A/N #1: Firstly, I wanted to explain Chuck from the last chapter. Some comments had me wondering if I portrayed him in the correct light. Yes, Chuck is a pretty selfless guy. He puts other people first, and always puts Sarah first. But everyone has a breaking point–a tipping point where giving too much to someone else ends up hurting. Here, Sarah and him. She is trying to protect him. He knows this, but also knows what damage her keeping those secrets will do to their marriage in the long run.

A/N #2: I got some help with the ideas and flow for this chapter. I ended up shifting things, and adding some extra scenes and dialogue that I wouldn't have thought to include. It makes it much better, in my opinion. Please review and let me know if it worked. Thanks!

There's a light

Where the darkness ends

Touch me now

And let me see again

Rock me now in your

Gentle healing hands

"Healing Hands"

Elton John

June 6, 2012

Echo Park, California

The room was completely dark when Chuck finally looked at the clock on the DVD player under their television. He vaguely recalled plans made before this session. Food was in the oven. Alex and Morgan were due, both to eat and potentially watch a movie. That had been the routine, all along, on Sunday evenings. The way he felt right now, with Sarah resting across his lap, his entire body aching and his chest feeling like a bomb had been detonated inside, his only thought was cancel. It may only have been seven at night, but sleeping was the only thing he had any strength left to do.

He knew she wasn't asleep. Her breathing was too hitchy, her heart still pounding so furiously he could hear it. Had she been asleep, he would have stayed still, despite the discomfort. But instead, he gently brushed his hand along her forehead, smoothing the errant curls flat. "I need to cancel Morgan and Alex," he said, listening oddly to the sound his voice made in the stillness, after so long a stretch of silence.

"No," she said harshly, bolting upright, out of his arms. "Don't do that."

If he could barely stand the thought of entertaining guests, why on Earth would she still want them here? "Sarah," he started warily.

"I need something to get my mind off of this. A distraction, you know. Mindlessness is nice once in a while," she said, forcing a very thin smile onto her face. "Too much mindfulness is balanced with mindlessness."

He shifted on the sofa, trying to look at her face, which was turned away from him. She shifted in response, as if she were avoiding him. He knew, without even asking, she was forcibly pulling herself together before she looked at him. And if his face showed even half of what he felt on the inside, she would lose her composure again. "Baby, are you sure?" he said sweetly.

She nodded, finally turning her face to look at him. "Can you just, you know, tell Morgan ahead of time we just want some company. Low key. He can do that, right?"

Chuck wasn't really sure why, but it seemed like his best friend, though full of good intentions, had been irritating him lately. Morgan thought he was helping, trying to deal with the logistics of starting them all working again. Chuck tried to be understanding. They were all still getting paid, which had been critical, but Morgan had been almost literally skipping in circles since February. In some professional way, he had been dealt a setback, to a time in his life before he was a responsible, not just a chronological, adult. Now that Chuck thought about it hard enough, he realized Casey as well. Granted, he had only been back from Germany for less than a week.

Those issues were only part of the underlying stress. Everything piled on top of each other inside him had created a tenuous stack of problems, with an unsteady base. The entire construct was teetering, on its way to coming down, perhaps in only the slightest breeze. All the while feeling like a hurricane had been unleashed inside him. His sister being 2000 miles away didn't help. The worst thing that had ever happened to him had been followed immediately by his sister's departure. He had told her to go, told her he understood, that he didn't need her to take care of him anymore. And he hadn't. But he still missed her being close, being there to talk to, to help him when he did need it.

He was fully capable of taking care of himself. But this had turned into a thousand-armed monster that was consuming his life. He couldn't simultaneously take care of himself, Sarah, his business, his friends…Especially when almost all of his strength and attention was needed by his wife. No one had known things would be as horrible as they were now back in February, when Sarah had told him she would stay. He didn't like to think about it, but the thought of her out in the world alone, dealing with this situation, frightened him worse than anything else.

She was still staring at him, waiting for an answer, he realized, as he snapped back into the moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to him."

XXX

"Chuck!" Alex said with a huge smile as she opened her front door. Then the questioning face. "We're not late, are we? We planned on leaving in five."

She ushered him into their apartment, shutting the door behind him. "No, no. no. I just wanted to talk to Morgan…actually both of you, before dinner. If that's ok."

