A/N: Back with more. The curtain is slipping. Much more will make sense after this chapter. As my beta mentioned, Sarah is getting closer to canon. A huge thanks to nevr for previewing. Some whacky things that didn't make sense now do! lol. Things really get going after this. Enjoy.

I scramble up from the floor and pull myself up to the bed. Chuck is sitting up, his knees making a tent with the sheet that lays loosely across him. He's holding his head as it's bowed over his knees. There's no doubt—Chuck is weeping.

"Chuck," I whisper urgently.

His fingers are still tangled in his hair, pressing against his temples, but he turns towards me. His eyes are still crushed shut, like he is in extraordinary pain. He's thrashing as he holds his head.

I reach for him, worried. I touch his shoulder and I'm alarmed at how warm his skin feels, feverish and slick with sweat. "Chuck," I repeat.

He opens his eyes but grits his teeth, like he's fighting pain to do so. His eyes are glassy with tears. "Oh…" He releases his head and gingerly probes my cheek where he struck me. It stings but I don't flinch. "I hurt you." He gasps, shuddering. "I hit you."

"It was an accident," I say dismissively. "Talk to me, Chuck. What's the matter?"

"Headache," he groans. "Usually…in the middle of the night. I…I'm not usually…out of my room." Speaking is a great effort for him.

I don't know what to do, how to help him. My hands hover on his shoulder and arm.

Moving quickly, Chuck throws off the covers and staggers out of bed. It's difficult to see in the dark, but I see him crouching, sifting through his clothes that are scattered upon my floor. I hear rattling and a click. He pops something into his mouth and swallows without water. He leans against the bed and his head is close to me.

I listen in silence. It takes time, but his breathing calms, until I can no longer hear his ragged gasps. He stops holding his head.

"The Intersect." Chuck's voice is low, but saturated with emotion. Pain, emotional pain. Anguish. "My flashes aren't noticeable anymore, not even to Casey. But it causes pain, all the time now, and it never used to."

"Did you flash?" I ask, confused.

"No, but I did today when I was out with Carina. More than usual."

He struggles to stand. I touch his arm and he still feels scalding hot. He's still visibly trembling. "I shouldn't have stayed in here…" he mutters.

"Why did you?" I ask. I'm sitting up, holding the sheet over my breasts, odd modesty after the wild encounter we shared.

He's half dressed when he turns to me. His pants are on, his shirt on but unbuttoned. I see his face in the moonlight.

His face, the way he's looking at me, makes my breath catch. He looks like Chuck. My Chuck. At least the way he might have been if I hadn't run away from how he made me feel.

His features are soft, his eyes full of emotion. There is such an air of sadness around him like vapor, that my eyes well up.

"I…couldn't." He moves closer to the bed. "I couldn't stop…touching you. I fell asleep listening to you breathe. I can't ever sleep, but you…"

He's soft-spoken, vulnerable. Emotional. I had seen him cool and collected, passionately engaged…but at last I'm seeing how he feels.

He wears a cloak of misery that drags his shoulders down. I imagine he is haunted by everything this job has required him to do. I feel the emptiness as if it were my own—caused by what this job had taken from him.

"I never wanted to hurt you. I should have left you alone. I…" He touches my face. His hand shakes so badly, I feel it in my jaw.

I rise up on my knees, letting the sheet fall. He keeps his eyes focused on my face. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you." I kiss him softly. "I still do."

He seizes me, pressing me against his chest and holding my head. He buries his face in my hair, kissing my temple with a tenderness that shocks me. "You shouldn't. Not anymore."

Guilt drips from every word. He despises what he is, who he has become. I can feel it. This emotion was missing when he told me Ellie's brother was dead. Now he's weeping over it.

"I can't help it," I whisper.

He relaxes, but not enough. He doesn't believe me or he doesn't feel worthy of any of it.

"Promise me you'll get out. Go to your mother's. I'll make sure you're all safe. Forever."

Why am I deserving of forgiveness, but he isn't? Tears stream from my eyes. He touches my face, possibly feeling the dampness on his skin. "Why are you crying?" he asks.

He still has no idea. "I left because I was afraid." I repeat the words, sure he's confused. "I thought if I left, I would stop feeling the way I did. But I didn't. I never stopped."

"Sarah," he gasps against my hair. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him. He shakes so badly I feel it in my bones. "I'm sorry…for all of this. For using you, for—"

"Is that what you did?" I demand to know. I don't believe him. The encounter in his office is the outlier. But there was nothing about our time here in my bed that made me feel used. I wanted him. He literally wore me out with pleasure.

