There's got to be a morning after
We're moving closer to the shore
I know we'll be there by tomorrow
And we'll escape the darkness
We won't be searching anymore
"Morning After"
Maureen McGovern
June 5, 2012
Echo Park, Los Angeles, California
"So, the total for a twelve month lease, first and last, plus security deposit, locked, is $175,000," Morgan told him, sliding the lease across the table towards his friend. "It's due now, and the lease term starts on July 15th. I told the agent you'd look it over and I would send it back by tomorrow morning. No pressure, you know, but…" Morgan stopped talking, looking at the table top sheepishly as he realized what he'd just said.
"It seems like a lot, you know." Chuck opened his eyes wider. "And it is, it is. But it's just a drop in our proverbial bucket. Rent and payroll would be the largest upfront expense, while we're still starting up. But with the cushion we have," Chuck said, his tone perking up, "I think we can do this. I really do."
Sarah reached across the table, clutching his left hand with both of hers and smiling brightly at him. "You've been paying all four of us with just interest. You're right." Her face positively beamed as she added, "Let's do it!"
Morgan reached across the paper in front of Chuck and put his palm forward, blocking Chuck from writing. "I know you're all giddy right now, but just read it. You know, make sure there's nothing wacky in there, like you can't eat sushi on the premises or no hat Tuesdays or something."
"I'll read it over, Morgan," Sarah interjected, smiling out of the side of her mouth at Chuck's bemused face. "In fact, I probably already read a version of that before, and I just don't remember it," she added, her smile twisting crookedly. Chuck actually smiled, glad in the moment that she was making a light joke about her handicap, that she had come to a place where she even could. "But you should call the bank, you know, make sure you can square it away. That would be a huge amount to transfer at one time. You know, see if you need a cashier's check or whatever." Chuck nodded in response.
Chuck and Sarah were still in their pajamas, having been surprised by Morgan's knock on the door at such an early hour. Chuck ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the errant curls. Sarah had no makeup on, having just literally rolled out of bed, her blond hair spilling in tousled curls onto her shoulders. "Did you want some coffee, Morgan?" Chuck asked, rising from his seat and shuffling towards the coffee maker.
"No, thanks, Chuck. I need to get going. Alex and I are driving to Riverside with her Mom to visit her grandmother for the day," he said, standing as he prepared to leave.
"Hey, Morgan, speaking of Alex, what do you think about us…hiring her?" Chuck asked, glancing at Sarah, seeing the faintest nod of her head in encouragement.
"Really, Chuck?" Morgan asked.
"I mean, I'm not worried about her, you know. She's extremely qualified to work for an anti cyber terrorism firm. I just wondered how you would feel about…you know, working with her," Chuck offered.
"Why would that matter?" Morgan asked curiously.
Chuck pursed his lips as the words were forming, glancing back and forth between Sarah and Morgan before he started talking. "Well…it's just…a lot of together time, that's all." Morgan looked on blankly. "I know, you know, we always did…do," Chuck stammered. "I just…"
Sarah came to his rescue as his words started flailing. "Look, Morgan, Chuck and I aren't really all that normal. We lived together, worked together, spent literally almost all of our time together. Or with you and Alex or Ellie and Devon or Casey. It worked for us. It will always work for us. But it isn't always for everyone."
"Hmm," Morgan puffed out wistfully. "We are a strange bunch, the whole lot of us, aren't we?"
Chuck flashed a lopsided smile in reply. "Maybe," he said, drawing out the word.
"You know, Chuck, when I told her you were finally thinking about your company again, she said she was worried she'd feel left out. You know, you two and me and her Dad and maybe even Gertrude all together and her somehow left out," Morgan told them. "I really think she wouldn't mind. I'll definitely ask her." He added his farewell mumblings, smiled, waved, and departed, shutting the door behind him.
Chuck walked back into the living room, a cup of coffee in each hand, as he sat down beside her again.
"It really does work for us, Chuck. It always has. Who says we have to be normal?" Sarah said with a chuckle. There was a look she couldn't describe on Chuck's face–questioning, amused and hurt at the same time.