Morgan was nowhere in the room, Chuck noticed. Alex saw him scanning. "He's just finishing getting dressed. He'll be right out," she explained. "So how'd it come out?" Alex asked, still smiling.

"How did what…?" Chuck asked her. "Oh, oh, yeah. Pot roast," he mumbled. "It smelled great," he mumbled again, looking away in distraction. He missed the crease on her forehead as the smile faded.

"Is everything ok, Chuck?" Alex asked, genuine concern on her sympathetic face.

Inside his head he was screaming, No no no no no. He knew he needed to just tell her sure, everything was fine. Great. But his mouth couldn't form the opposite word from what his brain was squealing.

"Hey, Chuck," Morgan called, entering the room as he descended the stairs. "What's going on?" Morgan looked at Alex, as she flashed him a stiff, intense look.

"I just, uh…wanted to say we almost canceled tonight. But Sarah insisted," he explained.

"Is she ok? Is she sick?" Morgan asked.

"Morgan," Chuck interjected, hating how harsh he sounded, not meaning to sound the way he did, but realizing he was slowly losing control. "I can't get into it now. I can't. Please, just, take it easy tonight. Sarah needs a mindless distraction."

Morgan's face fell, his eyes wider. "Well, she'll be coming to the right place. No one does mindless better than Morgan Grimes." Morgan sounded offended, Chuck thought.

"Morgan!" Alex hissed, spinning to glare at him. "That's not what he meant. What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Maybe…maybe, maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe we should just cancel. We can eat leftovers tomorrow, or whatever. Or–"

Chuck was rambling. He was nervous. Alex knew that. Morgan, who had been Chuck's best friend for 26 years, seemed to not notice. "Chuck," she spoke up. "If Sarah would like some company, we'll be there. If she's too tired, or you know, we can skip. I promise he'll behave." She turned, glaring at her boyfriend again.

"Ok," Chuck said, flashing a watery smile. Chuck's genuine smiles were so wide and warm, and expressive–wrinkling his nose and the lines around his eyes, that his phony ones were blatant. He ducked out, shutting the door behind him.

Alex took a deep breath before she started talking to Morgan again. She approached, her arms akimbo on her hips. "Morgan, do you remember telling me about the time you borrowed money from Chuck's brother-in-law for an apartment and ended up with a 1981 DeLorean?"

"Yeah," he answered, squinting in confusion.

"How did you suddenly regress to that Morgan, literally, in front of my eyes?" she scolded him.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, taking a step closer to her.

"Chuck, Morgan! Chuck! You remember him. Your best friend. Did you see him just now?" she asked.

"Yeah…" Morgan started, his voice lifting on the end of the word.

"Not just with your eyes. Couldn't you tell? My god, Morgan, he's ready to come apart at the seams! He needs you to be his friend, probably more than he ever has. I know you were there those two weeks, when Sarah was gone. Every day for him. I know you can be. So why aren't you now?" she yelled.

"Sarah is here. And they're together," he said, cringing as he saw her anger flare.

"Did you listen to anything he actually said to you? Sarah is in crisis mode, Morgan. If she were anyone else, she would be in some inpatient psych facility. Do you realize that? The CIA doesn't send a psychiatrist for house calls seven days a week unless it's life or death critical. Chuck has been dealing with that, all alone, all this time. He doesn't care about working right now. He told you he did, because he knows you need that. He's trying to help you. Because that's what Chuck does. Damn it, Morgan, that's not important!" She took a shaky breath, needing air in the moment after her tirade.

Morgan rubbed his hand over his face, falling down to sit on the sofa. After several moments of collecting himself, he spoke. "I'm in douchebag mode again, aren't I?" he mumbled.

"Not that bad. But close," she admitted.

"It still rears its ugly head time and again," he muttered sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you for apologizing. But you need to apologize to Chuck. And then start being there for him," she instructed. She sat beside him, rubbing his leg with her hand. "Chuck won't tell you all of it, I know. It's too…personal. Chuck is very respectful, and he just wouldn't be that blunt about his wife, even to you. I don't know what happened to Sarah, Morgan, but it's bad. Don't pry. But listen."

Morgan turned to address her. "Sarah was trying to continue counseling without Chuck there. He said no, he wanted to stay."

Alex looked away, at the door Chuck had exited through. Her eyes misted with tears when she replied. "He must have heard something awful today, Morgan. And it's only going to get worse."

