Oh, let the walls burn down,

Set your secrets free

You can break their bounds,

Cause you're safe with me

You can lose your doubt,

Cause you'll find no danger here

"Talk to Me"

Stevie Nicks

May 30, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

Dr. Dreyfus took a deep breath, lightly slapping the cover of the notebook closed, though holding his pen in a writing posture, like he would soon go back. "Chuck, your security clearance was never removed," he said quietly. "Sarah's was, as you recall, after the…incident at DARPA," he said, spacing out the words as he was obviously searching for the correct words. "General Beckman cleared this information to be exchanged in the process of therapy, provided it isn't spoken of outside of these situations."

A look passed between them, Sarah's eyes shifting towards the floor in her discomfort at that memory.

"The CIA raided Nicholas Quinn's base in Japan in mid February, after the debriefing Carmichael Industries received from General Beckman. His original intention was to bring you there to fix the faulty version he knew was on the stolen glasses you and your team recovered in Vail, Colorado. His plans changed once he realized the Intersect had already been downloaded, although at the time, he didn't know it was Sarah. Is that correct information?" he asked carefully, keeping his eyes on Sarah.

Chuck was distracted by her grip on his hand, painfully tight and unrelenting, her eyes focused on the floor. Couldn't Dreyfus tell he was tunneling into traumatic territory? he thought randomly. Relax, he argued with himself. It was his job to push, no matter how difficult it felt in the interim. And even if he was, this was the safest place for him to do so. "He…uh…found out she'd downloaded it when she attacked him, while she was trying to protect us. He appeared to be thrown out of the train, which should have killed him instantly at the speed the train was traveling. It was a fluke that he survived," Chuck said hesitantly, his voice soft and uninflected, trying to keep the moment from escalating.

"That's when Sarah started deteriorating, correct?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Chuck kept his eyes forward, though he felt Sarah staring at him, confusion on her face. "She…lost control of the Intersect, and it caused a migraine headache. My sister hypothesized that the frequency of the flashes with the faulty Intersect was what caused the pain and the memory loss."

Dr. Dreyfus was busy, writing again. He looked back up at Chuck. "You noted some memory loss at that time, is that correct?"

He swallowed hard, even the thought of that moment being too much for him–more terrified than he had ever been in his life, at the same time holding it all in to help keep her calm. "She told me she didn't know who Alex, Casey's daughter, was." Dreyfus raised his eyebrows, still scribbling the pen very quickly over the paper.

"That was the last time you talked to her, wasn't it, Chuck?" Dreyfus asked gently.

Chuck nodded silently. "The Internet went down. I left her with Casey, but he left to check on me. And then she went after him alone," he added, his voice broken, full of regret, knowing that had been the moment he had failed. The moment that if he could go back to, he could have changed the trajectory of the tragedy in which he now lived. Foolish, useless wishing, but human nature to try and undo devastating mistakes nonetheless.

Sarah squeezed her eyes closed, the pain washing over her face as the knowledge invaded her mind. Of course he had never said this to her. It would have sounded like blame–which in fact seemed true. Her failure to do as he'd asked had ended in tragedy. He was too quick to blame himself for losing her, not being able to find her. All along, the original blame had been hers.

Dreyfus was quiet for a long time, his eyes on Sarah's face as she stayed still, her eyes shut. "Part of healing, Sarah, is forgiving yourself," he almost whispered.

"I don't even remember doing that," she groaned in frustration.

"No, but you must know, you did that because you were worried about Chuck. And Casey. Hindsight is always perfect. You made the best decision you could at the time with the information you had. No matter, even if you were completely wrong, you have to forgive yourself for making that mistake. We all make them," he coached her, his voice gruff but soothing.

"Do you forgive me for that?" she asked, opening her eyes as tears streamed down both cheeks, setting her blue eyes on Chuck's face.

Too many words were banging away at the inside of his head, as he struggled for a coherent thought. Perhaps the confused look on his face keyed in the doctor. Dr. Dreyfus interrupted the tangled flood of words in his head. "Chuck, think before you answer. Tell her the truth."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He covered his eyes with his hand, sliding it down his face as he breathed deeply for a moment. "I was…upset…at first. Angry. But it was a gut reaction, quick. I could always tell myself, for both of us, our…rational thinking…kind of…took a back seat…when the other was in trouble." He folded his hands between his knees, turning to look at her, his eyes glistening with tears. He whispered, "Of course I forgive you. After…what…you…" He couldn't finish, looking away as the emotion closed up his throat.

The slightest hint of a smile played about Dreyfus' lips, before it faded and he went back to writing in his notebook. "That's a good place to start from, I believe. I intend to talk to you every day, Sarah, if that's all right. General Beckman mentioned neither of you is working right now," he offered.

