She sits quietly and obediently, not bothering to speak unless asked a direct question (and even then not bothering with an honest answer). It's all going ok until she realizes the distant stare on her therapist's face isn't so distant at all and is actually very much focused on her hand.

Fingers curled, her nails digging into the arm rest of the upholstered leather arm chair. It's a tell, she realizes. She relaxes her hand and turns on a smile, hoping to redirect the attention to her face, where lying is beauty.

"So, how am I doing, doc?"

The therapist sighs a big sigh and sits up. "I know you'd rather be anywhere but here, Sarah, but seeing as how these therapy sessions are mandatory you should at least get something out of them, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," she agrees.

At first she'd spent entire sessions complaining, protesting, "raising her voice" (once she cried and that was a very bad slip that she made sure never to do again). Then she'd gone the unresponsive route, not saying anything, but that only raised red flags and landed her in more therapy.

So then came the talking, which was actually working. (Not therapeutically- she doesn't believe in therapy) but according to the people looking over her file talking meant progress. And progress meant the mandatory part of this therapy would be lifted.

"How are things at work?"

"Things at work are great."

"But you're still not getting along with your coworker...?" He leafs through some sheets on his legal pad. "Larry?"

"No, I'm getting along great with Larry. It's just that Larry's not getting along with me."

"I see. Maybe you should give him another shot."

"Well, maybe if he wasn't such a jackass...." She lets herself trail off.

"I could talk to someone about that if you'd like. Maybe get you working in another department?"

"Move me to another desk?" In a more sardonic tone she adds, "but I so like my desk."

"No, I mean get you into fieldwork again." She stops for a second. Stops blinking, stops breathing. "Would you like to be a field agent once again?"

She has the sneaking suspicion this is a trick question. If she says yes she sounds too eager and therefore unready. Then again if she says yes they might just take her up on it. The real question isn't whether she's ready, though. It's whether she wants it. Either be an agent again or stay in Langley, in a desk next to Larry the ass-kisser; danger, mystery, intrigue, never to be heard from again. The closest thing to normal she's ever known. Well, almost.

She sort of can't believe how hard the choice is.

"Do you think I'm ready?"

"That depends on you, Sarah. And when you decide to talk about what happened."

What happened. "That happened a year ago," she says, very matter-of-fact with a touch of nonchalance. Very I'm over it, lets move on.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I think it would be good for you if you did."

Sarah nods and smiles like she really appreciates the advice.

///////////////////

Sarah looked down at her palm. It was colored red and pink, covered in a fresh array of scrapes, blood and peeled skin. It was what she got for bracing herself as she got knocked down to the ground.

It was a stupid thing, what she did. A really stupid thing.

When she finally looked up she was met by the image of Casey marching toward her, his bullet-proof vest and the scowl on his face making him appear bigger than he actually was.

"What the hell was that, Walker?"

Casey was an angry person but on this day he was even angrier. And he wouldn't let Sarah pass.

"You hesitated," he hissed. She merely stood her ground and took it, jaw clenched. "You hesitated and you let Sarnov get away."

Casey stepped closer, leaning his head toward her in a way she didn't particularly appreciate. "You're off your game, Walker. I've been ignoring this thing you've got going on with Chuck but if you let it effect your duty to this country again I won't hesitate to report you."

The fact that Casey called him "Chuck" instead of "Bartowski" like he usually did made her take him all the more seriously. He was cutting the bullshit.

He walked away before she had the chance to do so first.

Sarah could hear Chuck coming before she could see him. He was still out of breath by the time he caught up to her, falling in step as she walked back to the van. "Hey, are you ok?" he asked.

She sighed through her nostrils and cocked an eyebrow, telegraphing her pissed mood. "I saw Casey talking to you. He looked pretty mad. Well, more mad than usual. Don't beat yourself up over this– you win some you lose some, right?" He took her hand and examined it. "Your hand looks.... pretty nasty." he said, managing to make it sound charming. "Does the van come with a first aid kit?"

She loved him for wanting to take care of her, but it made her feel even more disgusted with herself. She took her hand back. "I'm fine," she said.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

She sits on her couch, trying desperately to finish reading the third line of the second chapter of the book in her hand but her thoughts won't cooperate with her. Her eyes move toward the door. She looks at it even before she hears the light knocking.

When she opens it Chuck is standing on the other end.

"Hey," he says.