Sitting in the valley as I

Watch the sun go down

I can see you there

Thinking of a reason, well,

It's really not very hard

To love you though you

Nearly lost my heart

When will we know when

The change is gonna come

I've got a good feeling and

It's coming from the sun.

"Valotte"

Julian Lennon

May 30, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

As sunlight slowly filled Chuck and Sarah's apartment, the remnants of the night before gradually came into focus. The trail started at the front door, an unevenly spaced out pathway of clothing–a tie, socks, shoes, a belt, shirts, pants, a dress, undergarments…leading all the way down the hallway, ending outside the bedroom door. The bedspread, the blankets and even a pillow were scattered all over the bedroom floor. The one remaining pillow was under Chuck's head, Sarah using his shoulder instead as hers. The top sheet, ripped from under the mattress, loosely covered them.

"What time is it?" Sarah whispered, her eyes still closed.

She felt him gradually stirring, moving to look at the clock. "Almost ten," he replied, reaching up with the hand that had been outstretched behind her head and stroking her hair.

She gasped quietly, lifting up her head. "Morgan could walk in here any minute. Sometimes he doesn't knock," she said with a snicker.

"Don't worry, I think Morgan heard you last night," he teased, nuzzling her neck as he turned towards her. "In fact, I think Casey may have heard you in Germany."

She laughed, turning towards him, the sheet barely covering her, one long leg stretched towards him. "If he shows up, I'm hoping he sees the pile of clothes before he trips all over them, and decides to wait a bit," she chuckled. She heard him laugh in reply as well.

"You slept, though. No nightmares, no sleep walking," he said hopefully.

"Well, I was thoroughly exhausted," she said, a suggestive lilt to her voice.

"If that's what I need to do to wear you out, I'm gonna have to up my calorie intake," he laughed.

She put both hands on his cheeks, leaning over to kiss him. Still teasing him, she whispered close to his face, "Who would have thought a sweet little nerd like you…had such a…filthy mouth."

He let out a low, thick guffaw, amused by her carefree taunting. "I think you corrupted me, if we're being honest here," he laughed against her cheek as he nuzzled closer.

"Oh I did, did I?" she asked innocently in jest. She flopped back down, her head next to him on his pillow. "Please tell me I've told you before…how amazing…you are."

"I'm pretty sure you have, Sweetie, I promise," he smiled.

"No, Chuck. Amazing," she stressed, the deep timber in her tone denoting the specificity and intimacy of her meaning.

He didn't continue the banter, and she turned her head to see him flushed almost scarlet. "I…you know…I love you. That sort of puts me in a different category. I think." I hope, he thought reflexively.

She felt the words wash over her, the emotion softening her features. Her eyes reflected back the same emotion. He loves you. He has always loved you, she almost chanted inside her head, as she realized now, this was how she calmed herself down, when the absolute immensity of his feelings overwhelmed her, when she had to remind herself that this was real, that she was this blessed, to have someone who loved her so utterly and completely.

"No one's ever told you that before?" she asked, her intentions being to continue the light-hearted banter, but her intense emotion changing her tone.

"Sarah, are you kidding me? Are we actually having this conversation right now?" he asked, in slight outrage, though she saw in his eyes he wasn't really angry.

"What?" she asked, innocently questioning him.

"You're asking me to talk about other women when I'm in bed with you?" he asked again, his voice cracking.

"Have we already had this conversation?" she asked.

"We never needed to. You…uh…you knew them. All. Both of them," he squeaked, laying a palm over his face as he blushed hotly.

"Did we compare notes?" she asked, somewhat sarcastically, in response to his answer that wasn't an answer.

"Oh my god," he groaned, rolling to the other side, wondering from where and why she was asking him this.

"You're adorable when you're embarrassed, do you know that?" she said with a smile.

"That's me. Adorable," he said with a weak smile, through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then turned his face back to her. She was just looking at him curiously. "You were different. You always were. What happened in the past didn't matter, because it wasn't real. The first time we were together, I knew that. Like what you told me, just a few days ago. How it is, how it always was. You were the part of me that had been missing my whole life."

Her face became serious, focused intently on his words and the love in his eyes that shone brightly. "Chuck," she whispered, sliding against him, sighing at the contentment inside her, feeling her skin in contact with his all down her body. She kissed him, deeply, the taste of his morning breath strangely comfortable and familiar. "Come on," she whispered against his lips.

