There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall

That's my soul up there

There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall

That's my soul up there

There's a blue whale beached by a spring tide's ebb

That's my soul up there

There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web

That's my soul up there

"King of Pain"

The Police

October 6, 2021

Burbank, California

"Ellie, wait!" Devon called to his wife as she stormed from the room.

Chuck watched as his form moved across the screen as he ran to follow his wife out of the room. Ellie's reaction was actually slightly better than he had anticipated. She was angry, rightfully so, having unnecessarily grieved her brother for over a full day, with a house full of people–family, friends, and agents.

Chuck's mother, Mary, was still visible on the screen, along with Gertrude, Corrine, Carter, and Vivian. Mary looked relieved to him, her eyes vaguely misty, but her expression was understanding. Though they had been physically separated, Mary had always kept track of her husband, Stephen, while he was spying. As Orion, he had staged his own death multiple times, the same way Chuck had had to do this time. Chuck remembered his mother telling him that when Stephen had been killed, it had taken her much longer to grieve, because for the longest time, she had been in denial, wondering if it was the truth or just another elaborate deception to throw bad actors off his trail.

"She's just upset, Chuck. It's hard with everyone here. She will understand, once we explain everything. I'm sure," Mary told him.

"Where are the girls?" Chuck asked, leaning toward the camera in his urgency.

"With Clara," Vivian offered. "Your mum thought we should wait…just in case. They never knew anything, Chuck. They're fine…just a little curious and frustrated at the upset to their schedules. They miss you terribly."

"Daddy!!" Chuck heard in a chorus just off the screen. Two little blonde heads, just barely visible over the top of the table the computer was perched on, bobbed excitedly as they ran towards it.

The sight of their happy little faces, so unaware of the misery and tragedy that surrounded the rest of them, filled his insides with warmth. "Is Mommy with you?" Abby asked, leaning so close to the screen not all of her face was in the shot.

"Not in the room, but, yes, she's here. We'll be home tomorrow by dinnertime, ok?" he added, letting his internal warmth color his voice, doing his best to hide the turbulent emotions that threatened to overtake him. "How's everything been?" he asked, like he would have if they had merely been sleeping over at their cousins' house.

"Crowded," Ally emphasized, her blue eyes wide. "Auntie Ellie and Uncle Devon have a lot of company."

"It's like one, big, long party that never ended," Vivian beamed, putting on the same show for them. Chuck could see his dog milling around in the background, being tugged on by Ellie's younger sons.

Chuck could see Ellie back in the shot, her face a little puffy and her eyes pink, though dry now. Devon had his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry I overreacted, Chuck," Ellie apologized.

"You didn't. You did not," Chuck stressed. "I wish there was some way I could have let you know…but–"

"I understand, Chuck. Mom explained it to me," Ellie replied. "We just want you home, as soon as possible," she added, her smile genuine.

Chuck smiled and nodded silently. "El, do you think I could talk to Mom and Corrine…in private?" he asked. He said their names because they were the spies, cueing Ellie in on the turn the conversation was taking.

Ellie nodded, and said out loud, "Come on, girls. Chewie needs a walk."

"Bye, Daddy, we love you," Ally and Abby sang as they bounded out of the room, followed by Ellie and Devon.

Chuck saw Vivian start to move as well when he added, "Carter and Vivian. Can you stay as well?"

Vivian stopped, turning a curious eye to her boyfriend, but folded her arms across her chest and turned to face Chuck on the monitor. Chuck heard the door close, the sign that they were alone. He fully briefed them on everything that had happened in England, as well as Sarah's exploits in France and Hungary.

"Is Sarah all right, Charles?" Corrine asked first, mirroring the sentiment of everyone in the room.

He said yes, but his face told a different story. "She will be," he added.

"She just needs to get back to normal," Vivian stressed. "If this is really all over–"

"Vivian, it's not. That's why I asked you guys to stay. Carter," he interjected, directing his attention to the accountant. "The information you were gathering…about the financial piece of all of this?"

