A/N: Hi, remember me? Yeah, I was that guy who so boldly stated that reviews would help me work harder. They did... except my brain decided to throw up a nasty case of writers block. Yeah, it wasn't at all fun. My apologies for the extreme lateness in this chapter. And to boot, it isn't even that big! For shame! Although that has more to do with my decision to cut this chapter in half. The original chapter was around double the current size so there's that.

Thanks go out to all readers, supporters and people who favorite this story, but the true heroes are the reviewers who make it all worth it. Thank you all for your reviews, they inspire me like nobody's business. More thanks go out to ShinyJayne20 who listens to me bitch and moan about shit and somehow still hasn't deleted me from her contacts list. It's a damn miracle is what it is!

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I do own ham sandwiches, although I usually have something more complex at 4 in the morning. But I'm weird anyway! With regards to the physical therapy, please note that I am not a doctor. Anything I write here shouldn't be seen as fact.

The Good Samaritan, Chapter 7
The Revalidating

Sarah looked around her and she saw the familiar cobblestone paved streets, the familiar red bricks, the familiar fog. She knew her part in all of this. She knew exactly how everything would play out from now until she would wake up, either with a shriek of terror, or silence. Either way, she would be terrified.

She vowed to get it over with as soon as possible. She could return to the land of the living, return to safety of the hospital. Away from everything that Paris brought with it. It was weird, being completely aware of the fact that you were dreaming, but at the same time, powerless to escape its clutches. She felt around her body, and quickly located the Smith and Wesson that she had brought with her.

She turned the corner and saw her. Her target. The nameless person she had assassinated in cold blood. She trotted on and quickly found herself sneaking up on her. She had opted for sneakers this time. She couldn't afford being heard, something which would almost be assured if she was wearing a pair of ridiculous high heels that the CIA was so intent on providing for her time and again.

She slowly pulled the pistol out of her coat pocket. The script usually had her waiting for the mark, only to turn away at the last second, walking away and seeing her pick something up. At that point, she would turn, spin and fire the fatal bullet. But not this time. This time, she just wanted to get it over with, wake up and then cry herself back to sleep.

She lifted the pistol and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked back on an empty round and she looked at the gun in confusion.

"It didn't work, did it?" she heard a very recognizable voice ask her.

"Chuck?"

"In the flesh," he replied, as he spun to face her, before approaching her with a toothy grin. "How are you doing?"

"What's going on? How are you here? What happened to my target?"

"You tell me."

He brushed past her, and his shoulder passed through her, as if he was an apparition. She turned as well, following his every movement. His steps were measured, smooth, and he never broke his stride. He was about to round the corner when he once again turned to look at her. "Follow me," he said and without knowing what was going on, her feet complied with his order and she found herself trailing through deserted streets. Chuck started whistling a happy tune as he cut through the fog.

They approached an old café and Chuck sat down on one of the chairs, before patting the other one. Sarah frowned. "What are we doing here?"

Chuck smiled. "Just sit down and take the load off."

Once again, her body complied without question and she found herself melting into the chair. Only then did she realize how tired she was. She dropped the pistol on the table next to them and she waited for him to speak.

"I don't think you really understands how this works," he smiled. "The gist of this is that I'm your subconscious. We can't really have a conversation. You can ask me questions if you'd like."

"Wouldn't you already know what questions I'm going to ask?"

"Of course I would. You already know how this conversation is going to go. All that's left is for you to begin."

"What happened to..."

"I replaced her. Or rather, you did."

"But why..."

"Because you think that somehow you've killed an innocent."

"So if you're here, and you're in my subconscious, then I would know that I didn't kill an innocent, right?"

Chuck quirked an eyebrow. "I never said that you didn't kill an innocent person. I'm saying that you think you did. And I'm inclined to agree."

"So then why did you take her place."

"Who knows," he replied and slowly but surely Sarah was beginning to lose her patience. "Oh c'mon, it's no fun if you get angry. Oh, has Chuck seen you angry yet? I bet that he'd be terrified of you."

"I sort of snapped at him once," she mumbled. "But you obviously know this already."

"I know!" he cried. "Isn't it fun."

