An: I amended my pervious statement about making this a condensed one-shot. It'll be a full-fledged multi-chapter fic. Probably around five chapters in all, and updated once a day till the grand finale is released on Halloween!

I hope you enjoy the latest installment.

Here be vampires!

Chapter Two

Three Days Earlier…

Her name is Abbey Dandridge. Although it'd be safe to assume that it is just an alias. Not much is known about her, or her real identity. According to the Intersect, she's a thief—elusive, cunning, and notorious for stealing medieval artifacts in the dead of night. Her recent jobs have occurred mostly at high profiled museums or other historical sites around the world. While she has been spotted on tape, security proved unable to find any trace of her existence after the heist took place. It is remarkable how she keeps eluding capture. And I can't try to hide my curiosity. It's only natural as a spy and former conartist to want to figure out her dirty little secret.

But skepticism quickly replaces my intrigue. Our client, Arthur Harker, has shown to be just as shady as our mysterious thief. He divulges no real information that we haven't already gathered thanks to Morgan. His motive for the arrest is vague at best. I often wonder why we even decided to take on this case. Then again, my loving husband likes to constantly remind me of our financial hardships. Like I can ever forget that our bank account that's worth of $42 million has been frozen by the CIA.

"We're almost bankrupt," Chuck explains matter-of-factly during our flight to Louisiana. Apparently there's a new exhibit going on at the New Orleans museum. The main attraction is the flaming sword of John the Revelator; the man who wrote the book of Revelation. Harker is convinced that she'll be there on the night before the grand opening. The circumstances appear sketchy, but we're desperate for money. Carmichael Industries will go belly up if there's no revenue to stimulate it.

Casey rolls his eyes and mutters a sarcastic reply. "Thanks for the news flash."

I give Chuck a reassuring smile before he sighs and continues. "I know we're struggling to make ends meet right now, and this case doesn't look to be exactly kosher, but let's stay optimistic here. Who knows, maybe this will be our big break?"

Nobody says anything for awhile. Morgan focuses his efforts by munching on freshly catered shrimp. Casey simply shakes his head in dismay, grumbling about how he hates moral ambiguity. Meanwhile Chuck slumps in his seat, looking positively worn out and defeated. I squeeze his hand while he stares absently out of the window.

"We're going to get through this," I tell him in my most convincing tone and almost believe it myself. "We always do."

Chuck casts a weary glance that has become so typical of him during these grim days. When no one else is watching, he falls apart. I almost don't hear him as he shies away, mumbling with eyes closed:

"You could've fooled me."

After we land, the next few hours are dedicated to setting up our trap. First, we took care of the guards so we could pose as security working the graveyard shift. The display is now under heavy surveillance; tiny cameras nestled in each corner, making sure to catch movement at every angle. An alarm system is hooked up and will wail the instant something foreign trips the lasers or other invisible wires. Last but not least, our client had the decency to supply us with a duplicate of the sword.

The plan is to split-up and complete our respective rounds throughout the entire museum. That way we can cover every inch available. Each of us will wear what Chuck and Morgan affectionately have dubbed "watchie-talkies," to facilitate communication in case of trouble. It's dusk now, and the sun is dipping behind the hillside. At twilight we'll begin circumventing the building.

"En garde!" Morgan shouts, drawing the rusted sword out of his fake sheath. He points the tip at Casey, who glares in silent rage. He swipes the weapon from the smaller man's grasp and holds it above his head.

"The last thing we need is for you to flash and accidentally stab somebody," he grunts.

"Yee of little faith, Case," says Morgan as he jumps to recapture the replicate sword. He isn't even within reach. Chuck and I trade amused glances, and I smile knowing that at least something can brighten his mood.

"You lost all faith the moment you broke that vase, Grimes."

He hops again. "I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry won't bring back over six million dollars!"

"It's not like it matters," says Morgan. "Breaking the vase was how we got that mission anyways."

"And lost over $42 million dollars," grunts Casey.

