A/N: Ups and downs. This one is angsty, I admit. Mostly based on a conversation with someone just becoming familiar with Chuck. "Did anyone ever find out how she really lost her memory?" and--here's a good one--"If she had known that he was trying to use her to kill Chuck, what would she have done to protect him if she could have?" I ran with that.

And if we feel the silence

Holding this all inside us

Everything means more now than

Words could explain

"Feel the Silence"

Goo Goo Dolls

May 28, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

"Hey, Chuck," Ellie said through the phone that Chuck held up to his ear. "You're early, and you're not on video. What's up?" she asked, her voice clipped and perky.

"Hey, Sis," he replied, shutting his bedroom door to ensure privacy. Sarah was at the kitchen table on the computer, he knew. "I know, I, uh, wanted to talk to you first, alone."

"Is something wrong?" she asked nervously. "Tell me what's going on, maybe I can help," she offered.

He sat down on the bed. "Nothing is wrong, not really. But I wanted to tell you some stuff, you know, before we talk to you together, especially before you talk to her alone." Every Friday, Chuck and Sarah called Ellie. It was a nice way to stay up to date with each other now that she was so far away, nice to see his niece as she continued to grow while he missed the day to day. Part of that call was always a separate session with just Sarah and Ellie–reports about recovered memories and more advice and strategies based on her independent work in her research position. Always, Ellie's main focus had been on helping Sarah, his sister knowing she was the best one suited to do so.

"Go ahead," she said softly, waiting.

"A lot's happened since I last talked to you. A lot. And most of it is really good. Positive stuff. I'll let Sarah tell you about that," he added, not able to talk about things like that openly with his sister–it was just too awkward. Ellie's husband was the one who could blurt that stuff out in front of everyone without flinching a bit.

"That sounds really good, Chuck. So then what's wrong?" she asked.

"Her nightmares," he started hesitantly. "You know, the ones that she couldn't ever really explain to me. I'm pretty sure she was remembering the warehouse, you know, where she set off her emergency beacon."

"What did she say?" Ellie asked gently.

"She remembers being tied up in the chair, with the light in her eyes. And being in pain," he added, swallowing over the lump in his throat.

Ellie sighed, pausing before she answered him. "You know, Chuck, some of her inability to recall that may not be just the Intersect damaging her memory. Some of it could be repressed trauma, especially if he…tortured her–"

"I know," he said quickly, cutting his sister off, unable to hear her say the words. "She asked me what happened to her," he said flatly.

"That's a normal reaction, Chuck," Ellie explained.

"I know that too. But she's the only one who knows, and it's either erased or repressed. I literally fell apart on her. She needed to talk about it and I couldn't handle it," he said bitterly, hating himself for his weakness.

"That's normal on your part too, Chuck. You love her. Her pain becomes yours, trust me, I know," she said soothingly. Ellie listened to his ragged breathing, sensing something, because she knew her brother and how he normally reacted to things. After a long pause, she told him, "Chuck, it isn't your fault, you know, what happened."

His breathing became harsher, labored, into the phone. "I let him go, in Vail. We could have stopped him and I didn't. I couldn't keep her safe on the train, and I couldn't find her after he took her."

Her own voice was strained when she finally responded. "I blamed myself for what happened to Dad for a long time. They found him because of me." He listened to her breathing into the phone. "It took me a long time before I could tell myself the only person to blame for what happened was Daniel Shaw. You are not at fault, Chuck. Quinn was. Quinn and no one else."

He growled at the sound of that name. Haltingly, he began. "I never told you this before, but in all the time we were spies, I never, you know, killed anyone. I never carried a regular gun. Sarah and Casey did." She heard him gulp over the line as he swallowed painfully again. "Sarah killed him because he was going to shoot me. I felt guilty for thinking it at the time, but now I'm glad he's dead. And the more I learn, the more I feel like it was too easy. He should have suffered more, after what he did to her," he muttered, ashamed even as he spoke the words.

She heard the tears in his voice. "You're only human, Chuck. At the time, you thought that man had taken everything that ever mattered away from you."

