Author's Note - So, I apologize for this taking so long. I hadn't really decided if I wanted to make this a multi-chapter piece until I really got into this chapter, and even then, it took me twice as long to get it just where I liked it. I should warn you all right now that I am not one of those writers that can churn out a chapter a week. I'm a perfectionist and even then, I'm not entirely happy with what gets published here when I finally do submit it. So if you're going to stick with me, I'm apologizing right now. It's going to take a while, champs. But we're Chuck fans, we know how to wait.

That being said, this chapter did take me forever to write and yet I'm still not sure I ended it where I should've. I really wanted to include what will be the next chapter, into this one, but this chapter was getting long anyway and would've dragged on FOREVER if I had included what I wanted. Was that vague enough for you? I hope so. Either way, I'm just glad to be writing in a somewhat normal capacity these days so without further ado, the chapter.

As always, I don't own "Chuck." I missed the auction when Subway snapped it up, natch.

Chuck vs. the Pain

Chapter Two

The first feeling is fire. And then tearing ripping searing pain. As if someone had stabbed him and slowly dragged the knife through his skin, tearing open every limb to reveal the muscles and bones inside. He doesn't dare to move, to untangle the sheets from around him, to shift from his position on the bed. His shoulder burns, both hot and cold, and the foggy memories of an ice pack being attached the night before come to his eyes. A rotator cuff injury, she'd said, and he remembers her fingers moving across his back and up to his shoulders, kneading the skin like dough.

The pain in his body doesn't even compare to the pain in his head. This was not throbbing, this was the same fiery feeling, as if his very brain were burning on a grill. Set aflame by the new information being hidden.

Chuck winces as his eyes flutter open, or threaten to, until he shuts them tightly against the bright, burning rays of the sun. Even mere thought brings tears of pain to his eyes. He breathes slowly, deeply, bringing air into his screaming abdomen, as deep as it will go, and letting it out slowly.

He feels the mattress beneath him shift.

Slowly, carefully, he tries to take stock of his surroundings, despite his eyes remaining firmly shut. He is on his back, on a bed (his own bed, he remembers) and he can feel the heat of skin next to him. Someone is next to him. Someone is brushing the hair from his forehead, long fingers sweeping curls away, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Sarah is doing these things, and as soon as he breathes in once more, her fingers draw away. He puts a hand to his eyes and opens them slowly, before his fingers press at their lids and rub in circles for a few seconds. And then slowly, slowly, they open and he is met with the saddest blue eyes he'd ever seen. But, in true Sarah Walker form, her face is a delicate mask, poised to hide the tumultuous emotions beneath. The memories of the night before come rushing back, playing in front of him just like any other flash he'd experienced. The wedding, their dance. His father (where was he?), the new Intersect, Bryce, kung fu, oh my god.

Oh, Bryce.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice is clinical and maternal all at once, tender and detached. He swallows hard as he takes a shaky breath and attempts to shake his head. That is met with a wince as he opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again. Her eyes dart over him and he imagines she is scanning him like a robot, taking in every injury, cataloguing and analyzing to give the best response.

Then there is a sick feeling when he realizes that is something the Intersect can do.

Sarah doesn't speak as she moves from the bed, clad in one of his tees (black, with silk screened numbers and symbols running in columns along the front, the words "The Matrix" running through the middle - she'd chosen it for irony's sake) and her blue cotton panties, padding silently from his room. His mind is in a panic now, wondering where she is going, oh god what if someone sees her, before he realizes. Awesome and Ellie are on their honeymoon. The apartment is empty, and/or his father is asleep. He lets out a long sigh before a grunt of pain follows and it isn't long before Sarah arrives with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. She pauses, biting her lower lip apprehensively before setting the water and pills down at the bedside table and coming over to the side that doesn't have the melted ice pack and bandage at the shoulder.

"Can you sit up?" She asks gently, and Chuck puffs out his cheeks as he considers the idea, letting out a long breath of air in response.

"I can try... maybe. " He says and even his voice and throat feel like a knife had been shoved down there. He briefly remembers the guttural attack cries he'd made during the fight and closes his eyes as if refusing the memory. No, he needs to sit up, and focuses his energy on that. Planting his hands firmly on the mattress, he moves to push himself up, his shoulder protesting in blazing agony. He groans as his head falls backward, panting at the exertion.

