They're lying on top of the covers, parallel to each other. Chuck's eyes are closed, resting in a matter that is anything but peaceful.

"That guy Larry still bugging you?" he asks

Holding her head in her hand, her elbow digging into the bed, Sarah answers his questions distractedly, her real focus on him.

"Yeah," she says. "He still won't change his ringtone."

She looks at his head. The shorter hair looks good, looks very good, but it doesn't exactly suit him. She remembers the first time she saw his hair like this and how it shocked her. (His face was buried in the side of her hospital bed, a square piece of gauze on his crown, saying, "I couldn't get all the blood out," like an apology.) She wishes he'd grow it out again.

"Ugh," Chuck groans. "Do you want me to take care of him for you? I can be intimidating. I've got my height going for me."

"Larry's a 6 foot 5 300 pound Polynesian."

"Well it sounds like you've got it under control."

"Mhmm."

He's more muscular now. Not overtly so but his chest is more defined, his arms and shoulders more wiry. Physically, he's stronger.

"What about the shrink?" he asks. "I could probably take him."

She stares at his chest. She's mesmerized by that spot that he's forever immortalized with a name that isn't even truly hers.

For Sarah.

She reads it for the hundredth time, still not sure what to make of it. She doesn't think she likes it. It makes her feel uneasy, sad.

"I want you to stop this."

He opens his eyes and turns his head, looking at her quizzically. "Stop what?"

She sits up to face him, crossing her knees lotus style, her beige silk nighty riding up her thighs. He already knows what she means. And she's not going to indulge him by explaining. "Do you know how close I am?" he asks. "I've been tracking Sarnov for a year, Sarah. I know his haunts, I know his contacts. I'm almost there."

There is a bad taste in her mouth at the mention of his name. "A whole year," she says, not even believing it herself.

He sits up too because he can already see her eyes getting glassy. She'll look up and down and he knows it's just to keep the tears at bay.

"Hey," he says softly. "I went to see Ellie and Awesome. They're having a baby."

Her eyebrows rise in pleased surprise. "Wow," she says, her voice as low as his. "That's great." One tear gets away but the back of her hand catches it before it falls down her cheek.

"I fully plan on going back home to be an uncle. And you can come with me and be an aunt if you want." A sad laugh escapes her throat. "I'll get a boring job again and you can get one too and we can still have that normal life we planned on having before any of this happened. And we can be together."

"Don't say that if you don't mean it."

"Of course I mean it. But I have to do this. For what he did to you."

He never knew he could be this stubborn. "And after you get Sarnov, what then? You don't know what it's like to kill someone, Chuck. You have no idea what that'll do to you."

She couldn't have known that Bryce had said nearly the same thing to him, but either way Chuck looks as if he's tired of hearing it again.

"Sarah..."

"You can't keep doing this to me. You can't keep showing up here every couple of months and leaving again." If she goes on she knows her voice will betray her but she does anyway, "I needed you... I need you."

His hand cups the side of her face, his fingers linger at her neck, his thumb teasing her earlobe. He looks at her like she's an old photograph and she almost can't stand it.

"I'm here."

Her eyes meet his chest again. For Sarah. As uneasy as it makes her feel she's comforted by the thought that his heart beats on her name. Her fingertips read his tattoo and Chuck covers her hand with his own.

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

"Ow ow ow ow OW!" Chuck was scared out of his mind, and with Sarnov's hand around his neck, for good reason.

He recognized Sarnov because it was only last week that he was the featured Bad Guy in one of their missions. He was the one who'd gotten away but now, battering the back of Chuck's head into the very hard metal door, he was very much back.

"What are the codes!"

Chuck could barely get out an "I don't know!" before his head met the door again. This was starting to really hurt. "I should warn you that I'm not very good with headaches, in fact, I'd be far more useless to you than I already am with a headache, which I'm kind of starting to get, so please, let's just stop with the head banging and talk about this like two rational adults, ok?"

The whole thing came out like a nervous stammer but Chuck knew that Sarnov had understood him because the man's face slowly contorted into the picture of pure, unadulterated, anger. It was at that point that Chuck realized he really should have stayed in the car.

Sarnov slowly pulled Chuck's neck forward and then slammed his head against the square window in the door. He heard the glass break before he passed out.

When Chuck came to he could feel the sticky wetness all over his head and neck, his vision was blurred, and he was strapped to a chair.

"You pass out on me."

"Sorry," Chuck said, groggily. "I've been passing out a lot lately."

"You think this is funny?" Sarnov yanked Chuck's head back by the hair. "You steal my codes, I want it back. Tell me what the codes are."

"I don't know what they are!" Chuck whined. "We didn't steal anything! Believe me, I would tell you if I did but I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You ever have been tortured?" Although it should've been obvious Chuck didn't realize that's what this was until Sarnov had said the word. His face drained of all color and he listened very carefully. "I only have little knife but I can use it to really suffer you, Mr. Carmichael." The incorrect use of the word only made Chuck more fearful.

"See this spot?" Sarnov asked, pointing to his abdomen. Before Chuck could even say anything Sarnov poked the knife through him. He did it twice. "Now you tell me the codes."

Blood was coming out like a hole had been unplugged and as his head spun all he could think was that any minute now Casey would bust in, guns blazing to save him. Instead some other guy came through the door holding a much bigger knife to Sarah's neck.

"You talk now?"

"No, no, please let her go, I don't know anything, I swear!"

"No? We do the same thing to her."

Chuck begged himself to break free, begged for Sarah to pull a gun out, begged himself to flash but all there was was nothing. "No, please!"

"Do it."

Casey busted in 5 minutes too late.

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

She's got one arm around his neck, one hand on the crown of his head, wishing to grab a mess of hair but his hair's so short now. Chuck is moving on top of her, head buried in her neck. She wants to be as silent as possible to listen to the sounds he makes- his mouth working on her neck, his breaths hinged with moans, every one– but her own sounds giving her away. Her breath comes through her parted lips faster, her own moans come too, unbidden. Chuck's head lifts so that he can look at her, all burning cheeks and creased eyebrows and she must look exactly the same.

"Sarah," he whispers, his forehead coming down to meet hers. They move in the same pace, the same rhythm; they're dancing to the same song. And when he kisses her it's like he's drowning.