A/N: This is an updated version of Chapter 10. One additional scene, plus a few tie-in lines and a date typo corrected. It flows much better now.

It's a long, long journey

So stay by my side

When I walk through the storm

You'll be my guide, be my guide

If they gave me a fortune

My pleasure would be small

I could lose it all tomorrow

And never mind at all

But if I should lose your love, dear

I don't know what I'd do

For I know I'll never find another you

"I'll Never Find Another You"

The Seekers

June 1, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

The only thing that had clued the four of them in on the time had been the slow movement of the sun, changing the patterns of light on the floor and some of the glare through the windows. Chuck, Sarah, Casey, and Morgan had been seated around the table in Chuck and Sarah's apartment for almost four hours by the time Chuck had looked at the clock. They were discussing logistics, making plans, for the business that Chuck was looking to get off the ground. Sarah had kept copious notes, stored files in her computer, before everything had gone wrong. Now that she knew they were there, it had served as a makeshift business plan.

Chuck was excited. It wasn't just apparent in his tone, in the giddy way he rambled on and on, or the smile that seemed to light up his face, his entire person. It was the way he was speaking, and it warmed her on the inside to know this had to be a memory, vague and fuzzy as it was. He got extra technical, using jargon and other technical terms that no one else seated around the table understood. Morgan nodded along, a blank stare on his face, while Casey looked frustrated and told Chuck more than once to keep his nerd code to himself. Sarah didn't understand it any better, but the sight of him, vibrant and animated, filled her with a calm joy that she couldn't have put into words if anyone had asked. She thought of Dreyfus, who was due very soon, and forced herself to ponder about it.

The less pain he was in, the happier she felt. It was just that simple, just that complex.

"There's something I have to say, even though it may put a damper on your chipper mood, Bartowski," Casey grumbled.

"What, Casey?" Chuck asked.

"You're going to need to subcontract with the government, you realize that, right?" Casey said.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," Chuck told him, tapping his finger on the table top. "We did finally get Carmichael Industries into the black with that contract from Beckman."

"Yeah, but it didn't last, Chuck. We can market our services, get some small time contracts with some small time companies at first. But most of the anti cyber terrorism work is done by the government," Casey explained.

"I accounted for that, Casey," Sarah argued, only knowing she had done so by reading what she had written before, like she was studying from someone else's notes.

"You did. And it's good, Walker. Solid," Casey said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "What you didn't account for is you not having security clearance any more. Or being considered unfit for duty by the DNI."

Chuck watched Sarah look away, her cheeks flushed. "Beckman knows everything, Casey. Doesn't that count for something? She got you reinstated after the incident with Keller. Anything is possible," Chuck argued.

"While I tend to agree with all of that, it isn't just treason or a security breach to overcome. Dreyfus has to clear her, like he cleared you back then," Casey explained.

Sarah kept her eyes turned away, as Chuck reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. He waited, smiling softly at her out of the corner of his mouth. "All the preliminary stuff will take a while to get up and running. There's no reason we can't start, with the assumption that we're waiting."

"The first step is the office space. I can call tomorrow morning, start looking for a space to lease," Morgan offered. "I know what you're looking for and I can spend the time weeding stuff out, call you in when something looks promising."

Chuck had been nodding along with Morgan, as Casey interjected. "You trust Grimes? By himself?"

"You can come too, Casey. It'll be like old times," Morgan teased, bumping his fist into Casey's shoulder. Chuck smiled, thinking how nice it was that some things never changed.

"Huh huh," Casey grumbled, laughing mockingly, though he didn't offer any objections.

Sarah started collecting the loose papers on the table top, while Chuck busied himself shutting down the computer. The doorbell rang as Morgan and Casey were getting ready to leave. Chuck rushed to the door, knowing it was Dreyfus, right on time.

Chuck opened the door, greeted the doctor, taking his hat and his bag and shutting the door behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck watched Sarah tense up, apparently uncomfortable with the others here when her doctor was waiting. "Dr. Dreyfus, you remember Colonel John Casey," Chuck said, motioning to Casey. "This is our friend, Morgan Grimes."