I notice that Chuck has been glancing at his watch periodically. His brows furrow in deep concentration which prompts me to check the time as well. It's almost seven in the evening. I look up and see that he's now fixed with the ceiling pane made up entirely of glass. The sky is black with increments of moonlight filtering down below to where we presently stand.

"The reports say that she'll be here anywhere from midnight to dawn," announces Chuck. The rest of us give our fearless leader full undivided attention. He adds, "Just be vigilant, stay alert and nothing will go wrong."

Morgan gasps. "Dude, what happened to the cardinal rule? One must never under any circumstances say that 'nothing will go wrong.' You're going to jinx the mish!"

Casey growls irritably. "Quit being so superstitious, and don't ever call a mission a mish ever again."

I know that this is going to escalate into an argument that the world could do without. This needs to stop before somebody gets a bullet in the brain, or a sword through the heart.

Sighing, I address each one of my boys individually. "Morgan, you are done talking until given permission otherwise. Casey, put the sword away. And Chuck, honey, you're doing fine."

The three of them stare at me, each with a different expression on their face. Morgan looks crestfallen. Casey puts up an emotionless mask. Meanwhile Chuck gives me a grateful smile that speaks volumes. He mouths "I love you," before the team breaks apart to go about their separate duties.

As I am left alone to my musings, there is only one thing I cannot stop thinking about for the life of me. How incredibly sad is it to know that out of the four of us, I am the unlikely voice of reason?

Nothing good ever happens after two in the morning.

We've been at it for hours and still come up short. The thief, Abbey Dandridge remains elusive. After scouring the museum with a fine tooth comb, she is nowhere to be seen. Her lack of presence is unsettling. It kind of makes a person wonder if they've been had.

It is my turn to guard the display. I keep watch with my droopy eyes though there is nothing to be seen of any significance. My feet feel like lead. A tiny yawn escapes me before realizing that I almost nodded off. Not too long ago stake-outs used to be a piece of cake. Now it's like pulling teeth just to stay awake.

I inwardly groan. The perils of being a domesticated spy…

I hear footsteps from afar. They're heavy so it must belong to either Casey or Chuck. I'm betting on the former. At least somebody is keeping vigilant. If the Colonel can hide in the rat holes of Costa Gravas for weeks undetected, guarding a fake priceless artifact must be a breeze for him. It used to be for me.

"Guys, I'm crashing," comes Morgan's voice from my watch. I roll my eyes and yawn again. "Those three energy drinks I had earlier are wearing off…"

Casey cut in: "Who the hell let you have an energy drink?"

"Energy drinks, Casey. That's plural."

"Don't correct me, now answer the question! We let you have shrimp, where did you get the energy drinks before we took off out of Burbank?"

"I brought them from the apartment, man," admits Morgan. "I have a full stock of them in the fridge…daddy needs his caffeine fix."

Their constant bickering makes me appreciate what I have with Chuck. There are hardly any petty arguments. And if we do fight, it always ends up in make-up sex.

My brain is so delirious from lack of sleep that it strays to the last time we had a major blow-out. I may have purposely instigated it, but Chuck was none the wiser. Just thinking about anger flaring in his eyes as he pinned me against the kitchen counter…

I shiver.

"—Morgan, remind me to never let you indulge in sugar ever again."

This time it's Chuck. I shake myself out of my fantasies and realize that I have been daydreaming for nearly ten minutes. All the while Casey and Morgan managed to keep their conversation alive before Chuck had to intervene.

"How about not wasting cash on shrimp?"

They snigger.

"There's an idea," says Chuck. "And while we're at it, no more grape soda."

I chuckle silently while the watches explode with a cacophony of laughter and cries of protest.

Morgan whines. "That's not fair!"

As I finish my roundabout, an odd tingle passes through me. I stop and plant my feet. Exhaling, a puff of smoke materializes in the air. The temperature suddenly drops and it's freezing. Unless the thermostat had been messed with, why would it be so cold in the Deep South during October?

Weird, I think.

"Did any of you guys feel that?" I speak into my watch, teeth chattering.

There is a short pause.

"No, what are we supposed to be feeling?"

I don't realize who spoke. My eyes widen and I draw the gun that's hidden in the small of my back once I see a figure dart across the hallway. Suddenly I am not so cold anymore.