He lost himself in her embrace, helpless as she pulled him to his feet, walking slowly into the bathroom, tangled in his arms. "We'll be on the EPA watchlist by the end of the month. The water bill will be more than the rent," he argued, though not convincingly.

"You know what I want," she whispered, telling him, not asking him. "Please," she added, the honest need apparent. He melted to a helpless puddle in her arms. He couldn't shake the image in his mind of her–on her knees, the water soaking her hair, glistening on her skin.

"If you let me reciprocate," he said softly, as she reached into the shower and turned on the water. She moaned against his mouth, shivering in anticipation of what he promised.

She was hopelessly addicted to him, she acknowledged to herself. The more he gave her, the more she wanted. But he was right, of course, she acknowledged as she pushed him into the water, sliding down his body as she pressed him against the tile, to rest at his feet, raised on her knees. They were simply behaving like new lovers, amplified by the fact that they knew each other so extraordinarily well. And he was different. Even just in the short time they had been together like this, she knew she felt more for him than any other, ever in her life before. The thoughts rose, and quickly fluttered away, the dull and unsatisfying couplings in her life she had known before she loved him. Because she belonged to only him, she thought, focusing her attention back to him, her insides burning with desire as she listened to him moaning, whispering her name, as she pleased him.

He stopped her, gently touching the side of her face. He was certain she would have just continued, but he wanted more, in the moment. The shower space was too confined for what he wanted to do, but standing in the shower was something they had perfected in the past week. He lifted her, holding under her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. Pivoting, he turned, leaning her against the wall, watching her eyes as they connected, feeling her breath against his face as she sighed at the sensation. She moved against him, as he supported all of her weight. She only broke his gaze when the sensation overwhelmed her, the wave of ecstasy washing over her as she closed her eyes. He peaked right after her, so close already from her previous ministrations.

Panting, he set her down on her feet. Her legs shook, still weak from the sensation, her body still ringing with pleasure like a bell. She dove under the stream of water, feeling him against her back, his breath shuddering as he waited for his strength to return. He reached for her shampoo, massaging it into her hair as she leaned back against him. She saw his hands trembling as he reached around to scour her body with the sudsy lather on her pink bath pouf. Once she rinsed, she turned around and did the same, standing on her toes to reach his shoulders and the back of his neck, then down to finish his body, while he quickly washed and rinsed his hair. She rubbed her hand across his brow, sliding the water away from his eyes before she shut off the faucet. "I hope the state of California forgives us," she said with a tiny smile.

"Considering we saved California from being obliterated by a nuclear bomb, they owe us at least one," he teased.

She looked on, perplexed. He tried not to be disappointed, instead be thankful for all the things that she had recalled, some of them with nothing but a few words or a sentence, provided her emotional state was intense enough. But he couldn't disguise all of it, the wistful sadness for the casual that had the potential to be lost forever. He recovered quickly, reaching for the towel on the rack outside the door. "While we were engaged. I defused a nuclear bomb with…apple juice," he said, laughing as he heard how funny it sounded, realizing she hadn't heard it before.

"Why doesn't that sound as crazy as it could?" she said, wrapping the towel around her.

"This is me we're talking about," he teased, choosing to focus on what he had, and not on what was missing.

She looked at the bathroom clock, noting how much time had actually passed since they woke up. "Time to move, Chuck. Morgan will be here soon. Alex is shopping with her Mom, and the apartment is a mess," she said quickly, hurrying back into the bedroom to get dressed.

By the time he was dried off, she was already dressed and out in the living room picking up. He dropped his towel, and started getting dressed. While he sat on the bed tying his shoes, he heard his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He picked it up and clicked it on, sitting up sharply as he saw the identity of the caller.

"General Beckman?" he asked.

"Good morning, Mr. Bartowski," she said crisply. "I trust everything is going well?"

"Uh, yeah…um, General? Why are you calling? I'm guessing it's not to chit chat," he said, cutting to the chase.

"Chuck, Ellie called me late yesterday afternoon. I believe right after she spoke with you and Sarah," she offered.

