Now and then there's a

Light in the darkness

Feel around till you find

Where your heart went

There's a weight in the air

But you can't see why, why

"Pieces"

Rob Thomas

December 9, 2012

Nuremberg, Germany

The man Sarah knew as Andros, or Amsterdam, as Hammersmith had named him, met their entourage at the airport.

"Discretion has been tossed to the wind, no?" Andros muttered to Hammersmith as the group approached. Andros' eyes widened in recognition as he spotted Sarah.

"How do you say?…It's a small world." His smile flashed briefly. "What brings you here, now, frau?" Andros asked her.

Sarah grabbed Chuck's hand as he stood beside her. "I went back to Montreux…and I found my husband. He believed I was dead," Sarah added softly. She felt Chuck squeeze her hand tighter.

Andros smiled, motioning for everyone to follow as he began walking to the exit. "You live. And so does your daughter." He glanced over his shoulder. "Vienna took the infant out of Europe, with falsified papers, approximately two weeks before the courier brought you to Montreux."

His words focused everyone's attention. Sarah had to consciously tell herself to not hurt Chuck with her crushing grip. "Where? Where is she?" Sarah closed the distance between them, and gripped Andros' shoulder.

Andros briefly shook his head. "Japan was a good place to start, as you had mentioned. Vienna left Tokyo on a private plane. The transponder numbers were also false, which is quite complicated to achieve. But the result, which I'm sure was the point, was that there was no way to determine where the plane landed. All I know is that one week later, those papers were used in Zurich to board a commercial airliner that landed in Atlanta, Georgia."

"Atlanta? What's in Atlanta?" Chuck asked. It was a general question, directed at the group, not just Andros.

"It's one of the busiest airports in the world, certainly in North America," Hammersmith offered. Turning to Andros he added, "I'm assuming the trail went dead after that?"

"You could say that. I do know Vienna left Atlanta a week after that and landed in Zurich again, where she disappeared. This time, she was alone."

He asked, "Does the term Madthens mean anything to you?"

Hammersmith shook his head. "Why?"

Andros tilted his phone towards Hammersmith to show him. "This looks deliberate, no? Like she was trying to be photographed with this showing."

Sarah could see the picture, a black and white still. Vivian was only visible in profile, but she held a file with the word "Madthens" written in marker on the front. It was nonsense to Sarah.

"Certainly," Hammersmith agreed. "But I have no idea what it could mean."

The group moved outside, to a van waiting at the curb. Now standing at Hammersmith's shoulder, Chuck asked sotto voce, "Who does Vivian know in North America?"

"Charles, she is my daughter, but she's also a part of my network. That means she has her own contacts, her own means of accomplishing our goals. I'm not privy to all of that information, simply because it's safer when I don't know. There are almost 30 operatives in my network, but they work in cells. She may have people she trusts in America. Outside of my circle." It was an elaborate way of saying that he didn't know but trusted his daughter.

Everyone was inside the van, Andros behind the wheel, when he said, "I found the pathway from Rome to Marseille." Why was he still speaking in code? Sarah wondered. "Marseille is burning…there may be nothing left once we arrive."

Ciel was seated next to Hammersmith, Chuck at Sarah's side, and Casey and Morgan behind them. Ciel glanced at Sarah quickly, making a minute motion with her index finger. Bugs. The reason for the code was a precaution, a testament to Andros' suspicions about surveillance. Hammersmith grimaced, withering as if he had been struck by Andros' words.

Mary was in grave danger, and they were running out of time. Chuck understood the exchange as well, Sarah knew; she felt the death grip he kept on her hand.

The airport and the concrete city slowly changed to the rolling Bavarian countryside. It was the middle of the night, the stars overhead sparkling like diamonds in the dark dome of the sky. A thin layer of snow covered the ground beside the road, grizzled vegetation still poking through in many spots. Sarah knew it was just a trick of the light, but the snow looked gray beneath the stars, like it was covered in a thin layer of ash, remnants of the burning world they were left to navigate.

