Song: "Lost," by Michael Buble. Thanks to Go-Chuck-Go for the suggestion!

A/N: First, thanks for the reviews on the first six chapters! I'm glad you're having as much fun reading this as I am writing it.

Second, this chapter has a very different feel to it. The story doesn't follow the song lyrics as closely as it usually does, but I tried to get the overall arc of the story to fit the lyrics. I've included a mission (mainly because of the challenge - woo!), but I've never really written action or heavy plot. So let me know if you think these things work well or not. Hope you enjoy it!

I can't believe it's over
I watched the whole thing fall
And I never saw the right man was on the wall
If I don't land
Days were slipping past
That the good things never last
That you were crying


"Larkin's back," Casey growls in passing as he heads purposefully to the Home Appliance section. He doesn't glance at Chuck, doesn't even look fazed by the news. Typical Casey – focused on the job at hand.

Chuck swallows. After their encounter over Thanksgiving, he's forgiven Bryce. But that doesn't mean he wants him popping up in his life whenever the super spy feels like it. Especially not that Chuck's finally found safe footing in his relationship with Sarah, now that they've reached an understanding of sorts. He doesn't know if he can handle Bryce returning to screw that up.

He takes his lunch break early and heads over to the Wienerlicious.

"Hey," she greets him with a smile as she refills napkin holders on the tables. But her smile's not quite convincing, and she turns away quickly. He has the vague, uncomfortable feeling that she's keeping something from him.

"He's back," he offers, and his tone contains an veiled challenge. When she doesn't elucidate the situation, he asks, "Why?"

"He's undercover in the Fulcrum operation. You're of interest to that group. So it makes sense that the information he has would be of use to us as a team."

His heart sinks. She's talking like Sarah Walker the CIA agent, and not Sarah his friend. He nods his head curtly and turns to go, but catches himself at the door. Looking over his shoulder, he asks, "Are you okay with this?"

She looks up, and he turns to face her fully.

"I mean," he stammers, "Are you all right? If you need someone to talk to . . ."

She's quiet, but she nods, and he knows that she's grateful that he's thinking of her.

He leaves, and misses the single tear that streaks down her cheek.


Summer turned to winter
And the snow it turned to rain
And the rain turned into tears upon your face
I hardly recognized the girl you are today
And god I hope it's not too late
It's not too late

"What's wrong with Sarah?" Bryce asks as he watches her walk away from the mission briefing with a frown gracing her features.

They've been on tentative but civil footing the whole time he's been here, but that question makes Chuck want to do something mildly violent to knock some sense into his former best friend. Of course, she's upset, idiot! She lost the man she loves and now has to endure him returning unexpectedly every few months.

Instead of answering Bryce, he runs after Sarah, catching up with her just outside the doors of the Buy More. He grabs the sleeve of her sweater gently, and stands in front of her.

"Hey, hey, hey," he says, but she won't look at him. He's struck by how the darkening light manages to illuminate her sadness. "Wanna take a walk?"

She looks up at him now, an unreadable expression in her eyes. "We've got a big day tomorrow. We should probably rest up." The small smile she offers him lacks that spark he's come to expect. Ever since Bryce came back, she's been like a different person, one he doesn't recognize. He'd say he hates the way Bryce affects her, but he'd just be a hypocrite. Because no matter how hard he tries to stop it, she affects him in exactly the same way, if not even more so.

"Well, at least, at least let me drive you home."

She gives the slightest shake of her head to indicate that that's not the best idea. "No, Chuck, but thank you." She moves to walk away, but stops to add, "Get some rest tonight, okay?"

He nods somberly. Watching her stride across the almost empty parking lot, he hates what they've become. Ever since Bryce showed up, she's been so distant. Never very open to begin with, he feels like he can't talk to her about anything anymore. She's around him each and every day, but her proximity just makes her feel further away from him. As she slides into her Porsch, he gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know where it comes from, but he can't fight the feeling that he's lost his only chance to tell her how he really feels.


'Cause you are not alone
I'm always there with you
And we'll get lost together
Till the light comes pouring through

Chuck's grateful that the government sprang for four separate hotel rooms. That way he doesn't have to deal with anyone bugging him about the funk he's been in all day. Casey ignored him during the whole car ride, which was fine with both of them. Sarah was as silent as he was, and Bryce just wanted someone to talk to. But Chuck had slipped on his iPod and disappeared into his own world, only emerging to make pit stops at various gas stations.

