A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: As we left Chuck and Sarah the last time, one gentle nerd found himself in the unforeseen position to help one tough agent through her darkest hour. Regretfully, it is not over. Thankfully, Mr. Bartowski knows just what to do.

Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal.
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real.
"Crawlin" (Mike Shinoda, Brad Delson, Chester Charles Bennington, Joseph Hahn, Robert G. Bourdon)

Chapter 25: Sarah vs. The Darkness (2)

"I'm here for you," Chuck whispered in Sarah's ear. "As long as it takes, I'll be as close to you as you need me. I'm your friend. I'm not going anywhere."

Sarah's eyes filled with tears, but they didn't flow over. His words delivered the consolation that she was craving. Like a flower in the desert withering under a relentless sun, her vitality was wilting under the onslaught of the excruciating emotions she no longer had under control. The sun that cruelly burned her soul shone down from a pitch-black sky of irredeemability that contained no exit into a brighter, friendlier world. Her last connection to realness was the man talking to her.

"Chuck," was all she could say again.

"I wish I could take that dread from you, Sarah," he honestly and elaboratively articulated. "I wish I could be in your place."

Sarah tried to funnel her attention to his face. Chuck was apparently serious. It was no idle banter, but his sincere wish to magically reach out and grab the burden of torment from her and suffer instead. Amazed, she realized he knew about that kind of angst and what he would let himself into.

"I… wouldn't allow that," she ruled out. It means a lot for me that you would, she thought. "But… you could…"

Sarah trailed off. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't close enough. Resting on his arm, his other arm around her torso wasn't sufficient to feel the human nearness she needed in this dire situation.

I am woman enough to get the embrace I want myself!

"Need… you… closer…" Sarah panted. Her eyes aimlessly wandered as the strain to move required all her concentration.

"What do you want?" Chuck asked, but she did not reply and only grunted from exertion.

You can make this, Walker. You're not a child that needs to be picked up! She chastised herself only to remember that Chuck had picked her up and carried her to their bed only a few minutes ago.

With the effort of climbing a steep rock, she toilsomely straddled him while he himself scooted into a sitting position, leaning against the back panel of the bed. For a few moments, she tried to catch her breath, looking like she came out barely alive out of her worst fight ever. Then she moved closer to him into a comfortable position on his lap. She placed her arms around his shoulders, then leaned against him so close that their noses touched.

"You could have had that easier! I'm a nerd, but my arms are strong enough to pull you up," he smiled, knowing why she didn't ask him to help her.

"Sorry," she whispered and looked into his eyes with an apologizing expression.

"Sorry for what?" Chuck wondered.

"Not the way you imagined that we…" she began and stopped, too agitated to continue.

Keep her talking, whatever nonsense it is!

"What did I imagine?"

I feel guilty for straddling you like this, she apologized without a sound. Guilty to evoke the vision of passionate lovemaking when all I want is to be in the shelter of your arms - to keep me from drowning in my fears. Please believe me, I don't tease.

"Nothing," she chickened out, too busy coping with all the negative images on her mind. "Sorry, Chuck... need you... as close as possible."

Something unheard-of before happened. Sarah wanted to admit it. She really wanted to. "I.. am... falling apart."

The unsteady look she gave her legs, spread over his mid-section, told him all he needed to know.

"Would you believe me that I didn't have the tiniest dirty thought all the time?" he softly asked as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I do. You are the best friend I ever had. … Or, now that I know what friendship is, you're the only friend I ever had."

"So, be my guest," was all Chuck could mutter as he was speechless over her confession.

Yes, that is much better, Sarah thought. I can huddle up that way as much as I need.

Out of pure habit, she did a check on mission parameters.

My arms around his shoulders. Check! His arms around my back. Check! My thighs left and right of his lanky legs. Check! Even my feet touching those legs. Check! My torso on his. Check! Finally, face-to-face. Check! Initial position is ideal to cling to him when I tumble out of control. Check!

