A/N: Once again, thank you for your patience. I hate that these chapters are taking me longer than a week to write. Life is just beyond crazy, and though writing is a stress reliever, I can't always fit in time. Thank you once again to Zettel for pre-reading. Seven more chapters after this.
My face in the mirror shows a break in time
A crack in the ocean
It does not align
I tried to sleep last night
But I've caught your dreaming
About days we used to wonder away
"Anyone Out There"
Duran Duran
December 9, 2012
Montreux, Switzerland
Sarah staggered up the steps to Ciel's house, shivering in the night air. The cold in her lungs acted as a stimulant, like coffee, against the warm slumber in the car on the ride back from Zurich. She had fallen asleep leaning against her husband, the inclination to do so as ingrained as her foreign language fluency. She knew he had wrapped his arm around her, cuddling her close to his chest, the gentle thumping of his heart becoming the background music in her dream. When the car had finally rolled to a stop, Sarah had roused quickly, the sudden withdrawal of Chuck's arm jarring her awake.
Sarah watched Ciel drag herself past them to open the door. The doctor's exhaustion was like an illness, extreme and unaided by a two-hour drive through the mountains in the middle of the night. Ciel's manual dexterity was impaired and she fumbled the keys, dropping them onto the cement. "We are all too tired to function properly," Ciel mumbled, her accent thicker than usual.
Chuck smiled, but something was wrong. Sarah's sixth sense, her spy sense as Ciel had called it, was screaming. The holes in her memory were impeding her ability to discern what it was that was so… off about him.
How do I know what is different, what is wrong, when I can't remember what normal is?
All Sarah had were the fragments of memory attached to her emotions that surged anew every time she looked at him. Her heart was tender, like a wound. She felt the pain radiating from Chuck, like it was her own.
He was suffering, agonizing in silence. Not like him. Learning of his mother's involvement and her apparent deception had only added to the underlying current of disquiet that had been haunting him since yesterday.
Yesterday? My God, she felt like she had aged ten years in the last 24 hours. Chuck had awoken the morning before believing she was dead, and now they stood together. Her joy at finding him, of curing the mysterious emptiness she had been carrying, had not been reciprocated in the same way from him, it seemed.
There was no doubt he had been overjoyed, relieved, thunderstruck…to know she was alive. She would remember his face, that first moment he had looked in her eyes, how much love she saw there. His feelings about her weren't in question. It was instead something within himself, some demon he struggled with internally, that was draining the life from him.
Sarah's chest burned inside at the thought of their daughter, so young and helpless, far removed from her parents. Chuck had never laid eyes on her. It was contributing to his distress, but she knew it was only a piece of a much larger puzzle. If only she could find the right words, she thought she might be able to get him to open up to her.
She wished with all her might that he would just talk to her, but she understood why he remained reticent. She didn't want things to be awkward, but they were. She and her husband had been apart for an entire year. The agony of being alone, grieving, as awful as it felt, had been his routine. He was accustomed to grief. He needed to make room for love again.
Sarah knew for herself, her love for him was the only thing holding her together as she agonized about her daughter's whereabouts.
Hadn't she always been the one who hesitated to talk, to communicate, unsure of the right words, the right sentiment? He had always known what to say, no matter the situation. Even now, she understood his inability to express himself to her was a bad omen, just the visible tip of an enormous iceberg of seething pain submerged within him.
Blanche, David's cat, mewled in the darkness before Ciel flicked on the table lamp. Sarah's tired eyes reacted to the light.
"I can sleep on your sofa, Ciel," Chuck offered, his voice gruff.
Ciel turned, frowning. She looked sickly from fatigue, pale and washed out. "The bed in the back is for two. You are too tall for the tiny sofa." She walked away from them, no further explanation. The cat followed her down the hallway to her room.
Chuck's face was burning, flushed, and he shifted his eyes away. "Sarah, please just let me–"
"Chuck," Sarah interrupted, stepping towards him. "She's right, you can't fit comfortably on that. And you're still recovering from a gunshot wound." She averted her eyes. "I can sleep out here, if that's what you want." She thought of the car ride, pressed against his chest. The thought of sleeping next to him filled her with longing. She had tried to sound neutral, but her sadness seeped into the words just the same.
"That's not what I want," he insisted. He flushed again, his eyes fluttering in embarrassment. "But, Sarah…I…"
"Sleeping." Sarah needed him to understand. There was some significance to sleeping beside him. He was her husband, after all. But now, overwrought, she only wanted comfort. And she hoped that sleeping next to her could bring him some peace, even if only for a little while, until he could find a way to talk to her. "I just want to sleep next to you." She closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush, vulnerability presented to him.
"Alright," Chuck whispered, looking into her eyes as she opened them. He looked away quickly, but pulled her into his arms. The embrace was gentle, somewhat restrained.