Sarah squinted her eyes. "Could you possibly enjoy this any more than you already are?"

Chuck shrugged. "Don't think so. I'm pretty sure that if I would, I'd start doing cartwheels."

"Okay, so you're obviously the twisted, demented part of my mind. There's no way the real Chuck would be like you."

Chuck grinned again. The smile was crooked but that didn't make it any less charming. Oh, and since when did she think it was charming?

"Since the moment you passed me on the street," he replied, his voice barely disguising the glee with which he was reading her every move. It unnerved her.

Sarah sighed. She was sick of this. All she wanted to do was wake up. "Okay, here's what I'm guessing. I'm guessing that I'm picturing you, because to me, you represent the pinnacle of innocence."

"Very good, agent Walker," Chuck grinned. "Been brushing up on our Freud, have we?"

"Wouldn't you know if I had?" she shot back.

"Touché."

"But, like I was saying. You represent innocence. Innocence which I took away when I shot that woman in cold blood that night. I'm guessing you're here to show me the error of my ways?"

The grin disappeared immediately, and was replaced by a sobered look. "Close. I'm here to make you realize that you did in fact shoot and kill an innocent person. You were... no, you are Graham's lap dog. That's all you are, Sarah. You shot an innocent person just because someone else told you to. And to symbolize it, we're going to do it again. Right here, and right now." He brandished a clip of ammunition, and handed it to her. He stood up and Sarah felt like a spectator as she watched herself grab the clip, peer at it intently, before slamming it home and racking the chamber. She stood up herself and she followed him back through the maze that was Paris' back alleys, before returning to the scene of the crime.

He leaned against the balustrade that separated the water from the mainland and smiled at her again. "Aren't you supposed to change back into my target now?" she asked.

"Where would the fun in that be? If you don't mind, I'm going to stay right here. Now, agent Walker. Make it count."

Her arms lifted as if on autopilot and Sarah's eyes widened. Was she going to shoot Chuck? But that would be insanity. This was a dream. She was fully aware of the fact. Why couldn't she stop herself?

The bang echoed through her mind and she saw a red stain blooming on Chuck's shirt. He staggered over to her and collapsed against one of the cars, but before he closed his eyes, he looked up at her. "Knew you could do it."

She raised her pistol again and pulled the trigger.

Recovery room, Washington Hospital Center
Saturday, December 18th, 2004
03:25

Sarah jolted awake, her breathing heavy and labored and her skin soaked in perspiration. She couldn't help but blow a sigh of relief, although the inevitable tears started prickling in her eyes, as she felt like she was suffocating with grief. Had she really killed an innocent person? And was her subconscious right? Was she really nothing more than a lapdog for Graham?

Of course not. What she did had meaning, had value. She had stopped a lot of threats to the country already and she would continue to do so. One innocent death was a necessary risk. Sarah swallowed. She really didn't like thinking of humans as expendable, but if she didn't, she would probably end up losing her mind over the repercussions.

And just like that, the tears that she had tried to hold at bay dropped on her pillow. She hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes, praying that she could put the nasty thoughts back where they belonged. She tried to picture her father's face, disappointed with her, which did nothing to relieve the almost perpetual sadness in which she was wallowing. She tried to imagine Graham's voice, telling her that she did a good job on her mission and that the world was a safer place thanks to her.

It didn't help either.

A moan cut through her inner voices and shook her to her core. That was not the fun kind of moan. Her eyes flew open and she saw Chuck, his face scrunched up and in an obvious amount of discomfort. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he seemingly found his voice.

"Please... please don't."

What's that all about? She stepped out of bed and walked over to him, trying to find out what was wrong. Her attention was drawn to the ECG at the side of his bed. His heart rate was elevated. Not by a margin large enough to warrant medical attention, but it had a sufficient increase from what would be considered normal during sleeping.

"Just take the bag... leave me alone... No!" He sat up with a sudden movement and Sarah took an involuntary step backwards, before darting back to his side.

"Chuck, Chuck are you okay?"

"Huh... wha? Whass goin' on?" he asked, his voice laced with sleep. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand to clear out the eye gunk that had accumulated there. Luckily, the room was dark, so he wouldn't see the traces that the tears had left on her cheeks.