No, but we're nice and we're happy…
It was just an echo, but she heard it in her own voice. She tried to focus on the surrounding details, but it was foggy. Stacks of green DVDs in a duffel bag, Chuck's cologne strong inside her nostrils, a tactile sensation against her palm–the smooth cotton of his shirt ending abruptly at his coarse chest hair. Her hand inside his shirt, reaching for the buttons…
"Sarah?" she heard, looking quickly at Chuck, who was ready to wave his hand in front of her face as she'd zoned out. "Did you remember something?" he asked quietly.
"'We're not normal, but we're nice and we're happy'," she repeated for him, in a tone she would use reading something aloud to him. "We were packing up DVDs."
Sarah watched the strange look on his face relax into a smile. "Morgan was hiding out in Castle…" Chuck started, as a prompt for her to continue, his tone lilting upward.
"Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed. "We went to that Buy More conference thing looking for the Viper," she added, watching him smile and nod. She looked out of the corner of her eyes, thinking. "I had my nails done?"
Chuck laughed out loud at that. "We went swimming fully clothed and I crashed through drywall while being strangled and that's what you remembered?"
She laughed in return. "I really hate that."
"I know you do. You know, I tried to explain that to my sister once. She thought it was a spy thing, until she saw my mother with her nails always done. Then she just thought you were an extra special, no-nonsense kinda girl, which I tend to agree with. Is that fair?" he asked, turning his lips down in a slight pout as he waited.
"Yes, Honey, it is," Sarah said sweetly. Chuck's eyes grew enormous as he stared, unblinking. "What, Chuck?" she asked, reeling as she recognized at the same time what she'd actually said. Before he could answer, she muttered to him, "I didn't even think, I just called you 'Honey.'"
His shock transformed slowly, his eyes moist as his lips curled gently into a smile. "That's…a good thing, Honey," he said, emphasizing the nickname. He heard her breath gush, knowing she now understood that at one time it had been a common exchange between them. And it could be again.
XXX
Morgan's early arrival before his road trip had set back their morning routine a bit, but it was Saturday again, so they luxuriated in taking their time. He had showered first, then set about securing the money transfer from the bank for the office space rental while she took her turn.
The room was still steamy, even with the fan running, as she stepped out through the fogged glass shower door. She dried herself off, then her hair, finishing by wrapping the towel around her and tucking the end in between her breasts. She stepped to the mirror, rubbing her hand across it to clear a visible swath on the surface. She saw her reflection, hazy on the edges, as she pushed her wet hair back off her face. The door to the medicine cabinet wasn't completely shut all the way, and Sarah accidentally bumped it with her elbow as she pulled her hands down from her hair.
It was slight, but the movement of the mirror made an optical illusion of motion behind her. She gasped out loud in the second before she realized it was only the door, but in that instant, the damage had already been done.
She felt a knot in her stomach twist, the breath leaving her lungs, like she was underwater and drowning. The knot exploded, terror rushing through her veins, chilling her and making her shiver. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, she gulped for air, clutching at her chest as her knees buckled. She grabbed the sides of the sink quickly to keep from falling, her grip slipping on the fine beads of condensation. Her hold gave way, sending her tumbling to her knees, banging her chin against the porcelain as she went down.
Stars of pain exploded behind her eyes as she felt her jaw start to throb. She tasted metal, feeling the blood accumulating on her tongue, understanding she must have bitten her cheek. She saw the red film streaked on the side of the sink, smudged fingerprints evident on both sides.
She could hear his voice, in a mocking, sickening sing-song…choking on the vomit that gurgled after her screaming, mixed with the taste of blood…blinding pain shooting through her skull…
It flashed in and out, utterly disjointed, and she fought it, Dreyfus' advice not coherent inside her head as a blazing, fiery rage blasted its way from her head to her toes. It was like a seizure, gripping all of her, with no outlet. She growled, fueling it into a scream that was pure, unadulterated fury. She didn't recall pounding her fist into the mirror, only afterward hearing the tinkling shower of glass shards as they cascaded into the sink and onto the floor.
