A/N: As promised. A huge shoutout to nevr for previewing this. This was a very different chapter before he gave me his initial impression. It's much better now, the emotions I was looking for much more apparent. Hopefully you agree. Enjoy.

He wraps both of his hands around mine, the one touching his cheek, and instead holds it against his chest. His heart is pounding so wildly I feel it against the back of my hand.

"I…think…I mean…?" He sounds befuddled, like he can't believe I'm waiting for an answer. As if it is as plain as my asking if the sky is blue.

There are so many reasons why he shouldn't have tried to save me, I can't begin to list them. They overwhelm my mind.

His breathing sounds different, strange. Like he's just run, though I know he's only been sitting here.

I hear footsteps approach, light and soft—a woman wearing soft-soled shoes. Ellie. She must have overheard our conversation from beyond the door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but, Chuck, I have to leave now to get back to LA before it's dark. I'll come back tomorrow."

I wonder how far away we are. Where we are.

As if he's reading my mind he tells me, "We're in Bishop County…about three hours from LA." His voice comes from a different direction—he's facing her.

"That's so much traveling, El. I—" He sounds contrite.

"Chuck, it's alright." She is kind but firm. "You needed me. You needed us. Long drives are minor, not important now."

Ellie's voice also changes direction when she addresses me. "My little brother is a hero. He knew you needed help, so he helped." She sounds proud of him, but a little exasperated at the same time. Why did she answer for him?

I hear him swallow. His sister has embarrassed him. But of course she's right. I remember Chuck's bold challenges to Diaz, though I knew how frightened he really was. Courage, true heroism, wasn't lack of fear, but being able to act even in the face of fear.

Her voice is trembling. "Can I talk to Sarah for a few minutes?"

He releases my hand, stands, and leaves the room. I hear him close the door.

Ellie sits beside me. "I promise Chuck will explain everything…eventually." There's a cryptic lilt to that last word, but I don't press for more. "But I wanted to talk to you before I go."

Her voice changes, and she is the doctor again. "Your bleeding now because of the hormones I gave you, the ones you agreed to take…in case your injection had failed. I gave you a shot of antibiotics, which will cover any bacterial STI you might have contracted. I'm testing for everything—viruses, parasites, bacteria. We can make decisions after the results come back."

I nod, a little sick at the thought.

I remember what she said to Chuck, what he asked. Having my eyes covered makes it easier to say what I have to say. "Chuck and I…we didn't have sex. I mean, not like…the others." I take care to choose the right words.

"So what happened?" she whispers. She sounds horrified. The idea that there is even a variation, a technicality that allows me to say what I did, upsets her, just like it upset him while it was happening. I recall something Bryce told me, long ago, that Chuck really only had his sister and no parents from a young age. It's like I'm talking to his mother–the horror makes more sense. I feel the need to defend him.

"He was pretending to be a customer." Tears come to my eyes as I think of how that charade affected him. "He had a plan…but he didn't know I would be drugged." I sob. She waits patiently, holding my hand. "He tried to pretend, but…I lost control because of the drug. I think I pushed him past his breaking point."

I'm still crying, but I hear her sniffling. She's crying too.

Words I can't say stay clamped inside my mouth. I can't tell her, or Chuck if he's listening, that my interaction with him was different. Yes, I was drugged, but something happened. Something that had never happened to me before, with anyone, drug or not.

I could still feel it, inside my chest, how he had made me feel. I couldn't explain it, or understand it, but it was an almost unbearable ache, one that eased when he was close and worsened when he moved away.

I could still hear her crying. I had to say more than I had. "It was…as close as we could have gotten without penetration." I force the last word out, feeling my cheeks burn, even more awkward because this is his sister.

"Ok, ok," she says, thankful that I explained, but making sure I didn't say anymore. "I know what tests to run then."

"I'm sorry—"

"Sarah, stop." Her voice is suddenly strong, adamant. "I know it wasn't your fault. And so does Chuck. You have to know that."