"You tell me," she replied, any remnant of her sadness well hidden behind the mask she had constructed. She had a good idea of what was going on, but she wanted to hear it, straight from the source.

"Just a... bad dream, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"Mm," she skeptically replied.

"What?" he asked, his tone becoming rather defensive. "It's not like you don't have any bad dreams. It happens."

"Right, but in my bad dreams, I don't beg for my life. Now spill."

He sat up and faced her... except...

"I'm over here, Chuck."

His head snapped to the other side of the bed and she could imagine the goofy smile that would probably take over his face when he realized his mistake. "Look, it's no big deal. I uh... I may or may not have had a nightmare about being mugged, but it's no biggy... Really."

"Didn't sound like no big deal to me." Now this, she could do. Talking about herself was something she wasn't comfortable with. Extracting information, however? Please. She passed that class with flying colors. She had even gotten one of her teachers to crack and spill about an affair he had been having.

"Sarah, please. Just drop it, okay?"

Well, that closed down all her possible avenues. Chuck didn't want to talk about something. That was a surprise. In the short time she had known him, he had seemed up to talk about... anything, really. There were a few more ways of making them talk, but most of them involved her telling him, in a saccharine voice of course, that she knew over two-hundred ways to kill him. And she didn't think that informing him of that would go very well with her cover as an accountant. So for now, all she could do was sit in silence and wait for Chuck to come to his senses. Or...

"Chuck, you helped me when I had my issues... and I think it's only fair if I help you with yours." Play on his overprotective senses. Good move, Walker.

"Do you still have them?"

Damn, she didn't see that one coming. "Well, sometimes. I mean, it's not like one little chat would erase all my problems."

"But?"

"Hey, stop trying to change this all on me. I wasn't the one that was moaning and pleading my nightmares not to stab me."

"Well, when you put it like that, it just makes me sound broken and messed up."

Sarah shrugged. "Then we're both a bit broken and messed up."

"Pff, you don't know the half of it," he whispered. Unfortunately for him, their close proximity to one another, coupled with the fact that her chosen profession involved a meticulous attention to detail, as well as the need to listen in on almost everything, anyone would say, meant that she heard him completely. Still, he had whispered it for a reason, so maybe it was better to play it off like she hadn't heard him.

"What was that?"

"I said, I could really go for a ham sandwich," Chuck covered.

"At four in the morning?" Sarah asked, an amused tone seeping into her voice.

Chuck shrugged. She couldn't quite see it, but the rustling of the covers implied as much. " I'll have you know that late night snacking is fantastic."

"That may be, but you're changing the subject." She knew. After all, she was a master at changing the subject. Convinced that Chuck wasn't going to go into spontaneous cardiac arrest, she backed away from the bed and went to her own, before sitting on it, Indian style.

"Fine, so I may or may not have a few issues with what happened. That's normal though... right?"

"Sure, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't get some help for them. And I get that you don't immediately want to go to a shrink, but let me at least try and return the favor by helping you. Just talk to me. I've been told I'm a great listener." Of course, most of the listening was done through the use of tactically placed bugs, but that didn't make her statement any less valid.

He obviously contemplated her request, because he sat silently for a minute. Finally, he acquiesced. "On one condition though,"

"And what might that be?"

"That I in turn listen to you. Everyone needs to vent sometimes. It's only fair if we vent with each other. Isn't that what friends do? I mean, we are technically friends now."

"Uh. I don't know... I guess?" she replied quizzically.

He smiled. Of course he did. "Great. Now then, let's hear it. What's—Oh, that's not how this is going to go Chuck Bartowski," she butted in. "You first."

"Fine," he sighed, sounding like a pouting child. The tone of his voice served to make the corners of her mouth tug up a bit.

He started telling her about his dreams, about his fears and how the events played out in his mind's eye. How he couldn't stop reliving the moment the blade entered his body, over and over again. Sarah asked a few questions, but for the most part stayed quiet, letting him vent, while he spoke to her about his feelings and his insecurities.