Dreyfus nodded politely to everyone. "Nice to see you again, Colonel Casey," he said quietly, his gruff, gravelly voice hushed in the quiet room.

Chuck was startled, hearing Sarah gasp across the room. She was standing at the table, both hands over her mouth as she took in the scene between Casey and Dreyfus. "What's wrong, Sarah?" Chuck asked urgently, crossing the room to stand at her side.

It took a few minutes before she lowered her hands, looking back and forth between the two men multiple times. "When I came to see you, when Chuck was in the hospital," she said slowly, focusing on Dreyfus. "Casey was already there. He was worried about Chuck being committed, removed from duty. He thought you were making a mistake."

Chuck whirled around, his eyes wide as he looked at Casey. Casey's discomfiture in the moment was subtle, but noticeable as he shifted his eyes in perturbance. "You did what?" Chuck asked in amazement. Morgan looked on, his mouth gaping open.

Dreyfus almost snickered, a slight smirk on his face, as he took in the scene. "He was concerned for you, Chuck." Dreyfus turned to look at Casey. "I'm betting you never told Chuck any of the things you told me, even though I told you it was probably a good idea."

Casey growled, adding nothing else. Morgan looked on the verge of making a comment likely to further irritate Casey when Sarah interrupted, looking down at the floor, as her memory progressed. "Casey, you told him Chuck was the smartest person you'd ever met. That he wasn't a regular spy. He was special," she finished with a whisper.

All sorts of memories ran through Chuck's brain, his eyes misting even as his wide smile livened his features.

Before you were the Intersect, you were smart….Shut up. You're Chuck Bartowski, the second best spy I ever worked with…I'm not gonna lose you both…Russians give good hugs…

You really do love me, Casey, Chuck thought with a smirk. He would never say it out loud, especially not in mixed company. But it was heart-warming to know just the same.

"Thanks for that, Walker," Casey grumbled under his breath. "Let's go, Grimes," he said more loudly, tapping Morgan on the chest. He nodded to Chuck and Sarah, then turned to leave. Morgan gave a goofy grin after Casey had turned around, then followed.

Chuck crossed his arms and leaned over to kiss Sarah's cheek, ready to leave her with the doctor. "Oh, before I go. Can I ask you a quick question?" Chuck asked, turning to Dreyfus.

Dreyfus just motioned with his hand, silently asking Chuck to proceed. "Sarah's security clearance and fitness for duty. Is that something we need to be worried about?"

"In terms of what, Chuck?" Dreyfus asked.

"Us working again. Not for the CIA, mind you. But potentially in relation to it," he added.

Dreyfus sighed. "I don't foresee Sarah ever being fit for long term undercover work again," he pronounced, understanding how hard his words would fall.

"That's not what I want," Sarah was quick to respond. Chuck knew that, but still she heard the soft, relieved breath he let out at her admission. "But why is that? I'm curious."

"There's no sound way to measure a negative, Sarah. We will never know what it is you don't remember. Especially from parts of your life that have no common ground with anyone else's. The CIA doesn't like to take risks. That's why I removed Chuck from active duty two years ago. He was correct in his assumptions, but at the time he had the potential to be a danger to himself, and other field agents. That has to come first. And my assessment about the Intersect was sound as well. Had Orion's device not been available to you, I fear you might have succumbed to the power of the Intersect. You know I'm right, Chuck. I read that report, you know," he finished quietly.

"Ok, I get that, I get that. But…for our purposes, in a private firm?" Chuck pressed, keeping his eye on Sarah out of the corner of his eye. She was quiet, but something was moving across her face, something that made him think she had remembered something else.

"No, Chuck, I wouldn't worry. But we have some work to do, Sarah and I," he said with a sigh.

Chuck leaned closer to Sarah to kiss her cheek again, but she turned her face up to him before his lips touched her. "You had Daniel Shaw by the throat. He was…taunting you. Telling you to kill him. But you wouldn't." She blinked back tears. "He killed your father in cold blood. But you wouldn't."