She didn't know what had happened, how can she speak for him? I still believe her. I know, with certainty, Chuck blames himself, what he must think of as his weakness.

"I'm not an ophthalmologist, Sarah, and that is who you really need. Your retinas are intact. You have minimal reactivity to light, but when they first rescued you, my husband said you had none. So there is improvement. I don't know what that means, if you will recover more vision or not. There's a tremendous amount of inflammation present right now. The drops and the patches will help bring that down. Chuck knows how to administer those."

I'm surprised by what she's told me. I was sure I would never see again, that my blindness was permanent.

"There is significant nerve and tendon damage from the slice on your wrist. That numbness and loss of dexterity is permanent, I'm afraid." She speaks gravely.

She knows, and now so do I, that my career is over. I can't hold or fire a gun, I can barely hold a pencil. Although to be fair, I had no delusions about going back to the CIA.

I'm broken, according to them. My psychological fitness for the job cannot withstand three months of rape and torture. They will never trust me again.

They left me for dead, to the fate I have just escaped. The fate that Chuck defied orders to save me from because they left me for dead.

My future is an endless abyss of darkness. Blindness and uncertainty.

Hope is new to me, a foreign entity. A gift I was given that I don't know how to handle yet.

"Just one more thing, Sarah, and I'll let you rest." She's back to sounding sadly professional. "There was…significant internal damage. You're young and resilient, and a lot of that damage will heal. I don't see any reason now why you couldn't have a baby, down the road, if you wanted to. But there's always a chance I might have overlooked something."

I can't decide if I should laugh or cry, or scream with rage. Six months ago, if anyone would have asked me if I thought about having children, I would have laughed. I was not built for that. My life from the very beginning had taught me so.

But if this was another casualty of my captivity, it made me furious. One more choice taken away from me.

"Either way, you need to let your body heal."

I do scoff bitterly this time. I'm sure she has to say it, the doctor in her dotting her i's and crossing her t's.

She's telling me to abstain from sex. As if I will allow anyone to touch me ever again. The thought of it both terrifies and sickens me.

"Who would want me anyway? Scarred, blind, used up and maybe infested with disease?" It wreaks of self-pity, but aren't I allowed that? Who else but me is even there to offer any?

"He took so much from you. Don't let him take anymore." She whispers, but the tone is firm, absolute.

I hear her walk away. The door opens and shuts. I'm alone.

That ache…comes roaring back…because Chuck isn't here. What is wrong with me? I've become like a child, helpless. I alternate between fear and anger, the former causing the latter, over and over again.

I hear voices, muffled, coming from outside. Chuck and Ellie again. I can't make out any words, but they are arguing. I hone in on his voice and it calms me. He's arguing with her, but he's not angry. If I could attribute an emotion to his tone, without knowing the words he is speaking, it would be sadness. Regret.

I don't really know him, other than what I've heard from Bryce, and what I learned in our short time of interaction. But knowing he is in pain of any kind causes my insides to twist uncomfortably. I have never comforted one soul on this earth in all my life, wouldn't know how if I tried, but the need to ease his pain is overwhelming.

He's gone for what feels like forever, even though I know it is only a few minutes. Anxiety gets the best of me. I try to get out of bed, but just sitting up causes such dizziness I fall back down.

I'm anemic. I needed blood but I'm here, hiding.

"I'll be right in, Sarah," he calls from another room, farther away. He has already calmed that anxiety by calling out.

Shifting position makes the flow of blood gush uncomfortably for a moment. I tell myself it's normal, even though it is only part normal; the other part is forced from the emergency contraceptives Ellie gave me.

After what feels like ages, I hear footsteps coming closer. Chuck. I know what his gait sounds like. He walks closer, opens the door and enters my room again. I smell something delicious, savory. My mouth waters.

"I brought you some dinner. Beef stew. You must be starving." His voice is tender, sweet. The ache in my chest is inexplicably gone.

I hear wood tapping, like he set a tray down on top of a table. The scent of him is profound suddenly, and I realize he's leaning over me. "Let's prop you up," he says.

