A/N: Finally! We have quite a bit of M material for the next few chapters. I tried to pace it. There is just a minor point that has been on my mind about Charah from this point. FF abounds with stories heavy on Chuck's skills and prowess. He wasn't experienced per se, but just very giving and patient and attentive, all very good qualities in a partner. Yet-there are several off hand remarks that make me wonder, not at whether Sarah was satisfied by him, but that he was comfortable and aware of how he made her feel. There's the faking-it joke in Honeymooners and Roan teasing him in Seduction Impossible. Not all that confident, right? He's so focused on the sex part of the "book" and she doesn't want to talk about it at all. I think perhaps that could be explained, not only by his insecurity which isn't resolved until Phase 3, but her reticence and inexperience with meaningful communication. They are together for a while before she can tell him she loves him out loud, though we know she did all along. I contend she would have taken a while to be comfortable enough to express herself in any kind of meaningful way during sex, fueling his insecurity. That's my angle anyway. Unique in FF perhaps, but I think it works. Hopefully.

My dreams were wispy, feathers fluttering quietly inside my head. I slept on a cloud, peacefully nestled in a comfortable bed under a plush duvet. Dreams turned to wakefulness as I realized what was beneath me, around me, surrounding me…was Chuck's scent.

I was blinded by the morning sun streaming through the window. Everything around me was bathed in white light. Like heaven was portended to approach. Only I was alive.

I could feel my heart beating, my chest expanding. I was alive. It felt like a miracle. All my thoughts were still hazy, but that feeling persisted.

At my first movement, I watched Chuck rise from the bedside chair. He was working on his computer, sitting at my bedside.

"Hey," he said quietly as he approached and eventually sat on the bed next to me. I kept my eyes closed, the light taking some time to get used to. He reached across me and set the computer on the bed on the other side of me. "How are you feeling?"

I struggled to sit up, suddenly acutely aware of how jelly-like my body felt. I realized I was wearing a man's white shirt over my bra and panties, and nothing else. Chuck's shirt, I realized with a start.

How in the world…"Oh, what happened?" I asked him groggily. I leaned my head back against the pillows behind me. His face was worried, almost haggard. He seemed like he was struggling to find the right words to say.

"Everything's ok now."

I struggled to remember what had happened, how I had ended up here the way I was. I could see pieces, shadows, but I couldn't align the memories in the right order to figure out what it was I couldn't quite remember. "What about Shaw?" I asked, sensing there was something important I wasn't able to recall.

Chuck was quiet for a few seconds, that same drawn look on his face. I looked into his eyes and saw something I couldn't explain, something I didn't quite understand. "He's dead." And then I knew what I saw, understood it on the level that only a person who has been forced to take a life in the line of duty could understand.

"I'm sorry." I wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. I wasn't with Shaw anymore, I was with him.

But then memories started streaming into my mind. "Oh, we…there was a…there was a café and a bridge, and he tried to kill me, and…oh my God, you shot him." I sat up straighter, remembering the scene as Shaw fell over the side of the bridge, his chest riddled with bullet holes and how he tried to pull me into hell with him…but the strong arms around me, holding me, wouldn't let me go.

"I couldn't let him hurt you, Sarah," Chuck told me, his voice intense with emotion. "Trust me, I did what I had to do. But I'm still the same guy. I'm still Chuck. I promise." His voice had a pleading quality, and it made me think.

That's what he was worried about? That I would somehow no longer want to be with him, because he'd killed someone? My thoughts were racing, but I realized that I should have explained myself better before, only I hadn't known how. This was different, in every way.

Of course he was still Chuck. He was the guy who I knew could do anything, the hero that I had always known he could be, that he had been all along. My Chuck.

He saved me from Shaw. He saved my life, though in reality he had already saved it a hundred times over before that night on the bridge. He had risked losing me, fearing I might not think the same way about him, but he still saved me. It wasn't that he couldn't kill, but that he wouldn't, not unless he had no other choice, not unless what he was trying to save was more important. I loved him because he wouldn't kill…and he loved me enough to kill someone who was trying to hurt me. My Chuck.

My heart fluttered like a bird inside my chest. "You saved me."

He was still worried, his brows creased with concern. I leaned forward and kissed him, so there would be no more doubt. We were together, and nothing would ever separate us again. He touched my face, gently pulling back and then he smiled, that beautiful smile of his that I loved so much.

It was real, right at that moment. He kissed me again, reaching for me passionately. My heart fluttered again in anticipation.

The computer beeping interrupted us.

"Chuck, Sarah, excellent work." General Beckman. "I've consulted with Colonel Casey and he brought me up to speed." I covered my face with my hand, embarrassed that I was so flushed with desire in front of her. "I'll expect a full report when you get back to Burbank."

Chuck grinned when she said that, glad for Casey's reinstatement, I'm sure.

"Actually, General, I think we're gonna need a few more days in Paris," Chuck said.