Her knuckled smarted, as she squeezed her hand, droplets of blood running through her fingers and splashing onto the cool white basin. She opened her palm, seeing the gash across it clearly, a deep, gaping wound that bled profusely as she stretched her hand. There seemed to be a time delay, as her mind and her actions fought for synchronicity. Her stomach flipped at the sight of the blood, while at the same time she just stared, watching it flow, mesmerized.
Towel, she thought, fumbling backward to grab a hand towel. Her vision was blurry when she turned around, only then understanding that she was also crying. Afterward, she felt her eyes start to burn, remnants of soap or shampoo mixing with her tears.
She reached for the towel, wrapping it around her hand at the same time she fell, sitting, onto the edge of the bathtub. The bottom of one foot stung, and looking down, she saw she had cut herself again by stepping on a shard of glass. Tears overwhelmed her, as she slid from the edge to the floor, her entire body shuddering and shaking.
"Sarah," she heard, Chuck's voice, urgent and frantic. She heard his footfalls, but was still startled when she felt him reach down and lift her by her elbows. "What happened?" he gasped, struggling to hold her weight in his arms as she sagged limply against him.
The boiling wrath inside her dissipated slowly, one instant of clarity where she could hear Chuck, saying her name over and over again, before it faded completely away, leaving an emptiness inside her that swallowed her whole. She continued weeping, choking on heartbreaking sobs that left her shaking in his arms. Time seemed to have stopped progressing forward, tears pouring out of her eyes, coming from the deepest part of her.
"Sarah," he whispered against her ear, hoping she could hear him over the strangled sounds of her wailing. He had little strength left to increase the volume of his voice, all his muscles now trembling with the effort it had required to hold her still–keeping her from further harming herself or hurting him somehow.
Chuck remembered everything Dreyfus had said about her treatment and about what she could potentially exhibit, living with and managing post traumatic stress. Intense anger had been something he had been sure to mention–helpless rage directed inward and outward. Violent outbursts were also not uncommon, especially in people who dealt with violence in all its forms as part of their occupation. He had only really known for sure Sarah had been struggling with this for a little over a week, and while she was undergoing intensive treatment, she was still at the beginning of her journey to healing. Secretly he had been waiting for something like this, now that more and more of her memory of that terrible time seemed to be clearer in her mind.
She startled, shaking herself out of her desperate fugue, railing against the arms that held her close to his chest. "Oh god," she moaned, wincing in pain, raising a hand to her aching jaw.
"What happened?" he asked, trying to sound as gentle as he could, though he was desperate for an explanation. All the while dreading the truth, wondering what she had actually remembered that caused this.
"I thought…someone was behind me…and…and…something…snapped," she said plainly, frightening herself as she realized how unstable she seemed at the moment.
"Did you remember something?" he asked with trepidation.
She felt nausea recalling that flash of memory. "His voice…" Her voice wavered as she added, "And him…touching me." That part of her flashback hadn't been apparent until she spoke the words, full of dread as she comprehended the trigger for the fear that had gripped her. She didn't elaborate–she didn't need to. Her tone of voice, the disgust saturating the words, told him the context, mercifully lacking in explicit explanation.
He held onto her loosely, but never relinquished the grip, supporting her weight. There was only strength in his arms, protecting her and keeping her safe. He knew that was what she needed as she fought her way out of this living nightmare. The infuriation stayed burrowed deep inside him, nearly fusing his teeth together as his clenched jaw smarted, the joints under his ears pounding with the strain. He had always feared this, queasy now at the thought of anyone else touching her, horrified at what full recall of this fractured memory would do to her.
"I punched the mirror…" she muttered, sounding amazed.
His fingers were in her hair, reaching through to gently hold her neck. "Dreyfus said this could happen," he reminded her. "It's ugly, but it has to come out. We'll get through it," he added calmly, gently pressing the towel against the wound on her palm.
