A/N: This is the end of the angst, I promise. At least in this story. But it starts right out of the gate. Again, not a warning exactly, but an advisory. This chapter contains a vivid, though not graphic or explicit, depiction of assault. As well as a depiction of a severe episode of PTSD. Please be aware, if this may be upsetting to you.

I'm gonna be there in the morning

I'm gonna be there in the night

I'm gonna be there to make you strong

When you're tired

I'm gonna be there

When you want me

I wanna be there

When you don't

Gonna be your lover

Gonna be your friend

Gonna be there til the end

"I'm Gonna Be There"

Blessid Union of Souls

June 9, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

His foot hits her solar plexus, and she crashes backwards, hitting her head on the cement floor. The pain is so familiar she is almost numb to it. The light outside her closed lids swirls away, down into an endless pit of black.

She surfaces from that inky depth, into another layer of darkness, this time filled with only pain. This pain is a ghost, haunting her, on the edge of her consciousness. Not quite so familiar, but nothing she does not understand.

She is blindfolded, with heavy, coarse duct tape plastered over her mouth, pinching the skin from her cheeks forward in its tightness. The bones in her pelvis, flush with the hard floor, grind against the granular carpeting, the thin skin between the bones and the floor burning with friction as her body slides forward and back. The harsh, jerking rhythm is in perfect synchronization with the stabbing pain she feels rising up through her very center. Her flesh tears, burns, bleeds.

The slowly fading stupor gives way to a wave of terror as she understands what is happening to her. There is a hand on each of her inner thighs, bruising and pinching, pinning her down to the floor. Every nerve ending feels aflame. Sickness blows up from her stomach, choking her, nearly drowning her behind the duct tape adhered to her face over her mouth. She is screaming, crying, all muffled behind the seal on her mouth, now gagging as her mouth fills with vomit she must swallow back down. It burns in her nostrils and throat, stings in her eyes.

The stabbing pain is endless, unrelenting. She hears that voice, the words incoherent behind the sounds of her screaming in her own ears, inside her head. A blinding, white hot supernova of rage explodes in her head, inside her chest. The sickly sweet gas fills her nostrils that still feel like lit matches…

The rage has nowhere to go as the gas plunges her back into the murky depths…

From a dead sleep, Chuck was violently shaken awake, his ears ringing from the intensity and volume of the screaming he heard in his ear. Groggy and unsure, even as his heart started racing, he reached beside him. The room was dark, like pitch, the form beside him in the dark barely discernible. He felt a clawing at his arms, kicking on his legs. A flash of blonde hair and a howling rage that deafened him filled his personal space.

In a screaming, tangled jumble, she rolled him over, off the side of the bed, crashing onto the floor. He couldn't see her face, and he had no idea if she was lucid or dreaming. Hitting the floor as hard as he'd done had knocked the wind from his lungs, and he gasped for air. Still screaming, she continued to claw and kick him, pummeling his chest. He grabbed her wrists in a clumsy, frenzied hold. She was hurting him, breaking his skin, but he did not use more force than it took to only keep her still.

He couldn't catch his breath, as he struggled to say her name, in the hopes that he would wake her up, shake her from this fugue. He pushed up against her, needing to use all his strength to fight her, as strong as she was. His resisting her triggered another ferocious growl, and her pushing back, flipping him over again as they grappled.

He managed to extricate one arm from beneath her, at the same time she flipped him again, crashing the back of his head against the wooden leg of their bedside table. "Sar–" was all he managed to say, as the pain in his head exploded seconds before he blacked out.

XXX

The world came back slowly.

Chuck could hear voices, beeping, what sounded like radio chatter. Morgan, Ellie, Alex, Casey, at least two others that were unfamiliar.

The blackness behind his closed eyelids hazed red as the glaring lights punctured the darkness of the night. Lifting his eyelids was painful, and the kaleidoscope of colors that assaulted his vision all at once made his head throb.

"Sarah?" he croaked, feeling how thick his tongue felt against the roof of his mouth, how painfully dry it was to swallow.

"Chuck? Chuck, can you hear me?" He heard Ellie first, squinting as he saw her face come into focus over his. Her hair was disheveled, the part uneven and lumpy across the top of her head. Her face was red, sweaty, and her eyes were bloodshot and pink, evidence that she had been crying. She reached up to touch his face, and the part of her hand he could focus on showed her knuckles were scraped and bloody.

