A/N: I don't usually add warnings to my writing. I feel like the rating speaks to that, even when we push the limit sometimes. Nonetheless, this particular chapter has the very beginning of Sarah's trauma starting to be revealed. There are some verbalized descriptions of assault which could be upsetting. Thought this note would be prudent. FYI.

I got arms strong enough to hold you

Get you through anything you go through

Anything that you need you know

It's only a touch away

When your heart needs a heart beside it

Should be mine that it's keeping time with

I'll be the one to give you love

When it seems like there's just not enough

Mine will be there

"I'll Be Your Shelter"

Taylor Dayne

June 6, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

Sarah was comfortably asleep, nestled against his left side, with her head on his shoulder when the early morning sunlight filtering through the blinds made him stir. Most of the night, his own sleep had been fitful, fragmented, interrupted by strange dreams and the subsequent thought-spiraling caused by each one. He was still tired, but he felt the overwhelming urge to get out of bed. Disconcerting to him most of all was the acceptance that he needed to just get away from Sarah, be by himself even for just a short time to collect himself.

He twisted, holding himself still while she sleepily readjusted herself against his pillow in the absence of his body there. She stayed asleep, so he gently rose from the bed. He moved down the hall and into the bathroom. It was early, very early for a Sunday morning, but he decided he would just shower now, while he was awake.

He turned on the water and shed his pajamas, reaching in his hand to test the water. When the water was warm, he stepped into the shower and moved to stand in the stream. His mind wandered, as he thought almost all of his showers as of late had been at temperatures much warmer than this, which was his actual preferred temperature. Sarah was the one who liked the water nearly scalding hot. Yesterday and today had been the only days in recent memory when she had not joined him. In those situations, the water started so hot, but the longer the water ran, the closer it came to eventually reaching the temperature it was now, he thought again.

Due to his height, he had to stoop forward to wet his hair, his eyes normally parallel with the shower head. He reached up, angling the head as high as it would extend, stretching his back and realizing how nice it felt to feel the water cascading over him, rather than his usual slouching to get under it. He grabbed the soap and lathered, while his thoughts drifted again.

Sarah had explained her reluctance to him last night, her desire to start excluding him from her sessions with Dreyfus. He had listened, trying to see things from her perspective, like he had always done in the past. In the end, he knew it was her decision. He couldn't force his way in when she didn't want him there. Dreyfus had even stated Chuck's presence was requested initially, perhaps not necessarily as it progressed. Anything at all that helped her, he was willing to do. It warmed him inside to know that despite it all, she trusted him, felt safe with him, and that had somehow helped the therapy progress. In the end, it was about her, not about him.

But, he had realized through the night as he'd kept waking up, he didn't want to be excluded from any of it, regardless of her initial refusal. Perhaps some of it was selfish–just his need to know, his yearning to understand what had happened to his wife. She felt by excluding him, she was protecting him somehow. He understood, only from the bits he had picked up from recalled memories and traumatic flashbacks, that the full narrative was horrific. As much as Dreyfus was there for Sarah, he had been trying to help Chuck with his own feelings of guilt, what he believed his culpability was in the face of those horrors.

She would never get any better until she remembered all that had been done to her. There was no way he could protect her from that. And as much as she maybe thought protecting him was her responsibility, he ultimately didn't need or want protecting. He wanted to support her, help her. Being there for her now was the only thing left he could do. Allowing her to keep him away would just be another failure, he believed. And he was done failing her.

He finished rinsing off the soap, closing his eyes and standing under the stream of water, letting it beat against his face. He felt the abrupt temperature change, the cool air swirling around his lower legs. The sound the door made opening and shutting was lost amidst the rushing noise of the water. But he felt her behind him, pressing her body along the back side of him, her cheek on his shoulder. She reached around him, snaking her arm around his side and resting her hand on his chest. He left his face under the water, his eyes closed, but he covered her hand with his, gently running his fingertips across her knuckles.

