left no time for anything else. Then the explosion, leaving just a little time for an impromptu memorial in his apartment.

Now they were alone, asleep side by side. Or at least she had been, but he wasn't.

"Chuck?" she whispered.

He tilted his head quickly, briefly, obviously surprised that she was awake. He sighed softly, a single tear streaming down the side of his face. "I can't believe he's gone, Sarah," he whispered, the raw pain edging the words as they cut into her. "He was gone half my life. And then I found him. You found him. And now he's gone."

She stayed silent, knowing there were no words she could say to comfort him. Rolling towards him, pressing her body along the length of him, she reached up and brushed the tear away. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and she felt the slight tremble of emotion. "I hope he knew…how much I loved him. All that back and forth…I said some things—"

She slid her leg gently over the top of his, curling her hip against his. The hand that had rubbed the tears from his cheek cradled his head, and she reached up with the other and turned his face towards her. "He knew, Chuck."

"I lied to him. I got angry and yelled about how he left us, even though I knew why. And I—" She felt another tear run over her fingers as his voice caught in his throat.

"He knew, Chuck. He came back to help you. Once he knew that was the life you chose. Everything he did was for you and Ellie. He knew you knew that," she whispered, close enough to him that he felt her breath against his lips. She leaned closer, touching his lips with her own, softly, the tenderest of kisses.

His lack of response to her wasn't awkward, just an almost slowing of time as he just pressed his lips against hers. The softness against her lips slowly intensified, his tenderness turning to passion. His arms reached around her, pulling her tight against him. For comfort's sake, she draped her leg over his hip and her arms around his neck. Her lips parted and his kiss deepened.

Intimacy with Chuck, still relatively new and fresh, was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Not just a synonym for sex, with him she was truly intimate. No walls, nothing separating them, no part of herself she kept from him. Always passionate, emotional, sometimes playful, but never quite like it was at this moment.

She had never dreamed that physical intimacy was a way to comfort, but she knew as he began making love to her that was what he needed. Closeness to her, affirmation of life in the face of death. Gentle as always, even at his most intense, she clung to him, holding him, closing the spaces between their bodies while at the same time moving in perfect rhythm with her lover.

Unusually silent as the waves of pleasure washed over her, Chuck felt her climax, shuddering and arching up against him. He spent the time, paid attention to what she needed, literally every emotion that crossed her face. Now, she felt his breathing change, his rush of emotion when he knew he had pleased her.

As she caught her breath, she wrapped her legs around him, holding him tighter against her. His release brought forth the unspoken emotion, the ecstasy muddled with pain. She held firm to him, cradling him in her arms. "I love you, Chuck," she whispered against his ear, the weight of his body pleasantly constricting. She turned her face up, kissing the tears standing on his cheeks beneath his eyes.

In complete silence, he adjusted himself downwards, his head against her chest. The sweat plastered their bodies together, but she couldn't let go of him. She counted his breaths, noting how they calmed and slowed until she knew he was asleep. Only then did she relax again, the darkness of her dreams welcoming her back.

May 26, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

Cradled in his arms, she felt calm again, the fears from before receding to the background as she gave a silent thanks for her husband, the rock she could cling to in the hurricane that had seemed to consume her life. They were that for each other, and they always had been. "I'm sorry about what I said before," she whispered. "About giving up."

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her in silent admiration before he finally spoke. "Sarah, you know, the day we had our first date, you know, the spy reconnaissance that I thought was a date, after I finally figured out what the Intersect was, and what it meant, I felt a little like that. Lost, scared, hopeless. I told you I was going home, but I was so unsettled, I needed to clear my head, so I went to the beach and just sat there, thinking. You followed me, but you stayed away from me until the sun rose. I was afraid for myself, and my sister, and this new life that suddenly blew up my old one overnight. For a while, I even thought I could just walk out into the ocean, just keep walking and never go back, so I wouldn't have to face it, or put my sister or my friends in danger. I almost convinced myself that that would be easier. But it was low tide, and the tide was coming in all night. When you finally came to talk to me, I realized I was just desperate. You told me to trust you, that everything would be ok. And I did. I still remember how you looked at me, sort of flushed, your eyes looking just like the sunrise, blue but streaked with gold and just…mesmerizing me. I stopped being scared."

She was looking at him, her eyes flooded with tears at the strong emotion his words evoked. She didn't remember that, not the way he did. She just remembered the beach, and the sun, and the sounds of the sea gulls crying. It always soothed her jangling nerves, just that picture in her memory.

He noted the sentiment, watching her features soften as she scanned over his face. He whispered, "I know it's hard. But you aren't alone. Not anymore. You have me, you will always have me. You don't have to be scared."

She rested her head against his chest, all the frozen parts of her melting, the gentle flow rushing through her insides like a warm spring melting winter ice on its way down a mountainside. The photograph, she thought, so glad she had found it. If only for the fact that along with everything else, she had remembered that as long as she was with him, she was home.