Again, her fingers are at his forehead, pushing away hair as her other hand eases beneath him. "I'll help. One more time, okay?"

He nods feebly before sucking in a breath of air, shutting his eyes and trying to lift himself, finding it easier when he feels the sure push of her palm on his back, wary of the injured shoulder. It takes a minute but he is finally up to a sitting position, leaned carefully against the headboard of his bed.

"Dear god," he groans, a hand pressing to his eyes once more. Sarah doesn't smile, she waits for a second before going back around to her side of the bed, retrieving the glass of water and the bottle of painkillers. She peruses the label absently before negotiating the cap.

"Can you hold the glass, Chuck?" She asks and he sighs, opening his eyes and glancing at the water. Cool, refreshing water, liquid of the gods, bringer of relief, he hopes against hope that his hands will cooperate. Against every instinct, every thought telling him not to move his arm, he attempts to lift it, of course his right arm, the injured shoulder, only to yelp softly in pain. His arm falls limply to his side and he tries to take it with the left hand. This hand is more successful and he can hold it, if her fingers linger near the bottom and guide it carefully. Sarah shakes out three of the blue pills into her palm.

"Open." She instructs and he obeys, opening his mouth, all at once embarrassed by his plight. One incredible act of idiocy and he is an invalid in front of super-spy Sarah Walker. It's bad enough that she has to help him sit up and make sure he doesn't spill water all over himself, but to have to feed him pills as well? If his cheeks weren't flushed from the exertion of sitting up, they would be from sheer embarrassment. Sarah is grateful for the distraction, though she does not show it. She will gladly nurse Chuck back to health while his doctor sister and surgeon brother in law are away, avoiding questions, giving her mind something to do. Keeping her from growing restless and her mind drifting. No, she refuses to acknowledge anything that does not concern Chuck's health at this precise moment. She is careful putting the pills in his mouth and he immediately chases them with water, wincing as he swallows. But every gulp of water is ambrosia, golden nectar, every huge drink that pours down his throat revitalizes him just a bit more and when he returns the cup to Sarah, it is empty.

"What- what did I just take." His brows furrow as he swallows once more and Sarah replaces the cap on the bottle as she moves back around to set it at the nightstand.

"Naproxen. An anti-inflammatory for your shoulder and painkiller for everything else. You'll be fine, Chuck, if a little woozy." She explains, climbing back into bed next to him, fingers moving towards the damp bandage. She doesn't explain as she begins to unwrap the Ace bandage, gingerly lifting his arm to allow easier unwinding. He watches her carefully, long fingers moving with precision, determination, unyielding in their quest for healing. She sets the bandage and watery ice pack aside, fingers ghosting over the red shoulder. It is bruised, but the swelling has gone down considerably and she very lightly touches the purple and green bruise bloomed beneath the skin. Chuck winces, sharply sucking in air and she looks up, concern and apology etched on her face. "Sorry, sorry," she breathes and shifts to sit back on her heels.

For the second time this morning their eyes meet and they both let out a slow breath of air. The silence between them is full, hearts pounding, words forming and hanging in the air, unsaid. Chuck shifts, reaching over with his good arm to brush his fingers along her bare arm gently. She shivers as goosebumps rise and breaks their gaze, sighing once more.

"Thank you, you know, for-- for taking care of me." He breathes and she nods silently.

"It's my job." She says softly and his brows knit together, head tilting as she breaks their stare.

"Is it?"

Her head immediately snaps up, brows furrowed in a look of almost anger. Almost. Indignation is what colors her face, he realizes, but he waits as she sets her jaw tight, clenching her teeth. She seems to pick the words one by one.

"Of course it is." She says, her voice level, although none of her indignation colors her tone. It's the disappointed exasperation a parent would use when speaking to a child who had heard the same excuse everyday. "You're the Intersect."

Chuck's hand moves from her arm, gripping her wrist gently, thumb moving over the strong bones there in gentle circles. Their gazes move to what is happening and he licks his lips absently, opening and closing his mouth. The gears are turning as he picks his words and he swallows down a gulp of air before diving in.