He sounded so calm, so matter of fact. She absorbed the strength that seemed to radiate from him, feeling it smooth over the frayed edges of her that had seemed fanned out in all directions. He focused on what he was doing, tending to her, his eyes averted from hers to do the task. There was no mistaking the ghost of something more, pain or fear, maybe both, behind his eyes. But, she understood, probably something only she could see, because she knew him as she did. It was almost perfectly restrained.
Half of it was memories of the past, the other half day to day life with him since she'd told him she wanted to stay. But she did know him, like she had never known another person. He was transparent and open to her. Truth be told, he was like that with everyone. But the difference, always, was her. It wasn't to gain information, manipulate him or the situation, as everything else she remembered had been. Her knowledge of him was like the comfort of home, a familiar thing that took no effort to recall no matter the situation. Knowing him had been her comfort, the one thing that had mattered to her when literally nothing else had, not even her own life.
The new tears that fell as she contemplated all of this felt cleansing as they streamed down her cheeks. Sniffling, she reached up with the hand that wasn't wounded to wipe them away. The urge to touch his face almost overwhelmed her, so intense she had to curl her hand into a fist, trying also to not distract him from what he was doing. He already knows, anything you say or do, he already knows, she thought reassuringly to herself. Though she also now understood, she perhaps had relied too much on what she knew he understood, rather than simply telling him.
He twisted at his waist, lifting her to sit back on the edge of the bathtub. "Oh, god, your foot," he muttered, seeing the bloody footprints on the tile. Still supporting her weight with one hand, he pulled a towel off the rack and pushed it across the piles of broken glass on the floor, sweeping them away for the time being. He stood, pulling the supplies he needed from the medicine cabinet, guiding the falling pieces of glass into the basin. Gently, he pulled the towel away from the cut on her palm and wrapped it tightly in gauze. Making sure she was securely leaning against the wall, he crouched, pulling her foot onto his knees, probing with his fingers to make sure no stray shards of glass were still embedded in her skin. He used the remaining gauze to wrap her foot.
Since he was wearing shoes, he pulled her up into his arms, scooping under her legs and lifting her away from the dangerous floor. After he set her down on the side of the bed, she whimpered gently, "I'm sorry."
He sat beside her, hushing her as he pulled her against his chest. "It's alright, Sarah," he said softly. He swallowed hard, loud enough that she heard it. "Wh…what else did you remember? You can tell me."
"I don't know. It was only pieces, like a shadow," she said slowly. "Just being afraid…being angry…feeling helpless."
He closed his eyes briefly, forcing the calm. She didn't have a full recall of this, whatever it was. But it was horrid, he was sure, after the words and tone of voice she had used. Dreyfus would continue mining her memory, until everything was exposed, even this dark, grueling nightmare that wouldn't show its full face right now. Ellie's words rose into his thoughts, reminding him this was repression of events rather than erased memories. Her subconscious had done that to protect her, keep her able to function. Pulling the memories out would cause the same pain to roar back. All she would have at that point was him to protect her.
At one time he may have flinched from that task. But no more.
XXX
"What happened to your hand, Sarah?" Dreyfus asked calmly, as if he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear her say it.
Chuck felt her squeeze his knee, resisting the urge to squirm at the sensitivity of the spot. "I don't remember why I did it, really, but I punched the bathroom mirror," she said hesitantly.
"You did it because you were angry," Dreyfus told her. "It's to be expected. But, you see, anger is, in its own way, a defense mechanism as well. A way to exhibit strength in the face of a deeper wound–sadness, hurt, disappointment, fear." He let the last word hang in the air between them, waiting.
She shifted her gaze to the floor. "I was afraid," she said so softly Dreyfus actually leaned forward in his chair to hear. "Terrified," she added, a little louder. "For a second, I thought someone was…behind me." Her voice broke inexplicably, her bandaged hand pressed against the base of her throat.
"Can we go back to that, Sarah?" Dreyfus asked gently.
Chuck shifted slightly as he felt her fingernails through his jeans, digging sharply into his skin. He realized she was holding her breath, her face pale.
"No," she moaned, closing her eyes. "I can't," she added desperately.