"I think I just saw her," I whisper.

I hear a collective sigh of relief. "Finally!" the trio exclaims simultaneously.

Snorting, I pursue who I imagine to be none other than our very own Abbey Dandridge. For awhile, no one speaks. I'm sure they're all focusing on apprehending the thief. At least I hope so. There's a strange feeling that wells up inside me. Like something is about to go horribly wrong…

I turn a corner and a black mass stands a few paces in front of me. It is definitely not my boys. Slowly I make my approach with soft footfalls as I near the figure. I pause only when it shifts and even in the dim lighting, I see a pair of red dots floating in suspended darkness.

"Hey!" I shout to catch its attention. But it's too late as the red lasers rush towards me at a blinding speed and suddenly, I feel a burst of pain in my left hand. It felt like razor sharp claws dug into my flesh. I'm bleeding freely, and the wound drips onto the tile floor in massive drops.

"Sarah, talk to me!" Chuck shouts and there's no question that he abandoned his post. I can hear him rushing towards me. "What happened? Are you hurt? Say something so I know you're ok!"

My injured arm drops uselessly. "I am fine, just hurry up and don't let her get away!" I yell to alert everyone of the thief's presence. That was her. It had to be.

I wait impatiently for Chuck, Casey, or Morgan to arrive. But no one comes. The sound of footsteps has faded as well. Confused, I decide to return to the display which is where everyone would be if the thief had made it far.

I call out. "Chuck?"

No answer.

"Chuck!"

When I arrive back to the main room, I stop dead in my tracks. My jaw drops, and the pain in my arm dulls to a throb. By the glow of the moon, it illuminates the area like it was a giant spotlight. Chuck is at the center with another. It's her. Abbey Dandridge. The thief. She is using my husband as a shield.

I make a cautious approach with my gun aimed level. She doesn't flinch in the slightest, even when I see both Casey and Morgan arrive by me on either side. Their guns drawn as well.

She smiles wickedly and speaks with a drawl. "You know, pointing those nasty things at somebody helpless like me is quite rude. It gives the wrong idea, like maybe you're here to kill me. What happened to talking like civilized human beings?"

"How about you let him go and we'll talk?" I suggest.

"Sorry, but no dice," says the thief. She hugs Chuck tighter. "I know if I let go of my only leverage, you'll shoot me dead. Not like that'll do you any good, but why waste a bullet and make a mess you'll end up regretting?"

Chuck meets my eyes, and I see him looking distinctly startled at the expression on my face. He makes the subtle shake of his head, like he's trying to warn me against pulling the trigger. Why would he do that? He and I both know I have a great shot. I won't miss.

"If I let you take the sword and leave this place alive, will you release him?" I ask after a few moment of silence.

Casey and Morgan are beside themselves. "No!" They both shout.

I ignore them. "So, what's it going to be?"

She looks thoughtful. "Diplomacy won't work this time, not when I know that the sword is a fake."

How does she know that?

Now she gently lifts a hand to Chuck, caressing him with delicate fingertips. I see his eyes become hall-lidded like he's overcome by a trance. He sways in her embrace which effectively gets my blood boiling.

"But it's alright, I'll find the real deal when the mood strikes," she continues with a purr. "I think handsome here is the perfect replacement for some old rusted sword."

My eyes flash. "Let him go!"

The thief plays Chuck like he's a puppet with strings. She angles his neck to where his jugular is exposed to all of us. Her lips skim along his throat in a teasing fashion and I make a daunting step forward.

"Don't you touch him!"

She pauses and a knowing smile plays on her lips. Her gaze fixes on my injured arms, cooing. "Oh you two are married! Isn't that precious? Such a shame really…"

"Why?" I snap angrily.

"Well, it'll be such a shame to make you a widow."

Before I can react, she brings her mouth to Chuck and sinks her teeth into his neck. I am paralyzed with shock, watching in horror as this scene unfolds before my eyes. She bit him. She bit Chuck. I hear Casey curse aloud and it's enough to snap me from my stupor. The three of us rush towards the thief, who pulls away from Chuck and lets him collapse to the tile floor in a heap.