In turn, Chuck sat and listened as Sarah recounted her dream—obviously edited with regards to her cover profession—and relaying in him, her fears, the one she had been too afraid to admit to the CIA psychiatrists. The ones that, had she told them to the shrinks would've immediately led to her dismissal on grounds of mental instability. And where would she be then? Lost and alone in a world which she only used to traverse under the guise of being someone else. Trapped in a never-ending cycle of conning other people and conning herself into believing she was happy.

She wasn't completely sure whether she wanted to stay with the Agency because it made her happy, or because it gave her a purpose in life. Probably both.

Eventually, her eyelids started to droop and Chuck's voice slowly receded into the background as she felt her consciousness starting to slip. She called out a weak 'good night,' before succumbing to the inevitable darkness. Her dreams were filled with something different now. There were no tears anymore, and her thoughts were occupied by the amazing person she had discovered through sheer luck. And she realized that she had gained another friend. Another person who could offer her a sanctum of stability amidst the chaos of the day to day lives of international espionage.

The worst part, was the fact that she knew she couldn't keep him.

Recovery room, Washington Hospital Center
Tuesday, December 21th, 2004
08:45

Almost on the dot, the door opened and the physical therapist entered the room, dragging a wheelchair along with her. Sarah rubbed her eyes as she adjusted to the daylight and sat up. Modesty had stopped being a part of her everyday life since joining the CIA, so the fact that she was clad in just a set of bra and panties didn't bother her. It didn't seem to do a whole lot for the physical therapist, although granted, that could have something to do with the fact that she was a woman. However, the fact that she had been by Chuck's side for the past week now, still didn't stop him having an obvious reaction to her state of undress, and inwardly she had to smile. It was nice to know she could still give him a small thrill, considering he had been holed up in the hospital for the past week. All the people at the Agency who said she was Frosty the snow-bitch, who only cared about promotion and nothing else could suck it.

The three days since their chat had flown by. Ellie, Morgan and Devon had visited every day—like she expected—and time had passed at an astonishing rate. Chuck had finally been cleared to start his physical therapy, which would start today. Truth be told, she both looked forward, as well as dreaded the moment that he would start. Because it would spell the beginning of the end. He would revalidate before going back to Los Angeles and she'd move back to wherever the CIA needed her, becoming whoever they needed her to be. And although she slowly but surely opened herself up to Chuck, she couldn't risk letting him see the true her. Because if he were to know the real her, he'd see glimpses of the con that she had been pulling on him. Granted, this con wasn't as elaborate and damaging as the ones she used to pull with her father, but how could she look him in the eye and tell him that she killed people? She couldn't, and the best thing for both of them was to never speak to him again. But she would deal with that later. That's how she always did it. Things that would gnaw at her would be stowed away and dealt with in due time, when no one could see her and the broken girl would appear in place of the stoic woman that she so often portrayed.

"Ready for PT, Mr. Bartowski?" the therapist asked.

"Oh... um... sure, yeah, I guess," he replied, a hesitant tone in his voice.

"What's the matter, Chuck? Don't you want to get better?"

"Sure... but I mean, it's going to be really awkward. I mean, I've seen this on TV plenty of times. And it's not like you guys have a Bacta tank stored around here somewhere, so we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way. I'm just... I dunno... nervous?"

"Don't worry Mr. Bartowski. You're in good hands here. Now, since you haven't been out of order for that long, we'll start with some exercises on the parallel bars, just so that you can get a feel for the whole walking thing again."

She helped him out of bed and he all but collapsed into the wheelchair with a groan. Sarah's lips were taut, not a single emotion breaking through. She couldn't for the life of her understand why Chuck was nervous, or what he could possibly be nervous about. It was just PT.

As the therapist pushed him out of the room, Sarah walked behind them. She had texted Ellie about what was going on, but she hadn't received a reply yet. She figured that they were still asleep. Not that Sarah could blame them. She'd be okay with grabbing a few extra winks as well.

They rounded the corner before walking through the main hall. Chuck was uncharacteristically quiet during the trip. Normally, he'd talk about... anything really. She hadn't really had a day where Chuck had ever shut his mouth for longer than ten minutes. To see this change in him was weird. She'd even call it disheartening, but everyone was allowed to have off days. Who was she to condemn him for having one?