He reached up with his other hand, wiping away the water from his eyes. Looking down, he could see the fine goosebumps on her forearm. He turned up the temperature of the water, turning to angle her underneath the stream. He pivoted, turning to face her. The instant before she shut her eyes for the water, he saw the questioning look, the concern. What had she seen on his face when he'd turned around?

She smoothed her hair back under the water, leaning against him still. As intimate as the contact was, he restrained those feelings, knowing they needed to talk before anything else occurred. Instead, he filled his hand with her shampoo, reaching and massaging it into her hair with both hands, listening to the contented sigh, close to a purr, that she made at the pleasant sensation of it. He shielded her eyes with his hand as she rinsed the soap from her hair, but then extricated himself from her, turning her by her shoulders to stand under the water, pulling down the showerhead so it was more comfortable for her height. He stepped out quickly, trying to keep the hot steam inside with her.

He saw the same questioning look, over her shoulder, directed at him. No words exchanged. He smiled lamely, then shut the door.

When Sarah finally walked back into their bedroom, she found him seated on the edge of the bed, his clothes for the day piled beside him. He had only donned his boxer shorts, his hands folded between his knees, his eyes focused on the floor.

She was wrapped in her towel, looking the same as she had yesterday after she'd broken the mirror with her hand. He couldn't unsee that, couldn't unhear what she'd said when trying to explain to him. He was sure that the same ghost of pain in his eyes was there when she looked at him.

"What's wrong, Chuck?" she asked, moving to sit beside him. He stood immediately after, turning to face her. Her stomach twisted, the thought that he was avoiding her now unable to be ignored.

He almost laughed without humor, scoffing bitterly inside. What wasn't wrong? The frustration, the helplessness of it all ground at his soul. She was looking up at him, a sullen, somber expression on her face and anguish in her ocean blue eyes.

How much of that was because of him? he thought helplessly. He could not, would not be the cause of any more pain for her. "I couldn't sleep last night," he said softly. "I can't stop thinking about what you said."

She started wringing her hands, pulling on her knuckles nervously. "What part?" she whispered in a shaky voice.

He took a deep breath, stepping forward, inches from her knees, so that she had to crane her neck up to meet his gaze. "Unless Dreyfus tells me he thinks I need to, I'm not going to leave you alone in those sessions."

She averted her gaze quickly, moving her hands to her sides, squeezing fistfuls of the mattress. Chuck saw her white knuckles, watched her chest begin to rise and fall more rapidly. "Chuck, please, I don't want to argue about this–"

He interrupted her sad resignation with a vehemence that shocked her, causing her gaze to shift back up to meet his stare. "We're not arguing. I'm telling you what I want. I deserve that, don't I?"

"No, Chuck, you don't!" she shouted in return. "No one does," she added, her voice breaking as her breath fizzled away. Her face twisted in pain, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "You know what he did, what I've already told you. I can't tell you that blow for blow. Or something worse…" She was crying, hugging herself. "It's like I'm letting him torture you…I can't…"

He dropped down on his knees in front of her, his extra long legs allowing him to only be a few inches below meeting her eye to eye. He pulled both of her hands into his, clutching them tightly, pulling her towards him even as she shied away. "It's not knowing that's torturing me, Sarah," he pleaded quietly.

She opened her eyes briefly, and saw the look on his face, the abject misery. She gasped, his pain echoing inside her, squeezing her eyes shut again, almost flailing in his grip as she struggled. He transitioned his hold from her hands to her face, a hand on each cheek, pulling her towards him. He felt the tears, hot and wet, streaming over his fingers and thumbs. "When Shaw escaped from prison," she started breathlessly, speaking so quickly the words ran into each other. "He only tortured me to get to you. He could have killed me multiple times, but he didn't. He wanted me to watch you die. In some twisted way he knew the truth. That me living without you, seeing that picture in my head for the rest of my life, was the worst thing he could ever do to me."