"That's fine. We…uh…we aren't working yet, although, I've been thinking adding that to our routine might be good," he muttered, almost to himself. Sarah nodded silently.

"Yes, Chuck, that is good. I understand why you hesitated. But a purpose is not a bad goal to aim for. We'll get there. I'm very confident," he said calmly. He paused, looking down in his lap at his notebook. After a few beats of silence, he started again, "Excuse me for being indelicate, but you two have resumed the intimate part of your relationship, correct?"

Sarah blew out a sharp breath that lifted the hair framing her face gently as she watched Chuck blush with embarrassment. "Only…very, very recently. Less than a week," he said, his voice uneven as it shook.

"After three months? Why the change?" he asked, tapping his pen against his lip.

He grew more florid, not looking up, as he heard Sarah answer Dreyfus, a soft passion in her voice. "Because I love him. Because I feel closer to him, like that. It's not…you know…about the physical aspect. I don't think it ever was, to be honest. I needed him to know that. How I feel."

Dreyfus made several muted noises before he spoke again. "I don't think it's a coincidence that the trauma is seeming to come to a head at the same time that you rediscovered that portion of your relationship."

Chuck looked almost sick, panicked, as he sat forward quickly. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Dreyfus interrupted him again. "It's not a reason to worry, Chuck. It's actually progress, although it's difficult to deal with as it's happening." He waited until Chuck visibly calmed before he continued. "Chuck, Sarah's memories appear to have been almost surgically removed, based on the information we have. Does that sound at least consistent with what you've recalled about that, Sarah?"

Her voice was low and gruff. "He knew that I would forget Chuck when I flashed. He knew how to…force it."

"Hmmf," Dreyfus huffed. "My hypothesis, based on that, you see, is as Sarah was aware of her memories being removed, she was resisting him. We know in the end, she just wasn't able to maintain it. No one could have. But the act of resisting–she did that by almost amplifying what memories remained each time. The intensity of your feelings mimic most closely how you and Chuck interact when you're intimate. And now it's bringing the past trauma with it."

Chuck reached over, took her hand, gently running his thumb across the top of her knuckles. The smile he flashed her was wounded, but she returned it, sure somehow part of her was fractured as well. But they were healing together, she told herself. They sat in silence, staring at each other while Dreyfus wordlessly observed them. The silence stretched, becoming profound in its encompassing nature.

"I only have one more question for today, Sarah." He closed his notebook, sliding the pen into the elastic holder on the binding. "Why did you decide to stay here, with Chuck, before any of your memories had returned?"

Chuck heard her gasp, pulling in air for an unreasonably long period of time before she released it again. "Because he was in pain," she answered. In the silence, feeling the sensation that Chuck was also holding his breath, she felt the need to elaborate. "Not, you know, not because I felt sorry for him. Not like that at all."

Realizing she sounded defensive, she started over. "I was sitting alone on the beach. Lost and confused and scared. I had been there for a while. I ended up watching the sea gulls, running up and down the waterline as the waves receded. They were eating, you know, catching fish or shellfish or whatever. One of them definitely had a hurt or broken wing. They were all fighting, flying around each other, and one just stayed back, waiting. And he would pretend that he was fine, even though by just looking at him, I knew he wasn't."

She felt Chuck's eyes boring into her, his gaze burning through her. "I kept thinking, if I walked up to the hurt bird, he wouldn't be able to fly away. I could probably pick him up, take care of him even, not that I knew how or anything. That's what anyone who hated seeing something in pain would do."

She twisted her hands in her lap, pulling on the hem of her shirt. "But then Chuck was there, and I asked him to tell me about how we fell in love. He was holding everything inside, but the pain just…radiated from him. I could feel it, like it was a breeze coming from him. He ignored it, because he was trying to help me. And then I realized I couldn't stop thinking about that bird. And I knew the choice I had was different than just picking up the bird or walking away. It was to help something beautiful live or watch something beautiful die, knowing it would have been something that I could have saved."

Chuck and Dr. Dreyfus listened in transfixed silence. Chuck amazed at the way Sarah was speaking, the doctor hushed and humbled by the emotions she was expressing, he knew perhaps for the first time.

"If that makes sense…I don't know," Sarah mumbled to herself, suddenly self-conscious in the silence.

"Perfect sense, Sarah," Dr. Dreyfus said with a soft smile. "It's called hope."

He watched them again as they sat, eyes locked in an intense gaze. Minutes passed before anyone moved or spoke. Breaking the silence, Dreyfus said in a low, rumbling voice, "I think that's enough for today."