XXX

"Take your time," Alex said sweetly, kissing Morgan's cheek as she turned to leave him with Chuck. When she shut the door behind her, Chuck and Morgan were alone.

Dinner had been quiet and uneventful. Sarah had been a little withdrawn, but Chuck understood why, and acted as a conversational buffer for her throughout the night. Expert deflection, topic steering. Alex was doing the same, Chuck noted. Morgan was unusually quiet, but Chuck took it as him actually doing what Chuck had asked him to do.

Alex had gone into overdrive when dinner was over, clearing off the table, washing their dishes, and generally making the kitchen sparkle. She had sent the others out to the living room to relax. Rather than start a movie, they just watched television. The chit chat was random, mostly humorous. Sarah sat as close to Chuck as she could without sitting on his lap, his arm tucked around her shoulders. Not long after, Sarah excused herself politely, stating exhaustion and needing to go to bed early.

She was emotionally exhausted, Chuck knew. So much more taxing than mere lack of sleep or physical exertion. He had kissed her goodnight. Alex had exited only 20 minutes later. And now Morgan was looking at him, serious and somber.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," Morgan said simply.

"For what?" Chuck asked, crossing his arms.

"For going on and on about the company and working and…all that…when you're dealing with much bigger problems. I kind of forgot myself there. And I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

Chuck smiled, even as the light in his eyes died as Morgan watched. "It's ok, Morgan. I can't really…you know, tell you…anything…"

"You don't have to, Chuck. But I'm here. No more stupid early morning visits, ok?" he told his friend.

Chuck smiled, nodded, but fell to sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands, both elbows on his knees. "You saw the mirror, or lack thereof, in the bathroom," Chuck grumbled. "And the bandage on Sarah's hand."

"Yeah," Morgan said softly.

"She could have seriously hurt herself if I hadn't been there. She broke it with her hand. I knew how hard this was going to be, and in the end, it's worth it. I just never thought our roles would have so drastically reversed like this. I don't mind that she needs me, Morgan. But Sarah, my Sarah, was always stronger than me. In almost everything. I feel like I don't know how to navigate this now."

"Look, Chuck. I know. But I also know that you can be just as strong. I've seen it with my own eyes. She knows that, deep inside, no matter what else she remembers," Morgan said gently, patting him on the shoulder.

He kept his head in his hands. In a voice so raw with pain it brought tears to Morgan's eyes, Chuck groaned, "Morgan, I think Sarah was…" He couldn't say the word out loud, the one on the tip of his tongue. The choking, gurgling breaths that followed told Morgan what the last word would have been. "He tortured her, abused her…"

Morgan kept his hand on Chuck's shoulder. "The Doctor will help, no matter what happened, Chuck. You don't have to hold everything inside you. It's killing you, Buddy."

"Besides the Doctor, I'm all she has," he whispered.

Morgan knew for this moment, that was true. But it didn't have to be. Sarah needed Ellie. Maybe Chuck would never ask her to come, but Morgan could. He could do that, for his friend. Especially after how stupidly he'd acted.

XXX

After Morgan had left, Chuck had sat alone in front of the television for almost an hour. It had been on in front of him, but his mind had been nowhere near focused on anything. At least now Morgan understood the full scope of what was really going on. Morgan had assured him as he'd left that Alex would explain it to her father, who seemed almost as oblivious as Morgan. Though in Casey's defense, he avoided emotional outbursts in general, like the plague, and had no idea the extent of Sarah's mental state.

Noting the time, he shut off the television. Everything was quiet, so Sarah was already asleep. He retrieved his pajamas from his closet shelf, moving silently through the darkened room. He changed in the closet, with the door shut. As his eyes adjusted to just the moonlight, he saw the outline of her body under the blankets. She wasn't still–rolling uncomfortably back and forth, her legs alternating between splayed out and curled close to her body. He left to brush his teeth and finish getting ready for bed.

When he turned off the faucet, he heard the slightly muffled sound of her moaning fretfully. From the hallway, he peered into their room. Still tossing and turning, only more violently. She must have been having another nightmare, he thought. Before he could take another step, he watched her flip onto his side of the bed, wrapping her arms around his pillow, and snuggling herself down against it. Even in the dark, from that distance away, he could tell her muscles relaxed. The fretful moaning turned to a sigh, and she stopped her twitchy movements. The sight of her, cuddling his pillow against her face, taking so much comfort from the simple act, filled his eyes with tears.

