Hey! I'm new here and this is my first story, so please be nice. I try to keep as many grammar errors as possible out of my writing, but please tell me if I missed anything. This story is somewhere in between the second-to-last and last episodes of season 2. I haven't gone much further yet, so some things may be inaccurate for all of you who have finished the series. Still, please enjoy!

Chuck's eyes opened slowly. He became slowly aware of an ache in his shoulders and in his wrists. He blinked and looked round. The room was dark, and he couldn't see much of anything. He shifted slightly, and discovered that he couldn't move his arms. His hands were bound behind his back, pressing up uncomfortably against the metal back of his chair. He twisted his wrists experimentally, but the coarse rope was too tight for that to do anything.

He couldn't tell where he was because of the darkness of the room, and he had no idea how long he had been there. He suddenly realized that he was shivering from the cold air that was hitting his exposed skin. Which there was a lot of. Chuck looked down (although he knew it was completely useless, given the amount of light there was) and realized that his white button-down was gone. He cursed. That was his best shirt and tie. At least I still have my shoes on.

His white undershirt was still on also, but it was made of thin material and was almost too small for him. I would choose today to wear this undershirt. Just my luck. It felt like the temperature was near freezing.

Chuck grimaced as he thought about the events that had occurred previously, before he woke up in this room. "Why didn't I stay in the car?" he muttered to himself. The group had been on the trail of a Russian mafia boss named Mikhail Pozdnyakov and his cronies. Casey and Sarah had gone into a hotel as a maid and a servant to try to plant some bugs in some targets' rooms. Sarah was targeting a member of the Russian mob, while Casey tracked down one of his co-workers, if that's even what you call two mafia members.

As usual, Chuck was left behind to watch the cameras and warn of impending doom, which rarely seemed to occur on these simple types of missions. Regardless of how he felt about it, he had promised Sarah that he would stay right where he was, and he had had every intention of keeping his word.

That flew out the window when he flashed on the mafia's ringleader walking past him. He had tried to call Sarah or Casey, but Casey ignored him and Sarah was too busy talking her way past some guards to listen.

So, Chuck did possibly the stupidest thing he possibly could have in that situation: he got out of the car and talked to the guy. He guessed that he did a pretty bad job of acting casual, because this is where he ended up, in a dark room tied to a chair. Typical spy problems.

Chuck berated himself. You should have listened to Sarah and stayed in the car, you idiot! When has leaving the safety of the van ever accomplished anything except almost getting yourself killed?

Who was he kidding? The only reason he ever left the car was to try to prove himself to his handlers. He was doing a bang-up job of it, too. Getting captured every other week is a pretty impressive feat. He wondered absently if Sarah had saved him more often than Casey or not. Honestly, she probably had, because she cared more about keeping the asset safe than Casey did. He would always rush off and get the guy with the guns, while Sarah actually got him out of there, wherever "there" was. It was becoming a pretty regular routine, for better or for worse. At least they generally seemed to get the bad guy this way.

Chuck's thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging from the other side of a wall in front of him. It slowly got louder, and Chuck swallowed hard. He struggled in vain to slip one of his wrists out of the rope, but it was way too tight. He shifted again, trying to get circulation going in his arms. The banging outside the door stopped, and everything was quiet. Too quiet, Chuck thought melodramatically. He smiled at his own joke and chuckled a little. In all honesty, he didn't find it all that funny, but it was something to get his mind off his imminent death.

A door slid open in front of him with a soft hiss, and Chuck peered into the open doorway apprehensively. The small smile on his face melted away, and he gulped loudly. He could make out the silhouettes of two men in the doorway. One was rather slender and maybe about six feet tall, maybe a bit under. However tall he was, Chuck knew that he would tower over the guy if he could stand.

The other man, Chuck wasn't quite so sure. He looked huge and almost filled the entire doorway himself. All of Chuck's courage and resolve to withstand whatever was coming his way seemed to just quietly slip away.