"Thank… you… I have the chills… suddenly…" Sarah explained unnecessarily, but she wanted to keep on talking to him. The shivering intensified. She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and endured the trembling with chattering jaws. The shakes came mercilessly in short intervals, each new one like a bucket full of ice-cold water hitting her.

"It's OK. You'll overcome that. I know you can do that," Chuck encouraged her.

Chuck's hands firmly rubbed her back, and she could feel the warmth building up where he rubbed before vanishing when he moved to another spot. It was not really stopping the coldness, but it gave her the feeling that she was not alone and abandoned.

The roller coaster ride of her soul that had begun almost a decade ago was finally bound to go off the rails. Spectacularly careening into the darkness of an impossible panoply of countless different dismal colors waiting for her, all of these hues coalescing into the one lasting color of mourning.

Who was to be mourned? Me! Who was to be buried? Me! How can I be lowered down into earthy coldness as long as Chuck is with me? He will protect me, will he?

"It's gonna be OK," he said, "You're gonna be OK. There's someone who's always there for you, one who will warm you when you're cold and one to offer a shoulder whenever you need it, and one to listen to you when you want to talk. A friend you can trust, whatever life throws at you."

Chuck had debated with himself to give her that speech. He wanted to avoid putting any pressure on her by bringing up his love for her in these dramatic enough moments, which could add to her dismay. But she had used the term friend, and he would not correct her about it, determined to assure her that he was the pillar she could lean on. Whatever feelings he had for her, tonight she needed a friend.

"You," she said feebly but pleased. "That's you... my… personal friend."

Sarah Walker, you're an odd one, Chuck thought. All friends are personal. What kind of life ruled by distrust do you live?

"I.. have… a friend," she added proudly. If she weren't in the middle of a panic attack, he would have begun a lecture about friendships and human beings, but that was not the right moment as he sensed that the climax of her panic attack was nearing quickly.

Her breathing was shallow and fast. Her chest heaved against his. The shivering had stopped and almost immediately was replaced with the heat coming back. She opened her eyes and stared at Chuck. He sensed the change and checked her face and forehead. As he noticed how she sweated, he pulled the duvet down.

"Aaah," she sighed with a relief that was short-lived. Every little thing that did her good was immediately brushed away by the ever-growing panic inside her. Puffing and blowing, she needed to communicate what was going on with her. To Chuck. To him alone. No one else ever would hear her speak such words.

"My hands burn, my face burns, … my head is spinning so much that I have to hold on to you not to falter..."

Her lips were quivering while her mouth wanted to form an unhappy pout. Shifty-eyed and full of angst, she couldn't express the discontent over failing to do so. Anxiety was taking control of her.

"This... is much worse than last night... much worse than ever," Sarah panted. "My heart hurts, Chuck."

He put his arm around her tighter, and with his free hand, he stroked her hair, her cheeks, her shoulders, her arms, the hand that grabbed his shirt.

"Sarah, I'm here. Nothing's going to happen to you. Don't give up."

He sensed that she was hyperventilating again.

"Chuck, hold me, please. I can't even look straight... I'm so terrified…. Chuck, my heart aches so much…"

He put a hand on her forehead and found it wet with sweat again.

"Sarah, you need to rest. You're safe in my arms. You can stay there all night. Let all the bad thoughts flow by like driftwood on a river."

"My heart, Chuck. My chest is like a steel cage, and my heart … my heart explodes inside. My vision is... narrowing like... I'm about to faint. It's getting dark around me."

Chuck felt his own heart ache. Memories of the dark hours of his childhood, when a kid blamed himself for both parents leaving, emerged.

His other feeling was awe. He knew for sure that Sarah endured a massive panic attack. Everyone else would have talked machine-gun-firing rapidly. Sentences would be only fragments with words swallowed in the haste of speaking. The feeling of too little lifetime left to say everything that mightily pushed to the surface would distort the messages. But not Sarah! She fought tooth and nails for her sanity and dignity, doggedly making a stand against the kaleidoscope of numbing impressions, trying to master her speech to coherent statements.