She couldn't get to sleep comfortably because he wasn't next to her. From sleeping alone, in spy mode, to sound asleep in his arms, to fitfully asleep without him. She was the most amazing woman he had ever known, would ever hope to know. And he was the most important thing in her life, always, it seemed. Even after all this time, it literally amazed him.

He stepped into the room, feeling the tears drip from his chin as blinking sent them cascading down. But he smiled softly, gently lowering himself down onto the bed next to her. He couldn't fit completely on the surface, as she was almost all the way over on his side. The mattress giving way slightly woke her gently, her eyes fluttering open, inches away from his face. Did she understand why he looked that way, his wet and bloodshot eyes? Most likely not, although he knew from the way she looked at him that she saw his love there behind the other emotions.

She released his pillow, tucking it under his head and folding herself into his welcoming arms instead. Her whole head was on his chest, as she curled across him. She was in the fetal position, her arms tucked against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, one around the front of her to her hip, the other across her back, his hand on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair. He felt her body start to shake as she started crying.

Soon she was outright sobbing, breathless, wailing from the depths of her soul. Sarah so rarely cried, even though this new situation had caused more tears than any other time. The closest he remembered to this was in Thailand, and his memory of that was still so foggy. Those tears were the strongest memory of that ordeal–waking from a dream to understand it was real, what he had just heard and felt, her face drenched with tears, her broken voice declaring her undying love. There was nothing he could say now, nothing he needed to ask her. He knew exactly why this was happening, what it was about. So he just held her.

Something happened inside him as he consoled her without words. He felt he finally understood something he probably had never really examined before. Much like Dreyfus' explanation to him about the significance of Sarah sleeping soundly next to him, he knew this was important for the same reason. Sarah was stronger than him, in almost every way. The times he had seen tears anywhere other than as a film over her eyes, he could count on one hand.

This wasn't desperation. This was trust.

The thoughts, the repressed memories, the atrocities now vivid in her mind, had broken that strength in her. The tears were her coping mechanism, one she had always used when she was alone. Physically or emotionally. The fact that she could completely break down in his arms, allowing the mangled, destroyed center of herself to show, was because she felt safe with him, because she knew implicitly that he understood everything, without any need for her to speak. And as damaged as she felt, she knew his feelings, the power of his love, was unaffected and unchanging.

She was crying because she needed to cry. And his arms around her had given her the strength to take down the last wall, to let the full storm of emotion encompass her.

He had only been thinking of his marriage, the real danger of him not knowing the whole truth, when he had insisted on being present. However, it had seemed now as well, that knowing he was there was a comfort she had needed to face those horrors again. Morgan was right, at least about that. Whenever Sarah needed his strength, he never flinched, instead tearing into every and anything in his way. She needed it now, in the internal battles of this war they seemed to be waging. For her, he could become a soldier.

XXX

She was running…out of breath, pumping her arms, her long hair flying behind her, the wind on her face drying the tears on her cheeks. Casey had gone to get Lizzie. She was trying to get to Chuck before it was too late. He was on the helipad, the agent who had taken him not thinking to disable the tracker in his watch. The entire time, she was arguing with herself. Could she convince the agent to let him go? Or was she simply running full speed to say goodbye to him forever?

She had failed him in her primary task. Why hadn't they swept the Buy More, looking for listening devices, especially after Fulcrum had almost captured Chuck inside the store? Chuck had figured out it was Lizzie in no time. She was one of the best the CIA had to offer. Casey had been a spy when she was in grade school. And they had all failed, for over a month. Now all was lost.

What was Chuck feeling right now? Worrying about everyone else that he loved. His sister, her fiance, and his best friend. More concerned how hurt they would be, never knowing what had really happened to him. It was her fault, all her fault. And if she didn't keep running, he would be gone, disappear, before she could tell him how sorry she was. Tell him…

Tell him what? God, she wished she knew. But there were no words to describe the ache in her chest, the hole punched through the center of her at the thought of never seeing him again…Never hearing the sound of his laughter, feeling the touch of his hand on her skin…

Her lungs burned, her legs shook…her heart broke…she had never known it was possible, until she felt it break…

She woke in the dark, tears from the dream, tears from her memory, now alive on her face again. Her eyes burned, puffy and crusted over from the copious amount of tears she had shed before finally falling asleep. The skin on her cheeks was raw from the tissues and the friction of her hands. She ran her hand along her breastbone, as if to massage away the pain beneath, a penetrating stab that seemed to go straight through to her heart.