"Ellie?" he croaked again, struggling to sit up and feeling the entire base beneath his back start to spin like he was laying on his back on a merry-go-round.

"Don't, Chuck." He felt her hands pressing down on his chest. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, making a V with her index and middle finger. He could count two, but both of her fingers were blurry. He knew that was why she was asking.

"Blurry two," he grumbled. He tried to move again, and felt Ellie hold him down.

Ellie knew he couldn't stay still because he was worried about Sarah. So she chose to tell him, knowing she may have to retell part of this later if he didn't remember this from his head injury. "We heard screaming coming from your apartment. Sarah must have had a nightmare. By the time Morgan and I got here you were already out. You hit your head pretty hard," she said with worry, reaching up with her bloodied knuckles to touch his head.

Chuck couldn't turn his head or shift his eyes to actually see his sister, as the pain was too intense, but he knew she was crying when she continued. "Sarah was in the corner, almost catatonic. Morgan helped me administer the sedative, but she fought me after I touched her. Casey came after Alex called 911. They took Sarah in the ambulance. We need to get you to the hospital too, Chuck."

He moaned in response, feeling too exhausted and in pain to even form the words he needed to use to answer her. "Casey, help me!" Ellie called, making Chuck wince at the volume.

Chuck felt Ellie slide her hand under his shoulder on his left side. A few seconds later, a firm and gruff grip on the other side yanked him forward, and up onto his feet. Standing, the room still spinning, caused him to immediately projectile vomit. Ellie jumped to the side, but Chuck was certain he heard Casey grunting, cursing, then mumbling something under his breath.

XXX

Casey walked into Chuck's line of sight, as he sat with his hands folded in front of his mouth, seated in a chair in the hallway outside Sarah's room. Casey held out a paper cup full of coffee to the younger man. "You know, you should have stayed for observation. That was a nasty blow to the head you took, Bartowski," he grumbled.

Chuck took the coffee from him, half of his mouth turning up in a weak but thankful grin. "I'm fine. I'm thick-headed, or did you forget that?" he mumbled, gently sipping the hot liquid.

Casey grunted, then sat down heavily in the chair next to Chuck. Casey watched him, his eyes on the floor, feeling the tension radiating from him. "She's gonna be ok, you know?" Casey told him gently.

"I know," Chuck said, closer to a whisper, afraid his voice would break.

"I had no idea you were dealing with all of this," Casey admitted. "We all could have been a little more…understanding, had we known."

Chuck leaned his head back against the wall. "It's not something we could just talk about, you know. It…"

"I know, Chuck. Believe me, I know. Twenty years in the marines, you see a lot. A lot that you wish you could unsee. Most people hate having to ask for help, or admit that they need it at all. Walker's tough. But everyone has their breaking point," Casey explained calmly.

Still looking forward, not meeting Casey's glare, Chuck spoke in a low rumbling tone that echoed with anger. "She remembered everything that happened while she was taken, Casey. Torture, brainwashing." Casey heard Chuck growl, deep inside his chest, before he spoke again. "She was drugged and repeatedly assaulted."

The noise Casey made forced Chuck to turn his head. Casey snarled, his lips pulling back to show his teeth. "Makes me wish I'd landed the damn helicopter on the bastard."

Chuck looked down again, twisting the coffee cup in his hands. "I think about that a lot. In Berlin," he added, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Casey. "If I'd known then what he did to her…I wonder if I'd have been so hesitant to shoot him." His cheeks flushed pink in his embarrassment.

"Welcome to the human race, Bartowski," Casey grumbled, shaking his head side to side as Chuck looked on. "It's normal to feel that way. She always put you on a damn pedestal, because she knew what a good person you really were. But no one is that benevolent, not when someone they love has been harmed like that." Casey sat forward, searching for his next words. "And you're thinking back on it. I know, if it were suddenly happening right now, you wouldn't do it. Not because you believe he deserved any mercy, because believe me, he didn't. But because you know if you did, he wins. He turns you into him. And you're better than that, Bartowksi. You always were."

"Thanks, Casey," Chuck said gently, amazed at the candor coming from his friend.