They pushed through the door separating them from the training hall. Inside the actual hall, machines and bars, as well as therapy jet-pools completely filled the room. There was some walking room, but not a whole lot.

"Interesting decor," Chuck finally said and Sarah stifled a laugh, but a small smile broke through nonetheless. That was more like it. The therapist however, refused to pay any attention to him.

"Now then, Mr. Bartowski. Let's get started. Today, we won't be doing a whole lot. Just a couple of exercises with the bending of your legs and a few feet on the parallel bars. Shall we get started?"

"Uh... okay, I guess," he replied, before hooking his arms around the neck of his therapist and hoisting himself up. He grabbed the bars with his hands and tried to remain upright. The shiver that tore through his body told Sarah that he was having plenty of trouble with it.

She stayed and watched as the therapist and Chuck inched forward while taking baby steps, and she saw the perspiration form on his head. She thought back to her own revalidation. It had hurt and she couldn't help the stab of sympathy she felt for him, as she saw him struggle with something that for someone of his age should've come naturally. It was one of the worst feelings she had ever experienced. The helplessness... the inability to take care of yourself.

"You're doing great, Chuck," she had told him in an effort to cheer him up. All she had was the CIA sanctioned PT, who seemed to adopt more of a 'shout to motivate' method. She remembered that the only thing it helped motivating, was her desire to grab one of her knives and stab the man. Repeatedly.

The session, after thirty minutes of moving around, slowly wound down.

"All right Mr. Bartowski. That's enough for today. You did very well. You should be proud of yourself."

But instead of responding, his features hardened and he took on a determined gaze. "I want to try walking on my own."

"Mr. Bartowski, you're not fit enough for that yet. Walking without help can come in due time. And besides, you have to be exhausted. It's better if we just call it a day."

"No, I'm not tired yet. Just... please, let me try on my own," he pleaded with her.

The therapist sighed. "Fine, but I highly recommend you just call it a day. You've done more than enough Mr. Bartowski, you shouldn't rush your recovery."

Chuck shrugged before inching to the end of the parallel bars and releasing the grips. He steadied himself, before taking a deep breath. He put a tentative step forward, before his legs collapsed and he fell to the ground. "Fuck!" he shouted, and the expletive stunned Sarah. She had never heard him use one in their entire time together, although granted it wasn't very long. Still, she rushed to his side and helped him up, but he shrugged her off. "Go away, Sarah."

"What?" she asked. Surely, he was kidding right?

"I knew this was a bad idea. Look, do us both a favor and go back to where you belong. You shouldn't waste your time being around me. You're obviously meant to do great things in accounting, and instead you're wasting away sitting here with me. Just go, okay?" He clenched his fists and pounded the floor in anger. "God damn it!"

Sarah backed off. What should she do? He obviously didn't want her there, but... she still had an innate need to be there. But then she wouldn't respect his wishes. She knew what she had to do. He had said so herself. It was time for her to go back to where she belonged. But when she walked to the door, she was stopped by the therapist.

"Don't take it personal dear. He doesn't know what he's saying."

But the sad truth was, he did know what he was saying. She saw it in his eyes. Fear, masked by anger. "No," she replied. "No, he's right."

She stumbled out of the room, before speed-walking back to his room, managing to not break into a sprint but only just, before grabbing her duffel bag and wildly throwing her clothes in it, only just managing to keep a lid on the cauldron of emotions that was swirling through her entire being. Without looking back, she walked to the doors and into the cold that Washington provided on this particular morning.

She hailed a cab and got in, before relaying her address and closing her eyes. She felt like crying, but if there was one thing she wasn't going to do, it was breaking down in tears.

She hated herself for letting him have so much influence over her. So she closed her eyes and waited until she was exactly where Chuck told her to go.

Back to where she belonged.

A/N2: And that's it for the story. There's an epilogue to follow, but th... wait, I can't do this with a straight face. We're almost at the end people, but this most definitely isn't it. Anyway, yeah, hope you enjoyed and let's get up to 160 (more is always appreciated, of course!) reviews. Because I love my review number to be round like that. YAY 160!