His worst pain was never his own, but pain in those he loved. Standing in her apartment, completely unraveled, because his sister's marriage, her happiness, had been tarnished by his spy life overreaching.

He was awake, she realized, turning quickly to see the clock. Closer to three in the morning. He was flat on his back, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Chuck," she whispered, reaching to touch his arm. She had startled him, as she felt him jump, his breathing rapidly increasing. She didn't know what to ask. She knew why he couldn't sleep, and knew everything that was wrong. Just his name hung in the air between them. "Talk to me, Chuck," she finally said.

He stayed perfectly still, his arms crossed, for what felt like forever. He didn't whisper when he spoke, sotto voce instead, his voice booming in the quiet of the room. "There's something I need to say. But I don't know how."

She rolled towards him, touching his arm again. He was so tense his bicep felt like he was flexing. He kept his eyes on the ceiling in the dark. "Just say it, Chuck," she asked him.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, in a stuttering gush. "I'm wondering…if the…the frequency…of us…you know…having sex…has to do with…all of this. You know. Some unconscious way of…you trying to…make it up to me…for being…assaulted." She heard him swallow in the dark, the sound of his ragged breathing almost roaring in her ears at her closeness to him. She rested her head against his arm.

Her first instinct was to immediately deny his claim, dismiss it as craziness. But the thought gripped her, and would not let her go. Had she done that? On some level, unaware of what she was doing? And she hated the words he'd used. As if anything that they shared could be classified with such a generic word. She never thought of them being intimate that way, as it seemed to emphasize the physical nature of it, which was only a small representation of the entire act. But she knew telling her that had been a struggle for him, keeping him awake for hours. She searched for words, realizing after the sentence was out how inadequate it was juxtaposed to his worries spoken aloud. "That was normal before, wasn't it?" she asked softly.

"It was," he admitted. "Before. But everything is different now." The desolation of that statement, the despair in his voice, cut into her soul. Nothing was the same, and the tragedy of that would always be with them. But it didn't define them. Their love was stronger than that, sturdy enough to withstand any amount of bending without breaking. In the end, physical intimacy was just one more thing that had been taken from her, from them. Something she had wanted to take back for herself, for them together as a couple.

"No, it isn't, Chuck," she swore passionately. That made him turn his head, searching her face in the darkness. "The way I feel about you is the same. Maybe you don't believe that, because you have a straight line, and I have a circle. But both things are infinite. Real. Someday, maybe, you'll see that the line can be a circle, and the circle can be a line…the only thing that really matters is that they overlap, in every place they need to."

He knew she was fighting for their relationship. Eloquence like that spoken to him was new, but so compelling. She saw the crooked line his mouth formed. But she heard the tears in his voice, restrained, when he spoke again. "I didn't know. I never thought about it, when this all happened. I mean, I knew it was possible. But this…I should have realized it, but I didn't."

"I didn't either, Chuck," she whispered apologetically. "The nightmares were so vague." She touched his cheek, ensuring he didn't look away when she continued. "How I felt, what I wanted–that was real, not the least bit vague. It's still the only thing I want. To be close to you."

"I know," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I didn't mean that you were being…insincere. Not ever. But as things…progress. It's making me worry."

"We can wait. You know, just take a break," she told him. "I don't want you to worry, at all, about that." She was still here, next to him. The thought calmed her. He unfolded his arms, wrapping his left around her as she snuggled into his chest.

Dreyfus was doing what he had said he would do. At the rate she was remembering, it was only a few more days before the psychodynamic portion of his treatment would be complete. Then, he could start treating the trauma, and give her strategies to deal with it. He had to keep that in mind, the end goal of all of this. As hellish as this was now, it would end. They could deal with it, and move on.

It was so strange, he ruminated, that now, with still so many holes in her memory about their history, he felt closer to her than almost anytime he could remember. She had shared things with him now she had never told him before, trusting him in a way she had never completely done in the past. As awful as this was, as what he knew was yet to come, they were stronger for it.

And stronger for each other, as they had always been. And always would be.