"The shell corporation?" he asked for clarity's sake. "What about it?"

"That's the last piece. The only way we have left to track them in the states. How far have you gotten with that?" Chuck asked.

"Not very, Chuck. We've been here since your house was attacked. Your sister had her hands full. Us, Vivian's parents and her grandmother, your kids and your mother…plus the dog and her own family. Viv and I were in sleeping bags on the kitchen floor," Carter added as his mouth twisted crookedly.

"No, I get it, I get it. I can't thank you enough for everything that you've already done," Chuck told them sincerely. "But we still need your help. Can you continue, tomorrow, with the investigation?"

Vivian spoke before Carter opened his mouth. "Morgan and I are in charge at CI, Chuck. I've already parsed out bits of that…what I could, you know, without compromising any intel. Your programmers are already on it. We'll get everything together and continue that part of it as soon as we can."

Her confidence and her assurance were the comfort he needed in the moment. The greatest comfort in his life was his family and friends, knowing they would all rally around each other when they were in need. "Have I ever told you how amazing you are, Vivian?" he said with a relieved smile.

"On occasion," she teased back, winking at him. Serious again, she ended by saying, "Just get your family back here in one piece, Charles."

He smiled in return, breaking the link. He wasn't sure how that looked, his family back in one piece, especially when half of it had already been internally shattered.

October 11, 2021

Burbank, California

The house was still quiet as Sarah gingerly walked through the door into the kitchen. The palest light of the early rising sun had begun to color the light in the room gray, lightening the darkness as the day slowly progressed forward. She swiped her wrist over her sweaty forehead, brushing the damp hair back. She walked to the refrigerator, tugged on the door gently, hearing the bottles in the door rattle rather loudly in the peaceful quiet. Grabbing a bottle from the top shelf, she twisted the cap and tapped the door shut with her foot.

She was still panting a bit, not quite settled from her morning run. The cool water trailed its way down her throat, moistening her dry lips. She alternated between taking long chugs and deep breaths. Usually she would sit at the table doing this, part of her routine almost every morning before the kids made the house crazy before leaving for school. She had amazed herself, how easily she had fallen back into her routine after such a dramatic shift. At least on the surface, anyway.

She hadn't realized it as she had been running, but she knew now--she had been trying to unwind the twisted knots inside her that wouldn't seem to go away, no matter what she did. Running had become her primary stress relieving exercise, but this morning, it had only felt like she was running away from something horrid, something she knew she could never completely outrun--something that was coming for her. Sick with dread, she realized she still felt this way, edgy and uncomfortable, her palms itching with anxiety.

Just shower, now, while everyone is sleeping, she told herself. Long and luxurious showers were for the most part a thing of the past, with five people in the house and no moment when one of them didn't need the bathroom for something. Every muscle in her body felt sore, though why running would have irritated her muscles this badly, she didn't know. She just knew that standing under the hot water for maybe a few extra minutes would be relaxing.

She climbed the stairs and began walking down the hallway. All three bedroom doors were ajar, and she could see first her daughter Ally, her sister's bed positioned farther away and not visible through the thin crack in the door. The room across from the bathroom was theirs, and she could see the top of Chuck's head on his pillow, his dark hair sprinkled with gray jutting out in multiple directions. Farther down was Stephen's room, the view through the window over his desk all she could see.

Opening the bathroom door, she flipped on the light, then gently closed the door behind her. She turned on the water in the shower, then turned and started straightening the clutter her daughters had left on the bathroom counter, reminding herself at the same time to tell them the next time they didn't put everything away they would lose television privileges. Just as she dropped the last stray item into the vanity drawer, she felt the cloying moisture from the shower steam begin to cloud around her. She undressed, leaving her running clothes in a heap next to the shower door and stepped in.

