A/N: I've been down with Covid most of last week, so I apologize for the delay. And I will admit, I would much rather write this story than watch Season 3 and all Chuck's lying. I've been procrastinating Tooth, not to mention the stupid Shaw earrings and Chuck's father dying. I will get there, but I need to feel better before I subject myself to that! Lol. This will be 15 chapters total (13 here) and I hope to finish before nevr goes on vacation. Not sure I'll make it, but it's my goal. A huge thanks to nevr for reviewing this chapter, including all my mailing and attachment issues from my cold medicine induced stupor. He did his best...any remaining snafus are fever induced. lol.

I don't remember any of it, but I must have fallen asleep in Chuck's arms as we sat on the porch, because I wake gently, in the bed, without his jacket or my socks and shoes, and with fresh bandages over my eyes.

I'm not just resting my head on his chest, I am draped over him, most of my body on top of him. He's holding me so snuggly that I realize he must be awake. I feel his breath on my scalp, his mouth buried in my hair as my head rests on his shoulder.

"Chuck?" I whisper, testing.

I hear him take a breath, surprised. "Are you ok?" he asks. My heart aches, wanting his attentive concern to mean what I want it to mean, what I told myself his brief response to my kiss could mean: that he feels at least a little bit about me the way I feel about him.

"I don't know," I tell him, too aware of the space between what I want and what I believe to be true. Even if I were eloquent like a poet, I wouldn't know what to say. Unable to find words at all in any given circumstances, I am helpless to explain anything to him.

He lifts one arm and I feel his fingers on my face, touching my jawline. He traces my lips, top and bottom, and caresses my cheek with the backs of his fingers. I can hardly breathe, shivering, waiting.

"I couldn't help it, Sarah," he whispers passionately. "I'm not impartial anymore. I don't think I ever was…Casey kept trying to tell me, but I kept arguing with him…"

I tense, shaking, reeling from the words. What did he say? It defies understanding on so many levels.

I fell for him in a matter of days…but for him, was it possible? Could he have developed feelings the moment he saw me? Or, somehow before he ever saw me?

A shock of understanding rushes through me. Our interactions in the compound, while I was drugged, were harder on him than I ever suspected. He hadn't just believed he had forced me…he already had feelings for me and having to pretend had too much truth, too much of his own desire there to disgust him because I couldn't refuse. And then this constant torture because he thinks I'm confused and delusional.

Not just my heart, but my whole body is aching. He's still touching me, lovingly stroking my cheek. I tilt my head up and find his lips. He isn't quite so shocked this time, so he kisses me back right away. He's still restrained, respectful, but not hesitant.

I let out a blissful sigh against his mouth, flicking my tongue on his lower lip until he opens his mouth. I touch his tongue with mine, slowly probing into his mouth, savoring the way he tastes. It's intimate and deep, but gentle and undemanding.

Lying on top of him, kissing him, with the emotions swelling inside me, in any other situation, would be a prelude to sex. With Bryce, that had been all it took. My body had always craved it, even if I had never found release from it.

This is one more thing Diaz took from me. That familiar flutter deep and low inside my abdomen is absent. My traumatized, ravaged body and shattered mind could not forget what had happened. I was infected, bleeding, full of internal burns and wounds.

Now, I can never express my feelings for him in a sexual way. Despite the closeness I've already allowed, I cannot fathom tolerating more intimate touching, even from him. The power of that realization overwhelms me with grief, the profound loss of something I never even knew I had. Tears spill from my eyes while I'm still kissing him.

He folds me into his arms tightly, moving his lips to my cheeks, kissing my tears away. It's like he understands why I'm upset, intuitively, reading my mind. "It will be alright. Someday, I promise, you won't feel like this. You'll be whole again." He kisses my forehead. "For now, know that I'm here. I will never let anyone hurt you, Sarah."

"I mean what I said before," I swear. "I've never felt the way I did when I was with you. When I'm with you. I…" I can't say anymore, but he isn't expecting more.

He kisses me again, just as deeply, just as gently. His answer to me.

"What happens now?" I finally ask him as we lay in the dark.

"Sleep," he whispers sleepily.

"No…I mean…you can't hide me here forever." Oh, but if he could…I would never leave here.

"You need better care than just my sister. I already—"

"No, Chuck. I mean…what's your plan? You have one. I know you do."