He held onto her face, recognizing by her tone that she had remembered this at some point before now, as she spoke like it was fact. It still shocked him, worse because she had never told him she remembered it. Probably for the same reason she was bringing it up now, how upset that particular memory made her. She spoke again, but her voice was thick with poison, a hatred so vile he could feel it like a presence in the room. "Quinn hated you. He was a coward and a failure and he hated that someone like you dared exist to emphasize his frailty. He wanted you dead because he was crazed with jealousy. And he wanted you to feel pain first, like he thought he did. He knew that was losing me."

He released her, sitting back on his haunches, feeling his chest tighten as he struggled to breathe. This, all of this, and more, he had asked for, he understood clearly. She pulled her hands up, covering her face, still afraid to look up at him. Mumbling through her hands, she said, "He had no idea how we were together, what kind of person you really were." She growled, her weeping intensifying. "He figured it out from me…that the way to make you suffer…was losing me."

She never pulled her hands away from her face, but he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. Her muscles relaxed, as he felt her lean all of her weight forward into his arms. Eventually, she repositioned her hands, clutching her arms around his neck. The freshly showered scent of him made her dizzy, as her towel slipped and she felt her bare skin brushing against his chest.

His mind raced, even as he tried to comfort her. He had always been far too easy to read. Cool super spy, he was not. More often than not, someone had threatened her because he couldn't keep his emotions completely in control. Sarah, on the other hand, had done so well masking her feelings as a spy even he, sometimes, wasn't sure what it was she had felt. She had lost a little bit of that over time, as they lived and worked together. Did she really blame herself now, for letting Quinn see too much emotion from her?

" That was always our Achilles Heel, Sarah," he said sadly. "A long time before he did those things to you, Shaw said loved ones were liabilities, vulnerabilities. He wasn't wrong, Sarah. You defended me then. And I'll defend you now. Letting your feelings affect you in that situation makes you stronger." He held her until he felt her stop crying. "I know what you said, Sarah. And I think you're wrong."

She released him, pulling back and searching his face. The puffy redness of her eyes broke his heart, but he continued. "The only thing I think that's worse than reliving whatever it was that happened to you…is having to relive it all alone. You already did that once. I will not let you do it again."

The resolution on his face, combined with the love she saw shining back at her left her breathless. Her heart was tender, like a wound, as she felt it start beating again, in tune with his almost instinctively. How was he real? How was she so lucky to be here, in the arms of someone who loved her so absolutely, unconditionally, it seemed? For the first time, she felt the full scope of her own, knowing with certainty this was all of her existence with him, five years worth and the promise of a lifetime more, radiating outward back at him.

She leaned closer, her lips just inches from his. "I love you," she affirmed, stressing each word individually, purposely. He wanted to be the strength she needed, wanted to do everything within his power to help her heal. In the past it had been the opposite, but now, like this, he was her inspiration, the source of her strength. She could, and would, do anything for him. The very least of which was do as he'd asked–allow him to shield her as she walked through hell again on her way out. That was her Chuck, though.

She kissed him, deeply, but softly, gently, not the least bit demanding. She was savoring him, his taste, the feel of his tongue against hers. She leaned back, holding onto him and guiding him backward with her. Her towel slid completely open, the warm feeling of his body against her skin pleasant on every inch of her. Had it only been one day since they were last intimate? In this new world they inhabited, that seemed an interminably long time. Her body ached with her need for him.

He pulled his mouth reluctantly from hers, breathing softly against hers. His mournful expression made her freeze, touching his face, wanting to talk to him but not able to form any words. "Sarah," he started, hesitantly instead. "I know…the therapy helps you…sort everything out. But I know…there are other things…that you remembered. You were afraid to tell me." He leaned on one arm, holding himself over her, tracing a finger along her jaw.