After a pregnant silence, Dreyfus said emotionlessly, "It will never stop invading your thoughts until you pull it out of the shadows and confront it, Sarah."
"I know," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "But…I can't…Not…". She couldn't finish, knowing unconsciously the rest of what she would have said. Not in front of Chuck. She felt sick, acknowledging that. She quickly filled in, "Not yet."
Whatever it was, she would eventually tell him. He needed to hear it. But not, she thought quickly justifying her semblance, to relive it with her. How many times had some bad actor used that against him? Threatening to harm her or someone else he loved while he watched? It always worked, of course, because it was the worst pain possible to inflict on him. She wouldn't do that to him, no matter what Dreyfus told her.
Chuck watched Dreyfus, deep in thought. He was studying Sarah, his eyes narrowed as he tapped his pen against his lips. Chuck even saw his eyes roam back and forth between him and his wife before he finally spoke. "Very well," he conceded. "Where are we starting, then?"
"The…uh…the stuff that Chuck remembers. When we were together on the train," she murmured, pulling her hand from his knee and clutching his hand. Her grip was normal, a light squeeze, then relaxed as she counted down for him and searched inside her head.
This was easier for her, he thought errantly, even as the bottom seemed to fall out of his stomach. Did she know how hard this series of events was for him to relive? A thousand second guesses, missed chances, correctable mistakes, everything he had done wrong that he felt had precipitated this situation, as well as the trauma it had caused, the trauma she was too afraid to delve into with him here. He knew that, though he would never tell her so.
"Where are you now, Sarah?" Dreyfus asked softly.
Tears were in her voice when she answered, though her closed eyes kept them trapped. "With Chuck and Casey. In the baggage compartment on the train."
She had skipped through rescuing him while Casey apprehended Quinn, Chuck thought. Straight to something upsetting.
"What's wrong?" Dreyfus asked, a deep question.
"I wanted to tell Chuck a different way. About the Intersect. But I was talking so fast, thinking so fast it just slipped out." She whimpered softly before adding, "He was so upset. Hurt, maybe even angry. But angry in a different way. Like when I was angry at him when he almost got himself killed trying to land that helicopter."
Chuck's eyes were wide at that, not realizing she had remembered that incident.
"Angry because I put myself in danger. I wanted to tell him all the reasons why I did it, why I still had it. But he was frantic, worried, all he could think about was getting it suppressed. As soon as possible," she explained.
"But you did tell him, didn't you?" Dreyfus questioned.
"I did. He understood. Chuck always understands. It's one of the reasons why I love him as much as I do," she said, impassioned and almost breathless because of it.
Chuck felt the emotion as it swept through him, relief, despite the precarious situation. Of course she loved him–he knew that, cherished the fact that she loved him again. But this was different, more profound. This was what Dreyfus had proposed. This was a memory, like a snapshot in time, of how she had felt in that moment, sitting across from him in the chair as they sat in the compartment on the train. Everything she had ever felt for him, encapsulated inside her at that moment. And she remembered.
"Of course," Dreyfus said. "But it's not just an emotion. It's a memory, too. Not erased. There inside you, all along," he finished, victoriously it seemed, if only that he had just been proven correct in his previous assumptions.
She sighed, a blissfully happy sound, as she acknowledged this. "I was so worried, afraid that he could have been killed, and then I was with him again. God, I missed him," she added in a delicate voice, hushed with reverence.
Sarah still had her eyes closed, but Chuck saw the color rise on her cheeks, the soft smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
"What are you remembering, Sarah?" Dreyfus asked her.
"Chuck and I…together," she sighed wistfully. Chuck shifted his gaze to the floor, embarrassed with the intimate memories. He held his breath, waiting for her to remember what they had been talking about afterward, the picture he had drawn that he still had, folded up, tucked in the back of his dresser drawer.
But her face changed, sadness permeating her features as her eyes brimmed with tears. "We let our guard down, and we shouldn't have. The Intersect made me feel overconfident, I think. I actually remember thinking because I was a trained spy, that I could handle it better. No one ever handled it the way Chuck could. His father knew that about him when he was just a little boy. I made a huge mistake, miscalculation. And it…cost me everything," she gasped, as the tears started to fall.