His face had paled, but he pulled her into his arms, leaning in to kiss her cheek. He breathed quietly for a few seconds, letting the scent of her perfume soothe him. "I would have been just like him. I knew the man you loved was better than that," he whispered, his voice catching his throat.

She thought back to being locked up in Castle, talking to Chuck through the wall in between them. She had berated him about his failure, not shooting Quinn and letting him get away. Then his voice, thick with pain, taking the blame at the same time he was trying to tell her the truth. He was a spy, but not a killer. She had loved him because of that. This surfaced memory proved that. She had tried to run then, just get away, so frightened that he may have been right…

He was casually close to her, but she hugged him, with a ferocity he didn't understand in the moment. She dug her chin against his shoulder as she squeezed him. It hurt slightly to breathe, but he didn't mind. He smoothed down her hair, kissed her cheek, and smiled at her before he turned to leave them alone.

XXX

"We talked about dealing with the trauma last time, Sarah. I have three different treatments that I think could be helpful to you," he explained.

"Medication?" she asked apprehensively.

"Not for this situation, Sarah, no. It can be helpful sometimes, for long term issues. But it's a last resort. There are methods for delving into your unconscious, to try to unlock repressed memories, methods for dealing with your emotions in the present, methods for dealing with acute instances of stress induced by trauma," he said, speaking very slowly, enunciating each word as he spoke it.

"From the research our scientists were able to do, based on the data collected from a faulty Intersect that was uploaded into Mr. Morgan Grimes," he said, gesturing with his hand to show her he knew he had just met the man a little earlier, "the Trojan horse in the software wasn't intended to cause the side effects that it did. It was, however, intended for Chuck to download, not Mr. Grimes, or you, for that matter."

"What does that mean?" she asked curiously, never having heard this before.

"Clyde Decker was working in cahoots with Daniel Shaw, the man you mentioned to Chuck before he left. The Omen virus, all of that. Their original plan seems to have been to implant suggestions. Essentially brainwash Chuck into doing their bidding. You see, even before Operation Sand Wall, there was the Omaha Project," Dreyfus said, pausing, waiting for her to react.

She turned to face him, her pallor sickly white in the soft warm light in the living room. "Oh my God, I know what that is. I knew about that, before I ever met Chuck," she told him in amazement. To show him she knew, she spoke quickly, stuttering over the words. "The military wanted to train an elite force. A type of Special Forces Unit. Basically a unit of automated killers, like robots. They never sold it like that, but that was their intention."

Dreyfus nodded tersely, then spoke pedantically. "They were looking for candidates that could retain enormous amounts of subliminal information, superior memory skills. Problem being, they were searching without telling the subjects what they were recruiting for. Your partner, Bryce Larkin, apparently prevented Chuck from being recruited. Chuck scored higher than anyone the CIA had ever tested by that point in 2003, when Chuck was tested. That was the original, secret intent behind the Intersect. One the CIA never shared with the NSA, who was filtering intel into the computer without that knowledge. Chuck had that ability, and Decker knew that. That Trojan horse was designed for Chuck. You and Grimes had your memories damaged as a result," he droned, keeping Sarah's rapt attention.

She was sure Chuck had no idea about any of that, and brought it up immediately. "Chuck doesn't know about this, does he?"

"The CIA doesn't have the habit of disseminating information to ex agents, if that's what you mean," he said tartly. "I believe Chuck knew about Bryce's actions at Stanford, but that is most likely all." He continued, tapping his pen on the closed cover of his notebook. "What this means for you–some of your memories are most likely gone, erased. But not all. You've remembered a remarkable amount so far, for the extent that your brain was potentially damaged. But I believe the time in between Quinn taking you, and you waking up in your hotel room, is completely intact somewhere in your subconscious. We have some idea how he managed to selectively erase your memory, and knowing that, he wouldn't have been able to erase that portion without losing you completely."

"I remembered some of it," she said, her voice cracking.

"It was probably the worst thing that's ever happened to you. You repressed it to protect yourself. It's a normal response. But we have to find those memories, pull them out, so we can deal with the entirety. It's called psychodynamic therapy. Once we do that, we can concentrate on your coping mechanisms–using both cognitive behavioral therapy and something called eye movement desensitization. That may take some time to get to the end. But we will."

She nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, understanding she was in it with him for the long haul. But this was something she needed to do.

"Sarah, I'd like your permission to include your husband, at least in the beginning," Dreyfus asked her. He saw her blinking hard, fighting tears as she stood silently regarding him. "I believe those tears are there because you don't want to subject him to that. Is that right, Sarah?" he asked gently.

She nodded, swiping at her cheeks with the palms of her hands.

He stayed looking at her, not speaking, for an uncomfortable stretch of time. "But he already is, every day. And it's worse, because he believes he is culpable in your suffering, even though you know he isn't," Dreyfus reminded her. "And he'll never let it go until you can."

She turned, looking out the window again, holding herself with her own arms, shivering as the air conditioner blew against her legs as she stood over the vent. She saw the fountain through the glass, remembering waking up on the cold ground, soaking wet, telling Chuck what she had remembered and listening to the gutteral sound he made as his heart broke. She couldn't let that happen again, couldn't bear the thought of inflicting any more pain on him.

The difference was a perpetual nightmare, or one waking moment of horror. Either way, she hurt him. But one was temporary, the other permanent.

"Ok," she said, nodding her head, shutting her eyes, the tears on her lower lids spilling down her cheeks.

XXX

Sarah pulled her nightgown over her head, spinning to face Chuck as he lay, propped up on top the blankets, arms crossed over his chest and legs crossed at his ankles. "Did you know anything about The Omaha Project?" she asked, what seemed like out of the blue.

"Pretty much nothing. Why? Did you remember something?" he asked, as he narrowed his eyes.

"No, it's something Dreyfus said. About the Intersect. And Decker's Trojan horse," she said cryptically as she walked to her side of the bed.

"Hmm," Chuck huffed out, tilting his head, searching his memory. "I don't know if you remember this. The mission we went on together at Stanford? Professor Fleming. Icelandic spy. Crossbow. No?" he asked expectantly.

She shook her head. "But I know what Omaha is," she told him. "I knew before I ever met you."

His eyes widened and he blinked hard several times before he talked again. "You never told me that you knew. Or anything about it. All I know I learned from that disk we found in the Standard library." At her pursed lips and furrowed brow, he added quietly, "Which you don't remember."

"Dreyfus said Bryce stopped you from being recruited by the CIA," she told him.

"Huh," he said, looking down, deep in thought. "I didn't know anyone knew but us. Although I never asked you what you did with the disk."

She plopped down next to him on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. "We could do this all night. Just explain and I'll fill in after," she told him.

He started at the beginning, in 2003, realizing he was telling the full story in chronological order for the first time. It had taken a total of six years before he had all of the information, all the pieces that now fit into the puzzle. But he made sure to tell her what he didn't know, what he was never told.

"You said Bryce mentioned Omaha? In that video you saw?" she asked to clarify.

"Fleming said they wanted me for Omaha after my test score. Bryce got angry at him. Said it was military. That…I was too good…of a person for that," he added, the tips of his ears burning as he looked away subconsciously.

"The CIA was building the Intersect for that project, and never told the NSA the ulterior motive. Bryce couldn't have known that, not as a new recruit. Not in 2003," Sarah explained. "And I knew that, in 2007, when you would have seen that video.

"It was based on subliminal recall–Omaha. Basically a brainwashing tool. That's what Decker wanted to do to you. Probably just use you straight out rather than having to manipulate you by threatening Casey or your sister and Devon," she continued.

"I guess Morgan didn't have my recall. Neither did you. So it just erased memories. I guess it makes sense. Ironic, though, don't you think? Although, it makes the whole thing make more sense, to me anyway. Why he protected me and then put me in danger right anyway?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

"Chuck," Sarah interjected, her tone changing. He pulled his hand down, turning to look at her. "Dreyfus thinks…that I should be able to remember…everything…that happened after I downloaded the Intersect. He wants to work on that first. There's a name for it. I can't remember what he said. But it's…it's…"

She closed her eyes, covering her face with a hand that shook slightly. "It's…going to be awful. And he thought…you should be there, at least in the beginning."

