A/N: As people have pointed out, it's time this story went somewhere. i apologize in advance if i'm not being "technical" enough about the background of the intersect program. i'm not very technically adept; i still haven't finished fixing my computer. speaking of which, i'm taking it in for help today so i'm gonna cross my fingers and hope that there isn't anything more wrong with it.

Chapter 16:

Chuck typed feverishly on the keyboard, eliciting a torrent of pitter-patters that sounded akin to a heavy rainstorm. A can of soda was within reach on his right, a stack of manila folders to his left, and earbuds were jammed deep in both ears. What the individuals behind Chuck didn't realize was that he wasn't listening to music; he wasn't listening to anything at all, except perhaps their conversation.

The security guard was talking to Camille again. She had a habit of checking in and often without warning. Sometimes they would exchange a few words but today she chose to linger in the back of the room with the armed guard.

"Do you think it's safe to show him those files?" The guard sounded dubious. Chuck's eyes drifted to the papers on his left, spread out all along the table. They had given him files to test-run the prototype program with; a challenge of sorts.

Chuck didn't need someone to tell him he was looking at something important. Maybe it was the bright red letters that read 'confidential' in bold capitals or perhaps it was the graphic nature of some of the reports, but Chuck had a feeling he was digging through stuff he'd undergone a highly risky surgery to remove. In short, things he shouldn't know.

Behind him, Camille laughed. "Of course it's safe. He doesn't remember anything. He's just a computer nerd."

Chuck flinched at the words. She said it as if it were a bad thing.

"He's harmless," she vouched. The security guard grunted and Chuck trembled in his seat.

"Yes, completely harmless," Chuck agreed softly under his breath.

So far Camille seemed pleased with his progress, even though Chuck didn't feel like he was making any headway. Jill was right; they were just images to the human eye. He'd gone through the entire series, and aside from an awful headache, he was no closer to figuring the entire thing out. Who was to say that an image of a tortoise contained information on weapons blueprints? The joke would be on him if it was just a tortoise but everyone else was so serious in their certainty.

Feeling the full-extent of Camille's eyes on his back, Chuck sat up straighter than ever and stared in earnest at the file in front of him. Fine. The image was encrypted. If they told him it was embedded with the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory he'd believe it too. He wasn't about to give either of them a reason to shoot.

_

Chuck was so focused on his work he didn't notice Jill's presence until she yanked one of the buds out of his ear. He flinched, jumping back in his chair.

Jill smiled. "What are you listening to?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just stuff," Chuck said, quickly stowing the earbuds away. "You're looking well."

Jill looked more than well. She had made a complete recovery, making Chuck feel like a wuss for the one time he sprained his ankle and was bedridden for days. There was no way to tell that Jill had taken a bullet to the chest only a week ago.

"Thanks, Chuck," she said, folding stray strands of hair behind her ear. Chuck noticed that about her, like how Bryce liked to run his hand through his hair whenever he got nervous.

When she did it to her other ear, he was suddenly reminiscent of their Stanford days, better days. "How long have you been watching me?"

Jill shrugged. "Awhile," she said. "You're so cute when you're on the computer."

Chuck blushed. After all these years, she still used that word on him. "I'm probably boring you," he said, giving her the perfect opportunity to excuse herself.

Jill wasn't going anywhere though. She took a seat in the adjacent chair, wheeling it up against his.

"I don't mind," she said. She held his hand, giving it a tug. "You seem to be doing well."

Chuck smirked. "Not as good as you." It wasn't that he doubted her, but she made him wonder if agents were secretly aliens from another planet, the kind with super-regenerative abilities and ridiculously perfect bone structure. He could never, for instance, tell her how a fall from a stepladder had once landed him in the hospital with a concussion.

Jill's lips pressed together into a smile but he could tell she didn't like the diversion. "Listen…when things are more stable…" She looked up at him, her eyes full of hope. "Maybe I can put in a good word for you and they'll let us share a room."

Chuck pulled his hand away, clasping them together so they would be out of reach.

"Jill…" he warned, staring straight at the monitor. He heard her sigh audibly beside him, perhaps a little louder for his sake. "I can't do that. Not yet." He rubbed the solitary band on his finger. "Not for a long time."

Jill sighed again. "You're still wearing your wedding ring."

Chuck flinched at the accusation. Did she really expect him to just remove it? There were just some promises you couldn't undo. He had placed it on under oath; he had promised from the heart.

"I know you're hurt."

Chuck held his breath, waiting for the pain in his chest to subside. Did she really?

"But you have to move on."

Chuck turned his head abruptly to face her, glaring at the audacity of her words. "Why?" he demanded. He didn't mean to raise his voice but her flippant manner made it sound as if the last two years had been a write-off.

Jill shut her mouth and sank back in her seat. She remained quiet, her mind retreating to a corner to lick its wounds.