He's awkwardly trying to help me without touching me. It would have been easier if he just used both arms. I try to help him, pushing myself up with my hands, but I'm weak, too weak. He grabs me as I flop forward.

"I'm sorry," he gasps quickly.

I should be repelled, shying away from any touch, especially a man's, but I'm not. It feels like an embrace, and it's surprisingly comforting. I don't want him to let go.

He pulls the bed pillows up against the headboard and gently lays me back. I'm sitting up, but also reclining. He sets the tray over my legs.

"I know it's hard, you're not used to not being able to see and your hand is…I know it's awkward…I…" He's nervous, rambling. "I can help."

Helping me this time means he is feeding me, one spoonful of stew at a time. It's so tasty, the perfect temperature, and despite nausea, I'm ravenously hungry. He's silent, awkward. But there is so much tenderness, kindness in everything he does.

I feel close to him, then tell myself I am attributing our situation and his heroism to those feelings, that it can't be genuine.

"Chuck," I say after I swallow the last bite. "I…" I don't know where to begin. "Ellie answered for you before. But…I want to thank you. And…it's not enough to just say it. Why did you do it? Please, I need to know." I'm not sure why I need this, but I do.

His breathing changes again and he sounds winded. I reach up and touch his face with my left hand. Amazingly, he lets me explore. I touch his lips, his nose, the skin next to his eyes. I'm using the only sense I have to see him, his face that's in my memory and what must be now.

He waits a long time, but he answers me, while my fingers are tracing his cheekbone. The moment feels intimate, but no longer awkward. The ache in my chest is gone, and in its place is a blooming warmth that is entirely foreign in my experience.

"Bryce and I were friends. Good friends. We…had a falling out, but once he sent me this…and he explained why, why he did everything that he did, that rift was repaired. The last time I saw him, when he came to Burbank…he told me about you." He is fighting tears with all his strength. The muscles in his face quiver.

It seems unrelated, non sequitur. Was it because of Bryce? Either to save Bryce…or save me because I was involved with Bryce? Bryce cared about me, but he didn't love me. He wouldn't have said anything like that to Chuck about me. So what then?

"I don't know if you know this, Sarah, but you're in the Intersect." He is hesitating, weighing his words, as if he knows they have the ability to affect me.

My initial reaction is shame, the desire to cower, away from his gaze. What horrors had he seen, done at my hands, as he had access to some of my file? Why does it bother me so, his awareness of my deeds? It should have told him I was expendable, and yet, he did the opposite.

"I know it's hard for you to understand, because it's hard for me too. But…I know who you are." He is reverent, almost in awe. I can't make sense of it, but he's sincere. There is no doubt in my mind. "You are worth saving, worth dying for."

I feel the heat on his cheek. Saying those words embarrassed him. Something shifts inside me, the ache and the warmth commingling until I feel my heart is about to burst. I need to tell him…something. I have so few words.

"I owe you my life," I whisper. I feel the muscles in his face shift. He's smiling. It breaks my heart that I have to imagine what that looks like.

We sit like that for a long time. He stays smiling, but his tears run down onto my fingers. He takes my hand in his.

"You don't owe me anything. I only wish it hadn't taken so long to find you." His voice cracks. "Leaving you there…I…oh, God, Sarah…I'm—"

"Chuck, please, don't…don't blame yourself for any of this." I squeeze his hand tighter.

"I can't help it." He shudders. "What you went through…"

"I knew you were coming back." My voice breaks. I reach toward his chest. Touching him stirs something inside me, that same aching warmth is spreading. "I didn't think I was worth your life…but I fought to stay alive…with the hope that you gave me."

I wish with all my strength that I could see his face. I feel a heaviness between us, the past muddling the moment. But he lets me touch him and my hand lingers, pressed over his heart.

Finally he speaks. "I'll help you next time so you can feed yourself. When you get stronger."

I smile, hoping he understands.

"You should rest. I have to put your drops in first thing in the morning."