The smaller man reached to his right and flicked on a switch. The sudden light almost blinded Chuck, who yelled and squeezed his eyes shut. The man chuckled. "Charles Bartowski, I resume?" There was a pause, and Chuck heard him move closer. "You aren't quite as… well, intimidating as I expected you to be. After all, working with both the CIA and the NSA is no small task." He had a heavy Russian accent and a low voice, which did wonders for his own intimidating factor.

Chuck opened his eyes into a squint. The light still burned his eyes, but he was able to make out the man's face. Chuck's eyes widened, and he recognized the man he had flashed on outside the hotel. He was Dmitri Andreyev, a member of the mafia that the CIA had been tracking for three years. He was suspected of the murder of over two dozen people in both Russia and America. Chuck had no idea what he was doing in LA, talking to him, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

When he saw the face of the other man, he flashed instantly. Iosif Lavrentyev. He was another member of the same mafia, albeit a lower member. He did the grunt work when needed, and was also suspected of several murders and smuggling weapons across the border. His victims always came back in mutilated pieces. When the flash ended, Chuck smiled nervously. "Wow, you two," he said. "You are quite the pair of baddies, aren't you?"

Iosif cracked his knuckles menacingly, but Dmitri smiled. "Ah. You are one of those agents who tries to talk his way out of bad situations, yes?" He pulled a knife out of his waistband and looked it over lovingly. "I do enjoy your type more than the strong, stubborn kind, like your handler. Casey is his name, correct? Always grunting all the time. Is quite annoying."

Chuck frowned. "You know Casey? How-"

Dmitri flipped the knife in his hand. "I have been in this business much longer than you have, 'Agent Carmichael'. Your John Casey does get around."

Chuck tilted his head away from the knife slightly. "Well, you see, you've got this all wrong. I'm not actually a spy, persay. I'm just someone who knows that spies and things exist so if you could just let me go that would be great I wouldn't tell anyone I promise please don't hurt me!" He sped up at the end as Dmitri's knife got closer to his face.

Dmitri cocked his head. "I know you aren't a spy, Chuck. Your pretty little 'girlfriend' is a CIA agent, and, well, I knew about Agent Casey from the start. They must be protecting someone important if the CIA and NSA are actually working together on something. The question is, what could possibly be so important that they both have to have a hand in protecting it? What were they hiding? We knew that whatever it was would be nearby, so we let them into that hotel, hoping they would let something slip. You just happened to be in their van, which we wouldn't have known if you hadn't decided to take a walk. We had already been searching for you for a day or two, and you just walk right into our hands. So, I suppose we have you to thank for this." Dmitri's voice was dangerously calm. "And you can leave whenever you wish-"

"Oh, that's just wonderful because I would really like to go now and your friend is giving me the creeps."

"-if you cooperate."

Chuck cursed under his breath. How could he have been so stupid? If he had just stayed put, they wouldn't have found him and he wouldn't be in this situation. "Are you sure? Because I know absolutely nothing, nothing at all, I'm useless, just ask Casey."

Dmitri paused. "I like you, Chuck. That's why I will give you one more chance."

"One more chance at what?" Chuck was indignant. "You haven't asked me anything!"

"Where is the Intersect?"

There was a silence as Chuck finally shut his mouth. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stall this before Dmitri finally lost his patience and let Iosif do his thing. Dmitri didn't move for another five seconds, then he sighed and pulled back. "Very well, Chuck. I didn't want to do this." He gave Chuck a menacing grin. "Well, it's a good thing I don't have to. Iosif?"

The massive man grunted and stepped forward. "Iosif," Dmitri said. "I am done here."

Iosif bared his teeth in what was his version of a smile, and Chuck realized that he was about to be left alone in a small room with a maniac. "No!" he shouted desperately. "No! There's no need to do that! Maybe we could just talk it over with some coffee, I know this great place that's just a few blocks down from where I work. Or maybe some frozen yogurt, everyone loves frozen yogurt."

Dmitri turned back to him. "Where is the Intersect?" Another loud silence. Chuck swallowed, but he wouldn't say anything. He knew that revealing the identity of the Intersect would lead to worse things than Iosif, such as world-wide domination and other things like that. He thought of Sarah, and how she would never break, no matter what she was threatened with. He thought of how he was always the one who broke under pressure, and how he always got her into dangerous situations trying to save him. Sarah wouldn't give in, Chuck thought. I won't either.