"You'll be OK, Sarah, don't give up," he began, impressed how she faced the battle, but she interrupted him.

"Chuck, I'm hurtin' so bad," she heaved as she stared wildly in his eyes. "All... I can see... is your face… everything else... is blurred. Something… very, very bad is gonna happen to me… I know it."

Her heart raced and pounded so vigorously that he could feel it on his chest.

"Nothing's gonna happen to you," he soothed, knowing that he should not give her lectures but repeat simple messages over and over again. "You're my CIA, my daredevil CIA."

Sarah would have wondered what he meant, but her brain was in a meltdown. She was hardly able to concentrate on talking, let alone following Chuck's cryptic mutterings.

"Chuck, am I dying? … My heart will give up any moment now… this has to be a heart attack… but I don't want to die. I just found you…"

It's impossible to have the best of both worlds. Being an agent and being in love with Chuck don't mix. Stop dreaming, spy Barbie!

"You're not gonna die," he placated, his heart skipping a beat at her words. "You're not gonna die. You'll be fine, you'll be OK. You will live, Sarah."

Her mind was orbiting around her death, which she believed to be imminent, like a piece of matter around a black hole, ever so faster, ever so closer until there was no escape from falling into the chasm of eternal darkness and torn apart down to subatomic level.

"I'm falling… free-falling… so deep I never can come up again… catch me, or it'll kill me!" she panted, sweating profusely like she was covered with a wax film from head to toe.

Sarah clung to Chuck for dear life, her head nestled against his shoulder, her cheek against his, and her arms slung around him. It still wasn't enough. She pressed the upper body against Chuck's as strong as she could, her arms pulling him forcefully closer, needing to feel his chest rising and falling. Her own respiration told her she would soon collapse and draw her last breath, but as long as she could feel his breath, she knew she was still alive. Almost hysterically, Sarah opened her eyes as wide as she could to gather as much light as possible and not succumb to darkness. Her mouth was equally wide open, trying to take in the ever-growing amounts of oxygen she seemed to need.

Please, Chuck, please, open your big, big heart and let me hide there in a small desperate ball!

Chuck seemed to know her intention. His left arm on her back squeezed vigorously. He gave extra support to her spine and the muscles in her back, reminding her that Sarah Walker still possessed a body. His right hand stroked the back of her head slowly. All of her being wanted to crawl into that hand. Her skin was on fire, her bones one seething mass of pain reaching all her limbs. The hurt in her chest spread everywhere. It became so intense that her body began to shake uncontrollably.

Sarah completely shut down physically as well as mentally. The fireworks in her brain weren't of the beautiful kind like on New Year's Eve. The angst was like an enemy Air Force, carpet-bombing her soul into oblivion. Explosions ravaged every corner of her intellect, her synapses agonizingly bursting into flames as her mind turned into ruins. She couldn't cope with it any longer. Her body and soul were shrilly screaming for salvation, regardless if that was sleep or death or Chuck diverting her mind with his unorthodox ramblings.

"Hey, you are the strongest girl I know, and that says a lot given that Ellie is my sister. Don't give up," Chuck continued to give her positive thoughts to chew on.

Her eyes filled with tears once more, but still, she didn't weep and imagined instead that any tear rolling down would vaporize on her cheeks rapidly, burning as hot as fire.

Her feet started to go numb first, then her ankles followed, then her calves.

I am getting paralyzed, Sarah thought. Is this the process of dying? Feeling life crawl away, beginning at your farthest limbs, experiencing every second when the spirit of life retracts from your body? Will the last thing I experience be the pain in my heart, and will darkness then come over me? Or will there be a tunnel and a white light?

"Chuck," she swallowed hard. "Chuck, I need to tell you something."

She fought with herself. Knowing very well that Chuck had romantic feelings for her, she wanted to tell him that she reciprocated those but hesitated.