Somehow, though, he's ended up with the room adjoined to Sarah's. Lying on the bed in his PJs, flipping through the seemingly endless channels, he tries not to think about her. But his mind is weak, his thoughts constantly reverting to the blonde beauty who toys with his overly affectionate heart.

After an hour of failing to get to sleep, he contemplates watching more late-night television. He's in the process of turning on the bed-side lamp when a noise from the next room stops him. He quickly falls back onto his pillow as the door opens and Sarah peeks in. He curses himself for leaving his side open, and shuts his eyes, blocking her out and pretending to be asleep. He knows it's childish, but he's not quite prepared to deal with her ups and downs right now. Not at 2:30 in the morning. Not when they have an important mission tomorrow night.

He can hear her pad over to him, and he feels the bed sink a bit as she sits on the edge. Her hand is on his cheek, and he has to fight back the urge to open his eyes. She runs her thumb along his cheekbone. The touch is so intimate, so unlike Sarah. She lets out a soft sigh, and he thinks she shifts, because the bed springs squeak.

"Be patient with me, Chuck," she whispers, and he's surprised at how near she is, her breath warm on his face. She places a light kiss on his forehead, and all of a sudden, she's gone. "Sleep tight," she says, and her voice is far away now.

He opens his eyes just wide enough to catch a glimpse of blonde hair disappearing as she shuts the door and shuts out the light.


'Cause when you feel like you're done
And the darkness has won
Babe, you're not lost
When your world's crashing down
And you can't bear to fall
I said, babe, you're not lost

As the four are to arrive at the party separately, Chuck is designated to go third, behind Sarah and before Casey. He's a little freaked that he and Sarah aren't going as a couple, like they usually do, but she's already assured him that she'll be across the room the whole time. And they're going to be wired, ensuring a smooth line of communication between the four. If he flashes on anything, he can let the other three know in a matter of seconds.

So at 7:49 that night, the taxi pulls up to the in the resort turnaround, and Chuck hops out, dodging the rain less-than-enthusiastically. Bryce had already had access to the guest list, so he's able to get through the door without a problem. As he enters the main ballroom, he has a hard time keeping his jaw from dropping. It's less like a dinner party and more like a gala on drugs. It's insanely elegant, with diamond chandeliers and ice sculptures and table settings that must have cost $2,000 a plate. He suddenly feels out of place, even in his tux. Reaching up to straighten his bow-tow, he swallows nervously.

"You okay, Chuck?" Bryce's voice comes through his earpiece. Not wanting to risk their line of communication two minutes after he's arrived, he simply nods, trusting that Bryce can see his response. "Good. Now tell us if you flash on anyone."

Chuck sets to work, loitering around the bar and scanning the crowd. Almost immediately, he sees a man in his 50s, wearing a dark purple, pin-striped suit and a god-awful fedora with a bright yellow feather. That's all he registers before a series of images flashes across his mind.

"Seriously, dude?" Chuck whispers to himself. "You're the leader of an internal CIA strike and you wear that to blend in?"

"What was that, Chuck?" It's Sarah's voice in his ear.

He moves into a more crowded section and whispers surreptitiously, "The older guy over there in the fedora? That's David Arenzia. Code name's Mareades. He's the current Fulcrum leader. He's the one in charge of this little meeting-disguised-as-a-party."

"We're on it."

He turns around, hops on a bar stool, and coolly orders a drink. Within a minute, his ears are clobbered with sounds of muffled fighting. From the sounds of it, Sarah's taking the guy out in a supply closet.

"I'm in," Casey says.

"You're too late, man."

"What?" Chuck can visualize Casey's irritated face. "I missed all the fun?"

He swivels in his stool, and sees Sarah reemerge into the crowd, just as Casey comes in from the opposite side of the ballroom. A couple dancing sweeps in front of the irate NSA agent, causing his scowl to deepen. But Chuck's eyes have already rolled into the back of his head.

After he comes to, he whispers, "Wait, Casey, not all the fun."

"Yeah?"

"Chuck?" It's Bryce now. "What do you mean? I thought we just got the guy."

He takes his drink and moves away from the bar, not wanting to draw suspicion because he's talking to himself. "You did, but there must be more than one. That guy who swept past you a second ago, Casey? That's James Mostolowitz. Code name Olympius. He's in charge of international operations, the heavy stuff. Deals in arms, drugs, rare goods, even people."