He sighs and I hear it in his chest like a restless wind. "I do. But it's the middle of the night. Please, just sleep. You needed more than one pint of blood, but my sister wouldn't let me give you more." He swallows, and his voice gets deeper, more intense. "I would have given you every last drop, if she would have let me…if you needed it."

Warmth, a tenderness the likes of which I have never known, floods my heart. His blood flows in my veins, reminding me.

I'm groggy, drifting to sleep. My inhibitions are gone, like I'm drunk. So I say dreamily, "I need you…not just your blood…"

He crushes me against him…and then I'm asleep, in a dark comfortable void, free of nightmares.

I wake to the sound of Chuck's voice. Muffled and distant. He's on the phone, I realize, as I comprehend he is having a conversation, but all I hear is him. He raises his voice. I hear the name "Casey." He's talking to John Casey. It must be about the plan he was waiting to tell me about.

I start to get out of bed, but he's already off the phone and walking into the room.

"Who were you talking to?" I ask abruptly.

He chuckles. "Good morning to you, too."

I cover my mouth, embarrassed for my direct eagerness. "I'm sorry. I just–"

"It's ok." I feel the bed shake as he sits next to me. His hand is on my cheek, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone. I can't help my reaction, hopeful and anticipating. Please let this continue, this understanding between us. I fear he will be reminded of Ellie's warning, that he will begin to doubt.

He guides my head towards him, kissing me with the same soft, restrained gentleness. Again, I must deepen the kiss, coaxing him to open his mouth so I can touch my tongue to his. The kiss lingers, slow and deep. I've never kissed anyone like this, all intimacy and almost no urgency. If we hadn't been on a mission and "in character," the only time Bryce ever kissed me was in bed, just as sex began, and once he was involved, inside me, our patience for kissing wore out.

I could kiss Chuck like this for hours. I'm sad when he pulls away, sighing pleasantly as he does so.

"My sister wants me to check your vision. She's not sure if she can come out today. She's trying to see if, maybe, you don't need her, at least not to help you care for yourself."

He peels the bandages away and I squint against the sunlight, which makes everything appear bathed in white. My eyes adjust gradually, the white giving way to contrasting colors. The window, curtains, furniture…the edges are extremely blurry, but the shapes are discernable. Myopia, and no longer blindness. I turn to look at Chuck.

His shirt is dark green and his pants are black. I can differentiate between his features, but his overall appearance isn't clear, so his eyes, his expression, isn't interpretable. But this is so much better, I can't help but smile.

"Still improving?" he asks, his voice light with hope.

"Yes," I beam. "Ellie can stay in Los Angeles, at least for today."

He makes a strange sound, and I wonder if he was going to say something and then changed his mind. He only excuses himself to leave me to get ready.

I rise and cautiously make my way into the bathroom. Having to use my left hand as my dominant makes the entire process go more slowly, but I am capable of washing my own hair and body, as well as dressing myself and combing out my wet hair, also redressing my wounds. At last, I've stopped bleeding from the treatment Ellie administered. I emerge and call for Chuck, to let him know I've finished.

He knocks and then enters the room. He has food with him. He sets the food on the bedside table. I lay flat for him and he administers my drops and rebandages my eyes. It now makes me sad to lose the ability to see him. He's brought breakfast and it smells delicious. We sit on the bed together and eat. We're halfway through before I think to ask him, "Why are we still eating in here?"

He chuckles. "Force of habit, I guess. We can use the table next time."

He's qualified time, and now his plan, and what that means, what will happen, fills my thoughts. "How long have I been here?" When he stays silent, I elaborate. "How many days have passed since you rescued me from Mexico?"

"Eight." He answers right away. He's keenly aware of it. I only remember three, maybe four days. I wonder how much time had elapsed between my memory of him unchaining me and waking in this bed for the first time.

"How much longer do you think we'll be here?" I want to take it back the moment I've said it, sure if leaving here is imminent, I don't want to know. I want as much time as I can have with him.

"I'm not sure. It…depends on…many different things." He's sincere. There is no end date that he has in his head that he is keeping from me.

"Can you tell me about your plan? The one you mentioned last night?"

He hesitates, but he eventually decides to tell me. His voice is oddly bland, emotionless, as he speaks. Facts only, no clue as to how he feels about what he is saying. "In order for you to be safe, completely, Ryker and Shaw…have to be…neutralized." That word, in his voice, chills me. In the world of the CIA, that means killed, assassinated. It doesn't fit with what I know of Chuck.