He stood, moved towards the door to collect his hat, folding his notebook into the flap on the outside of his case. Sarah was on her feet to follow him, noting how Chuck was slowly crumbling on the sofa, burying his face in his hands, softly weeping. He shuddered, coughing. Sarah touched his shoulder, looking up quickly as Dr. Dreyfus made a mild cutting motion in the air, telling her to let him collect himself. She showed the doctor to the door.

"Same time tomorrow, Sarah," he said. "He'll be alright," Dr. Dreyfus whispered, leaning in to speak close to her. "I don't think he understood how you really felt, until he heard you say that." He patted her hand, then turned to grab his bag and depart.

She moved back into the room, kneeling in front of Chuck, positioning herself between his feet. "Chuck," she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek, brushing her fingers across the tears she felt.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, sucking in his breath and rubbing his hand over his face. "I just…" He made eye contact with her, whatever words he would have added gone as he found himself lost in the deep blue of her eyes. She leaned forward, closing the space between them, resting her forehead against his.

He brushed his nose across hers gently, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he pressed them against hers. "I love you," he whispered against her cheek, sliding his arms around her waist.

"I love you," she replied, pulling back so he could see her face, the depth of the emotion in her eyes, so much more profound than expressible in words.

Chuck's eyes drifted to the clock, seeing the time had crept forward. "Morgan and Alex and movie night is fast approaching," he said lightly. "Are you still up for that?" he asked.

"Sure," she said with a smile. "He's bringing Chinese food, right?" she asked.

"Sizzling shrimp, you know it," he laughed. "And don't worry. It was my turn to pick this time. Double header. Moonraker and The Spy Who Loved Me. What do you think?"

"Are these movies either or I or Morgan have seen before that we now don't remember?" she asked with a giggle.

"You, no. Morgan has, although I'm not entirely sure if he forgot James Bond like he forgot Star Wars and Indiana Jones. It never really came up," he said. "You were never a big fan of spy movies. Like taking work home or something like that."

She shot out a hard laugh, punching him in the shoulder. "Haha. You're funny, do you know that?"

"You know, now that you mention it, I may have a habit of using humor as a defense mechanism when I'm nervous…or trying to be charming…or something," he laughed again.

"Trying?" she teased. "Seems like you don't have to try too hard. You are just naturally charming."

The warm smile brightened his face, like nothing else she knew.

XXX

Interlude

Time seemed to stand still as she felt the crisp, salty breeze on her cheeks, hearing the soft crying of the sea gulls at the water's edge. "Kiss me," she said, the softest of smiles on her face. She watched his face, as hard as it was to study his features while his pain screamed at her from behind his eyes. He stopped breathing for a moment, then the gentlest of smiles, crooked, his lips pressed against his teeth.

When he leaned closer, the scent of him, familiar just from the few days they had spent together in this new existence, was a balm, a breathable elixir that seemed to calm her uneasiness. He closed his eyes, pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss she had ever known, from her perspective in that moment anyway. It was more than one, for the moment she felt him beginning to withdraw, she responded again, not demanding, but unwilling to allow the comforting pleasantness of the kiss end.

It ached inside when he finally pulled away, waiting an eternity to open his eyes and look at her. The anguish in his eyes took her breath away, as he sat silently. Had he really believed what Morgan had said? Was he just looking for a way to break the tension? What he didn't know was why she'd asked.

She wanted him to kiss her. Not because she actually believed in magical kisses, any more than he had. But wouldn't it have been a miracle if it had? It got her thinking about miracles. She had never believed in anything so unlikely. But now she was looking at one. A beautiful heart inside, an honest goodness around this man who she had loved in what felt like another life. She had never loved anything, or anyone, or so she had thought. And more miraculously–he had loved her. And he still obviously did, the emotion held in check, in fear of overwhelming her. The pain she could feel, stabbing at her, was his. He was affecting her. If she was honest with herself, at last, she could accept that he had been doing that, all along.

The unbearable agony in him now was there only because he believed that kiss was the last they would ever share. He was, after all he said in the beginning, letting her go. Because he understood everything about her. He knew she was afraid, and that running was always what she had done. And if she had somehow learned to not run, she didn't remember the lesson any more.

If you run, you will lose this. Where will you ever find another miracle like this? Even if it is foundering, like a seagull with a broken wing–this was her miracle. No one could save it but her.

She reached inside her heart, breaking the ice open, letting the slight spark catch fire. Trust him, he had asked. That was all. She reached up with both arms, wrapping them around his neck, pulling herself up against his chest, and kissed him again. She had surprised him, she could tell by the immediate lack of response, the stuttering way his breath came out against her face. The sigh she heard as he opened his mouth at her nudging flushed her, the cool air on the beach forgotten as the warmth rose inside her chest.