Wouldn't it be more comfortable for him if he thought I didn't return his love? If I tell him now that I love him, wouldn't it multiply his grief over my death? It will be easier for him to find a good woman if the shadow of What-could-have-been does not loom over him. Easier, if he believed for the rest of his life that his love was one-sided – that tonight he lost a friend but not a partner?

"Shhh," he made as if he knew her struggle. "You're doing fine. Hold on, I'm proud of you."

Should I tell him about my mom, asking him to explain about my death? What about Molly? My Porsche? The money I saved! I need to tell him where to find it!

"I want to settle a few things," she gulped as she felt the urge to hand over what little was hers to him.

"Hey, no need to confess your deeds or tell me where you buried the pot of gold," he stopped her. I've seen the rainbow. I know where my treasure with the golden hair is.

"But somebody needs to take care of-"

"No," he interrupted her again with determination. "You're going to live and kick the butts of myriads of bad guys, Sarah."

Each of my words could be my last, but Chuck believes in me. He is the perfect companion for a rainy day. He's trying to save me. If it weren't for his words, his arms, his nearness, I would be on my last mission already, the one I can pursue only alone.

"Then… what is happening to me?" she pressed out.

She's in self-denial, Chuck understood. But she's finally asking me, and I will answer.

There was no way to steer around the truth, and it was showing respect not to lie to her or evade her question. Also, if she accepted her condition, it would help her to overcome it sooner. If she could wrap her mind around the fact that it wasn't a heart attack or anything traditionally physical, she would ride it out a bit easier.

"Hang in there, Sarah. Everything's OK with your heart. You're having a panic attack."

Struggling for breath, she protested: "Sarah Walker … doesn't do panic attacks."

"Stubborn daredevil CIA," he mumbled to himself. He understood her pain as he had tasted it himself years ago, so he suffered with her, but this was the moment when he had to try to make her come to terms with her predicament.

"Possibly Sarah Walker doesn't do panic attacks, but S dot L dot certainly does."

"Who?" she asked, her chin and her lower lip quivering. She looked so heart-shattering vulnerable that Chuck had to fight the tears. Her features were round, not in a soft but a crumbled way. Her eyes with their dilated pupils looked desolate, and about to free the salty seas he could see shimmering. It was unmistakenly Sarah Walker in his arms, but it was a wretched incarnation of her, and a young, terrified girl rattled by immense terror was shining through.

My mind does not acknowledge my age, my brain can not understand the time that has elapsed, and the trauma is as fresh as if it happened yesterday, she panicked. I am still a teenage girl at heart, and I am as helpless to the horror as I was so long ago.

"S dot L dot," he broke into her ramifications. "Don't make me spell the name out for you."

Her breathing came fitfully and even heavier.

"Sarah, breathe with me," he began, but she stopped him.

"No counting," she said.

"Nay, I swear," he promised. "Do you think I would bore Sarah Walker with the same trick twice? First, find yourself an object to concentrate on. Something you can zone in on to draw your attention away from your misery. Anything you like."

Sarah put her hands firmly left and right on his cheeks and stared into his eyes like a maniac. Chuck realized that this was her answer to his words.

The last thing I want to see in my life is you, she did not dare to say.

"Let's breathe together," he offered. "When you breathe out, think of the bad things in your life, you know, people, events, the things that frighten you and haunt you. Picture these, and as you breathe out, imagine how all of it leaves you and is gone."

He waited for a second and then continued.

"And when you breathe in, visualize all the great things in your life. Imagine you fill not only your lungs with air but also your heart with all these wonderful things that make you happy and feel cozy and safe. Want to try it?"

She nodded. If it helped, she would try Voodoo, exorcism, or eating a non-vegetarian pizza with olives.

"All of the good and bad things at once?" she asked. Mission parameters always had to be precise!

"It's up to you. You can concentrate on as many or as few as you want. Remember, you're not dying. There's always another breath to think about something else you want to let flow out of your lungs. We will enjoy the sunrise tomorrow morning."