"Bryce before... before-- he said you weren't going to go with him."

Sarah's head shoots up and he feels the slightest tremor beneath his palm and thumb. He is lazy, taking his time in meeting her gaze as her cheeks redden. She is silent, his grip tightens, ever so slightly tugging her closer to him. She doesn't fight. "Was it true? Sarah."

Her hand moves slowly, unsure, before resting on his jaw lightly, thumb moving over his cheekbone. He leans into her hand slightly, eyes not wavering from hers. She is the one that breaks the stare as she takes a deep breath.

"I said I don't want to save the world." She whispers and his brows furrow before he remembers. Their slow dance, hands grasping each other, cheek pressed to cheek. Just before his father came in and had to ruin everything. It would not be the first time that Chuck curses Steven Bartowski's timing. His breath catches in his throat and he reaches up, taking her hand from his face, drawing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on the back of her hand.

"What were you-- when my dad interrupted us, what were you going to say?" He breathes and her cheeks redden as her knees grow increasingly interesting. Chuck squeezes her hand lightly, silently urging her as the words bubble up and catch in her throat, the courage she had found in his grasp last night so foreign now. One deep breath is all it takes for her to open her mouth.

"I want it all, too, Chuck. I want," she stops herself, bringing her eyes to meet his, glassy and wet at the edges. She sighs, wiping at her eyes furiously, angrily swiping at the tears there, her eyes that had betrayed her. Now he brings his hand to her cheek, wiping a stray before cupping her face. "I want a real life." She whispers and he sighs heavily, looking down at the sheets still around himself.

"And now?" His voice is soft, but not hiding any of the emotion, shaky and hesitant. He doesn't look up and she doesn't encourage him too. She swallows hard, stiffening in his grip and his fingers twitch against her cheek. She waits, pausing to look around, warily glancing around the room, to spots where she knew she had hidden bugs. Where Casey had hidden bugs. She remembered in that second, that moment that oh. They had been leaving. Operation Bartowski was over.

That meant no more bugs in Chuck's room.

This realization is like her hand beneath his back earlier, gently urging her onwards. A sure, strong point in his case, his eyes pleading for some sort of explanation. Come on, Sarah, give me something. Anything.

"You having the new Intersect doesn't change what I want, Chuck." She says, her fingers beneath his chin to coax his eyes to meet hers. "The only thing that changes now... is how we go about getting what we want." Her gaze is no longer watery and his is no longer sad, there is sureness in both the brown and the blue locked in each other.

Slowly, a smile creeps along Chuck's face. The kind of smile that starts crooked, one corner turning up more than the other that finds Sarah's lips just as easily, the kind of smile she'd never been able to resist. He presses his forehead to hers lightly and with no words, they find peace in each other. Her hand moves, cupping his chin as she moves her lips against his, chaste and delicate. This is not the feverish kiss of before, of imminent death or under the eye of a teacher. This is a kiss of the morning, of their peace in the silence. He leans forward, urging for more and she pulls away slowly, kissing his top lip and the tip of his nose.

"Chuck," she breathes and his eyes flutter open. Sarah sighs, her hand still at his chin, but the ghost of her smile still lingers on her face. "We're not going to figure out everything in this one morning. It'll take some time to-- find what we can make work." She pauses, her eyes flickering back to his lips for a second, downcast before meeting his once more. "I'm going to need the time. But you know I-- I'm always yours."

The words come out softly, like the ending of a prayer. His head shifts softly before he moves his whole body, holding his breath and letting out a soft grunt of pain. But he shifts closer to her, both hands coming up to hold her cheeks, pulling away to look her fully in the eyes.

"I can deal with that. I know, I know that I was the one that screwed it up for us, but I-- I'm willing, more than willing, to do whatever I can to make it work." There is a firmness in his voice she had only heard sparingly. Barely more than once, more than the time at the fountain, when he'd said with such conviction that he was going to get that thing out of his head and be with the girl that he loves. And Sarah smiles, bringing her lips to his again, a sweet punctuation to the statement.

"One mission at a time, Chuck."