He squeezed her hand, trying to offer what comfort he could. He had never really thought about it like that, but had she been overconfident? Beckman's words in Prague tickled at the back of his mind. It was meant for a real spy, like Bryce Larkin. He knew her faith in him had never wavered after he had been captured by the Belgian, even after he had lost the Intersect. She had taught him everything she knew, and he had learned. They were a team. But it explained so much, her rapid succession of forced flashes that had precipitated her mental deterioration. Should he have known that then? Warned her somehow?
One more useless ponderance, reworking and rehashing the past that could never be changed. Making his failures seem all the more glaring in retrospect. Only now, he could see, they had both made them. It wasn't one of their failures–just a failure of their team, in more than one aspect. No one was perfect. It only stung so badly now because it had ended up their worst failure–because of what it had cost them personally.
Sarah slowly became aware of where she was, turning her face to look at her husband. "I'm so sorry," she gushed, her eyes forlorn as she studied his face.
Before Chuck could reply, Dreyfus interjected. "Acknowledging that we've made mistakes helps us to grow, to learn, to not repeat them. They can't be undone, but they also can't be avoided." He encompassed both of them in his gaze.
Looking directly at Sarah, in a voice laden with compassion, something rare from such a dry and pedantic speaker, Dreyfus added, "And in the end, Sarah, what you thought it cost you, what you thought you lost–he's right here, beside you. Because it was always there, inside, wasn't it?"
Her feelings for him. She opened her eyes wide, comprehending for the first time what all of it meant. Up to now, she had been at the base of an iceberg, looking up in wonder at what had seemed to rise up and form overnight. At last, the water surface was clear. She could see what was under the water–a gargantuan piece of ice, ten times the size of what she had previously seen. A foundation so immense and powerful nothing could ever topple it.
Even the darkest specters that haunted the edges of her dreams.
XXX
A fitful dream of Sarah's was what ended up waking him. She was mumbling incoherently in her sleep, thrashing back and forth. It was a nightmare, he knew, perhaps not intense enough to wake her. She had been doing so well, but he knew it was only a matter of time before this happened again, especially after whatever it was that had triggered the episode in the bathroom this morning.
"Sarah," he said gently, encircling her with his arms before he woke her. She jerked awake, pulling against his grip in the split second before she recognized her husband was holding her. She breathed heavily, but he felt her muscles relax as she cuddled herself into his embrace. "You ok?"
"Yeah," she breathed slowly. She pressed her face against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, breathing in the comforting scent of him.
"You told me you didn't remember enough to tell me, before," he said, his voice deep and gruff. "But you remembered more of it, when we were with Dreyfus, didn't you?"
He felt her tense, her muscles rigid under his hands. Her head shook his body softly. "More, but not all," she admitted after a prolonged silence. "I…put him off…because…"
"Because you didn't want me to hear it," he told her, a sad resignation in his tone.
"You can't be there for that, Chuck. I won't let you be," she insisted vehemently.
"Sarah–"
"No, Chuck. Please," she said, touching his lips with her fingers. The anguish he saw in her eyes cut into him, slicing his insides like a razor. "He…he told me he wished…you could have…watched…" Her voice broke, at the same time she heard him growl, primaly angry in a way she couldn't recall him ever being. He crushed her against him, his trembling hands holding the back of her head fiercely. "He's dead. I won't let him hurt you anymore," she whispered against his chest.
He couldn't argue with her, his throat aching and raw in the moment. Always protecting him, he knew, even in her darkest hour. He understood her reasoning–why let the evil have any more power by somehow fulfilling his twisted wish in a backhanded way. He couldn't decide what was worse–knowing or not knowing. But he trusted her, as much as she trusted him. All the ripples under the carpet would end up smoothed out, shaking and moving things in their way, rearranging the way everything was. The idea was frightening, until he understood that in the end, they would still be there, together. That was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that ever had.