Disclaimer: Standard stuff. Still don't own Chuck.
A/N: Here's another story for you guys as I deal with writer's block for Ibis. Have fun reading this one.
Salutations and Greetings
Goodbye
"I'm so sorry, Chuck. I have to go."
Leaning forward, she catches his lips again, maybe for the last time. He doesn't respond, his lips slack at the contact.
"Goodbye, Chuck."
Hearing no response, she turns around and walks down the sidewalk, leaving him in the growing darkness of the courtyard. As she walks by the fountain, the soft gurgling triggers flashbacks to their fountain talks. She remembers them all and they all reside in her heart. Her ears register the sound of a fist meeting a wall, the crack piercing the silence of the night. She continues to make her way out of the apartment complex, and out of the life of one Chuck Bartowski, whatever life there still is.
Stopping outside the archway, she takes one last look back and whispers once more, "Goodbye, Chuck. I'll always remember you."
Tears begin to flood her eyes and she hops into the car. Soon enough, driving becomes too hard and she pulls over to cry her heart out for the person she has left behind.
After what feels like hours, she is composed enough to drive herself to the airport.
Boarding the airplane to Langley, she looks down at the tarmac of LAX and whispers, "Goodbye," for the final time.
***
Making a mad dash, she manages to cover herself up behind a toppled-over filing cabinet. Releasing the magazine, she picks it up, checking the number of rounds left. Three rounds, three measly rounds are all she has. Cursing inwardly, she slaps the ammunition back in, the magazine release clicking as she racks the chamber. Her ears perk up as she listens to the scuffling of footsteps and her partner scrambles to take cover behind another filing cabinet on her right.
Looking over to her partner, she yells over the sound of gunshots peppering the surface of her hiding spot, "How many rounds you got left?"
She watches her partner release the magazine and check the number of rounds.
He yells back, "Half a mag? You?"
"Three."
"Well, it was good knowing you Sarah.
"It's time to go big or get dead. Good knowing you too, Bryce."
Putting her hand up, she begins to lift her fingers, one at a time. The first finger raises up, each of them taking deep breaths for their up coming end. The second finger raises up, each of them taking a last look at the other before each move to face forward. The third finger rises up, and a sniper shot rings out of the air. Both immediately drop back down, trying to hide from the enemy sniper.
Another shot comes, and another. Their ear pieces crackle to life, the ear pieces registering the raspy voice of a man.
"This is Eagle One providing sniper support. Sorry for the late backup. Eagle Two will be there in a couple seconds to bail you out. Stay behind cover, let us handle this."
Sniper shot after sniper shot is heard as enemy agents begin to fall like flies. A large explosion erupts into the side of the building, revealing a tall, muscular man in tactical gear holding a Colt M4A1 Assault Rifle.
"This is Eagle Two. Side penetrated, continuing to eliminate enemy personnel."
"Roger that, Eagle Two. You got two friendly's in the back behind the toppled over filing cabinets. Get them out alive."
"Affirmative. Intel Acknowledged."
"Tango, down."
"Target Eliminated."
The two agents in the back listen in rap attention as the two men continue to take out enemy agents one after another. Judging from what is happening, it looks like one is picking them off with a sniper while the other goes CQC. The gunshots begin to cease as enemies start to dwindle down.
"This is Eagle Two. All clear from ground floor."
"Eagle One, reporting. All clear from here as well. Get out of there quickly, LEO's on the way. I'll meet you at the rendezvous point."
A motorcycle engine is heard through the crackling of the ear piece as it guns off to the meeting point.
Eagle Two makes his way over to the filing cabinets, moving bodies of enemy agents to clear room. Poking and prodding, he confirms that they are all dead. Looking up, he finds both Agents guns up, both pointed at him.
Ripping off the balaclava he is wearing, he grunts angrily, "I just saved you two, and this is what I get? Maybe I should have just left you and your boytoy to die, Walker."
Both Agents stare at the hulking, 6'4, Major John Casey in full tactical gear. The gun rests against his chest, bouncing as he continues his movement towards them.
"Come on, time to ask questions later. We got LEO's on the way and that wouldn't be very good now would it? Move your asses."
Turning his back, he moves towards the exit, the other two agents staring at his receding back. Both of them look at each other, confusion written over both. Following the hulking man, they walk outside to find a black van, a brunette behind the wheel and Casey sitting on the passenger side. They converse, both laughing and Sarah had never seen that much ease in the hulking man before.
"Open up and get inside, we don't have all day."