"We rest here. Tomorrow, we will liberate Marseille." Chuck couldn't help but picture World War II at Andros' words. Combined with his past imagery related to the code, Chuck worried. What would he do if they were too late?

He tried not to think about it, but the space in his head where disastrous thoughts were stored was running out of room.

December 10, 2012

Nuremberg, Germany

Sarah sat on the closed toilet lid in the bathroom, the ensuite bathroom of the room Andros had directed Sarah and Chuck to use. The home was sprawling, modestly decorated, with enough room to house all six of them comfortably.

Sarah's hair was piled high on her head, covered in the dye that was slowly turning her brown hair back to her natural blonde. She had debated with herself, thinking coloring her hair in the midst of this crisis was selfish, foolish even. But she had taken the box from Ciel's house, purchased by Ciel at Sarah's request before she remembered her real name. She wanted to be blonde then, though she hadn't known why. Ciel had cautioned against it for safety.

In her efforts to break down the barriers between her and her husband, the urge to be blonde again was suddenly paramount, not foolish or self-indulgent. She wanted to stop thinking of herself, of Sarah, in the third person, like she was someone other than herself. Sarah was blonde. She was blonde. Chuck's wife was blonde.

I am blonde.

He had no idea she was doing this. She had only told him she wanted to freshen up, and he went to bed, though she doubted he was sleeping for how agitated he had seemed. As she sat, memories appeared like apparitions in front of her eyes.

She had done this before, sitting here like this, though waiting for something else…the timer for her pregnancy test. Negative…relief and regret both in one instant overwhelming her…she had switched from injections to oral contraceptives, which caused the initial suspicion…then stopped altogether, once she had talked to Chuck and convinced him they could quit the dangerous life…

She thought of the train again and the passionate encounter with Chuck and her whole body felt flushed. The last time…almost a full year ago.

The timer went off. She showered, rinsing the dye down the drain, watching the greenish-brown water that seemed to take the lost woman Ciel had found down the drain with it. She dried herself in front of the mirror, gasping as she saw herself with her natural hair color again. She recognized herself, in the mirror and then in a mental stream of photographs.

More and more of her life was flowing back to fill the empty holes. Hope surged.

She was no longer afraid. She left the bathroom, intentionally leaving her robe hanging on the back of the door. She was going to reclaim more of her life.

{}{}{}{}{}{}

Chuck woke from a deep, still slumber, as he felt the softest of touches on his bare chest. The scent of lavender was overpowering. The left side of his body was warm. When he turned his head, he was looking into Sarah's blue eyes that glowed in the dark. Her hair was pale again, still damp and hanging in wet curls around her face.

His surroundings solidified around him. He felt Sarah lean down against him, her bare chest in contact with his skin. He tucked his arm around her, his instinct to pull her close. She had left her nightgown and robe in the bathroom, he realized, as he felt her against his side.

She reached for him in the dark, silent but for her labored breathing that quieted once she placed her lips against his and kissed him. She pulled at his clothes, never removing her mouth from his, huffing in frustration at how difficult it was to undress him until he assisted. He couldn't help his body's reaction to her proximity, the intimate touch of her skin against his.

He lifted her face with his hands, his brain woefully lagging. "Sarah…" His first instinct was to ask her if she was sure, but he knew better. She wouldn't be here, like this, if she wasn't. This was her way of asking him if he was sure, he realized. Her memory was damaged, but she was still Sarah, still his wife. His silent understanding was a comfort, diminishing the hesitation he still battled.

He had tried to explain to her on the plane how he felt about her amnesia, his regrets about taking advantage of the situation. That was real, but he would be lying to himself if he hadn't included the dark pollution of his own guilt and inadequacy repelling him as well. Her words then had finally broken through, allowing him to see that their roles had reversed and now she was the one offering understanding and forgiveness, because she loved him to the essence of his soul.