She wet her hair, twisting herself to allow the water to soak all of her. The sticky sweat washing away, she stood under the water, not moving, allowing the heat to penetrate her sore and tired muscles. Anxiety, now her constant companion, seemed to tap her on her shoulder and her stomach lurched as she felt the tiny walls of the shower feel like they were closing in around her. Her face set like steel, and she forced the emotions down, reaching for the shampoo and quickly washing her hair. Next, she was just as vigorous with her body wash, scrubbing her skin until it was red under the heat of the water.

As she began rinsing off the suds, she forced herself to take deep breaths, searching for the center, the origin of the breath, as a way to calm herself. She felt her heartbeat start to ease its pounding, the shallow rising of her chest slowing its pace. It felt the same, she thought, unable to stop herself from spiraling back, remembering the rain, falling in droves from the gray overcast sky in London, pounding against her face as she had tilted her face up towards the sky, moments before uselessly howling her rage and anguish into the emptiness…

Transported in her mind, she was unaware of what she was actually doing here in the present. The quick zap of pain on her kneecap indicated she had been shaving her legs when she had flashed back, and inadvertently cut herself as she had been daydreaming. The pink plastic razor clattered to the floor of the shower and she tilted her leg, seeing the stream of blood trailing down her leg, intermixed with water droplets.

Blood.

Every other color in her view seemed to fade to black and white, and the red glared angry and unforgiving. Then suddenly, everything she saw was red--as if she had a sheen of red on her eyeballs--like blood had tinted her vision. She felt as if her heart were now pounding in her mouth and her body started shaking, though the water was still almost painfully hot. Slamming her back against the fiberglass wall, she grabbed for a handhold, but found only the smooth and unyielding glass on the door. Feeling the edges of her vision start to haze with darkness, she slowly slid down the wall until she fell ungracefully onto the floor of the shower stall, her legs curled under her in an uncomfortable tangle.

She felt blind, unable to speak, barely able to fill her lungs with air. Banging her knees against the glass, she pulled her legs out from underneath her, pulling them against her chest, wrapping both arms around them tightly and bending her head down onto her knees.

Oblivious to everything except the storm raging inside her heart, Sarah didn't notice she had blocked the drain with her body. The water continued to fall from the shower head, pooling in the standing basin, until the water reached the bottom of the glass door, and began running in tiny rivulets onto the tile floor of the bathroom.

XXX

Chuck woke as he reached beside him, expecting to feel his wife, and instead feeling the cool sheet next to him. He sighed, knowing Sarah most likely had gone running. In the past, some days he would join her, but since their return four days ago, Sarah had been aloof and strange with him, purposely not waking him, so she could run alone. He was worried, but thought giving her space was what he needed to do. Today, he had awoken early, his alarm not due to go off for another 30 minutes. He adjusted himself on his back, trying to find the most comfortable position for his transition from asleep to awake. At least, sometimes, it was nice to not have to hit the floor running every single day.

"Dad!" he heard Ally yell, slightly shrill. Ally was quiet and shy, and shrieking something she almost never did.

So much for that, he thought, falling out of bed as he jumped up.

Hurrying into the hallway, he saw her, her long blonde hair messy, looking akin to a mouse nest in its crazy tangles. She looked distraught, her little face scrunched up. He noticed she was standing at an odd angle, because she was avoiding stepping into a puddle.

"What the heck is that?" he asked, sotto voce, so as not to wake the others.

"I need to go to the bathroom and all this water is spilling out from under the door," she lamented.

Following it with his eyes, Chuck saw a slowly creeping puddle, ever so slightly growing in size as it moved from under the bathroom door across the hardwood floor in the hallway. His eyes wide with alarm, he reached for the door handle, jiggling it, feeling that it was locked. He knocked hard, calling against the door, "Sarah?" He heard no reply.

"What's Mom doing? I really have to go," she insisted.

His attention suddenly split between two crises, he banged the door again, calling louder this time, "Sarah!"

"Daaad," Ally prodded.

He turned his head quickly, almost shouting to her, "Go wake up Abby and ask her to take you to use the downstairs bathroom." Even in his half awake, now semi frantic state, he remembered Ally hated to be the only one on the first floor.