She knew, without understanding how she knew, that he agreed because she asked. This man would do anything for her, absolutely anything, no matter what it cost him. She nestled into his shoulder, wondering if the darkness that was blocking him from her was related to that.
If he would do anything, Sarah hoped if she asked him, he would tell her what was wrong.
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Chuck was already under the covers when Sarah entered the room. She wore the robe Ciel had given her. Beneath it, she wore a simple nightgown that belonged to Ciel. The doctor was not equipped to feed, house, and clothe her patients the way she had Sarah, and Chuck as well, despite the mitigating circumstances. Fortunately for Sarah, though Ciel was shorter, her body proportions were similar to Sarah. The nightgown was then merely short, a knee-length that ended high up on Sarah's thigh. It was too revealing, Sarah thought, but she wore it anyway.
No matter what she did, Sarah kept circling back to a memory, one she couldn't place in time, but she was in the bed she shared with Chuck, only there was a wide, cold gap on the sheet between them. He was wrapped tightly in a blanket, like he was encased in a cocoon. Her heart ached at the time she recalled. Before I could love him the way I wanted.
Her eyes stung as she noticed he was in the same posture now, on the left side of the bed. The wrong side. There was a different barrier between them now. Many, if she was honest with herself. Her only grace was in knowing they were barriers she could break, or at least that she would try to break.
"You're on the wrong side," Sarah said with a smile.
"What?" He jumped, surprised by her words.
"You sleep on the right."
He shifted awkwardly. "I know. But…I'm still sore on my left side so…"
The smile faded from her face at the thought of his injury, his brush with death as Blaser had explained. She moved towards the bed, dropping the robe at the foot of it. She watched as Chuck averted his eyes quickly at the sight of her bare legs. Sarah slid across the sheet under the covers, stopping just shy of the warmth she felt radiating from his body. She wanted to move closer, touch him, but she felt the invisible wall repelling her.
Sarah raised her hand, reaching for his chest, but pulling her hand back, hesitating, unsure of how he would react. She thought her heart might break if he rolled away, shying away from her touch. She closed her eyes, discouraged; even in bed beside him, she was still missing her husband.
Her eyes were still closed when she heard Chuck breathe out heavily, finishing with what sounded like a soft sob. Then she was in his arms, crushed against him with his lips at her temple. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, his voice broken.
Was he apologizing for the distance? Or his silence? Or something else she didn't yet understand?
She curled herself against him, softly kissing his cheek as she resigned herself to sleep, saving any of the difficult conversations that were waiting for when they had more energy. Her heart thumped as she felt his lips on hers, kissing her soundly.
Sarah fell asleep in his arms.
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Chuck watched Sarah sleep.
His eyes were puffy and stung from lack of sleep, his eyelashes gritty with salt from dried tears. He blinked to clear his blurred vision, examining the streaks on Sarah's cheeks. The urge to kiss her cheeks, kiss away the dried tears, was strong, but he didn't want to wake her prematurely.
She had woken from a nightmare in the middle of the night, crying hysterically for their missing child. He had pulled her close, offering comfort, though he had eventually broken down, the anguished sounds of her sobbing grinding his heart to pulp in his chest.
He had thought his strength was what she needed, but to his amazement, even in her tears, she had gushed with relief at his display of emotion. Show me what you feel. Tell me what you feel. Words and sentiments she had learned from him.
He tried to recall a time when this had happened before, and he couldn't. Their roles had started to reverse. He had always been the one to coax things from her, always trying to challenge her to go against the conditioning she had all of her life. It was still there; she had remembered being a spy before she had remembered being his wife.
But the woman holding him, cradling his head against her shoulder, she was his wife. Her damaged memory hadn't interfered at all with her emotions. She loved him, beyond conscious thought, like breathing.
His stomach twisted, sickening him, when he thought of all he had to tell her, when he thought of the light in her eyes dimming once she knew the truth. His inward spiral began again. He was carelessly indulging his own misery at the expense of giving her what she needed–support, understanding, strength and comfort. He was ashamed, mocking the miracle of her life with his sullen withdrawal.
As if sensing his thoughts, her eyes opened, calmly searching his face. Her features were soft, her eyes full of love.
Do not take this for granted, he scolded himself.
"I love you," he whispered, his heart about to burst. "I should have said it before. I'm so sorry. I don't mean to push you away, not after—"
She silenced him with a kiss, firm on his lips. She nestled against him, sighing. "It's just…going to take time. Everything was such a shock. We're all exhausted, stretched thin."
She stayed silent, the sound of her breathing filling the space. Her breath on his skin was a miracle, and he had no right to diminish it.
"Does it sound crazy…to tell you I love you too?"
He swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. "No, not crazy. Amazing, that's all."
"Why is it amazing?"
"Because you don't remember me."
She pulled back, seizing his face in her hands, ensuring he was looking straight at her. "I didn't remember your name or what you looked like. But I started to remember you almost as soon as I could think clearly. Like muscle memory, only it's my heart."