Sarah liked the last sentence. It would be sublime to be alive and wake up next to Chuck, carefree watching the first beams of sunlight together. Her husband would know her favorite things and serve exactly the breakfast she wanted. They would sip freshly brewed coffee, and the smell wafting through the room intriguingly would awake her senses. She could see herself lightly banter back and forth with him, always in close proximity for a quick, caring touch. After making plans, they would freshen up and embark on another delightful journey of their life together.

I know it's a dream, she weighed. It's a fake love we play out but a real love I carry in my heart. But how unfeasible that fantasy may be, the fact remained that if she made it through the night, Chuck would be there.

Wouldn't that be a good reason to be still around tomorrow? She thought, determination welling up not to give in completely, whatever despair and torment the night would bring.

Chuck watched her, spotting that she processed something important but not what it was. He waited a bit more and then began.

"Out!" He loudly breathed out with her, following her pattern first but then slowing her down in the process.

Langston Graham, Langston Graham, Langston Graham, Sarah thought as her lungs deflated. Everything terrible is somehow connected to Graham.

He raised his eyebrows in a way that would have made her giggle a few hours ago. But while not accomplishing that right now, it managed to bring a hint of lightness into her heart. "In!" he ordered.

Chuck, Chuck, Chuck, Chuck, Chuck, she thought while drawing in oxygen and imagining filling all of herself with the brightness he brought into her existence. Chuck is the best thing in my life.

They did this for a while until she realized her breath was almost regular. Her concentration on their mutual respiration, all the time staring into those chocolate eyes, had become so intense that much of the panic disappeared.

She broke the ritual and sighed. "I thought about-"

"Stop!" Chuck interrupted her. "Don't tell. It's your secret."

Sarah stroked his T-shirt with two fingers. "But it isn't a secret that I drooled on your shirt," she said, a little embarrassed.

"My little slobber-tooth tiger," he teased.

Sarah worried her lower lip between her teeth, trying to come up with a playful answer in the aftermath of her panic attack. She failed to find the right words and simply expressed the most important sentiment on her mind. "Thank you so much!"

"You mastered it yourself," Chuck replied, inwardly warily because he did not expect the ordeal to be over. Due to circumstances he did not fully understand, Sarah had to reappraise huge chunks of her life, something she apparently avoided for way too long. That could not be over yet.

"What would I have done without you?"

"You are Sarah Walker," Chuck said, wholly convinced, as if that would explain everything. "You're strong and unbreakable."

She looked at him with pure amazement. I never told him my mantra. How could he know these words? As she wondered, she realized she still sat on him, having him pinned into the cushion and her upper body resting against his.

For a blink, she was acutely aware of how intimate the situation was – but she knew that innocent, caring intimacy had saved her. She probably should move before it got awkward, return to her half of the bed and sleep the tiredness and the remains of her panic away.

This would mean to let go of his embrace, his warmth, his gentle hands, and his surprisingly stalwart arms. The realization of what the loss of her human safety net would mean hit Sarah hard and unexpectedly. It was an illogical and bizarre reaction, but the mere thought of leaving his nearness was like a wrecking ball hitting her chest, shattering her ribs, and violently pressing all of the air out of her lungs. She gasped in surprise and dread.

Chuck didn't have to ask and simply pulled her close again.

"It… it's starting all over again… Chuck… please hold me…"

•••••••••••••••••••

Sarah rode out another three panic attacks throughout the night, shaken to her core. Chuck kept his promise. Embracing her, rocking her in his arms, kissing her forehead gently, making soothing sounds, speaking little words of consolation, humming simple melodies into her ear, reassuring her over and over that she would be fine.

Finally, she was too drained to register anything at all anymore. The world was minimized to Chuck's presence. Her total exhaustion prevented another panic attack from materializing. She fell asleep where she spent the last hours, sitting on Chuck's lap, leaning against him as he, in turn, leaned against the bed frame in a sitting position.