"Casey is calling in some favors right now. Once all that is in place, our mission begins." He sighs heavily. "Casey…and whoever he recruits to help us…can't do what they need to do without the Intersect."

A cold, numbing fear grips me. I don't have a day or a date, but eventually, and probably soon, he is going to leave here.

He continues, though his voice changes. I wonder what he sees on my face, if he senses my dismay. "Ellie will come back and stay here with you while I'm gone." He takes a deep breath. "She knows what to do, no matter what happens."

The fear swells, amplifies in my chest, choking me until I can hardly speak. "Why are you doing this? Risking so much–"

He touches my face with that same affection and intensity. "Because you have a right to live your life, to be happy, for once."

It's frightening to admit to myself that the happiness he wants me to find…I already have here, with him. And I will never be truly happy without him.

My eyes fill with tears, wetting the bandage. "You took all this on yourself, for me?"

"I was willing to do it, before I ever met you. Now…" He sobs, then pulls himself together. "Now, I have to do it. My heart won't let me not do it."

I lunge forward, wrap my arms around him and hold him, moved beyond words by what he just said. He holds me against him lovingly. His emotion envelops me, surrounds me. "How long do we have? Before you leave? A day? A week? Please…" I beg.

"Most likely a week. I can't say more than that." He sounds so sad and his voice echoes inside his chest, my ear pressed against it. My own sadness floods me as I cling to him. It's not enough time…for so many things, the least of which is both of us coming to terms with what's happening between us.

I'm crying in his arms, even as I scold myself. I knew this was temporary. Part of an elaborate plan where our paths were only to cross briefly. We were meant to go back to our lives. Even if we somehow had started to feel things for each other. Acknowledging it didn't make the pain at the thought of never seeing him again any less.

"It's going to be ok. I promise." Does he have any idea why I'm so upset? Or does he think this is just part of my delusion?

I tell myself to not make it worse, to pull myself together to keep him from believing something that isn't true. "A week?" I say, forcing myself to quiet. "If it's all the time we have, we should make the best of it."

"Physical therapy, drops, antibiotics…" He's teasing, but he sounds weary.

"And in between…we can talk." I realize as I say it how upset I am, devastated, that I'm not capable of more. That my body will not allow what my heart so obviously wants. Talking will have to be enough; it's all I have. As if somehow assimilating his history, his story into my being will substitute for sharing my body with him.

He strokes my hair. His voice is lighter. "What would you like to talk about?"

"You. I want to know everything about you."

He chuckles softly. "Didn't Bryce tell you all that already?"

"Facts maybe." I lift my head and tilt my face up. "But…your life is more than a dossier."

He pauses. "You know, that is true. For you too. If you promise to tell me the same information about you, you can ask me anything."

"My life is…darker." I'm not sure where the word comes from, only that I understand darkness in a way he can't. My temporary physical blindness is nothing compared to the darkness in my soul. It makes me suddenly feel unworthy of him, though I know he doesn't believe that.

"There is no light without darkness." It sounds like he's quoting something—I don't know what and he doesn't explain. "There is nothing hidden in darkness that can frighten when light is shined through." He blows out a breath, a soft chuckle. "Something like that. I don't even remember where I heard it."

"You really think that?" I ask.

"Maybe I used to," he sighs. "If the CIA has taught me anything, it's that those things I always feared in the dark are just as frightening in the light of day." He touches my face tenderly and my heart aches for him. "And I know…that if you can learn to not fear something…even the darkness…that it loses all its power."

I'm stunned, left speechless by his eloquence. I'm entranced as he leans forward, his lips just inches from mine, and whispers, "You're beautiful. All of you. Even the darkness." He kisses me and I melt into him. His kiss is the same, restrained out of respect and concern for me.

The sensation I noted before, my body's feeling of being shorted out, incapable of desire, is strangely absent this time. For a moment I forget my aversion and my body responds. I add urgency to his delicate kiss.

My hunger startles him and he pulls away. "Sarah…" Sadness and regret.

"I'm sorry," I apologize quickly, hating that I've pushed this, made him uncomfortable. "I was…surprised, that's all." I feel my face burning. "My body…doesn't know how to…react."

"I know," he whispers, but it turns to a growl. "I hate it, what happened to you. What he did to you. I hate that he was able to turn something beautiful into something ugly and violent."

His words strike deep into me. He thinks of sex as beautiful. Or, making love, as I surmise he must call it. I've never made love, not like that. Sex for me was exercise, physical and detached from my emotions. My time in captivity changed my perceptions. It had been an endless string of brutal, painful abuse of my body alternated with disgustingly pleasurable warping of my own will.