"And she is gonna be fine, Chuck," Casey affirmed. Chuck was expecting another attestation from him about how strong she was, how much she could handle. He was floored when Casey finally spoke again. "She has you."

XXX

Chuck was pacing by the time Ellie appeared in the hallway. She still had the pulled-from-bed-in-the-middle of the night look–her hair in a sloppy ponytail, no makeup, unmatched sweatshirt and pants. She had promised to go find some of her old colleagues to get some more specific answers. All Chuck knew was that Dreyfus had arrived on the scene, and had been the only one other than the emergency room staff who had seen her.

"Dreyfus is conferring with the on-call psychiatrist," Ellie explained as she stepped in front of Chuck. Chuck couldn't stop his eyes from flitting downward, taking in the cuts and scrapes on his sister's hands. She had been the one to administer the midazolam, fighting Sarah the entire time, not an easy feat by any means.

"I'm going crazy, El. When can I see her?" he asked.

"Wait for Dreyfus, Chuck," Ellie said, seriously. "Sarah…is aware…that she attacked you," Ellie said slowly, forcing the words out, knowing as it happened the change her words would cause in her brother's demeanor. "When we found her, after…"

"Oh, god," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"It's ok, Chuck," Ellie said firmly, stressing the words. She reached up and squeezed his shoulder.

"Chuck," he heard in Dreyfus' soft, gravelly voice. Chuck spun away from his sister, to see the older man, standing at the end of the hallway. "May we speak?"

Ellie excused herself, flashing her brother an empathetic look. When she had removed herself from the area, Dreyfus slowly shuffled his way to stand next to Chuck.

"Can I see her?" he asked immediately, before Dreyfus could say any more.

"Of course. But I wanted to talk to you first, Chuck." He paused, seemingly for effect. "This is what I was worried about. A situation like this. That was why I had presented the option to you. I understand, based on your experience, why you would have reacted the way you did."

"It was a nightmare," Chuck said. "She didn't quite come out of it, and she attacked me while I was sleeping."

"Worse than that, Chuck." Dreyfus looked sad, almost remorseful. His voice hushed, gentle, he said, "She was drugged. But she…woke up…in the middle of the last time she was assaulted."

"Oh my god," he groaned, feeling like someone had taken an ax to his chest. His next breath was painful.

"That…caused all of this. Repressed memories, post traumatic stress, the rage, the helplessness. She remembers it all now." Dreyfus looked up, seeing the horror on Chuck's face that stayed frozen in his features. "As hard as that is to process, it's progress. Now I can help her deal with it. Overcome it. It doesn't feel like it now, but it's a reason to be hopeful, Chuck."

Chuck's eyes shifted, focusing on a place far away from the hallway where he stood.

Dreyfus continued, his voice lower. "Normally things like this take a long time, Chuck. Months. Even years. It feels like it's been forever, but this was all just weeks. Miraculous if you ask me." He paused for effect again, tilting his face upward to meet Chuck's eyes. "That was only possible because of you. Even without all of her memories, she opened herself up completely, because she trusts you. Don't ever forget that, Chuck."

He felt the warmth inside his chest slowly start to spread, dispelling the cold chill that had descended, easing the pain he still felt with each breath. So much helplessness, but he had made a difference. It was the only thing that mattered to him. He nodded, a crooked smile gradually appearing on his face.

"Doc," Chuck started when he found his voice. "I'm just curious."

Dreyfus raised his two bushy eyebrows in invitation for Chuck to ask.

"Isn't your job for the CIA to keep agents functioning in the field?" he asked.

"Of course. The CIA is all about business, Chuck," he answered lightly.

"She's not an agent, and neither am I. A favor to General Beckman is one thing, but—"

"Who said anything about a favor?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting.

Chuck tilted his head as his eyes narrowed. "So what did she say? When she called you?"

"That Sarah needed help," he answered plainly.

Dreyfus stopped, turned his head away as he tucked his hands down into his pockets. He looked back, towards Sarah's door as he continued. In a conversational tone, he said, "I had a Sarah once."

Chuck regarded him in silence, his eyes wide.

"Her name was Agnes. Different set of circumstances, different ending. She's the reason I do this job, despite what the CIA thinks." He gestured for the door, nodding so Chuck knew it was allowed to proceed. "My patients always come first."