"No, I want you back asap. We have a new mission. Last night a team of Peruvian assassins broke into the…" I turned the computer around so she couldn't see us. "Agent Bartowski? Agent Walker?" I heard her question as Chuck and I just looked at each other. "I've lost contact. Get them back–"

I shut the computer, breaking the link with her in DC.

"I don't know–"

"Shut up and kiss me," I interrupted, barely containing my grin.

Chuck just gave me this look like he could devour me whole right there, then he kissed me again. He stood up, leaning into me, pushing me back down into the pillows. I scooted over and made room for him. He pulled the covers up over us.

I had been wanting this, waiting for this, lamenting over the fact that this couldn't ever happen, for almost three full years. There aren't words that properly express the joy I felt, the absolute relief I felt, holding him in my arms and knowing we were together at last, that it was real, and nothing would ever change it. The agony of the past was evaporating around us.

The motel in Barstow was as close as we had ever come before, but then, it was frantic, desperate, with that air of the forbidden that would have tainted it. Now, there was only joy, and peace. Though that peace was accompanied by a raging inferno, we knew it was a fire that would burn without consuming us.

He had way too many clothes on. I pulled at the buttons on his shirt and at his belt buckle. He laughed so sweetly, twisted in his clothes and the bedsheets and covers. In a flourish, he stood up, pulling the covers off me. I wanted him close again the second he pulled away. I rose to my knees, kissing him as I helped him with his shirt, then his belt buckle. He kicked off his shoes, then very quickly he dropped the shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers.

I reached for him, circling my arms around his waist, nuzzling against his chest. Slowly, I reached inside the elastic waistband of his boxers, gently encircling him with my hand. "Oh…Sarah…" he whispered. I watched his face flush as his eyes burned with desire. He leaned towards me and I kissed him, opening my mouth and probing into his mouth with my tongue. I slid his boxers over his hips and he shimmied out of them before he laid next to me on the bed.

My eyes feasted on him, the lean lines of his body beautiful to me in a way no other man had ever been before. It still felt like a dream, this picture so often in my head while I slept that I had to keep telling myself this was really happening now. He leaned over me, his legs entwined with mine. His shirt on my body was the only thing separating us and though it was thin, it was unbearable. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, feel his body touching me.

As if he was reading my mind, he flicked the buttons on the shirt open one by one, then reached around and with one hand undid the hooks on the back of my bra, pulling the garment with the shirt and tossing both on the floor. I turned on my side to face him. "Sarah," he whispered, like he was seeing me for what felt like the first time. He touched my face, then slid his hand down my neck, slowly tracing a path down the curve of me. "You're so beautiful."

He growled deep in his throat, soft appreciation for my beauty. With an open mouth, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. I probed my tongue against his teeth. Never removing his mouth from mine, he leaned into me, stretching himself all along the length of me. Our passionate kiss lasted and lasted, until I felt my entire body throbbing with the pounding of my heart.

His mouth left mine eventually, traveling down to my ear and down the slope of my neck. I angled my head back far, feeling his lips and his tongue in the hollow at the base of my throat. I vibrated inside as I moaned with pleasure. His mouth stayed there, lingering, while his hands reached for my breasts, cupping and caressing me. My nipples went erect under his thumbs and I shivered. His lips traveled down my chest, in between my breasts, until he eventually took one, then the other, nipple into his mouth, flicking with his tongue as he went. I arched up against him, still moaning, at the same time I reached around him, my hands trailing down his back, my fingernails tracing up and down his spine. Outside of my own will, I lifted my hips up against his as he suckled me, gasping as I could feel his hardness pressing between my legs.

Part of me believed since this was our first time, that we should go more slowly, savor these moments. But so close to him, so close to what I had been dreaming about, agonizing and fantasizing about for years, my desire couldn't be contained.

"Please, Chuck…" I moaned against his lips, grinding myself against him.

He was breathless when he pulled his mouth from mine. I felt him reach down and slide my panties over my hip. I wriggled out of them quickly, eager to press myself against him again. He held my gaze, looking into my eyes as he softly caressed my hip, then slid his hand between my legs.

No one had ever touched me the way he did, so reverently, so delicately. Gentle caresses, like a soft massage. His fingertips were wet with my juices when he traced slow circles around my clit. His breathing became more labored and I closed my eyes. I was like a guitar in his hands and he was a master musician. It took almost no time at all for me to respond to his touch. I trembled in his arms, my first orgasm spreading in a delicious ripple beneath his thumb as he continued to massage me.

I clung to him, my arms tight around his neck. He slid first one, then a second finger inside me while he still stimulated me with his thumb. I was soaking wet, moaning softly at the pleasure. Oh, how I wanted him inside me, but he wanted more of this. He wanted to explore patiently, for studying me was his way, how he learned to please me. I came again as I began thrusting against his fingers, shuddering his name against his shoulder.

"Oh my God…" he murmured, almost to himself. It had been so long I had almost forgotten the way men had first reacted to my orgasms in the past.