He closed his eyes, grimacing as the words appeared, what he knew he needed to ask her. Dreyfus had been the one who proposed that their intensifying level of physical intimacy had triggered the beginning of this, for all the reasons he had explained to them. The more they had learned, the more hesitant he had been, looking for the balance, her mental health his number one priority. The same knot had been in his stomach since yesterday, and what she'd said as he'd sat bandaging her wounds. Regardless of the root cause, the thought that she could have a flashback in the midst of their lovemaking now terrified him. The idea that somehow his touching her could bring forth the poison inside her both sickened and saddened him.

"Chuck," she whispered, angling upward, closer to him.

"If he…assaulted you–" The words almost strangled him on the way out. "I don't want to make the trauma worse, Sarah."

She gripped his face, one hand on each cheek, straining to speak over the tears that now streamed from her eyes. "Chuck," she whispered lovingly.

"Tell me what you remembered," he said gruffly.

"Not like this," she said, sickened at the moment. Her desire for him was pure, completely driven solely by her emotions. The idea that monster could be here, like this, in between them, was too much. She rolled away from him, pulling the sheet up over her. The hurt on his face gradually faded, as he crawled on his elbows towards her, resting his head on the pillow as he stretched out on his stomach. He waited, looking at her, his dusty hazel eyes fixed on her.

"It started with pain. Like an ice pick through my temple…an ax breaking open my skull. That was all there was. Until he started talking. We were fighting, but I was weaker…than I expected myself to be. I took an elbow to my face…" She winced, as if the memory caused the same pain. "That mixed with the pain already was too much. It made my knees buckle, my whole body cave in. I'm throwing up, and I can barely see…All I can feel is the pain in my head. It made me pass out."

He felt the pain as it saturated her voice when she finally continued. "It was in that old hotel room…the one in the Maison23. It must have been the night before I woke up with no memory at all. I woke up, on the floor…my jaw aching…I smelled his bad breath…he…stood over me. He reached down and lifted me by the front of my shirt. Pulling at the snaps and the zippers. Telling me I need to get ready for bed. Tomorrow is a big day," she hissed, quoting him with disgust.

"He made some comment…about my husband…not satisfying me…" She choked, crying. "I didn't know what he was talking about. I felt sick when he said that word, like there was something I needed to remember but I couldn't. I felt this…overwhelming feeling of loss…devastated, hopeless. I couldn't think…there was just nothing there. I should have felt scared, but I didn't. I felt empty…I didn't care if he killed me, I didn't…" Tears overcame her voice. "He seemed very happy that what he said confused me as much as it did."

Her eyes were shut, but she felt him, his hand on her head, his lips pressed gently against her forehead. There were tears on his eyelashes as she felt them fluttering against the side of her cheek. "He threw my pajamas at me, watched me while I got dressed…and…" She sighed heavily, feeling him reach across her and pull her against him. "I don't remember anything else, Chuck," she whispered.

"It's too much all at once, I think," he told her, brushing the tears from her cheeks with his fingers. "Pushing too hard…just…makes it worse, more stressful. It's ok," he reassured her. She stayed pressed closely against him, only the thin sheet between them. He held her, no regard for anything other than her wellbeing. She relaxed, stopped shaking. The tears stopped flowing and her breathing calmed. The warmth of the situation surrounded him, lulling his exhausted mind to sleep. She had at least slept the night before, but the steady, peaceful sound of his breathing tranquilized her, and soon she was sleeping as well.

A little over an hour had passed before they both gently awoke. She leaned into him, softly kissing his lips. The sheet had settled around her waist, her warm flesh pressed against him. He had forced that conversation before, interrupting their passionate embrace. But she felt it again, her desire for him seizing control of her thoughts and actions. The kiss became more intense, hungrier, as she struggled to kick away the sheet twisted around her legs. He moaned softly as she touched him.