He breathed out, remembering she had told them she would be in touch. She had decided to go straight to the source, go for the big guns. "She was only asking about a potential referral. I wasn't expecting a follow up from you."

He heard her sigh, imagining he saw the raised eyebrow and the creased forehead that were signs of her irritation. "I did give your sister that list. But from what Ellie described, this is starting to become unmanageable. How much has she remembered, Chuck?" Beckman asked.

"Some things, you know. Emotions trigger her memories. Not that you are particularly interested in those emotions now or ever," he grumbled.

"I'm talking about the trauma, Chuck. Helping her remember is one thing. Trying to help her cope with PTSD is entirely another," Beckman challenged.

"You're right," he admitted. His sister had brought that up yesterday, when he'd called the morning after her traumatized recollections. Sarah had seemed dismissive at first, relying instead on her years of spy training as her usual coping strategy. Ellie had been quick to make the distinction, noting how this time, that training was insufficient, as evidenced by her nightmares and sleepwalking. "I'm not a counselor, and neither is my sister. But I think that's what she needs right now. She definitely has symptoms of PTSD, even if she can't recall everything that happened," he said, lowering his voice.

"Listen, Chuck, I'm only going to say this once. I know that you are in the predicament you are in right now because you saved my life, and the lives of every other innocent person in that concert hall. Sarah isn't CIA, she hasn't been for a long time. But I'm sending someone to L.A. to talk to her. He's the best there is, and he's the most knowledgeable psychiatrist with Intersect know-how that the DNI has," she finished. "Sarah needs help. And he's the man for the job. He should be there by late afternoon," she explained.

"Wait, he makes house calls?" Chuck asked in disbelief.

"For me, yes, he agreed. We share the same goal. We want her to get better," Beckman said, the slightest hint of a hitch in her breath that evened out before Chuck was even sure he heard it. "Take care, Chuck, and send Sarah my best."

She never gave him a chance to answer, just hung up. The best defense for when the subject got too emotional. She and Casey had the same tell.

XXX

Sarah had left Chuck and Morgan alone in their apartment, telling Chuck she was going for a walk. She hadn't left the apartment like that without him since agreeing to stay, he realized with a start. How did they end up like this, he asked himself crazily. Was he really worrying about Sarah Walker, strolling around the block in Echo Park? The woman who had single-handedly fought her way across the country of Thailand to save him? Their roles seemed to have totally reversed it, as she now relied on him more than she ever had before. As she gradually got better, he had to learn to let go of the fierce protectiveness.

"Are you sure you're ok, Chuck?" Morgan asked, now for the second time, as they sat in front of the tv, the video game cycling its introduction, as they hadn't started yet.

"I'm fine, Morgan, really," he said, pushing the sincerity, knowing full well his friend was picking up part of his strange mood. The night, and the morning, had left him peacefully calm, but the previous night and morning had gutted him, and he felt like he was still on the roller coaster, constantly twisting his insides whenever he had a moment to ruminate. "Sarah and I went out last night, you know, like a real date. It was really nice. It felt…normal. Us…us normal, anyway."

Chuck's smile was sincere, beaming, the skin on his nose wrinkled in his mirth. The vaguest shadow in his eyes caught Morgan's attention. He couldn't look away, knowing his best friend better than he knew almost any other human being on the face of the earth. He waited, as Chuck's smile slowly faded. It didn't just stop at neutral. Morgan watched as he pulled his jaw up, clenching as he swallowed hard. He felt Morgan's eyes on him, knowing he needed to explain. "Beckman…called in a psychiatrist. He's coming later today," he said softly.

"Is that…bad?" Morgan asked, unsure of Chuck's mood as he'd spoken.

"She needs it," he said forcefully, blinking back his tears.

"What, Chuck?" Morgan asked compassionately.

He waited a long time before he spoke. "I can't explain it. Because I…can't," he said shakily. He put his hand against his chest, rubbing slowly as if he were in pain. "She has post traumatic stress. The more memories she seems to recover, the worse her nightmares seem to get."

"Oh, Dude, she's gonna be ok. You have to believe that. It's just gonna take some time," he said, placing a comforting hand on Chuck's back.

Chuck folded his hands in front of his mouth. Morgan saw the glassy look in his eyes, as he gulped and swallowed. "Morgan, she…uh…she somehow knew that…Quinn…was going to use her to kill me," he struggled to say.