"For god's sake, Ellie, I have no idea what he did to her! Not knowing is killing me," he cried, stammering as he sobbed. "If he tortured her, or raped her…" The tears cut off his voice. He could hear that voice, sickening him as he remembered, taunting him in the Vail Buy More, about Sarah and how she looked, his unworthiness of her, like she was an inanimate object. "And I'm not strong enough to listen to her talk about it."

Ellie was crying, when she responded. "I know, Chuck. The healing process is long. She knows you love her, that she isn't alone. And you don't have to take it all on yourself. It's my job. And if she needs to talk to someone, eventually, we'll find her someone, Chuck. I'll touch on it, today, when I talk to her, but I'm not a therapist. She may need that."

"That's why I'm calling you now," he explained. "I feel like it's coming to a head. And she needs more than just me, if that's the case."

"I understand. We'll talk soon, Chuck," she told him, and hung up.

He sat alone, for a long time, trying to pull himself together, so Sarah wouldn't see.

XXX

Sarah was deep in thought as she scrolled through her computer, skimming through the information she had apparently collated at the beginning of January, when she had apparently been trying to facilitate the transition from spying to cyber security. She had data on office spaces, tax information, positions needed, an entire business plan she had roughly thrown together. It was an odd sensation, reading over pages and pages that she had written that she had no recollection of whatsoever.

She heard Chuck approaching from behind, turning to smile at him. Her face fell when she saw his affect–his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks raw. "Chuck, what's wrong?" she asked, jumping to her feet and closing the distance between them.

He smiled, forcing his face to brighten. "Nothing, I'm fine," he offered, too quickly and too lightly.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked quietly, wrapping her arms around his waist. He feigned confusion, but she was quick to tell him, "Chuck, I'm still technically a spy, even if I am considered disabled."

"My sister," he told her, holding her against him, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Why so early?" she asked.

"I, uh, wanted to talk to her alone," he said cryptically.

"I figured today would be a good call, all things considered," she added with a smile.

"No, it is, it is," he said, a warm smile lighting up his eyes. "The best news I have to tell her since she left for Chicago." She was in bare feet, when their height difference was most apparent. He stooped to kiss her, and she lifted herself up on her tip-toes, feeling him pull up on her gently so she didn't strain her neck.

She hung onto him, knowing implicitly that he wouldn't tell her any more. Had he warned his sister about the breakdown she had had while he was out of the apartment? Or was it something else that he had spoken to her about, but they were intentionally keeping her in the dark in some concerted effort to ease her into something they thought was difficult? Mostly, she worried about the strain on him, the accumulation of stress that she was inadvertently contributing to.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking at the computer screen he could see as it sat unattended on the table top.

"Diving back into what we talked about yesterday, with Morgan. I didn't realize I had already done so much research. There's a lot of information in there. It looks like it was only a few weeks or so from implementation. We were just waiting for the money. Which I found out yesterday we have. We've had it for months. Were you literally just waiting for me?" she asked.

"That all sort of got derailed. Casey left, because your…status…was unknown. We couldn't do that without Casey, or some other help that would keep us out of harm's way," he answered dully, wincing at his words as they came out, realizing he was inviting more questions than he wanted.

"But the competition you were talking about had nothing to do with that particular niche. Wasn't that your reasoning? And I'm sure Beckman trusted you enough to send some government contracts our way. No one was better at that than you, she knew that," she reasoned.

"I was waiting for you, if that's what you're asking," he countered, changing the subject subtly, hoping she followed his flow in the conversation. To remember the need for a safer career, the only reason we were willing to walk away.

"Even if Casey doesn't come back, you still have me, for what he would have done, right? Trace cells, recovery, you know, stuff like that?" she asked him. "I may not be mentally fit to work for the CIA anymore, but some of that I could still do."

He extricated himself from her arms, turning his face away to hide his dismay, not prepared to have this conversation with her now, especially with his emotions raw and close to the surface from his talk with his sister. "We don't need to rush into anything right now," he mumbled, remembering he had just agreed with her that the days of languishing in their apartment were wearing thin.