"Sarah, I was serious before," he said, almost wheezing as he struggled to regulate his breathing. "I–"

She pressed her fingers over his mouth as she pulled him closer, shifting her leg over his hip. "I know you were. Trust me, Chuck. I would tell you if something like that was even a possibility. Ok?"

He kissed her fingers, closing his eyes in resignation. He reached for her hand, moving his lips onto her palm, tracing slowly down the inside of her arm, eliciting a soft moan from deep inside her chest. While he continued with his mouth, slowly working his way towards her neck, she felt him sliding his hand across her hip. The moaning intensified with his touch, which had the magnificent effect of blanking out everything inside her head but the sensations. Nothing about this, the way he touched her, the gentle and deep way they were connected, could ever traumatize her. She was safe with him, loved by him.

Her feelings intensifying had caused the flashbacks, she knew. As uncomfortable as she had been at first about talking to him about very personal things, she did trust him. His theories were sound, and made perfect sense, when she examined her inner self. That devastation she had told Chuck she remembered feeling–that had been the echo of her feelings for him without any substantiating memories to underscore them. Like being able to remember attending a funeral and being heartbroken, with no memory or even a way to conjure the face of the person in the casket. Being able to love him again, completely, was worth any pain it brought forth. Chuck had been trying to do what was best for her, she understood. But this, this she would not sacrifice. He was everything to her, absolutely everything.

She clung to him, not allowing any space between their bodies or their skin. The physical connection kept her grounded, reminding her that this was real. He was real, even as the rest of her essence seemed to slip over into a place where she was out of her corporeal shell, floating in a cloud. She heard her own voice, knowing she was murmuring his name, softly and tenderly against his neck. Only when she felt his lips, gently brushing against her eyelids, did she realize she had tears on her cheeks.

He continued, holding her against his body, twirling her soft blond hair around his fingers as he traced his fingers across her head. "Chuck," she whispered against his ear. "If you need to be in the sessions, I won't stop you."

"I love you," he whispered in return. "And I meant it. You aren't alone, Sarah. You will always have me. Always."

She closed her eyes, hearing those words echo inside her. His lips were on her cheeks again, kissing away the additional tears that had escaped.

XXX

Morgan was relieved that the time he was currently spending with Chuck felt so relaxed, so normal, like old times almost. They were just playing video games, one of their favorite pastimes since they had been very young, something they had never outgrown. Laughing, talking, and snacking. In between the trivial banter about the video game, Morgan talked sporadically about the rental space they had just secured earlier this morning, as well as the items on the initial purchase list–office furniture, computers, and the like. Similar to what they had done to start Carmichael Industries after Chuck and Sarah had purchased the Buy More and Castle. Between the information Sarah still had from before, along with the cross referenced list from 2011, he had a fairly comprehensive list. He was currently in the process of comparison shopping. Casey was helping, Morgan had assured him with a chuckle.

Sarah was in her and Chuck's apartment, using her impromptu cooking lessons she'd gotten from Alex to make dinner for them for the first time. Chuck had offered to stay and help, but Sarah had sent him to spend time with his friend. It was still a conscious effort to curb the protectiveness in him that reared its head by even the thought of leaving her alone in the apartment. He understood the current situation was worse, because the trauma seemed worse, closer to the surface. The episode yesterday was still fresh in his mind, and he worried what would have happened if she had been alone in the apartment. But he was literally across the courtyard, and he knew she would call if something was wrong.

"Got time for one more round?" Morgan asked him as he approached, handing Chuck a can of soda.

"What time is it?" Chuck asked, stretching his arms over his head.

"Dude, what time is Sarah's appointment?" Morgan asked casually.

"Five," Chuck said, turning his head to look at the clock. One hour.

Morgan plopped himself beside Chuck. "How's that going, Chuck?" Morgan asked, with genuine concern, as he'd noted the shadow that seemed to cross his friend's face.

"It has to get worse, before it gets better," Chuck said quietly. Chuck held the can in his hand, fixed his gaze away from Morgan as he fidgeted nervously when he spoke. "He was right, you know, about her…remembering everything that happened after she downloaded the Intersect."