"She remembered that, huh?" Morgan commented, sympathy in his tone.

"She…tried…to…to," he choked, his throat aching, "to protect me…the only way…she thought she could," he finished in a rush, the truth with blunt words too difficult to say. Morgan understood why Chuck couldn't continue to talk about it.

Seeing Chuck's eyes full of tears, Morgan quickly got the gist of what Chuck was trying to tell him. He rubbed his hand across Chuck's shoulders comfortingly, completely speechless now that he knew. When Morgan finally spoke, his voice was hushed with a deep sincerity. "That doesn't come as a shock, Chuck. I've seen that first hand. She would do anything for you. With literally her last breath."

He pulled up his chin, twisting his mouth into a crooked line. Dipping his head down, he wiped his eyes on his wrist. "Thanks, Morgan," he said softly.

"Sounds like you could use a little time to relax, you know, destress a bit," Morgan added chipperly.

They both looked up as the door opened. "Is everything ok?" Sarah asked, seeing them side by side in front of the uninitiated video game.

"Of course," Morgan said with cheer. "Chuck just needs to have a little fun. You know, relax," he laughed.

Morgan saw the look that passed between Chuck and Sarah, the suggestive grin on her face that he recognized as she walked past into the kitchen. "Not that, not that kind of fun," Morgan sighed, shaking as if to clear the image from his mind, though he was chuckling. "At least not that I want to think…or hear about, guys, ok? Really not hear, if you know what I mean," he groaned, looking away. "I thought living with my mother and Big Mike was rough."

Chuck was scarlet red, rubbing his hand over his mouth, while Morgan heard Sarah laughing from the kitchen. "Sorry, Morgan," she giggled, seeing Chuck's discomfiture and feeling the tenderness inside her chest, how adorably sweet he was. "I didn't realize we were making that much noise in the courtyard."

"Oh, you were," Morgan teased. "Like a couple of crazy teenagers," he smirked. At Chuck's nettled face, Morgan said with a wink, beaming, "You know I love you guys."

XXX

Chuck answered the door, Sarah standing at his side, folding and unfolding her hands nervously. Once the door was open, Chuck regarded the man standing on his doorstep. Chuck's face came alive with recognition. He was older, probably close to retirement age, although he didn't look that much different than the last time Chuck had seen him, about two years ago. He wore a plain brown tweed suit, with a brown fedora hat, and a brown attache case in his left hand.

"Dr. Dreyfus," Chuck said warmly, extending his hand to invite him in.

"Hello, Chuck," he said, in a calm, gravelly voice, the words spaced out. His mouth stayed in a serious line.

He turned to look at Sarah. "Hello, Sarah. We've met before. Do you remember me?"

Sarah looked back and forth, between Chuck and the doctor, waiting for a clue. Chuck looked a bit confused himself, and she waited anxiously.

"I don't," Sarah said, shaking her head back and forth.

Dreyfus stepped further inside, removing his hat, as Chuck closed the door behind him. He set his bag on the floor, resting his hat on top of it. "You arrived on my doorstep, after Chuck was committed to a CIA mental health facility, after his Intersect started breaking down. You came because you were asking for help for Chuck. Because you loved him, and he was important to you." Each word was emphasized, hushed and serious, elocuted perfectly.

Chuck pulled back, blinking rapidly, having never heard this piece of information before now. She had come with the doctor to the hospital, just in time to save Chuck from Dr. Kowambe. Once he had seen the doctor again, he had come home to hear Sarah tell him for the first time that she loved him. Apparently, she had told Dr. Dreyfus ahead of that moment.

"Don't worry, Sarah, if you don't right now," he said gently. Turning to Chuck, the doctor said directly, "Today I'd like to talk to you both, if that's all right." Chuck directed him towards the living room. He sat beside Sarah, while the doctor sat in the adjacent chair.

"How much did General Beckman tell you?" Chuck asked him.

"I know everything, Chuck. Everything that you've done since I saw you last, everything about you and your wife. Everything that happened to cause this situation, as you would expect, being a CIA psychiatrist," he said slowly and deliberately, using words Chuck remembered from the past.