"I'd like to be alone, please," Chuck said. He was so sick of staring at the monitor, but it was his only escape. What else could distract him for sixteen hours a day?

"Chuck…" she pleaded.

"Jill," he said, matching her tone. Chuck understood Jill's reasons but he couldn't just get over this. He couldn't admit he'd been duped and simply dust off his jacket.

"Do you want to go outside?" she asked.

Chuck's eyes darted to the closed door. Whenever Jill or Camille came for a visit the guards left them alone and stepped outside to watch the door. When it was just Chuck they barred the only exit like statues. Chuck still wasn't sure if the guards were there for his safety or for ulterior purposes. They were certainly an incentive to keep working.

"Are we allowed? I thought it wasn't safe."

Jill shrugged, her eyes full of daring. "It isn't," she said. "But it'll be just a little while and I'll be with you the whole time."

"Will Camille be angry?" Chuck asked. Of all the individuals in the facility, the long-legged brunette could instill fear in him like no other.

Jill grinned wickedly. "Not if she doesn't know."

_

Chuck stepped out onto the back lot, soaking in the sunshine. He laughed, the urge to as uncontrollable as a sneeze. He knew no other way to express the joy of this simple freedom; he hadn't seen the light of day in over a week.

"Told you it would be nice," Jill said, slipping on a pair of shades.

Chuck sighed. He was so used to staring at strings of coffee shops and badly parked cars, but here the view of the road was blocked on all sides by other warehouses. He couldn't even be sure this was still L.A. if he hadn't driven here.

The isolation saddened him. There were no calls in or out, and he had only Camille's promise that his loved ones were safe. He had no choice but to believe her when she told him it was safer for everyone if he just disappeared.

That being said, he still found it hard to accept that this was his life now. Sixteen hours in front of a computer charged on sugar and caffeine; eight hours staring into the darkness, haunted by the past.

.

Chuck finds himself staring up at the ceiling, counting the holes in each square board. Beside him, on the other side of the curtain, someone is howling in pain. It almost makes him feel bad for taking up a bed.

As he considers his own predicament, he wonders if Morgan had overreacted. He had only blacked out for a second or two. Maybe not even. Maybe it had been a prolonged blink. Next thing he knows, he's strapped to a stretcher and sequestered off to a corner of the emergency department. Any second now the doctor was going to come back and tell him what he already knew—that it was nothing, not even a bruise.

The only real damage here was to his pride.

Suddenly the curtain on his other side parts and he's being smothered by what feels like a force of nature.

"Oh my God! Chuck!"

There's more chaos around him than at the time of the scene, and he can't catch his breath when there's someone trying to steal it away. Not that he can complain. It would be a pleasant way to die.

Chuck breaks free from the kiss but there's still the pair of hands running all across his face and hair, frantically searching for a physical sign.

"Sarah, Sarah…" He repeats her name over and over but she's not satisfied until she's made sure for herself. "I'm fine. Really. Morgan's overreacted."

"Overreacted?" she nearly shrieks. Chuck's never seen her like this before, except maybe the first time she tried to make thanksgiving dinner in Ellie's place. He doesn't even want to think about how she managed to get here so quickly. "I get a call from the hospital, the hospital, telling me my husband's been in an accident. How do you want me to react?"

Chuck holds out his hands and tries to steady her. She's wet and shaking and he wonders what she's doing out in the rain without a coat or umbrella.

"Morgan was trying to get this box and it was way out of reach. I tried to help him but my foot slipped on the ladder." Chuck doesn't know how much of his pride he's willing to lose but for Sarah, he figures he'll wager it all. "I fell. The box fell on me, and I might have had a concussion. I'm fine though."

"Is that what the doctor said?"

"No, but don't worry. It doesn't look like I have any memory loss this time around." He pauses and smirks at her. "You're Sarah, my nurse, right?" he teases but she's in no mood for jokes. She punches him in the shoulder—hard, then thinks better of it and hugs him tight, squeezing all the air out of his chest.

"Do you have any idea what went through my mind when I got the call?"

Chuck doesn't realize what's happening until he feels something warm and wet soaks through his hospital gown. He looks down and Sarah's face is buried in his chest.

He tangles his fingers through her damp, slightly mussed hair. "I'm sorry," he says and kisses her on the top of her head.

"Don't ever do it again," she threatens. "Morgan's on his own next time."

Chuck suppresses a laugh. He brushes away her tears with his thumb and promises even though neither of them expects the oath to hold longer than thirty seconds.

She looks up at him and in a rather unexpected show of tenderness, kisses him on the side of his head. Chuck wrinkles his brows; then it dawns on him what she's trying to do and he smirks at her.

"Not there," he says with a slight shake of his head.

Sarah gives a beguiling smile. "No?" She kisses him a little closer to his temple, right next to his scar. "How's that?"