Morgan's eyes widened involuntarily at all that idea brought forth. "Wow," he intoned softly. "Everything?"

"In sequential order, for the most part," he added softly, still not turning his head. "Morgan, why did my sister let her leave California before she suppressed the Intersect? You were there, weren't you?" Chuck finally turned, his face portraying his curiosity, edged with a tension Morgan thought he should have reserved for Ellie, who was conveniently absent.

"She tried, Chuck, believe me she tried. We all did. Even Casey. The sound of John Casey begging for something is not a sound I think I will ever forget. She had an answer for everything, a plan to minimize the damage. But there was no changing her mind. No swaying her. Not when it came to you," Morgan said firmly.

Chuck shook his head resolutely, acknowledging Morgan's words. "Why did she think she needed the Intersect?" He sounded plaintive, woeful.

"She thought she was running out of time. And Casey told me, man. They both would not have made it out of that warehouse alive if she didn't," Morgan told her.

Chuck nodded, covering his face with his hand. "She…uh…she wanted me to stop being at the sessions with her. I told her no. I won't let her go through that alone."

"Chuck," Morgan started hesitantly. "If she said that, she probably had a good reason."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Chuck said direly.

"No matter what she says, Chuck, she needs you. Everytime I see the two of you together, she's calmer. Happier. I know how hard this all was, how much effort you had to put in to hold everything together. To just keep going when it seemed hopeless. She knows that. She needed you to be strong for her this time. And you were. You are." He patted his friend's shoulder. "Just keep going."

XXX

"Is it alright if Chuck stays?" Dreyfus cut in, after Sarah had gotten into the correct frame of mind. "Last time you expressed some hesitancy."

"Yes," she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. Absently she noted how sweaty his palm was, knowing this was a key that he was nervous.

"What's next, Sarah?" Dreyfus asked calmly.

"This is when it starts to get bad," she said softly, flinching. "I lost control of it. Completely. I couldn't stop flashing. I threw Quinn out of the train…and they needed him alive. I remember just…collapsing, screaming…Chuck was holding me. He ended up having to carry me back to the compartment. He got ice….told me he needed to call his sister. He was so worried. But he did everything he could. He had a plan to remove it, suppress it. But…I realized I was already starting to forget things. I started freaking out…really freaking out. He was staying calm, for me. I knew that. But inside, he must have been as freaked out as I was. He left, Casey followed him later. They told me to stay put."

She was silent for a long time. It was only as she raised her other hand to her face that Chuck realized she was crying. "I should have listened. But I knew they were in trouble. I thought I could stop him. I knew where he was going, and I could help them. But he locked me inside a separate car." Her tears intensified. Chuck knew what she was remembering, one of the worst moments of his life. His own tears threatened, making his eyes turn slightly pink and burn.

"I'm looking down, feeling dizzy. I see the dart…too late. I can hear Chuck screaming…my name…I can feel the train decelerate underneath me, the vibration in the floor fading away. Chuck's voice is getting quieter and quieter, until I can't hear it anymore. And then everything goes dark." She bowed at her waist, folding herself into his arms. She felt the unsteady nature of his breathing, suspecting he was struggling not to cry himself.

"Can you go on, Sarah?" Dreyfus asked patiently.

She nodded, leaving herself angled across Chuck's lap, not wanting to leave the comfort of his arms. "I woke up, tied to a chair. We're in some kind of spy base. All the computers, signs, everything is in Japanese. Just seeing the characters of that language makes me flash. I shut my eyes, but it keeps cascading, and I can't stop. My head starts hurting, exploding. And when I open my eyes, I can't see. One eye is completely dark, the other is blurry. The room starts to feel like it's spinning, and I'm so nauseous…I just want to lie down. My head sags down…but a hard slap on my cheek wakes me up." Her vitriol, the angry twist on her face was unmistakable.