XXX

Chuck shut the door behind him, turning the handle so it shut soundlessly. The room was dimly lit, the only light in the room from the flickering fluorescent light above the shelf behind her bed. She looked like she was sleeping, her head turned away. He saw the spray of messy blonde curls against the crisp white pillow.

As he approached the bed, he saw the restraints on the bed in place over both of her wrists. It made him sick, angry, even as he understood why they could have left her like this. Leaning over her, he saw she was actually awake, her eyes fixed on the wall, almost glazed over.

"Hey," he whispered, careful not to touch her.

He watched her swallow hard, squeezing her eyes closed. "Are you all right?" she asked meekly, a whimper.

He pulled the chair to her bedside, lifting it up to minimize the screeching of the metal feet of the chair on the floor. "Yes, I am," he said gently. He sat, pulling the chair as close as he could. He reached over, stroking her hand, at the same time he cringed away from the Velcro restraint. "I hate this," he hissed, tapping against it.

"I requested them," she murmured.

"What? No, no, no. Stop this," he insisted, pulling on the straps to loosen them. "I can't see you like this."

"Chuck," she cried, her voice broken and full of tears.

He gasped as he saw the bruises on her wrist, in the tell tale shape of his fingers. "I did this, didn't I?" he asked in horror, lifting her arm gently in his hand as he gestured to the purple marks that marred her light skin.

"Chuck, I could have broken your neck before I even knew what I was doing," she wailed, shifting her body away from him.

"Sarah," he interjected.

"It's like keeping a bengal tiger as a pet," she growled.

He leaned forward, reaching toward her face. "Look at me, Sarah," he said firmly.

She complied, slowly turning to face him. She had bruises and cuts on the side of her face, near her hairline. Her skin was pale, her blue eyes overflowing with terror and remorse. "I'm so sorry," she gushed as her eyes filled with tears.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he whispered. "I love you."

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him. He felt her body start to shake before he heard her start to sob. "Chuck," she gasped in between sobs. "On the floor in the hotel…"

"I know," he said gently, cradling her against his chest.

The awareness, the spoken words, ran between them like electricity. He gave her his strength, even as he allowed himself to weep with her. It was a tragedy, an atrocity done to both of them. They grieved together.

"You can tell me, Sarah," he said honestly, with a steel and determination in his voice.

She knew why he asked for the story. It was a resurfaced memory, that she had never expressed explicitly to Dreyfus. He was asking to bear witness to the worst experience she had ever lived through, just the last in a long string of horrors. Because he loved her, and he knew she would never be truly free of it, they would never be free of it, until she pulled it out and exposed it to the light.

She loved him, with all of her heart and her soul. It was new, and a familiar feeling at the same time. She never hesitated.

Safe inside his arms, she recounted what she had remembered in the hotel, the night before she had returned to him in their apartment. His breathing was the indication to her of how he was reacting. She paused, when she needed to, and gave him time to process. She cried again when she finished, and he held her, rocking her in his arms as if she were a small child.

He let the pain inside, forced himself to live with it, stare it in the face. With nothing but faith that when he chased this pain away, it would never return.

"You're gonna be ok," he said softly, against her hair. " We are going to be ok."

There were no words she could say that could ever express how she felt, in that moment with him. Each beat of her heart filled her blood with new emotion, until every cell in her body was nearly singing with it. The pain, fear, anxiety, once an enormous ocean was slowly shrinking, receding back into the background. It was the same size, the same magnitude. Only now, her vantage point had changed. He had carried her to the tallest mountain peak, shown her the beauty of her life rolling out in endless splendor. Everything that had ever been, everything that was, everything that could be. That hideous pain, all of it, was so miniscule compared to it all.

It had seemed insurmountable before. And now she knew, that had only been because she had tried to face it alone. With him–her best friend, her lover, her husband–she could rise above anything. Everything she knew was dwarfed by the magnitude of their love.

He still just held her, against his chest. She listened to the beating of his heart, feeling it as if it were inside her own chest, their heartbeats matched in perfect synchrony. The tears that escaped from the corners of her eyes weren't noticed by him, but it was ok, she thought. She hadn't cried tears of joy in a very, very long time.