Acknowledging his command, they slide open the side door and hop into the back, both going over themselves. Casey tosses a first-aid kit into the back, hoping they'll put it to good use.
Tired of wondering what is going, Sarah asks, "Casey, what's going on?"
"Got the call from Beckman to go bail your asses out of trouble. Apparently you guys have been dropping the ball way too much."
Sarah ask the question they both knew was coming, "How is he Casey?"
"You'll see."
All she can do is wonder at his cryptic answer. As her wonder dies down, she looks towards the brunette. She's pretty with straight brown hair that falls in locks. She's wearing thick framed glasses which frame her face perfectly, giving her face the smart girl look.
Looking over at Bryce, she finds him putting on the charms and all she can do is roll her eyes at his antics. Any of his attempts at her were shot down, the reason being that she can't really think of anyone else but him.
"So Casey, who's your partner?" Bryce asks, turning on the charm.
"Agent Rachel Locke, and Larkin, you're disgusting. Go find somebody else to play with," she rebuffs him, disgust written all over her voice.
"Atta girl, put the boy down," Casey praises, chuckling at the same time.
Sarah laughs at the rebuff Bryce had gotten. Looking over at him, his eyes smolder and crash as he is rejected. She continues to enjoy the sight of him dejected, angry, and embarrassed. The silence keeps on all the way to the rendezvous point.
***
Finally reaching their destination, a two-story old Victorian house, they pull into the garage, finding the motorcycle they heard earlier. A white Ducati 1198 sits in the garage, its rider sitting on top of it, waiting for the black van to pull in. Looking at the figure, she still sees he is in a balaclava, face obscured by the mask.
She can see the green sniper rifle on his back, Beretta M9s in thigh holsters on each leg. His long legs straddle the bike and as he looks up to find the van, he swings a leg over and walks into the house, removing the balaclava to reveal a head of curly brown hair.
Her eyes reveal her underlying emotions, her eyes dilating at the site of the hair. As soon as the van stops, she hops out, hoping to catch up to him.
Maneuvering her way through the home, she finds an open door and peers inside to find him sitting in a chair, back turned towards the door. The R700 sniper rifle sits on the bed, the pistols still at the side of his leg. His hands are resting on his legs, his body a picture of nonchalance while she is a ball of swirling emotions. She stands there for a minute, taking in the sight of him like an ambrosia. He finally turns around, his face devoid of emotion, a scar across his forehead, no doubt from a knife. She chokes up as she looks at him, his face all torn up by all the fights he has been in.
His eyes have changed the most though. The normal, once joyful brown eyes have become sunken and dark, ebony in its appearance. The eyes dart back and forth, always analyzing and always scanning for danger, far from the trusting and endearing brown eyes she is use to seeing.
"Get out."
She looks up at his words, finding his face still void of emotions, but his eyes tell of the raw emotion behind the mask.
She chooses to say silent, prompting him to tell her again to leave.
"Get out."
"I'm so sorry, Chuck."
"Get out."
True to the saying, "third times the charm," she leaves, leaving him alone to his rabid thoughts and emotions. Running into the restroom, she lets loose a sob, which is followed by another, then another, until it is full out crying. Tears begin to fall like rain, dropping onto the floor with a splash. Leaning over the sink, she manages to turn on the water and wash her face clear of ruined makeup and tears.
Walking out into the living room, she finds a lone Casey sitting at the dining table, Rachel no where in sight.
"How are you doing, Casey?"
He responds with a grunt, the indication quite clear.
She just looks at him quizzically, not understanding his intent. Rolling his eyes, he stands up and waves his hand towards himself, indicating that she should follow. Walking towards the back of the kitchen, he opens the sliding door, leading her into the garden, fruits and vegetables abundant.
Moving towards a table in the back, they sit down, a silence between them.
"Now that we have some privacy, how are you Walker?"
"I'm…fine."
He grunts, not trusting her answer. He tilts his head to the side, indicating that he can tell she is lying.
With a sigh, she admits, "I've definitely been better."
"What do you think of him?" Casey questions, eyes cocked, ready for her answer.
"I don't know what to think. How is he an Agent, Casey? The Chuck I know can't even harm a fly."
"Well, the Chuck you know now can kill a full grown human being quite easily," Casey quips, earning him a hard glare.
Clearing his throat nervously, he begins, "Well…it all started when…"
A/N: Being sick really sucks. I have the stomach flu and yeah, I've been vomiting and running to the restroom only God knows how many times. Try to stay clean and healthy guys! Hope you enjoyed and R&R.