"I'm still dizzy, and nauseous. He pushes the chair forward, making it worse. He…grabbed a fistful of my hair to pull my head forward…into this…kind of harness. There's a strap across my forehead, one across my chin. He adds clamps to keep my eyes open." Chuck winced, knowing what those felt like after being subjected to Fulcrum's Intersect. He was glad she wasn't looking at him. Her voice pinched, strained, as if just the memory was painful. "He hits a switch and this…unbelievably bright light is in my eyes, and I can't close them." She panted in desperation. "It feels like knives stuck through my eyes. And it keeps getting worse. Staying still is making it worse. I feel like walking, running, anything to get away from the pain. My wrists are bleeding from pulling at the ropes. My consciousness starts to fade…I think I threw up, at least once, maybe twice. I wake up choking, my throat feeling like it's on fire. I hear him talking. He has to be standing behind me. He's cursing Decker's name, saying something about some kind of failsafe…and now his extraction device doesn't work. He says it's time for Plan B."

She jerked forward, but he held her still, pulling her backward against his chest, his arms securely locked around her. He could feel her start to shake violently. "He pulls me by my hair to unfasten the straps on my head. I feel it cut my skin on my chin and my temple. He's talking again. Saying how much less fun," she spat the word contemptuously, "Plan B was. Plan A was to extract the Intersect and then kill me. Not quickly. With what he called payback. What he thought was owed to him, what should have been his all along."

The harder she was shaking, the tighter he fastened his arms about her. "Not that Plan B was…without…fun," she growled the word. "He would just have to wait a bit. He cuts the ropes on the chair with one hand while he holds a knife to my throat. He unzips my jacket, sliding the knife down against my jugular. I feel the tip of the knife knick me. It stings and feels wet. He…dips his finger into the blood on my neck, lifts it up to show me. He's taunting me, telling me to stop him…try to stop him. He slides the…bloody finger…down the front of my chest…" Her voice broke, tears distorting the words. "Inside my…bra. The knife stays there…all the time he's touching me…pinching me, bruising me…He's laughing, daring me to fight him so he can…slit my throat. I told him…I thought that was Plan A. He hits me across the face, hard. Knocked me out."

She cried silently, cradled in Chuck's arms, while Dreyfus regarded them for a long period of time. With nothing else forthcoming, Dreyfus spoke. "I think that's a good place to stop today, Sarah," he said sympathetically. From his face, Dreyfus could see the anguish ravaging Chuck. Dreyfus knew, even understood why Chuck had stayed for this. But it was extremely painful to acknowledge. Overload in this situation could almost undo progress. "I can let myself out," he murmured quietly.

Chuck almost missed Dreyfus' departure, his head bowed over Sarah, his face buried in her hair. His legs grew numb from not moving, his arms aching at the shoulders, but he never shifted or relented. Time dragged on, the light in the room transitioning as the sun dipped lower in the sky as sunset approached.

Sarah eventually calmed down, still afraid to look up at Chuck, anticipating the tormented look on his face, knowing it would stay in his eyes long after this moment when it consumed him. She was unclear how long they had sat in silence when he finally took her face in his hands and lifted her head to meet his eyes. She had to look away briefly, surprised at how familiar a look he wore. The beach, as he'd tried to let her go, told her it was ok to move on from him, but that no matter what, she would always have him. Restraining an unspeakable agony behind a thin, crooked grin. Trust me, Sarah. She heard it so loudly in her head she almost wondered if he'd spoken the words out loud now.

She had been ridiculously, uselessly afraid, when he'd said those words before. But she had done as he'd asked, hadn't she? Just as he'd done, all those years ago. And even after this dark blot from her memory that had splattered against their happiness, the future was just as bright as the sun on her face, both at sunrise and sunset, then and now. And she was certain here, completely certain, that she feared nothing now. Because he was here.