Strange recollections from his niece's birth, comments made by his sister that had originally made him cringe, now dominated. "You just had a baby…" A long, difficult pregnancy in captivity, a traumatic birth, and inadequate postpartum care, compounded with the chance of possible sexual assault.

"Ciel told me everything is fine," Sarah whispered as she kissed the corner of his mouth, anxious to kiss his lips again. "It's been six weeks."

He sputtered. "You discussed this with her?" He trusted the doctor and her examination, but this particular topic surprised him.

She giggled, her blush visible in the moonlight. She moved the covers away, adjusting herself on top of him, her pale silhouette painted by the silver glow. "She assured me everything is fine. She offered the information without me asking. She said to just go easy…because it will probably feel different."

He sat forward, kissing her and pulling her down onto his chest. "Do you remember what it used to feel like before?" Her body remained unmarred, no scars visible or palpable, only a minute softness around her hips that had never been there before.

She sighed blissfully against his lips. "I'm alive, Chuck. I want to feel alive."

White-hot light from a thousand bursting stars blinded him as she clung to him. Floating in an endless sea of stardust, the universe coalesced around them. The elements were the same, rearranged into new forms, new possibilities, new hopes, and new dreams.

She remembered; he knew she did. He could sense it, the way she moved so familiarly it brought tears to his eyes. She laughed at the effortlessness with which he succeeded in pleasing her. The sound of her laughter healed every remaining wound buried deep inside him.

Tomorrow was liberation, just as Andros had said.

But as he fell asleep holding Sarah, he knew tonight had been salvation.

{}{}{}{}{}{}

Andros left right after sunrise with the four former spies, Team Bartowski as the younger man with the beard, Morgan, had said with triumph. The information from Rome concerning Marseille's whereabouts was credible, their best lead, and they had left in pursuit.

Hammersmith had been reluctant to stay behind, but he understood his importance as the head of the network and the need for him to remain out of relative danger. Ciel had been reluctant as well, but she had stayed behind with him. Being alone in the large house with the man was unnerving, and she circled him like a cat stalking its prey, all her senses on guard though her logical mind told her he was no threat.

Before he left, Chuck created a computer program that was actively searching for Vivian via facial recognition. The intelligence had placed her here, along with both Mary and Quinn. Andros had a lead on Mary's whereabouts, but he had no leads on Vivian at all after the Madthens photograph. It had taken Chuck an amazingly short time. Ciel and Hammersmith were monitoring it now that the others were out.

"When was the last time you checked on David?" she asked him, breaking the tense silence.

"When I woke up, Ciel. He's well. Conscious, the nurse said. He's not out of the woods yet, but 24 hours without a serious emboli is a very good sign, which I'm sure you know." Hammersmith mumbled the last few words.

She tried to relax her muscles as she paced, tension making her gait stiff. "What did you mean before…about what he lost? How did he end up working for you?"

"He never told you because he didn't want your pity," Hammersmith sighed. At her confused face, he added, "He wanted you to love him, the way he loved you, though he was convinced you'd been hurt so badly that you might not ever be able to. He never gave up, though."

Ciel felt like he had crumpled up her heart like a piece of paper. "I only wish it hadn't taken almost losing him…before I did."

"Sometimes people can be stubborn, cling to their misery because it's comfortable. And letting go of it can be scary, because…then what is left that we believe we deserve?" He gazed off into space, Ciel feeling he was no longer talking just about David.

He paused, continuing to stare for a while longer before he spoke again. "David has the right to tell you his own story."

Ciel was restless, though she conceded Hammersmith was right, and asking had been too pushy. She stood still as she watched him rise, move the cabinet in the corner of the room, and pour himself a drink. Whiskey, straight, in one gulp, though it was still morning. His hand shook as he put the empty glass on the counter. His eyes were pink and watering, though if it was from the alcohol or his emotions, Ciel couldn't tell.