She felt him reach under her chin, lift her head gently to make eye contact. "Whatever you need, Sarah," he said softly.

She flinched at first, acknowledging the pain that she saw on his face, having anticipated it as she spoke. But his eyes were softer, the lines on his face relaxed as he looked at her. She found herself being drawn into his eyes, fascinated by their color. Hazel, the most unique hazel she ever remembered seeing. Depending on what he wore or the tint of the light, they could appear dark brown or forest green.

She got lost, staring into his eyes, not even sure why she suddenly asked him, "Chuck, when did we go to Saint Tropez?"

He frowned, his face scrunched in confusion. "Our…honeymoon…" he said, spacing out the words, both hurt and curious at the same time. He made a questioning gesture with his hands, not adding another word.

"The little glass jar of white sand on the mantel. That's from there, isn't it?" she asked, almost excited, a strange mood shift from only a short time before.

He nodded. "Do you remember any of that?" he asked, trying to not get his hopes up that she did, infinitely curious as to why it was on her mind.

She folded her lips in, looking to the side, the expression on her face telling him she was trying to remember, like something was on the tip of her tongue. "I…I…," she started, then sighed in frustration. He patted her hand, calming her, letting her know to not force it. Nothing ever worked when she tried to force the memories out.

She couldn't remember. He couldn't forget.

At least until she was asleep.

May 18, 2011

Saint-Tropez, Côte D'Azur, France

Wakefulness pulled at her thoughts, as she slowly opened her eyes. The room was dimly lit, just the flickering light from the gas fireplace creating the ambiance. She realized what had woken her was Chuck, gently brushing her hair away from her eyes. She was stretched out on a bed of pillows scattered about a soft shag rug, a thin white satin robe, her only vestment.

She turned her face into the pillows, feeling the light sting of her mild sunburn on her cheeks and nose. She had worn sunscreen, but not enough for the amount of time she had spent in the sun, or the amount of ocean water that had splashed on her skin.

She still felt his fingertips, brushing along her jawline. "You know, I'll never live this down if Awesome finds out I put you to sleep on our honeymoon," he murmured, leaning close to her face. He came into focus in the flickering light, stretched out beside her on the same pillows, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe. He was tan, his olive complexion golden even after just one day in the sun. He was relaxed, well-rested. Happy. It made her heart sing, just looking at the soft outline of his face.

She smiled, reaching both arms up over her head and stretching luxuriously, every muscle from her fingertips to her toes. "The beach always makes me tired," she said softly, as she felt him smooth back her hair, then drape his arm across her waist.

Sarah had slept after the wedding, on the plane, and all day yesterday from jet lag. He thought with a soft chuckle, she had been asleep almost the entire first 48 hours of their marriage. Just a day on the beach earlier today. They were in St. Tropez, on a private beach, only a few steps through the sliding glass door that led to the outdoor veranda. When the glass door to the patio was open, Chuck could hear the ocean, the gentle waves from the Mediterranean Sea. It was like a postcard, a picture perfect view. But it paled in comparison to what he was looking at now–his wife, her face calm and sleepy, her makeup off, her hair tousled and spread out behind her on the pillows.

She shifted closer, and the darkness of his tanned skin sharply contrasted to the stark white of hers. It hit him again, all of his sister's words flooding into his brain. She was so pale because she was still anemic, her bone marrow needing extra time to recover from the full body dose of lethal radiation. She was so tired, because her body was still fighting to remove the excess toxins from her body, after she had been dosed with the antidote and had started to recover. She couldn't drink any alcohol, to let her liver recover from almost failing. The wedding itself, the party and excitement had worn her out. She was still weak, seeming fragile, something he could not completely grasp. If he knew anything at all, it was that Sarah Walker was not fragile.

But she had almost died. In fact, no one he had talked to at the hospital could explain why she hadn't died. He had been the only one who could save her life, so he'd had to leave her with Morgan, praying that he would see her again. That had been the longest, most stressful stretch of time he had ever lived through, now juxtaposed with the happiest moment of his life. He had barely had time to think, no quiet time to contemplate anything.