He shakes his head again. "Not there either."

Sarah purses her lips and pecks him on the nose. "There?"

Chuck begins to laugh. "You're going to have to try a little harder if you want to help me make the pain go away."

She raises her chin slightly at the challenge and holds the side of his face. "How about this?"

.

"What are you thinking about?" Jill asked, walking up to him.

Chuck tried to shake his head but in his surprise and subsequent attempt to feign normalcy, his entire body shook instead.

"Nothing," he blurted, hastily wiping the memory away. He felt like he'd been caught red-handed at a crime scene.

Jill was a quick read though. "Were you thinking about Sarah?"

Chuck didn't say anything. If Jill was any good at her job, she would know the answer.

"You need to stop thinking about her. She's dangerous," she said. Hiding behind her shades, Chuck had no way of gauging just how annoyed the woman was, but her tone was short on sympathy.

"Have you forgotten what happened?"

"No," he sighed. "I haven't forgotten."

And therein laid the problem.

He just couldn't forget Sarah.

_

Later that night, Chuck was still in the computer room trying to finish the data entry. Jill's distraction had cost him several hours and knowing how Camille felt about progress, Chuck didn't dare end the day without trialing the allotted files.

Is this really what I used to do? Chuck's fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard. He looked back at the files, trying to imagine his former life. He was not surprised that he had no recollection of doing this in the past, but rather the fact he could recreate something he had no memory of. Camille was satisfied with what he was doing, which had to mean that he was doing it correctly. Albeit, even now Chuck felt like he was groping for something insubstantial in the dark.

Sarah had confirmed in the past that the secrets had been in his head and not a computer. So why did Jill and Camille both think it involved a program? Then again, Sarah had lied about a number of other things.

Chuck pushed the unpleasant memory away, wishing he had selectively removed things in his past and kept others rather than purging everything the way he had. He began typing again but his mind kept wandering back to Sarah. What had she wanted with him? Certainly not this. She tried to pry him away from the computer as much as she could when they were together.

You said you'd try. Chuck shook his head, throwing himself into the files in an attempt to ward off the other things at the forefront of his mind. If Jill and Camille knew what he was thinking, well…he didn't want to think about that.

Sarah was dangerous. Sarah was the enemy.

To them, maybe, but to Chuck she had been the best thing about waking up on a Monday morning, the only excusable cause for missing out on Wednesday game nights with Morgan, and the only person he wanted to see after a long day at the office.

That's why she's so dangerous. She was good at what she did. The voice, spoken in Jill's voice no less, unsettled him. It was as if the thoughts were not even his own.

Chuck began to type into the database. It wasn't like he didn't have the rest of the evening to stare up at the ceiling and think about things like this; the security guard probably hated him for making him wait after-hours.

As Chuck went through the file in front of him, he frowned. It felt familiar, like he had typed something related to it earlier, a sentence or paragraph somewhere else.

No sooner had he thought it, a series of images flashed through his mind. A child on a swing. A yellow daisy. That damned tortoise from this morning.

Then he saw it. Documents like the ones on his desk, but not these. Documents from two days ago flitted across his mind with such clarity that he could almost read the files verbatim.

He froze and fell back against the seat, feeling as if someone had just taken a bat to his head.

"Hey, what's wrong?" the guard called at the doors.

Chuck gasped and rushed to collect the papers he'd dropped. "Nothing!" he said, hoping the guard would come no closer. "Nothing, just sort of fell asleep at the desk…" He laughed nervously, trying to hide the tremor in his arms and legs.

The guard grunted. "You should treat the documents with a little more respect," he reminded. "Not everyone has the privilege of such a cushy job."

Chuck nearly laughed at the notion. His job? Comfortable?

"Of course," he said, trying to smooth the papers. If Camille discovered that he'd dropped her precious files, what would she do to him? An image of razor sharp nails at his throat came to mind, and suddenly Chuck found it hard to swallow.

"Now get back to work!"

Chuck flinched, flopping down into the seat. He let out a sigh of relief once he was sure the guard was back at his post on the other side of the room.

As he looked back down at the file he'd been processing, the images of the documents he'd entered previously came to mind. This time there were no pre-emptive pictures; he was in control. The files he wanted appeared, slower this time, slow enough for him to read and understand what it all meant.

Okay. I just have a really good memory. Chuck took a deep breath. That's what happened when someone stared at a computer all day long.

But you don't have photographic memory. Sarah used to tease how he'd always forget something on his way home, even if she wrote him a list on paper and texted a copy to his cell.

There was something unnatural about the process, the way the information just came to him. This was more than just memory; he'd remembered the exact file in relation to the one in his hand. Like he knew exactly what to recall.

What the heck is happening to me?

.

I feel like i say this way too much, but review, please?