"That's my job, isn't it? You, Zondra, Tatiana…even Amy. More than you have any idea."

It's only then that I realize with me, he gathered no intelligence, outside of perhaps confirming I rarely refused sex. He already knew all that. "To seduce me?"

"You…it's not like with the others."

How does he mean? No pillow talk, no truth-serum enhanced pillow talk? Zondra certainly enjoyed sex with him, and she was the hardest, coldest woman I knew. Tatiana hated men touching her but enjoyed being with Chuck. But everything he knew he'd learned in situations like those.

Why am I different? I'm afraid to ask. I don't want to know; I don't want my illusions shattered. I wanted to believe he came to my room and stayed because he felt something for me. Maybe not love, but some connection beyond just pleasure.

I kiss him, softly. My intention is to arouse him, draw him back into bed with me. He isn't cruel, but he withdraws, backing away from me. "We can't do this again."

An involuntary cry escapes my lips, his rejection stinging.

"Nothing ever felt so good. You have to know that. You're amazing. That's why we can't."

I release him, hurt and dejected. Did he say that to every one of his conquests? My gut tells me no, but my hurt makes me question.

"Go back to sleep. Hopefully, for you, tomorrow is the end."

He releases me and he's gone. I feel cut open, like everything inside me is spilling out of my body. He wished me sleep, but it hurts too much.

I cry myself back to sleep.

~O~

Ten orgasms during two marathon stretches of sex have left their marks on and in my body. My inner thigh muscles ache when I move. My abdominal muscles hurt like I'd done hundreds of sit ups. Muscle fatigue from orgasms. A new experience.

My body felt amazing, but my heart was ruined. Broken into a thousand pieces. I knew this would be the consequence, but I wanted him more. I don't regret it, knowing now it wouldn't happen again. At least not like that.

I'm lying tangled in the sheets that still smell like him, trying to find the strength to face the day. The entire night runs back and forth in my mind.

Headaches…caused by the Intersect. Just what had Beckman done to fix the Fulcrum version they'd forced into his head?

I recall the medication he had taken in the dark. He carried whatever it was with him. It had been in his pants' pocket. He said it happened most frequently in the middle of the night. Standard analgesics took time to work. Sometimes 30 minutes or longer. His symptoms had eased after only a few minutes.

What had he taken?

Alcohol had been my poison of choice. Was Chuck taking something worse? All of his symptoms from last night now spin through my head. Chuck didn't have an addictive personality, although, to be fair, neither did I. There is only so much pain a person can take before medication in some form becomes necessary.

I can't stop thinking about it. I decide I will sneak into Chuck's room to see for myself. If he has prescription medication, it will be easy enough to find. If nothing is there, then something else is going on.

I shower and dress and then creep down the hallway in search of Chuck's room. It's the last room on the right, at the end of the hallway. It makes sense now, as I realize Zondra had been in his room the night I'd heard them. Close enough that noises would reach my room.

I'm at the door, about to enter, when I think it's possible that I may be picked up on surveillance footage. Maybe in the hallway…but in his personal quarters? That would play like pornography. I tell myself Chuck would have more discretion, and sense, than that. I could explain my presence in the hallway and even opening his door. That convinces me.

I don't know if I was expecting something like his room in Burbank. That would be crazy. But seeing how starkly and bleakly his room is decorated—like a hotel room—makes my heart ache. Chuck is gone. Carina's words again. Perhaps the glimpse I'd seen last night was merely a ghost.

I hurry into the bathroom. He's just recently showered, it seems. The powerful scent of his body wash is heavy in the air. Despite that, the room is immaculate. Nothing out of place and sparkling clean. I open the medicine chest door.

There are two large prescription bottles, orange and white. The label is printed in English, like they were issued in the U.S. He's been out of the U.S. for over two years; I wonder at the significance of this.

One bottle has small white pills. Tramalfidrone. This seems to be what he had in his pocket last night. Take as needed.

The second bottle has larger capsules, half white and half green. Laudanol. Take once daily in the morning.

What is this? Both medications are prescribed by someone with NCS credentials. Not CIA, not NSA. That perhaps explained Jane Bentley's presence at the initial briefing. But more specifically…it explained nothing.