But now here, in the quiet stillness, he felt it all, as he looked at her. She was here with him, and she was safe. He felt the tears flood his eyes, relief bowling him over like an ocean wave. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair, feeling her soft breath against his chest, the deep v of skin exposed where the robe gaped open. He felt her hand on his cheek, soft and delicate as she caressed his skin.

"I'm sorry if I'm sort of ruining our honeymoon," she said quietly, even though she still wore a dreamy smile on her face.

"No, you are not," he said firmly, nudging her head with his chin, so she turned her face up to look at him. "This is the happiest I have ever been in my life," he said gently.

She looked at him, focusing intently on his face. His eyes were dynamic, looking very brown in the firelight, though she knew in the sunlight they could look green. She knew what he had done–between Devon telling her in the hospital while Chuck had finally slept, and what he had told her once they were both awake. Still, she was speechless, unable to express the depth of emotion, the fullness of her gratitude, the immensity of her love for this miracle that she had somehow been lucky enough to find.

She knew what he was thinking, seeing the ordeal's scars still shadowed behind his eyes. While she had slept in a delirious fever–he had run the full gamut of emotions–worry, anger, fear, determination, perseverance, sacrifice, desperation, hope. Because he loved her, more than anything, more than his own life. She pulled him down to her, kissing his mouth, touching her tongue to his lips, probing deeply into his mouth, burning on the inside as the kiss became more passionate, more intense. She felt him undo the tie on her robe, reaching inside to touch her silken skin, sliding it gently off her shoulder, leaving all of her skin exposed to him, smooth and beautiful in the warm light of the fire.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. That I will ever see, no matter how long I live," he whispered, running his hand over her hip, across her stomach.

She reached for him, reached inside his robe, pulling it open with one hand while she reached around to the small of his back and pulled him closer to her, until their skin was touching. She sighed, feeling the warmth of him along her front, the warmth from the fire behind her. Reaching up around his neck, she pulled him closer, wrapping her leg around his hip. He twisted gently until she was underneath him.

Sarah more often than not remained in control when they made love. Chuck was just naturally more docile, more submissive. He was confident enough in his own masculinity to not be affronted by her dominance, knowing without doubt that he could please her almost effortlessly, having studied her, expertly able to sense changes in her body as she reacted to his touch.

He slid his hand across her hip, tracing down her thigh, until he was touching her intimately. She opened her eyes, locking her gaze with him, her lips parting as her breathing became labored, soft puffs of breath that strained, the closer he pushed her to the edge. He kissed her mouth again, trailing his lips across every part of her he could reach with his mouth with his fingers still inside her.

The first wave crashed over her, her soft sigh fluttering against his skin. She lost all sense of time, lost in his eyes, his touch, the scent of him that surrounded her like a cloud. He stayed in complete control, holding her beneath him, even as she arched upward, at one point barely able to hold her beneath him and she shuddered and shook. Wave after wave crashed over her, a seamless transition from his touch to his penetration of her. Her body became almost numb, except for the center where her pleasure radiated outward, consuming her completely. She opened her eyes to look at him again, the sensation of watching his pleasure transform his face pushing her to the edge for the last time, then lying still as he collapsed beside her.

It was only as she quieted that she saw the faintest sliver of light through the glass beside the fireplace. She really had lost track of time, the entire night until the dawn consumed by the endless lovemaking. His face had softened as he slept, his forehead perfectly smooth, the lines around his mouth relaxed. Her insides clenched as she looked at him, beautiful to her in a way she couldn't put into words. Her husband.

She had never believed a life like this was attainable for her, ever. Let alone the fact that someone like him could love someone like her. And even then she was amazed, knowing he never thought the way she did, not like that. He loved her, the person she was, the person he set free from the loveless, lifeless prison her existence had been before she met him. She remembered vague whispering in the hospital, talking about her strength. Now, she knew, there were many different kinds of strength. She was physically strong. Chuck's strength came from his ability to love, despite all the pain in his life, in some ways a mirror for her own. As well as his goodness, his innate decency, and how he had taught her how to live, to not be afraid to love him the way he deserved.