Bristling, surprising Sarah, Chuck snapped at Dr. Dreyfus. "If you know everything, like you say, then can you explain to me how the CIA thought Nicholas Quinn was a viable Intersect candidate?" Sarah's jaw dropped open, as she looked anxiously between the two men. "Operation Sand Wall. Bryce Larkin stole the Intersect, to stop him from getting it, right? I know at the time, Fulcrum was involved. But Bryce sent it to me, to keep it from being given to him. The man was a psychopath!"

"I know, Chuck," Dreyfus interjected. "I was on the original evaluating team. I was overruled. Then they conveniently forgot, once he went completely insane and turned rogue. The CIA actually tried to blame your company for dropping the ball. They can be quite good at that, pointing fingers, hmm?"

Chuck's anger slowly dissipated, as Sarah watched his jaw relax. "Maybe we did. I don't know," he added softly.

"The CIA dropped the ball. You ran a private firm. I asked my superiors why they thought it was Carmichael Industries' job to clean up their mistakes. They didn't like that very much," he grumbled.

Chuck smiled at him, despite himself, remembering again how calming an influence the man could be. Chuck reached for Sarah's hand, pulled it onto his lap. "Do you think you can help Sarah? Help us?" he asked cautiously.

"Chuck, at General Beckman's request, I spoke to Dr. Woodcomb, just to touch base. She's your sister, but she's also been treating Sarah for several months. Your sister who you never told about the first time we interacted, Chuck, correct?" he quizzed.

He squinted his eyes, tilting his head, wondering where he was headed with this. "She didn't know I was a spy, back then," he said weakly.

"I also asked you to tell Sarah what we discussed at the time. And you chose to keep it from her. She found out in the worst possible way she could have, no?" he quizzed again.

Chuck glanced down at the floor, seeing Sarah shift her gaze away. He heard her voice, low and monotone, that usually indicated a memory surfacing. "Shaw tried to drop you out a window. You were in so much pain…" She gasped, swallowed. "Morgan had to help me carry you out. Shaw tried to kill you. But you figured out how to control the Intersect, and you stopped him."

"Does this always happen, when you remember things, Sarah?" Dreyfus asked her, writing in his notebook.

She stammered, answering him, "Sometimes…when Chuck says something, I see an image in my mind. If I focus on how I feel, that image can…come alive, and I remember. Other times I have dreams."

"Nightmares, too, Sarah, isn't that right?" he asked gently.

"Sometimes," she whispered.

"Chuck, your sister estimated Sarah had recovered about 30 percent of her memories from the past five years. Does that sound accurate?" he asked.

Chuck glanced at her, and they both nodded.

Dreyfus looked down, writing in silence for several minutes. He looked up, his face serious, with a soft kindness in his brown eyes. "I'm glad to see despite it all, your feelings for each other survived all of this. And I will work intensively with Sarah, for as long as necessary. It can't have been easy, these past few months, Chuck, dealing with this all on your own. Your dedication and determination is admirable–a testament to your commitment to your wife and your relationship."

Sarah's eyes were full of tears when she turned to look at her husband, feeling the words Dreyfus said soaking into her soul, sure of the truth in what he was saying. Chuck smiled, thankful again that despite it all, she was here, with him.

"What I'm going to say is just an assumption, based on what I know from the past. But also some advice, you know, to help." Dreyfus turned to Chuck. "You never told Sarah about your failing Intersect, because you were trying to protect her. From worry, from pain. And it ended up creating more problems than if you had just been honest in the first place."

He turned to address Sarah. "Wanting to protect someone you love from pain is a normal reaction, especially when you're close enough that you feel their pain as your own. But hiding pain, to protect someone else, means it never really heals." He glanced between them both. "No matter what else, this is about healing."

Chuck pulled her closer, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"The CIA kept trying to duplicate your success in the field, and they continued to fail at every turn. Trying to explain the reasoning behind it all–that all of that success, all of those critical missions completed, were possible because of love–they hate that more than almost anything else. Being debriefed about the capture of Kowambe, believe me, me telling them we stopped him because Agent Walker loved you–lost me a lot of credibility. But you continued, and eventually they accepted that I was right," he said, his gruff voice softening as he continued.

"It's not a line popular with the CIA, mind you. But in my experience, love does most of that work. Reason to be hopeful, don't you think?"