The time he needed, he knew, was to accept that those dreams that had been so close to him he could hold them and taste them, had been set back. Maybe permanently. Her past reluctance to think long term with him had been real, creating a gradual slide into the comfortable life they had right before she had forgotten. That transition from the fear she had told him about, to the point where she was the one to tell him she wanted to quit so they could have children, was a steeper hill to climb. And worst and hardest to acknowledge was the fact that it may be a hill she no longer had any interest in climbing with him, in the near or distant future, or ever.

He missed the questioning look, the deep concentration on her face, that showed her suspicion that there was more here than he was telling her. Something she needed to figure out as soon as possible, probably on her own.

May 29, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

A damp, chilly breeze woke Chuck from a fitful sleep. In the dark, he reached beside him, feeling the bed empty, the blankets and sheets tossed aside carelessly. He struggled to focus, shaking off his slumber. The bedside clock read three in the morning. Shivering lightly, he followed the direction of the breeze to the open window, lightly rattling in a restless wind. It was raining, almost unheard of this time of year in Los Angeles. It was a steady rain, judging from the pattering rhythm he could hear as the raindrops pelted the glass and the cement tiles in the courtyard beyond.

"Sarah?" he muttered sleepily, an unconscious habit when she was somewhere other than beside him at night.

The rest of the previous day slowly filled back into his mind. The phone call with Ellie had been wonderful, especially as she had noticed in one minute of seeing them together on the screen that indeed something drastic had changed between them. The amicable chit chat had been easier than in the past as well, Sarah's comfort with talking to their niece Clara evident as well. It was only after Ellie had asked to speak to Sarah alone that Chuck had felt the change, putting him on edge.

Sarah had been disturbed, he could tell easily. She wouldn't tell him anything, not that she ever had before, or that she even should. She needed space and room to heal, to tell Ellie things that she might not necessarily have wanted him to know. It was a distracted, internal battle she had been waging since the end of the phone call, and he had begun to worry, noting how restlessly she had been as they'd sat together on the couch, and even as they had retired to sleep.

Now, It made no sense, but deep inside, he had a terrible premonition, feeling he knew exactly where she was, and feeling the terror freeze his insides. He jumped up, ripping the covers back, nearly tripping as they tangled about his legs as he ran to the window. It was dark, the only light visible coming from the reflection of the faint walkway lights in the standing puddles. He waited for his eyes to adjust, horrified as he saw the form of her, leaning up against the cement base of the fountain, her knees tucked hard against her chest.

Good days, bad days…His sister's words from earlier as they'd both talked to her, as they had tried to wade through more problems as her memories continued to surface one by one. He had no idea why, but today was a bad day, and he knew as he dived outside into the rainy night, that it was about to get worse.

He cautiously approached, seeing her thin nightgown plastered against her body, her hair soaked and hanging in twisted rat tails about her face and into her eyes. Her lips were purple and quivering over her chattering teeth, her reaction to the cold the only evidence that she was aware of anything around her. He was drenched himself, his t-shirt sticking to his skin, the water running in rivulets down his face and flattening his hair against his forehead. "Sarah?" he asked urgently, reaching for her shoulders, grasping gently, feeling the clammy cold of her flesh. Was she sleepwalking? he randomly thought. Months ago, his sister had stated it was an extreme form of stress manifesting itself in real time, something she seemed prone to in her current condition. "Sarah?" he repeated, increasing the volume of his voice. "Can you hear me?" he implored.

He looked at her eyes, puffy dark circles underneath starkly bloodshot orbs. She was crying, only the rainwater on her face disguised the falling tears. Focused on a non-specific spot, gazing at nothing, she started, her voice strained. "You…your sister…everyone…thought the…the defective Intersect just damaged my memory." She gasped for air, like she had been running. "It was worse…worse than that," she added, her voice quivering as her teeth chattered in the cold. "He made me…forget things. Forget you…I don't…I don't know how…but…" She dropped her head forward onto her knees, her hands over her face. "I know what you…what you thought…and it's worse," she wailed, "because he…he was in my head, taking you away from me…and I couldn't stop him."