Feeling like I have electricity running in my veins, I snap photographs of both bottles and charge out of Chuck's room. Casey has a lot more explaining to do.

~O~

I want to barge into Casey's office screaming again, but I make myself stop. I need his help, not another antagonist encounter that alienates me further. I remind myself that I don't know anything—and he may not either, not if the NCS was secretly running the show. I have that as my angle—transparency. At least where I can start.

I knock on his shut door. I hear muffled sounds, then a louder, "Come."

I force the calm, reaching deep inside myself for the professionalism I used to be known for.

"Morning, Walker. What can I do for you?" His voice is measured. I'm glad I calmed down before charging in.

"I have a few questions for you…about Chuck."

He makes a face that I can't interpret. "You couldn't ask him?"

"I want to know what you know. Or at least as much as you can tell me."

He spreads his hands, a gesture that requests I continue.

"Did you know the NCS has Chuck on medication?"

"The tramalfidrone? Yeah."

He doesn't mention the second drug. I file that away and continue. "What for? Do you know?"

"How do you know? And why do you care?" Casey asks.

I'm going to have to tell him more than I want to. But this is more important than my privacy. "He woke up with a debilitating headache and popped a pill and it went away in a few minutes. He said it was the Intersect."

"Hmm." He doesn't say anything else, and I say a silent thanks. He knows what it means. Chuck's added me to his rotation, although to me, I don't think that's actually the truth. At least I hope it's not.

"Vicky…Vittoria…she's an Intersect. Next gen. Bentley got a hold of the program, worked out the kinks, and chose a candidate. Captain Dunwoody." The name sounds familiar from Beckman's briefing. "She could flash mid-sentence and you would have no idea. She's flawless and unstoppable. Exactly what the Intersect was meant to be."

I have to have faith that there's a point to this. I stay on topic. "You said the same thing about Chuck."

"Right. Now. But that took time, Walker."

"He went to a red site to train, didn't he?"

"You remember what the kid was like. All heart, no guts. The Fulcrum Intersect didn't work at first, and it never worked the way they wanted it to. His emotions would block it, and he couldn't flash. They were ready to drop him. He knew that meant back to the bunker so he asked for help. The re-engineering was a success. But it caused pain, headaches and sleeplessness. The tramalfidrone keeps him stable."

"What is it? Pain medication?"

"Plain pain meds, even meloxicam, didn't help. It's a custom drug, analgesic but anti-seizure too. I'm not a science guy, Walker, but it controls the headaches and relieves the stress on his neural network."

At least that explained why it seemed to work like magic. It was a customized cocktail drug. Very cutting edge on the part of the DNI. "So Dunwoody doesn't need either drug, then. Is that why you brought her up?"

"Either drug? What are you referring to?"

"He also has a prescription for laudanol."

Casey goes so sickly white, with his eyes so wide open that his irises seem to shrink, that I'm instantly frightened. He definitely doesn't know Chuck is on the second drug.

He rises to his feet, ready to lunge at me across his desk. "That's impossible, Walker! You're wrong."

I grab my phone and call up the photograph I took of Chuck's medicine cabinet. I turn the phone to show him. He snatches the phone away roughly. While he's looking at it, he falls back into his chair. Falls. Like his legs just gave out.

"Casey, you're scaring me. What?"

He struggles quietly for many uncomfortable moments. His eyes dart back and forth. He runs one hand down his face. A low, rumbling growl builds in his chest until it becomes a roar.

His hand viciously sweeps the items on his desktop to the floor, followed by a fist that smashes down, rattling the structure. "Goddamn those sons of bitches!"

"Casey…" I sink slowly into the chair across from his desk. My legs are shaking too badly to continue standing.

He visibly controls his rage, looking at the desktop instead of me. "I'm assuming you're familiar with the Omaha Project?"

Omaha? All I knew of it was the few sentences Bryce mentioned when I told him I knew about Fleming and Stanford, because Fleming compromised the intel and we had to clean up after him. "Vaguely."

He looks up at me. "Military operation. An extrapolation of a study the government conducted in the 1960s. Basically about reprogramming the human brain to create quasi-cyborg soldiers."

It sounded like what Bryce had described, as well as explaining Bryce's reaction when they were younger, his desire to protect Chuck at all costs. It also sounded very much like what the Intersect was meant to do.

"They spent years trying to isolate viable candidates. The government pulled funding when those tests came up shy. Instead, they shifted to pharmaceuticals. Laudanol was the final product."