•••••••••••••••••••

Sarah woke up from a dreamless sleep. It was pitch black. She hadn't noticed when Chuck turned off the lights. Before she was fully conscious, she knew with an icy certainty she was in big trouble and had to act immediately. Chuck's arms still were around her. "Chuck," she whispered as low as she could. "Chuck. Wake up."

He did not respond. But there was no time! Every instant, every blink of the eye was essential. She thought she had slept comparably well, but waking up didn't come with pleasant feelings.

"Chuck, wake up!"

Calmly breathing only a moment ago, she was catapulted into stertorous gasps practically instantly.

"Chuck… we need to leave," she whispered pointedly, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. He did not stir but finally spoke to her. So he had been awake. Why wasn't he responding faster?

"What's up, Sarah?" His voice was not as compassionate as before, and confusion crept over her skin like an army of angry ants.

"We need to leave right away."

The menace was getting closer.

His voice was bored. "Why do you wanna leave?"

"He's coming to get me," she laboriously verbalized. "We need to run!"

"Now, who would that be, Sarah?"

"Death, Chuck, death!" she said louder, irritated that he had to ask. Death is a person, and he is after me, what's so hard to comprehend?

He coldly laughed. "That's ridiculous. Sarah Walker does not run away from death. She stares him right into the eyes and defies him."

Sarah heard her heart pounding in her ears. Chuck was an idiot! Why is he so much different than earlier? It's not ridiculous. I can feel death coming to get me.

He entered the hotel seconds ago, leisurely sauntering by the desk without any hurry. He paid no attention to the employees, did not look for her in the lobby or any other room downstairs. Death knows where I am.

"I swear, he's down there," she implored him to accept it.

"If he really were, what does he do here? Riding an atom bomb like Dr. Strangelove?" It was his voice, but it couldn't be him.

"He's coming to get me!" she exclaimed, exasperated. The weight on her made it almost impossible to move. She felt, no, she knew that Death was taking the stairs, on the way up admiring the hotel's luxury that was also reflected in the staircase, shiny marble everywhere, subtle embellishments accentuating the stylish understatement.

"Chuck, turn on the lights!" she demanded, but he ignored her wish and didn't move. Every fiber of her screamed to jump up, run, and flee. She sensed as if she was there right with him that moment that Death reached their floor and strolled closer to their room. She couldn't hear him, but the conviction to die increased with every one of his steps.

"He's almost here," she yelled in all-encompassing panic. "If he gets me, I'll be dead. Dead, Chuck, can you hear me? Dead!"

For the first time that night, she wept in earnest.

I want to live! I want to spend my life with you because I love you! But no, I've been a fool. The agency is my life, and if I want to keep at least that, I have to leave Chuck now for good, saving my butt until someday a stray bullet will end my misery. I didn't want to accept it, but I see it now in his indifference – Chuck can not live with what I was and what I am.

She struggled to get up but found the weight was on her back too, holding her down, immovable. These were Chuck's arms shackling her like steel strappings.

"Let me go, let me go," she begged beseechingly, but he did not set her free.

"Face your fate, Sarah Walker, or should I say, Samantha Lisa!" Chuck hissed.

Sarah tumbled into a gorge of hopelessness and paralyzing anguish. She felt the presence of Death physically. He brought with him a massive aura of doom and despair. With every stride, he came closer. His influence and prevalence over her grew drastically. Not able to do anything about her demise anymore, she watched in pure horror as the door to their room was destroyed by the mighty blows of an ax.

No, it isn't an ax. These are mighty claws like one of Chuck's crazy Sci-Fi monsters. What will be next? Lucifer? This ain't Death as I envisioned it.

The door smashed to splinters. A figure stepped in, female, lissome, willowy, silky blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, scantily clad, sexy. Sarah disbelievingly recognized her younger self. She was no longer a schoolgirl who got bullied by classmates and not yet the deadly agent feared around the world. The young woman opposite her was a CIA novice on the arduous path into what would become the meaning of her entire being, becoming Sarah Walker while never leaving Samantha Lisa behind for good. Sarah cried out in anguish. "No, not you! Not you!"