He heard her sigh, but she walked away to comply with his directions. Now truly worried, remembering the last time this had happened, Sarah had passed out in the shower, the first indication that she was pregnant again, with the twins, he hammered the door in rapidfire succession one fist after the other.

Stephen was at his side, the noise obviously having woken him too. "Dad?" he asked in confusion.

"I need a quarter to open the door and a towel for the floor, Son. Can you grab that?" he asked hurriedly, continuing to pound on the door. Chuck could hear the nervous chatter of his daughters as they witnessed the commotion on their way downstairs.

So incredibly quickly, Stephen was there, handing him the coin and dropping the towel onto the puddle and pushing it back towards the door. Fumbling, his hands shaking with his fear, Chuck pushed the quarter into the vertical slot on the doorknob and turned it, successfully unlocking the door. A split second before he opened the door he called, "Stephen, go downstairs and check if the ceiling is wet anywhere."

His son looked worried, almost certain he was being sent away for some other, scarier reason, but he complied and hurried down the stairs. "Take the dog out!" he yelled after him, conflicted about being concerned about such menial things when something drastic seemed to be wrong. Chuck rushed inside, soaking his feet in the enormous puddle that covered the entire bathroom floor. The glass door on the shower was fogged, but he could see from the light that she was not standing. Desperate, he pulled the handle on the shower door, a significant wave of water crashing out onto the floor as the door gave way.

"Sarah!" he yelled, seeing her crumpled on the shower floor. The water had run cold, he could feel, as tiny droplets soaked his shirt and chilled him. She seemed oblivious to the freezing cold, or his presence in the bathroom with her. He shut the water off, stepping almost three quarters of the way into the shower, soaking his pajamas and hair as he reached down for her.

"Sarah, are you alright?" he asked urgently, grabbing her arms, feeling the goosebumps on her flesh. She looked up, dazed, her gaze shifting straight through him. Frightened now, he pulled her up, supporting her weight with his arms, feeling more water saturate his clothing. He pulled her forward, lifting her up into his arms as he surmised she no longer had the wherewithal to step over the lip on the shower floor. As soaked now as if he had stood in the shower with his pajamas on, he reached for the towel she had placed on the hook and pulled it around the top of her shoulders, rubbing to add heat, as he saw her bottom lip tinged blue and slightly trembling.

He never moved his arms, terrified by the dazed look on her face, her complete disregard for his presence, worried she would just collapse onto the floor. He turned his body, setting her down on the toilet seat, holding the towel in place with one hand and supporting her with the other. She dropped out of his arms, rather than use any muscles to control the movement. He removed his hand, reaching for her face and forcing her gaze upward. "Sarah, look at me!" he demanded, raising his voice to keep it from shaking.

The towel slipping down, exposing her breasts, seemed to bring her forward, back into the situation. He felt her turn her head, reach down herself and yank the towel back into place. It only added to his confusion…and his dismay. He actually looked over his shoulder, afraid one of the children was back upstairs in the doorway. Why was she hiding herself from him?

He pulled her head forward again, forcefully but never enough to harm her, holding her cheeks hard in his hands. He could feel the vibration in her lower jaw as she still was reacting to the cold. She finally seemed aware of his presence, as her blue eyes focused on his face. Her surroundings seemed to come into focus, immediately registering the horror on her face and in her eyes. It chilled him to the core.

Steeling himself, forcing calm, he waited, consciously slowing down his breathing so he didn't sound winded. He was remembering the panic attack she had had in Ellie's lab in Chicago, her PTSD triggered by the three dimensional fractals Quinn had used to torture her. Then, his sister had intervened, getting Mary to take her away from the stimulus, and subsequently telling him all they believed that she had endured that at that point she couldn't remember. Everything had moved so quickly after that--the mission to Romania, Sarah's memory being restored--he had only briefly addressed it with her after he had been released from the hospital after his own ordeal.