In the beginning, the attacks, though they were sexual in nature, I never thought of as sex. It was just violence. But my experiences while drugged…the line was blurred in those instances. I have an aversion to the idea of sex now…but part of that is the fear that pleasure of any kind like that has been polluted, that any pleasure I could hope to experience will only remind me of those times when it was forced upon me for the perverse desires of others.

The feeling of grief, of loss, surges again.

"I can't stop…thinking about it. I want something so badly…and yet…it terrifies me at the same time."

Acknowledging my feelings, my desire, affects him profoundly. He struggles to speak again. "It's only been a week, Sarah. Everything is raw…unhealed. And not just your body. Trauma like that is real and it will be with you for a long time." Sadness, regret…and disappointment.

"I know, Chuck. I do. I know that's why I'm still so afraid. But…" Say it! Say it! I will never get another chance. "I can't help how I feel." I love you.

Oh, how cowardly I am. I can't say it. It sounds crazy, and attached to what he said I feel like it will prove that I'm crazy, projecting something onto him that is imagined.

I've never loved anyone before. When I have to leave here, I know I will never love anyone else but him. He has transformed my heart, effortlessly, irrevocably. It belongs to him, and soon he will leave here with it and I will be helpless to stop him.

He kisses my forehead and clears away our breakfast dishes.

We could have sat at the table, or on the porch, or walked on the trail in the woods…but instead we sit in bed, propped against the headboard, our arms around each other. We talk for hours and hours, slowly revealing our past and our histories to each other.

He makes me laugh often. The ease of speaking with him, talking to him, lets me open up and tell him everything. I talk about my sinful past with my father, my troubling days with the CIA. My Red Test, my missions, the people whose lives had affected mine. In return he tells me everything about his childhood and his parents, his friends and school, his heartbreaks and failures.

This conversation starts here, but continues for the entire week while he is waiting for John Casey to get back in touch. Each day when I hear him on the phone, I feel dread until he tells me…not yet, not today. I was already in love with him, but after so much talking, so much…togetherness, I am even more in love with him, hopelessly, completely. There is an intimacy between us that has transcended physical union. He is fully inside my heart and my soul. And I know he feels the same.

On the morning of the 15th day of my stay in the cabin with Chuck, when Chuck peels the bandages off my eyes for good, now that the drops are done, I finally see his face clearly. The blurriness has been receding…and now it's completely gone. "I can see, Chuck. I can see," I breathe, my eyes misting as I see his smile, so bright and beautiful, for the very first time.

The expression on his face, the look in his eyes, now finally clear to me, steals all my breath. The last time I had seen his face clearly, I had seen sadness and regret. Now, there is only joy. And love. Love. I never said the words out loud, and neither did he, but he doesn't need to. It shines from his eyes, making them glow.

"Oh…Chuck…" I sigh, cupping his face in my hands. He kisses me, the softest, sweetest of kisses. Then our morning routine begins again. He leaves to make breakfast and I go to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Seeing his face has done something to me. For the first time, instead of getting dressed, I leave only the robe on. It feels right, to not hide myself from him. He blushes furiously, surprised, when he returns with our food. Now that I can see it clearly, I see how adorable his awkwardness is. He doesn't mention my state of attire, probably doing his best to ignore it.

When I move into our normal posture, seated on the bed, close to him, he hesitates. But only for a moment. After all this time, he knows I wouldn't have done this if I had any qualms about it. Our arms hold each other. I summon my courage, take a deep breath, and undo the sash on my robe.

"Sarah…" He gasps.

I shrug the robe off my shoulders, quickly, before I lose my nerve.

He's trying to talk, but he can't seem to form a coherent word. He's thunderstruck. He was not expecting this.

"Please, just hold me," I whisper, curling against his body, feeling his clothes on my bare skin. I'm trembling, and he struggles, battling within himself. It takes many moments before his arms wrap around me and he folds me against him, one hand on my back and the other behind my head, holding me against his chest.

"I want to be close to you," I breathe. "And…I don't want to feel afraid."

His voice shakes when he replies. "I understand."

He does. He really does. Relief rushes through me and soon my trembling stops. This time, we don't speak. He just holds my naked body in his arms. I am as vulnerable as I could be, but I'm safe, so safe, in the arms of the man I love. The man who loves me.

For now, that's enough.