A/N: A big thank you to everyone that reviewed. I'm so relieved that you guys thought it was okay. Thank you for your support!

Chapter 2.

When Chuck opened his eyes again, he felt relieved he could at least remember what had happened a few hours before. His head throbbed a little less and he could think clearly for the first time in a long time.

The long curtain that separated his bed from the one adjacent suddenly parted and the same pretty nurse stepped in, quick to draw the curtain back. How had she known that he was awake?

"Hi, Chuck." She smiled at him and Chuck tried to match it with one of his own. She had a beautiful smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She looked better too. The paleness of her features, the dark circles under her eyes, the tears of sadness; it was as if none of that had existed. Now her hair was down and neatly brushed, and her eyes were as clear as a cloudless day. Chuck wondered if he had been mistaken. It was probably the effect of the drugs. They were making him see things that weren't there.

"That's good," she said, giving him an encouraging nod. She opened up his chart, her eyes flitting across the sheet. "How is your memory? Do you remember anything new?"

The look of concern returned and Chuck knew he hadn't been mistaken; she had only managed to bury those emotions a little deeper than before.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry." He was saying that a lot today.

She nodded and closed the chart. "Don't be. It's not your fault."

Then why do I feel so guilty? Chuck wondered, catching her forlorn gaze. But she must have noticed because it quickly disappeared, pushed back under her all her professionalism. He knew she had to be a strong person to work with patients and not let it affect her.

"The doctor will be checking up on you soon." She turned around to face the curtains and as if on cue, a man in a white coat appeared. He was an entirely different person altogether and there was nothing soft or warm about him. He had a hard-lined face, intense dark blue eyes, and lips that were perpetually pressed into a frown.

"Hello, Mr. Bartowski." He walked to the opposite side of his bed and stood over him, using his height as a weapon against him. Chuck shrank visibly under the sheets.

"Hello," he murmured meekly.

"You've been in an accident. Do you understand?" The doctor's tone was condescending and his eyes had a piercing quality to them. Chuck avoided his gaze and tried to look at Sarah but Sarah seemed to find the foot of his bed more interesting than their conversation.

"No. I don't remember any of it."

The doctor grunted and Chuck saw the first sign of a smile albeit smug and lop-sided. "Well you hit your head pretty hard. What is the last thing you remember?"

Sarah turned back to look at him and Chuck tried his hardest to remember, if only so she wouldn't look so sad.

"Chuck? What do you remember?" the doctor pressed again. It was remarkable how quickly the sternness in his tone could compound with impatience. He wondered if the man was like this with all his patients.

"Nothing," he said, feeling a little impatient himself. "I already told you, I don't remember a thing!"

The doctor was not pleased with his answer. "Chuck," Sarah said gently, placing her hand on his arm. She had a remarkable gift for calming people. "Just try." The muscles in her face grew taunt and he wondered if she was going to cry again. "Just try."

Chuck swallowed slowly. "Okay," he whispered back, keeping his eyes on Sarah. She encouraged him with a slight nod. "Okay." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to think of anything, anything at all.

There had been a lot of people. He could hear a lot of noise; there had been a lot of strangers. "The last thing I remember is my birthday party. My sister—oh God, Ellie!"

A memory! Like a fog that had lifted, everything came back to him as if it had always been there and he just hadn't looked hard enough. He was no longer just a name; he could remember people, faces, events—his friends, his work, his home.

"Oh my God, I remember now!" he declared, smiling broadly. His caretakers both stared at him with a contradicting mix of relief and worry.

"Chuck?" Sarah's hand slid down his arm and grasped his hand, wrapping his with both of hers. "Chuck…what do you remember?"

Chuck smiled. She looked so relieved, happy even. "Everything! It was my twenty-sixth birthday and my sister had planned a party for me. I didn't know anybody there and it didn't go too well. The party ended, I helped clean up a bit. I went to bed. And then I woke up here."

Sarah released him from her grip and took a step back. The smile on her face faded quickly and she looked at the doctor with visible concern once again.

"Your twenty-sixth birthday," she repeated slowly to herself.

"I'm sorry," Chuck said out of instinct. She was upset with him again.

"For what?" the doctor snapped, marking something down on his chart. Sarah shot him a disapproving glare but he ignored her.

"Chuck," Sarah said gently. Chuck's gut dropped with dread. Her pause, the apologetic looks—something was not right. "You're not twenty-six anymore. This is the year 2012. You're—"

"Thirty-one?" he nearly shouted. Chuck gripped the side-rail of the hospital bed, determined to leap out. This was ridiculous. How could he be thirty-one? What had happened to the last five years of his life?

"You'll rip out your IV's!" the woman warned. The doctor grabbed Chuck's shoulder and threw him back down on the bed with surprising strength. Chuck felt his body bounce against the hard vinyl mattress--hard. It knocked the breath right out of him.

"Casey!" Sarah nearly screamed. She checked the IV tubes protruding from each of Chuck's arms to make sure they hadn't been pulled and then shot the doctor a wrathful glare. Casey returned it with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Casey?" Chuck repeated, still trying to understand what was happening.

The two caretakers turned sharply to look at him. The doctor leaned closer, looking concerned for the first time.

"Yes, Chuck," Sarah replied, looking warily at the doctor. Even she was approaching the subject with caution. "This is Doctor Casey," she said slowly. "Doctor John…Casey."

They both looked at him as if it was supposed to mean something to him but it meant as little as the name Sarah Walker.

"Okay." Chuck's response elicited a sigh of relief on Doctor Casey's end and a look of disappointment on Sarah's, but the nurse, as Chuck had come to realize, was good at burying her emotions. In the blink of an eye she had put on her brave face again.

"Alright Chuck, I'm going to show you a series of pictures and words." Doctor Casey reached into his pockets and pulled out a deck of index cards. "Tell me if any of them mean anything to you."

Chuck deferred to Sarah. The woman nodded, encouraging him with a small smile.

"Okay," he said, hoping that this would work.

Doctor Casey held out the first card, looking at Sarah first before showing the image to Chuck. Words unspoken, they shared a moment between them. Finally Sarah nodded her consent and Doctor Casey brought the image up to Chuck's face.

It was a picture of two roads that crossed one another. At the bottom it read in big bold letters: Intersect.

They looked at him eagerly, waiting for his response.

What did they want him to say? These were just flashcards, for children. Did they think he had brain damage?

"Like…when you stop at the stop sign and wait to cross the intersection?" Even his own voice didn't sound confident.

"No, Dumbass," Doctor Casey growled.

"Casey!" Sarah snapped.

The next card had a picture of a see-saw. An elephant sat on one end and a chicken sat on the other. At the bottom it read: Fulcrum.

"Okay, I know what a fulcrum is. I don't have brain damage," Chuck said, feeling as if he were being mocked.

Doctor Casey smirked. "Don't be so sure," he warned, chuckling under his breath.

Sarah glared at him again, looking like she wanted to punch him. "Don't listen to him, Chuck," she said, rubbing Chuck's shoulder. "This is just part of standard routine."

Chuck read out the next series of cards, all printed with a matching picture in bright, child-friendly colors. He could tell them what each of the cards meant, so he couldn't understand why Sarah looked more and more disappointed as the test progressed.

Finally they reached the end. Doctor Casey took the cards and shuffled them back into an orderly deck, slipping them into his long coat pocket.

"Well," he said, smiling brightly for the first time. "I'd say that was a success. Looks like we can discharge you soon."

Chuck looked at Sarah for confirmation. "That's good news, right?"

Sarah looked distractedly down at him. "Yeah," she said, though it was hardly convincing. "Good news."