He moves to stand, but I reach for his hand. "Before you go, will you tell me what's going on? Where am I? Why am I here? There's so much I don't understand."

He sighs with a heavy fatigue. "The whole story is too long. You need to rest. But, at least I can start, I guess." He sighs again. "I'll start closer to the end.

"I flashed."

"You what?"

"Oh, sorry. I, uh, that's what Casey calls the memories when they're triggered. The Intersect is raw data but my brain makes associations. Anything can trigger one. Something I see, something I hear…something I read. I was watching the news.

"I knew you and Bryce were missing. I flashed on the location of the camp in Mexico. I told Casey what I thought had happened. I went to Beckman…" His voice changes pitch, bitterness and anger adding steel to his tone. "She said it was too late. You and Bryce were most likely already dead. I got into a shouting match with her. Casey tried to…I don't know…reason with her without so much emotion. She still refused. She said she couldn't spare the resources. That you and Bryce knew the risks. That you were expendable."

He pauses, but he's trying to calm himself. He's so angry, retelling this.

"I told Casey what I thought. That Diaz was…using you. He had a history of supplementing his income with sex trafficking. He kidnapped at least one female FBI agent who was found dead in the desert. The DEA knew about it, but they wouldn't compromise their undercover operatives to rescue her. I couldn't let something like that happen to you. I couldn't." His calm exposition becomes infused with passion when he says that, but then it wanes again. "It took a while, but eventually I convinced Casey to help me. We went AWOL and went to Mexico. I did the reconnaissance. Casey had the idea that I go in posing as a customer. So I could warn you and prepare you for escape."

I knew Ellie said he was rogue. But I was beginning to understand exactly what that entailed. Chuck and Casey went in alone. No back up, no resources. Just two agents against a veritable army.

It would have been a suicide mission. But they succeeded. Chuck penetrated the innermost part of Diaz' compound and killed him in order to free me.

I gasp audibly as I realize the whole truth. His plan, whatever it had been, had been formulated with the stipulation that I unchain myself, fight my way out to where he and Casey were.

The savagery of Diaz' attack had meant Chuck's plan had to have changed. He had to come all the way back in after me.

How was that possible? Bryce and I were trained agents, and I doubt either of us could have done what Chuck had done.

I am even more boggled, more dumbstruck. All of that…for me? Someone he didn't even know.

The silence stretches as I struggle for words. "I can't believe what you did…it's…it's—"

"It's the Intersect." He is diminishing himself, although it makes no sense. The Intersect was information.

I must look incredulous, because he elaborates. "The version Bryce sent me was…updated."

"I don't understand…"

"The…uh…designer…of the original version…he…he was my only hope to get it removed. I sought him out. To make a…very long story short, instead of removing it, he added skills. To protect me in the field and to protect Casey."

Bryce had hated what he had done to his friend, the havoc he had created in Chuck's life. He had told me he had felt like he had no other choice. It wasn't supposed to be permanent.

Why? Why would Chuck willingly upgrade it like that?

Something awful suddenly occurs to me.

"When did you do that? How long ago?" My desperation to know is thick in my voice.

He doesn't want to say it. I can tell by his voice. "Six months ago. After Graham died. Once I knew that Fulcrum knew where you and Bryce were hiding."

"Why? Why would you do that?" I'm crying, full of disbelief.

"Easy, Sarah," he soothes me. He notices the stress has weakened me, making me dizzier and more tired. "I promise I will explain. But you have to rest. Please. You lost so much blood. You're at risk for a cardiac complication." He is holding back tears.

I recall the conversation I overheard between Chuck and Ellie, her warning to him that I needed more medical attention. He is worried about me. Am I paler? How apparent is my crushing fatigue? He is torn between compromising my safety or my health. The only way I can help his dilemma is to do what he asked. I don't even have the strength to argue with him.

He pulls the pillows from behind my head as I settle down to sleep.

"You're staying, right?" I ask sleepily.

I hear the smile in his voice. "I'm in the next room."

My chest still aches as he exits my room. But I fall asleep, the feeling of safety enveloping me.