He curled his finger forward and I felt him hit my G spot, perfectly, creating a third orgasm almost instantaneously. It was even more intense and he marveled at the way my muscles gripped him.

He leaned me back against the pillows, sinking into me, the most intimate parts of us touching. I slid myself against him, panting, pulling at the small of his back, crushing us closer together.

"Sarah," he whispered against my lips, almost asking permission to continue.

"Please, Chuck," I begged, lifting my hips up again, angling myself perfectly.

He lifted himself up on his hands, looking down at me. His face was awash with desire, but there also was his love, all the tenderness and passion for me so plain there for me to see. I kept my eyes fixed on his face, feeling my own desire, my need to be like this, connected to him, inside and out.

This was how it was supposed to be, how intimacy was meant to be. Every touch, every caress…it was love, expressed in its purest, most honest way. He became part of me, burying himself deep inside me in one smooth, gentle thrust. "Oh…" I sighed, relieved of the agony of wanting him for so long. He waited for me to adjust to the stretching all of him inside me caused.

His thrusting was gentle at first, but he gradually quickened his pace. I met each thrust with my own passion. He moved deliberately, in tune with me. It felt new, like I had been untouched before, as he made love to me. For this was truly what this was. We were making love, something I had never done with anyone else. Chuck had so little experience, but he had what no other ever had-all of me, my heart. There were no walls anymore, nothing between us. I held nothing back from him, letting myself go into the passionate frenzy that shook the bed.

This joining brought so much physical pleasure, but we both knew this was more than that. All my past motivation for having sex had been pleasure alone. My actions and my thoughts had always been about control, making sure I was always able to take what I wanted from my partner. This was about giving and receiving. I had never so willingly relinquished control in bed the way I did with Chuck. He loved me…and I loved him. It felt right. What I craved so desperately was him–his kiss, his touch, the way he felt inside me, warm and hard and smooth.

The sensation built, then crescendoed, a wave of pleasure crashing over me as my muscles contracted around him. I lost control of my voice, moaning as I lost myself in the pleasure of it. It felt good, so good, only amplified a thousand times because that pleasure was a gift from him, this man who I loved more than anything else in the world.

He felt it when I climaxed, stopping momentarily to gaze at me as the soft undulations tightened in rhythm to my panting breath. I called out his name, clutching his arms, writhing underneath him as the sensation overtook me, until all my insides had melted and I couldn't tell where I stopped and he began. He wanted nothing other than to please me, hold me while I experienced the sensations that still were in the process of subsiding.

I said his name again, wrapping my arms around his neck and closing the space between our bodies. I put my mouth against his chest, kissing him, tracing my lips onto his neck, even as he continued thrusting inside me. He found my lips again, crushing his mouth against mine. I almost couldn't breathe, drowning in the sensation of all of his weight pressed against me. He moaned into my mouth, and I finally felt him contract and release inside me. We were part of each other now, so blissfully attached. We belonged to each other. It was finally real.

He collapsed on top of me, our sweat sticking our bodies together. It was like physical pain when he pulled out, the sensation that he belonged inside me always so real it made my eyes tear up.

When he caught his breath, he whispered, "Sarah, you are amazing. That was amazing."

I curled myself against him tighter. No amount of closeness between us was enough.

He cradled me against him. I never wanted to let go of him, or to let him let go of me. I lifted my face to look at him. I drank in the way he looked–his eyes so soft and warm, his lips still slightly parted as his breathing was returning to normal. He looked dreamy.

I realized he had most likely been awake all night after what had happened. I was still in the process of recovering from being drugged. It was morning, but we both just drifted into a peaceful slumber after our exertions. We didn't say anything else, just relaxed into the pillows.

"I love you, Sarah," he whispered as he was close to sleep.

He didn't expect me to say anything in return, not to parrot the words. I knew from the tone of his voice–he was just telling me, reminding me.

It took quite a while before I was able to put my feelings into words and tell him that I loved him. I had never said those words to anyone but my mother. They seemed to hold so much, mean so much, they weren't to be spoken casually or frivolously, like I knew some people did. I think Chuck understood that about me, although the amount of time it took eventually caused him some anxiety.

I did love him. Only him, ever in my life. So that moment, instead of telling him how I felt, I showed him, or at least I tried to. The only way I knew how to do that was to sleep.

Sounds weird, but it's true. I had never slept beside anyone, certainly not naked like I was, cradled in someone's arms. Being a spy meant sleeping with one eye open, guarding myself, even from my lovers.

But I was safe with Chuck, completely safe at last. I trusted him, and that allowed me to fall asleep, deeply, peacefully. The best sleep I had had since I was probably a baby.

He eventually realized how significant it was, that I could sleep so well when I was beside him, what it meant. For now, it was all I had to show him my feelings.

I slept in his arms, undisturbed, for hours and hours. There was no longer a distinction between my dreams and my life. I was now living my dreams.

Twenty years later, I still am. That is what happiness looks like. That is what I have, what we have. A blessing, perhaps a blessing I didn't deserve, but a blessing all the same.