"Chuck's mother…Mary…" Ciel tested the name on purpose, seeing the way he flinched just as she'd expected him to. "Why does her name spoken out loud bother you the way it does? You said she was a friend…"

"You heard the story. My best friend was her husband. She left two young children alone and followed me to Russia. The CIA ordered her to take down my network and to take me out. I don't believe the people actually giving her those orders were privy to the truth–who I really was, how I had been created, or that she knew the truth. Charles' father purged as much information as he could before he ran."

Hammersmith started pacing, his hand over his mouth. "Mary had…ample opportunity to kill me, but she wouldn't. She stayed there, pretending to have turned, so that she could run interference, and mitigate some of the damage that I caused. I lost 30 years, but she lost 20 herself, only she was fully aware, wishing she could be with her family again…until that family was all but destroyed."

"She must have cared about you a great deal," Ciel added softly.

"She loved her husband. Everything she did, she did for him. You know, she never saw him again after they sent her after me. She should have killed me–the world would have been much better off, believe me. Once I realized everything that had happened, I promised myself that I wouldn't let her lose one more minute of her life for the likes of me. She offered of her own free will, because she believed in what I was trying to do. And now she may be dead because of it."

Ciel tried to deny what she was hearing, telling herself it couldn't possibly be true. Did Hammersmith have feelings for Mary? He sounded so…regretful, almost forlorn. Her curiosity got the better of her. "Are you in love with her?"

Hammersmith stopped pacing, his posture now rigid. "She was married to my best friend."

It wasn't an answer, and Ciel knew it. "You are, aren't you?" She moved closer to him, the swirled soup of emotions inside her suddenly still. He seemed human now, not the monster she had always conjured in her nightmares.

He kept his back to her. "You heard the explanation I gave Charles…how a little bit of me stayed in Volkoff, how I took a little of him back with me from oblivion. The Volkoff identity loved her…if anything he was capable of feeling could properly be called love. It was more about control…the same way I loved my daughter, which drove her to the brink of insanity. Whatever remains of him here," he pounded on his chest with his fist, "took those emotions with him."

Ciel walked around him so he couldn't avoid looking at her. He tilted his head away, but she stayed, persistent, crossing her arms and regarding him. "But through the filter of you, Hammersmith or Hartley or whoever you are, those emotions are real. For your daughter…and Mary."

He turned to face her, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Ciela Villareal," she said, continuing to keep eye contact with him. "That's who I used to be. She had a husband and a baby daughter and she was happy. But she let a man die that she could have saved because she hated him for what he took from her." She blinked rapidly. "I don't have a right to judge you."

"Yes, you do," he whispered. "My weakness, in the end, caused countless deaths and endless suffering." He reached out his hand, holding it to her, palm upward. She grasped it as her tears flowed. "Thank you for choosing not to despite all of that."

The computer alarm trilling disturbed the moment. Once she recognized the sound, knowing what it could indicate, Ciel rushed to the computer. When she pressed the key to wake up the computer, she saw multiple still black-and-white images, all with the same woman. Vivian. Or Victoria, Ciel thought.

They all deserved their new identities as they forged new lives from the ashes of tragedy. She wouldn't forget that.

"The Christkindlesmarkt." Her German was flawless.

Hammersmith rushed to her side. "My God, that's my daughter," he said in an urgent voice. The camera had picked the woman up in multiple places throughout the Christmas market that was in full swing this far into December. "The castle they're headed to is on the other side of the city."

Ciel felt Hammersmith move away, his motion distracting behind her as she studied the pictures. Vivian looked frightened, hunted. Like she was trying to find a place to hide, an escape route that was eluding her.

Hammersmith grabbed Ciel's hand to get her attention. "We have to go, Ciel. The team is otherwise occupied and they'll never get there in time. Will you help me?"

She didn't answer him with a word. She merely followed him out of the house, never releasing his hand.