"What?" I gasp. My mouth is dry and I almost choke. I'm terrified of what I think he's going to say.

"I know more than I wish I did, mainly because they tested it on a handful of men in my unit when we were deployed in Afghanistan. It was designed to make them fearless. Emotionless. Like robots."

My insides feel like they're collapsing onto themselves. Oh God…Chuck!

"It worked. It worked too well. They couldn't feel anything. All six of them died. They…gouged out their own eyes, carved up their own flesh…because they were so desperate to feel anything, even pain. That's all classified, Walker, but…"

"Does Chuck know that?" My voice is strident. If Chuck's been on this medication for years, why hasn't he done something similar?

Casey looks daggers at me. "This is Bentley's doing. I'd bet my life on it. Beckman would never have allowed it. The drug was pulled, moth-balled. Too dangerous."

The floor feels like it's tipped and I'm sliding. Time lags, like I'm watching myself from two seconds in the future. Tunnel vision.

Calm, cool, calculating and collected Chuck…seducing women, torturing and killing. Because he was drugged. Drugged!

All the pieces that have been strewn about in my head now line up to make the clear picture. I had barely recognized him. I had asked…what had happened to alter who he was as a person. The truth was…nothing. I'd seen Chuck, the man I loved, weeping.

The drug must wear off through the night and he needs redosing in the morning.

Intellectually, I know Casey isn't to blame. No one knew about this but Bentley. But my logic isn't in control. My heart is, my outraged heart.

I'm on my feet, lunging at Casey, pummeling him. "How could you let them do that to him?" I'm screaming. "It was impossible! It made no sense! You never questioned it?" My rage turns to tears. "You let them poison him into doing what he would never have done of his own free will! How could you?"

He grips my wrists, stopping me from beating on him anymore, though he let me assault him longer than I imagine he would have otherwise. He's shocked. He's culpable. And he knows it.

"Sarah!"

He shouts. He's been shouting, only I was screaming over him.

I'm crying. "I saw him…when it was wearing off. He knows all the horrible things that he's done and without the drug, he crumbles. He's devastated."

Casey is struggling to return to his neutral disposition. He speaks again, his voice heavy. Angry. "He's not a killer. Not like us. I used to know that." His voice changes, becoming as gentle as I've ever heard it. "I shouldn't have forgotten it."

"They drugged him and forced him to kill."

Something occurs to Casey and he glances at my phone again. "Jesus Christ," he gasps, paling again.

"What?"

"The dose. It's huge. Triple what they gave those guys in my unit. No wonder he appears in withdrawal that early in the morning."

"He has no idea what the drug is, does he?" I ask, my stomach sinking with dread.

Casey shakes his head sharply. "He thinks they're for pain. Nothing else. He would have told me if he thought otherwise. The dose is so high, he wouldn't even question the change in his personality. He wakes up and doses, and everything seems fine."

I only know because he fell asleep next to me.

"We have to do something, Casey. We can't let them get away with this!" I want him to tell Beckman.

"Whoa, hold your horses, Walker," Casey snaps.

"Enough of this!" I shout.

"I shouldn't have to remind you we're on a mission. A very serious mission. One of the most prolific assassins in modern times is trying to get his hands on a weapon of mass destruction with the help of a double agent. Chuck has a very specific plan that he's orchestrating. He doesn't have time to detox. Lives are at stake. Paolo is already dead. We're not losing anyone else."

"How can you let this go on, knowing what you know?" I accuse him, my eyes narrowing.

"Still the same old thing with you, huh, Walker? You know— mission first. It has to be that way. Feelings get people killed."

"Apparently so does lack of feelings. I care about him. You used to. Do you not anymore?" I've admitted too much, but I'm desperate.

He growls a sigh. "Walker, I will deal with this as soon as I can. But the mission, specifically his plan tonight, has to go off without a hitch. I can't have him second-guessing himself in that kind of situation." Casey knows what Chuck recruited me for, it seems.

I hated it more than I could express in words. But Casey was right. There was no abort, start over, or walk away. One of Chuck's agents was dead. And he was counting on me to help him get the information he needed. He made promises to me, but those aren't nearly as important as his wellbeing.

I feel like throwing up. I am due to participate in group sex with Chuck, knowing he will be acting against his will. Drugged, unable to decide for himself.

But what other choice do I have?

A/N: Did you guess correctly? That was the big ta-da (dum dum dum)...but there are some more before we're done