"Grimes, you're with me!" Commands Casey gruffly. He shoots me a quick look. "You stay with Bartowski."

I don't object. The two of them rush after that cannibal bitch while I tend to my husband. I slide onto my knees and find Chuck lying in a pool of his own blood. He is unnaturally still. His skin is pale. His eyes sagging with that glazed over look.

He's dying.

"Chuck, honey please stay with me." I beg in a wavering voice. "You're going to be fine if you just keep your eyes open. Don't go to sleep."

His throat has been torn apart. Each labored breath expels copious amounts of blood from the wound. I apply as much pressure as I can without causing him more pain. Unbeknownst to me, I'm already losing my composure. Tears race down the sides of my face and I try to keep Chuck alive.

"Sarah…" he croaks.

I lift my head and stare at him. God, his eyes are so bright. "Yeah baby?"

He smiles weakly. "I always wanted to meet a cannibal, but that…I wasn't expecting her to actually try and eat me." When he laughs at his lame joke, there's even more blood. So much blood.

"Keep talking, Chuck."

"I...can't." He whispers. "Too tired…"

"No!" I shout and place him in my lap, rocking his body slowly. "Don't you dare go to sleep!" He doesn't respond and his eyelids flutter closed. "Chuck, please, no, no, no, no!"

His breath slows until the steady rise and fall of his chest ceases completely. He feels suddenly so very light to me. The half smile plastered to his face says enough and I can no longer see him though the tears or as a sob renders me speechless.

He's gone.

I don't recognize how long I've been sitting in the pool of blood, cradling Chuck's body to my chest as I weep uncontrollably. But at some point, Casey and Morgan return with bad news: Abbey Dandridge has gotten away.

They soon come to realize there are much worse news then a botched mission. Morgan has fallen to his knees with both hands over his mouth to keep from crying. He's fighting a losing battle and I hear him make a strangled noise, voice cracking as he whispers Chuck's name over and over again.

Casey, ever the calm one, hoists Morgan to his feet and then comes to me next. He tries prying me from Chuck, but it takes double the effort to get us separated. My arms remain outstretched in a vain attempt to reach for him. The slash on my wrist drips bloody drops; mixing with Chuck's spilt all over the floor.

I am in hysterics, screaming. "Casey, let go of me!"

"It's over, Sarah." He tries to coax me back to reality but I won't budge. Chuck is lying there so alone. He needs me. "It's over…"

I wriggle from Casey's grasp and reach towards Chuck with and outstretched hand. He remains put, but I swear I saw movement in his face. His nose. It twitched. Once. Twice. Three times. It can't be my mind playing tricks on me.

It's real.

Chuck's alive.

I hover over him with both of my hands cupping his face. Tearfully, I croak. "Chuck, wake up. Please, just wake up."

Morgan whimpers. "Sarah, don't do this."

Casey agrees solemnly. "Let him go, it's over—"

He doesn't get the chance to finish. I've been concentrating on Chuck for so long that I am the first to notice his eyes snap wide open. But all of us watch in complete shock as he lunges forward and takes my wrist into his mouth. I am still too emotionally numb to feel any pain, so I don't acknowledge the fact that he's sucking the blood out of my wound. Nor do I seem to realize that his eyes weren't their normal warm shade of brown.

They're red.

I am so lost in the joy of Chuck being alive that the fact that he didn't come back exactly right has no effect on me. I remain hunched over as he continues to suckle hungrily on my wrist like a newborn child.

Eventually, Chuck gets his fill and stops. He unceremoniously pulls away from my arm and lets it fall limp. Lifting his head slowly, he meets our unexpected looks of awe and terror with ones of blatant confusion.

Crimson eyes blink several times before he musters a bloody, tentative smile. "Guys, why are looking at me like that? You're kind of freaking me out."

An: Yeah, this was longer than expected. The next few chapters will be shorter, but don't quote me on that. I have a habit of misjudging these sorts of things. Next chapter will be up sometimes tomorrow on Chuck-day!