He couldn't help but remember M16 Agent Cole and how impressed Sarah was when he survived torture. While he was getting whipped, Chuck passed out at the sight of a needle and whacked his head on the ground. Sure, that's what Sarah had told him to do, but it was far from heroic. Cole was everything Chuck wasn't: brave, an actual agent, smooth, impressively muscled, quite intimidating, with a pain tolerance level of over 1. He even had a sexy accent. Chuck knew this, but seeing him kiss Sarah had hurt him more than he cared to admit, and he was determined to do something that she would appreciate. He would say nothing, no matter how many needles Iosif might have.

"No one is going to come save you, Chuck," Dmitri said. He pulled something out of his pocket, a twisted lump of metal and leather that Chuck recognized as his watch. A watch which used to have a CIA tracker in it. Damn it!

Chuck desperately tried to think of some way to postpone the torture. Sarah and Casey had to be getting closer. "Why do you even want to know who the Intersect is? I mean, really, two big old mafia men like you don't need that old computer. I'm sure it's out of date by now and completely useless to you. Just leave it to the government to know where it is and you can just go back to your regularly appointed illegal smuggling and murders." He kept talking, going on and on like he was prone to do when he was nervous. He wasn't even sure what he was saying half the time. All he knew was that he didn't want any large needles coming anywhere near him. Or any other weapon, for that matter.

Dmitri sighed again and cut him off. "Very well." He turned and moved toward the door. Chuck struggled to suppress the overwhelming urge to call out after him and announce that he was the Intersect, that there was no need to hurt him because he would tell them everything. It was cowardly, but Chuck had some silly thing that's called the will to live.

He wanted to be able to play the newest games with Morgan before they were actually released and talk for hours about the best choice of sandwich on a desert island. He wanted to see Ellie's and Awesome's children. He just wanted to see his sister one more time and tell her that he loved her, that she was the best sister he could have ever asked for. He wanted to see Casey again and hear his rare happy grunt one more time. Even his more common grunt of annoyance would have been enough.

He wanted to see Sarah, and tell her something that he hadn't had the guts to say before. He wanted to see her crystal blue eyes and make her smile that beautiful smile one more time. And now, he would probably never get the chance.

Dmitri walked out the door and shut it behind him, leaving Iosif alone with Chuck. Chuck looked up at him, his eyes wide. Iosif bared his yellow teeth again and walked to the left of the chair. There was some rattling of metal, and Iosif moved back into sight, wheeling in front of him a metal table. On said metal table was an impressive array of blades and other devices that looked suspiciously like torture instruments.

"Um," Chuck said hesitantly. "Are those- what are those?"

Iosif looked at Chuck disdainfully and said in a low, heavily-accented growl, "Any real spy should be able to recognize a torture session in the making."

"Wow, you are very up-front with that information," Chuck said quietly in reply. "Are you sure that you need to do this?"

"Maybe I do not need to," Iosif conceded. Chuck's eyebrows raised. That was much easier than he expected. But as he opened his mouth to say something, Iosif continued, "But I want to."

"Oh," Chuck squeaked. Iosif's hand hovered over the knifes and finally picked one up. It wasn't nearly as big as some of the others on the table, but it had a wicked edge on it and gleamed in the artificial light. He walked up to Chuck's chair and crouched so that he was eye-level with him.

"Where is the Intersect?" he asked slowly, as if speaking to a child. Chuck said nothing, although he might have whimpered. "Typical. Always trying to be a hero. Stupid spies," Iosif grumbled. "No one is coming to help you, Agent. Now, I would appreciate it if you would stay still. You wouldn't want me to miss and accidentally slice open a vein, now, would you? Bleeding out would be so much less interesting to watch."

The knife lowered onto Chuck's skin, and his screams echoed through the walls.

AH! I ALMOST FORGOT!

ahem

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story. All I have are the clothes on my back, whatever is in my room and a surprising amount of cats.