That kiss seemed to last forever. He was close to wheezing when he finally pulled back. "Sarah?" was all he could manage, his eyes small, his face creased in confusion and concern. She was almost giddy, when she realized the sorrow seemed to have eased, his beautiful hazel eyes warm and soft. How was it then, that she felt better, because he did?

Because he mattered, she told herself. She didn't quite feel it, but she knew it. Like she knew her name. Sarah Bartowski. She laughed inside, knowing this was real. That was who she had been, who she wanted to be again.

"What if I decided I don't want to be alone to think?" she asked him, biting her lip as she studied his face.

"You mean…come back with me?" he asked. She knew he was forcing himself to be neutral. He seemed wound like a coil, ready to spring with energy.

"Is that ok with you?" she asked, flashing him a genuine smile for the first time since everything had gone wrong.

He tilted his head, his eyes alive with mirth, and kissed her again.

May 30, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

"Penny for your thoughts?" Chuck asked as he lay on his back in the dark, Sarah next to him in their bed.

"How did you know I wasn't asleep?" she asked, teasing him.

"You're breathing," he admitted. The room itself was perfectly dark, no moonlight or stars, no light spilling in from the hallway.

"I fell asleep during the movie and now I'm wide awake," she told him. "I'm sorry. It was a good movie. I was just exhausted."

He turned towards her. "I know."

"I was thinking about the beach," she said softly.

He paused, longer than she thought he would. "Me too," he told her. He reached over, cupping his hand on her hip and sliding her closer. "Since you're awake, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she told him, sincerely.

"I'm just wondering…why…all the really emotional language?" he asked awkwardly, hearing how awful it sounded as it came out, not sure he knew how else to ask it.

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He sighed, then groaned softly. Just say it, he told himself. "The Intersect changed Morgan's personality, you know, before they removed it. Part of that was just because his memory was affected. And it wasn't permanent. But…I…uh."

She lifted up, as he heard her soft gasp. "You think I'm different?" she asked.

"No!" he shouted, cutting it off as he forced his mouth shut. "No. You just forgot…a lot of stuff. But you're still you. I know that. I told you that. But at the same time, you never, ever, used to talk to me the way you have recently. About how you feel. Like after we finally made love again. Or when you were talking to Dr. Dreyfus about why you decided to stay. I guess I'm just wondering why. Not that I'm complaining. At all. I'm just curious."

"I know what you mean, I think," she said thoughtfully. "I kept everything inside, did everything myself. That's all I remember about my life, before I knew you. And from what you're saying, I stayed like that with you, even though I obviously felt the way I did." He couldn't see her face in the dark, but her voice was sad when she added, "That must have hurt you."

"I knew who you were, Sarah," he said confidently. "You expressed your feelings for me in a different way. You never hurt me, not like that."

He felt her settle back down. "So much is missing now," she ruminated out loud, regretfully. "But I still feel like that. I just feel like if I don't say that, then you won't know. And it seemed the most important thing was that you know. It's the only way I can let you know right now, the way we've been living."

"You used to be afraid, I think, to tell me things like that," he murmured.

"Maybe I was. It seems like I was afraid of a lot of things, and maybe I still am. I also think you helped me not be afraid. I'm not afraid to tell you those things, not now. The only thing that scares me now is losing you again," she said, her voice fading away as the despair edged its way in.

"Hey," he said pointedly, reaching for her face and turning her chin towards him. "I told you. You never lost me. And you never will."

She couldn't look away from him, just the faint outline of his face close to her in the dark. She pulled his face closer, kissing him. Tenderness slowly turned to passion, and she pulled him close, molding herself against him. She reached up under his shirt, running her fingers along his skin. She felt him pull her, slide her underneath him as he stretched over her. She took a heavy breath, telling him quietly, "Thank you for forgiving me."

He lifted himself up on his hands, so he could see her face. "I don't know how not to."

She kissed him again, flipping him onto his back, pulling at his clothes. She stopped when she felt his hands on her shoulders. "Sarah," he started, his breath shaking in his chest. "What if what Dr. Dreyfus said is true?"

"What, Chuck?" she asked, holding his shirt in clutched fistfulls.

"What if this is…dredging up trauma?" he asked, closing his eyes and swallowing hard.

"He said that was a good thing, didn't he? Even if it seems hard right now?" she asked him.

He cupped her face in his hands, resting on his elbows above her. "I just can't stand to think of you in any pain."

"You're here with me. That's all I need. I'll be alright," she assured him.