She kissed him, the gentlest of touches.
"Please tell me what's wrong," she whispered, pressing her head against his chest.
Her plea pulled at his heart. He didn't know where to begin, certainly not when the stresses of their situation were so plentiful and so overpowering.
She took his initial silence hard, squeezing him tighter. Her tone was more pleading, akin to begging. "Please, Chuck. I don't know why I feel like you're so far inside yourself. I only know it's not how you are."
How can you let her beg? He chastised himself.
"Something…happened to me…when I thought you died." His voice was like gravel in his mouth, scratching its way out. "After–after months of not knowing where you were, what was happening. I couldn't sleep just imagining the horrible things that were happening to you."
Her breathing became shallow as her grip on him tightened. The words started to flow, the crack in his wall widening.
"I…just…snapped. The guilt was eating me alive. I didn't care if I lived or died, as long as the people who hurt you paid for what they did. I left my sister, Morgan, Casey…"
He panted, struggling to steady his breathing. "I was ruthless, hacking and then hunting one by one. Until I found one of Quinn's men. He was in the base with you."
"The one Casey said you didn't kill?" Sarah asked plainly. Her voice was totally neutral, non judgmental.
He growled softly, deep in his chest. "Maybe not technically. But if Quinn hadn't shot him, he would have died not long after, because of what I did to him."
"Chuck, he shot you." She lifted her head, gazing at his face. He looked away. "If Blaser hadn't followed you, he would have killed you."
He tried to roll onto his back, but she held him. He felt the skin on his face scorching hot, blazing from shame.
"It doesn't change what happened. What I was doing. What I was feeling." He grimaced. "Even now, if Quinn was here, I don't think anyone or anything could stop me from killing him with my bare hands. For what he did to you. For what he took from me. From us."
She made a soft sound, a whimper and a sob. Her arms were tight around him, keeping him from falling apart.
"Chuck, you were going through hell. I can't imagine how you held yourself together as much as you did."
"No, Sarah, you don't understand," he cried, breaking free of her arms and climbing out of bed, standing with his back to her.
"Then explain it to me. Please, Chuck."
He turned, regarding her over his shoulder. She sat up, her long hair tousled and falling across her shoulders. Too much of Sarah's figure was visible beneath the thin nightgown, and he quickly looked away.
He wasn't worthy of that, of her, anymore. That was his dilemma, his struggle that she so obviously was aware of.
"I promised you that no matter what happened, I would always remain the same guy, the guy you fell in love with." He hung his head. "The fact that you may not remember exactly what the guy you fell in love with was like before…it doesn't change anything."
He hadn't heard her move, not rising from the bed nor walking to him, but she was there, right behind him, reaching around to embrace him again. She rested her cheek on his shoulder blade.
"I love you…and nothing else matters."
She sounded so sure, so confident. Yet he couldn't shake the dismal feeling of failure, like he had failed her.
Like he had failed their daughter, now six weeks old. Vague memories of his niece at the same age surfaced, and the comparison, accompanied by her absence, added to his heavy heart.
He turned in her arms, blinking away tears. He couldn't look at her, feeling unworthy of her touch. He didn't know if he ever would feel worthy again, but he needed to stop wallowing in his own misery.
They needed to find their daughter.
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"Come, have some tea," Ciel called as Sarah walked into the kitchen.
The doctor looked rested, her color refreshed after sleeping.
"Where is Chuck?" Ciel asked, leaning to look past Sarah.
"Showering." Sarah didn't say anything else, sitting at the counter and wrapping her hands around the steaming mug.
"I raised the red flag, as Halmstad calls it. It's only for the most dire emergencies, and it only works for me, with Halmstad. But if he can contact me, he will."
Sarah thought about Chuck, the information he knew that he had kept to himself. They were rested, so Sarah hoped he would share, at least as much as he could.
"He was in pieces when he was brought to me." Ciel's steady gaze made Sarah look up. "Mostly on the inside."
"I don't know how to help him," Sarah whispered.
"Just love him." Ciel's eyes misted. "He believes he gave in to his grief, that he disgraced your memory by how he acted. I can't imagine being…confronted…by a living ghost…and feeling unworthy, unclean."
"He thinks what happened to me was his fault."
Ciel nodded. "It's human nature, I think."
"It's worse with him. Because of his mother." The words came out, without thought, but Sarah knew she was right.
A pounding on the door startled Sarah, and she spilled tea from her mug onto the counter.
Ciel rushed to the door.
"Boule de poils."
The voice was male, British, and familiar. Every muscle in Sarah's body tensed.
Ciel had only partially opened the door, but one look at the older man standing there and Sarah was on her feet, hurtling herself between the doctor and her visitor.
Death is the solution to all problems.
It was his voice in her head when she remembered.