"Yes, it's me!" Samantha Lisa spit out as Sarah incredulously stared at her likeness. Samantha angrily shook her hair. "You didn't think you could bury me forever? I'm here to take revenge for all you've done to me!"

"You're not real. This is a dream!" Sarah shouted, petrified.

"I am as real as you are," Samantha snarled. "I am the little girl that thought her daddy's adventures were fun before you understood that he was a criminal. But did you stop following him? Did you stop having yourself educated into a cynical person that doesn't believe in love and friendship?"

Sarah stared at her. "That's unfair," she meekly defended herself. "I was so young. I had no idea. I couldn't comprehend that. He was our dad. I couldn't imagine he would do anything that would do me harm."

Samantha stepped into the middle of the room. She swung one of her claws, which were the only difference between her and Sarah, so forcefully that the swoosh could be heard in the air. She even was wearing that purple nothing that Sarah had worn for her ill-fated first sleep-over night with Chuck a year ago. But something did not match, and Sarah saw it instantly. The purple teddy had a nasty, wet unregular blot. It was dark, but Sarah knew what it was. It was blood, and it was precisely over Samantha's crotch.

"But he did," her mirror angrily retorted. "He led us on our first steps onto a path of violence, mistrust, and humiliation. You are responsible for following him!"

Sarah thought she had no arguments against that. She was guilty. The verdict was out. The guillotine was waiting. But Samantha wasn't done with her condemnation.

"I'm also the young girl that you gave away to the CIA and allowed yourself to be molded into something cold and immoral. Did you or didn't you let that happen?"

"What I do is important!" Sarah protested. "I work hard to keep America safe, to allow every citizen a happy life."

"But you don't allow yourself happiness," Samantha snubbed. "That means I'm unhappy too. To top it all, you humiliated yourself. I can't look at myself without seeing you with him. You disgust me!" she spit out.

Sarah's head snapped back to Chuck. "It's complicated!" she gasped before turning back to Samantha. "I was a young woman, scared shitless for my father. He's your father too! I couldn't handle it. I knew no way out."

For the first time in her life, Sarah was going to articulate her dilemma in words.

"My only thought was to comply, and before I knew it, I had learned to obey without thinking."

Sarah halted for a moment as listening to herself made so much of her past clearer now. "Can't you see that I was a victim and that I never got over it myself? Wouldn't you do anything to save our dad's life?"

"He's not my father as far as I'm concerned," Samantha bawled out. "He's the reason why my life is so terrible. He's the reason why I will never find a man to love me, and the reason why you are scum!"

"I did this to save his life!" Sarah screamed at her sexy, clawed mirror.

"I don't care about his life – I care about mine, and you destroyed it! I wanted to be a princess!"

"I wanted to be a princess too," Sarah cried, breaking down. "This must be a dream, a dream."

"No, that isn't a dream," Samantha explained, clawing at her again without hitting her. "It's a nightmare."

"It can't be real either," Sarah sobbed.

"Doesn't matter," Samantha sneered, stepping aside. "Your master will punish you, and little piece of shit you are, you will crumble down again and obey and send me back to my prison. But I'll try again and again to destroy you."

"No, no, no," Sarah cried as the blood froze in her veins.

An imposing man suddenly stood in the doorframe. "You will obey, Samantha Lisa!" he thundered. Sarah noticed that the hateful and unforgiving facsimile of herself had vanished and that the man addressed her. She clenched her fists. They looked harmless and powerless, like baby fists, no match for the man waiting for her.

"Obey and come over here!" he ordered again. Sarah turned to Chuck. She grabbed his hands so heftily that he flinched. Not willing to let go anymore, she finally comprehended the most significant difference to any- and everything that ever haunted her – Chuck Bartowski was with her!

"I won't obey! You gotta get me!" she shouted back. "You gotta kill me!"