She listened to the sound of him breathing, resting her head against his chest to feel it rise and fall, the almost inaudible sigh as she made contact with his skin. In the beginning, she had been afraid of marriage, afraid of having children. As time had gone by, she had learned that being married to him only meant that the commitment she had made to him in her heart was now visible to the rest of the world. She knew he wanted to have children someday, but understood her hesitancy, and left it at someday, which she had accepted. Being a mother was very different from being a wife, she thought.

Or at least she always had. But now, having drowned in her love and feeling resurrected into this new existence, she realized they weren't all that different after all. When she became able to love with her whole heart, it was truly boundless. Love multiplied, and yet there was always room inside her to hold it all. Had she really just been afraid because she had no example, no model to base her actions upon?

The only thing she had ever known of love, what she could remember, was what it felt like to live without it. But now, because of Chuck, her heart was full. Her life was full. She had taken her plight as a government agent as her only option, choosing to make the world better by keeping it safe, doing despicable things so that innocent people could stay safe. But she had a choice now. More people like her husband–kind, caring, and full of love–was the greatest way to make the world better.

She slept again, this time not from sickly exhaustion or jet lag, only peaceful contentment in her mind and in her heart.

And her sleep folded back into a dream, a dream within a dream, as she slept beside her husband in the dark.

June 1, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

Scorching heat…like she was standing in the path of a blow torch…loud sirens, screaming, a jumble of voices…a light too bright stabbing into her eyes…ice against her skin…so cold it burned…fire and ice…fear and pain…the open maw of death beckoning, sucking down all the sights and sounds, pulling her into it…but for the hand that clung to hers, keeping her from falling through…she could hear his voice, not understanding any of his speech, just his voice, how it rose and fell, the cadence like music that soothed her confused panic…the most beautiful siren song that would not let her fall backward into the darkness…

She jerked awake, the dream fresh in her mind. It took a moment for her to get her bearings, to remember she was in her apartment, Chuck lying next to her. The sharp movement woke him. Even in her sleepy confusion, she saw him brace himself, waiting for her to explain what was wrong.

She just started talking, not wanting to lose the thread before it receded back into her mind as she slowly arose. "Fever…I was delirious…you were holding my hand."

She heard him take a deep breath. "Sarah, you didn't remember that before," he said slowly. "My sister said that was to be expected. You didn't remember the dinner at all, even before you were poisoned. Or being in the hospital. Until you woke up, 36 hours later," he added quietly. His eyes clouded over, the pain of remembering that transforming his features.

"It was your voice," she whispered, realizing this would affect him, but needing to let him know. "I kept focusing on your voice. It was the only thing that kept me alive."

He sat up, wrapping his arm around her, touching her cheek with his other hand and cradling her head against his chest. He couldn't speak, could hardly breathe, but he held her gently in silence. She surprised him when she continued speaking.

"I told you I loved you…not that long after I decided to stay with you." Her voice shook with emotion. "But it never occurred to me that I never really knew what love was, what it felt like, what it meant, before I met you. But I knew that. I remembered that. I had to have remembered. I was never so sure of anything in my life. I wouldn't have told you I did if I wasn't sure."

She lifted her head, pulled back to look in his eyes. She could see how dusty green they looked in the gray morning light, while at the same time remembering when they had looked more brown. In warm firelight. He closed his eyes, kissed her tenderly.

She felt her blood coursing through her veins, her heart pounding in her chest. He pulled her down next to him, holding her against his body. She felt aware of her own feelings like never before, the knowledge dispelling the fear. She had been ready to have a baby with him before tragedy had struck. Now he believed that dream lost, her trepidation perhaps insurmountable. Her doubt had been in the face of her own imperfections, made so glaringly obvious once her feelings had become confused. But she knew what love was. Chuck had taught her that. And as much as she'd believed she had forgotten that lesson, she now was sure she hadn't.

And with love, anything was possible.