By then, she had been eight months pregnant and moving back to California from St. Louis to move back in with him. Then Stephen was born, then her miscarriage and brush with death, then pregnant with twins, and three little kids and a growing tech firm later--here they were, nine years removed, and though it had nagged at the back of his mind, the speed of life with three small children had kept him from pushing the idea to her--that perhaps spy training alone wouldn't be enough for her to overcome all of the trauma. Ellie had also pushed the topic, but only so much, not wanting to interfere in her brother's marriage, and with three little kids of her own.

Now he was faced with real fear--that something repressed could potentially rise to the surface and pull her back under the dark water, exacerbated by this recent ordeal in England and her killing spree. Recalling how his sister had calmed her down all those years ago, he said calmly and firmly, "Sarah, you're safe. You're in your house, and you're safe with me. This is Chuck, Sarah. Chuck." He held her head, her cheeks in his palms and his fingers threaded into her wet hair, waiting, for what seemed an eternity for her breathing to slow to normal. Her eyes, still full of terror, darted around the room, avoiding his face. He continued to repeat the same words, over and over, until her eyes once again focused on his face.

"Oh, my God, Chuck," she whispered, sounding like she had run a long distance. She looked down at the towel, and where she was seated, like she had no idea how she had gotten there. He could hear a strangled cry, deep in her throat, and saw the tears start to overflow from her eyes.

"It's ok, Baby," he whispered, gently and gradually pulling her against him, not wanting to startle her with any quick motions, though his internal instinct to crush her against him had to be deliberately ignored.

Disregarding his tender and cautious approach, she launched herself forward, grabbing him like a life preserver, so ferociously he almost lost his balance. He could feel her shoulders shaking, hear the deep shuddering breaths--signs she was weeping, with no other sound audible.

Walking, drinking some water, he remembered his sister saying as well. He stood, pulling her up with him, as she clung to his neck. "Come on, Baby, let's walk. Back to the bedroom," he said slowly. He pulled the towel around her, covering her as best as he could. He peered into the hallway, making sure no children were immediately visible, so he could dart across the hall.

"The floor, Chuck…" she mumbled distractedly, hearing as the water sloshed and splashed as they walked through.

"Doesn't matter, Sarah," he said firmly. "We'll clean it up. Right now, let's take care of what's important."

He sat her down on the bed and moved away quickly to get her clothes, something comfortable. He returned with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. She left the towel around her and dressed, like she was in the locker room at the gym. She never looked at him, pulling the towel away once she was dressed, then sinking back down to lay on her side, her wet hair leaving darker blotches on her pillow.

He could feel himself starting to spiral desperately, so badly it almost made him dizzy. He sucked his breath in hard and held it, trying to calm himself. It reminded him of when she had returned after Quinn had taken her from the Bullet Train. That gut feeling, one he kept trying to explain and was convinced otherwise by his family and friends…something was wrong. He couldn't put a name to it, or even explain it, even to his sister. Back then, he had been first worried that it was some type of repressed trauma. He had offered his ear, letting her know she could talk to him about anything. Just as the words had escaped, she had turned around and looked at him, and he had almost jumped back, not even recognizing his wife. Then he had worried that the Intersect had somehow changed her, never understanding the full magnitude of what was actually going on until she pulled a gun on Morgan in the Intersect Room.

It was nothing so severe this time, not like that anyway. This was definitely trauma induced, caused by her violent rampage when she had believed him dead. But as with both times, the very first indicator was this–hiding herself from him, shying away from his touch and closeness to him. She wouldn't dress or undress in front of him. She avoided his embrace, leaning in for a peck on the cheek only. She slept rolled away from him, a gap of over a foot between them during the night. And, four days back, they were at the longest span of time they had gone since she had been in St. Louis for six months in 2012, without being intimate with each other.

He didn't know what to do, and he had no one to talk to who understood what he was really talking about. Ellie, Devon, even Morgan, reacted as they had back then in 2012. She was dealing with a lot…give her space…give her time. He didn't think that advice was working, feeling her drifting farther away from him as time progressed. He just didn't know what else to do.