He felt the anguish roar inside his chest, understanding what she had remembered in its full horror, at the same time boiling with rage at a man whose simple and easy death left him feeling empty and outraged by the injustice of it. The pain he had seen her in, amplified thousands of times… He thought he understood where this was coming from. What he had told his sister in private, somehow commingled with whatever Ellie had talked to her about once he had left the room. He pulled her close, feeling how rigid she was, waiting as she slowly relaxed, feeling herself in his arms as a way to ground herself. He was wet, but still warm, warmer than she was. How long had she been out here? Her skin was like ice against him, but he gathered her as tightly as he could, tucking her head under his chin. He couldn't let her see his face, the blistering agony contorting his features as the poisoned knowledge corroded his insides.

Her voice changed, deepening, raw with pain and despair. "I knew…I knew…he wanted to use me…to kill you. I tried…to get my knife…" She groaned in pain, screaming the tears out of her with her face pressed against his chest. "If I was dead, then he…couldn't use me…to hurt you."

He absorbed those words, seconds stretching before he could breathe again. He howled like a wounded animal, feeling like his chest had been blown wide open. "Sarah," he wept, against her hair, clutching her more tightly than he thought was comfortable for her, but not able to release his grip.

"He stopped me. I don't remember anything…after that…but…"

He kept saying her name, over and over, whispering it against her ear, folding her deeper into his arms. He was split down the middle, seething with rage, but somehow thankful to the same man who had caused all of this pain, because he had stopped her from ending her own life, something she had thought of as a last resort, to protect him. It was her shivering against him, cold and wet, that stirred him. He twisted to stand, lifting her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him so tightly his neck ached. He stepped carefully back through the window, shifting her body inside first, then turning to close the window.

He walked with her straight into the bathroom, opening the shower door and turning the water on, waiting with her in his arms for the water to warm. Gingerly, he placed her feet on the floor, peeling her saturated nightgown over her head, then stripping off his own water-logged pajamas. He tested the water with his hand, then stepped in backwards, pulling her with him, angling her under the water first. She leaned all her weight into him as he held her around her waist, shivering as his body remained wet but exposed to the ambient air in the shower. He finally felt her stop shivering, cradled against him. He left her under the water, angling himself slowly and piecemeal until he felt the chill dissipate.

He shut off the water, reaching for the towel outside the door and wrapping it around both of them. When all of her was dry except for her hair, he wrapped the towel completely around her, then continued to dry himself off as she leaned against him. He dried her hair with his towel, then lifted her and carried her back into the bedroom. Moving quickly, he grabbed a new nightgown from the dresser, and pulled it over her head at the same time he pulled the towel away. He tucked her into bed, pulling the blanket up over her.

After he had put new pajamas on himself, put all the wet laundry away, he climbed back into bed beside her. Immediately, she slid across the sheet toward him, wrapping herself around him and holding tightly. He thought she was asleep, surprised when she finally spoke drowsily, "Your sister asked me about what I remembered. I didn't tell her all of that. I didn't remember all of it until I think I had a dream."

"I wish you never had to remember that, ever. It makes me so…angry," he whispered. "But Ellie was worried you were repressing memories, too. It's awful, I know, believe me I know, but if it helps you remember other things, then the pain is worth it. You have to believe that."

He felt her nod against him. "Was I sleepwalking?" she asked quietly.

"Probably," he said.

"How did you know I was outside?" she asked.

"The window was open," he told her.

The bed beneath her was a toasty, fluffy cloud. The warmth of his body and his breath was lulling her back to sleep, calming her frazzled nerves. "He had no idea…how much you really loved me. He didn't know we were different. That I wouldn't be able to do what he thought I would. In the end, that's why he failed." She lay still against him, all traces of her earlier restlessness now vanished.

His thoughts, as he floated between wakefulness and slumber, danced around the thought that, although he had wavered early in their relationship, he knew exactly how much she loved him. And for the thousandth time, he knew now, it was that love that had ended up saving his life. Even after she had forgotten who he was.