All she needed was Chuck to save her from death. "Chuck, save me!"

Her gaze bore into his. I am going to stay like that until the end of my life. If Chuck's love can't save me, I see no need to continue this ordeal anyway.

"Chuck, save me," she sobbed and repeated while she lost herself in his eyes, "Chuck, save me, save me," she wailingly chanted, and finally, finally, her prayer was heard. His face formed into that heartwarming smile, his features promised fondness and shelter, and he spoke.

"Sarah, wake up, c'mon, wake up," he said instead of reassuring her.

•••••••••••••••••••

"Sarah, wake up, c'mon, wake up," Chuck said softly. "Everything's OK. You had a bad dream."

Confused, she searched his eyes. Wake up? He looked worried, but his eyes had not lost the love she liked to see so much because she knew that emotion was for her.

She craned her neck so fast and so far that it hurt. The door was closed and in one piece. There was no sign of any intruders.

"You had a nightmare," Chuck sadly said. "And I couldn't wake you up at first."

She realized it had been Chuck's voice that guided her back to reality. Her bosom still heaved, but the panic was gone. She didn't have any strength anymore to be afraid of anything.

"You talked," he explained, and her blood ran cold. What did she say in her dream? Did she give any of her secrets away? "Well, mumbled. You cried. You shouted No many times and that you won't obey, and something about Samantha Lisa. And you asked me to save you."

"You did," Sarah said with enormous relief. She dried her eyes with her fingers, and as there were too many tears, Chuck helped. They attended to the task together for a few seconds, exchanging quick and suddenly coy glances when their fingers met.

"I should be…" she eventually murmured and left her comfortable seat on his lap. For a moment, she expected that panic would hit again, but it did so good to stretch out, and she yawned. Chuck pulled the duvet up to her chin and made sure she was well covered before looking at her quizzingly.

She sniffed. "Will you hold me and not go away?"

Chuck scooted closer, and his nearness surrounded her once again. It almost made her dizzy, but in a good way. I can't imagine surviving this night without you. Actually, I can't imagine any night anymore without you by my side. And we aren't even lovers. I should tell him... or at least try to...

"Chuck," she began but stopped when he stroked her cheek tenderly.

"Is it important, Sarah?"

She managed to snicker. "Everything Sarah Walker says is important."

"So true, so true," he agreed with a chuckle. "But I can listen to you tomorrow all day long as well. Won't you try to sleep?"

She grimaced. "I don't know." That dream might come back.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "This time, I'll wake you right away no matter what. Pinch your cheeks, your face as well as..., ahem, you know, tickle your feet, poke your sides, slobber your nose, …"

She produced a tired, "Eeeew!" while giving him a don't-you-dare-buster mien.

"Really, Sarah. You look totally, absolutely exhausted."

"I am not…" she confidently began to correct him as she watched him with a mocked reprimand, drinking in the deep emotion in his eyes for what must be the millionth time this night.

And that was exactly the moment she serenely dozed off in his arms.

•••••••••••••••••••

A/N (2) Riding an atom bomb like Dr. Strangelove: "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb", 1964 black comedy by Stanley Kubrick, starring Peter Sellers, that turned into a cult movie.

A/N (3) I might have a crush on her, but the only actress I can see convincingly performing such a scene is Ms. Strahovski. Sue me.

A/N (4) (Same as A/N (2) in the previous chapter) In the introduction to this story, I told you that "Chuck vs. The Journey" is based on something that happened to a friend of mine. These two chapters full of angst are what I hinted at back then. I don't claim to be medically correct at all times. I am aware that panic attacks, anxiety disorders, and everything in that area are widely varied forms of illnesses. I described what I witnessed many years ago and adapted it to my story. I didn't have to bend many details, solely customizing it for Sarah and Chuck and their relationship. Before you ask, last time I heard from her, my friend seemed to do fine, and that's all I'm going to say. And if you suffer from similar troubles - it's no shame to seek help.