"Which one is he?" Sarah asks.

"The guy dancing - dark suit, bright green tie. He's with the woman in that sexy red dress."

Casey grunts, and Chuck thinks he hears Sarah huff, but he can't be sure.

"How are you guys going to take him while he's dancing?" he continues, curious.

Sarah answers him, her tone a little too forceful. "I'll handle this one."

He's rather loath to find out what she means, but she waits until the dance is over, and then moves toward James, a coquettish gleam in her eye. Chuck's throat tightens. He doesn't really want to watch this, but he can't tear his eyes from her. She flirts with James, and he asks her to dance. Before he can watch the plan come to fruition, though, a blunt object jabs into his back.


Life can show no mercy
It can tear your soul apart
It can make you feel like you've gone crazy
But you're not
Things have seem to changed
There's one thing that's still the same
In my heart you have remained
And we can fly, fly, fly away

"I think you'll want to come with me, Mr. . . . Wodehausen, was it?"

Chuck swallows hard, and nods. He sends one last look to the dance floor, but Sarah's wrapped up in her partner.

As soon as they're out of sight of the crowd, the man gets less friendly - not that holding a gun to someone's back is ever friendly to begin with. He grabs Chuck roughly around the neck, almost cutting off his air supply. Unable to ask where they're going or talk his way out of the situation, all Chuck can do is go where the man wants him to go, which turns out to be the resort roof.

The rain's falling faster now, splattering on his pale face and into his gasping mouth. They're nearly to the edge of the roof, and Chuck, scared out of his wits, thinks the man's going to push him off without any ceremony, but they stop about five feet from the ledge. The man's grip around his neck relaxes, allowing him to breathe a bit more easily.

He catches his breath, then chokes out, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to know who you are and why you've invaded my party."

"I'm just . . . I'm a nerd who snuck in to impress a girl, that's all," he pants, hoping the line that's gotten him out of tough spots before will get him out of this one. He still can't see the man's face, so there's no way to trigger a flash and scare him with secrets. He hears the door to the roof fly open behind them, and his heart leaps the tiniest bit.

The guy holding him whips him around and he's greeted by the sight of Casey and Bryce, their guns drawn. Which is good, of course, a lot better than many Fulcrum agents coming to kill him, just not the face he'd hoped to see. He's suddenly very happy that he's wearing a bullet-proof vest. Last time he was being used as a human shield and Bryce had a gun pointed at him, the vest had come in handy.

"Let the kid go. He's of no use to you," Casey growls, his gun trained, as far as Chuck can tell, on the man's forehead.

"Oh, but I believe he is. Why else would he have snuck in under a false name?"

"That's for him to explain," Bryce interjects. "But he's just a civilian. He's not a part of this."

Chuck's not sure whether to be thankful or kind of hurt, but he settles on the former.

"What do I get if I let him go?" the guy asks, rather politely for such a high-stakes situation.

"How about I don't put a bullet through your brain?" Casey responds sarcastically.

The rain pouring down is starting to get to Chuck. His tux is soaked through, and goose bumps are starting to form on his freezing arms.

Chuck hears a sudden thud behind him. A jolt to both of them causes the man's grip to slacken. Chuck falls to the rooftop, hitting it on all fours with a sickening slap. He coughs violently, raindrops splattering from his lips.

"You weren't counting on me, were you?" Sarah asks the man rhetorically and icily. She gives the man a kick in the head ("Just to be sure," she'll justify later). Her attention is immediately redirected towards Chuck. "Hey, hey, hey." She steps over the immobilized body to kneel beside Chuck. "Are you all right? Look at me. Are you hurt?" she asks with a concerned look on her face, placing a hand on the side of his face.

He shakes her off rather roughly, and gets up on his own, still coughing. She looks affronted, but he's too freaked out to care right now. He turns to get a look at his would-be kidnapper, and his brain immediately goes into overdrive.

"His name's Scott Rushworth. Code name Atticus. Part of the Fulcrum's top circle. Provides more financial backing to the operation than he does to actual planning and execution."

"Good work, Chuck," Bryce congratulates him, slapping his shoulder. "You okay, man?"

Chuck nods absently, not returning Bryce's smile.

"Larkin, help me with this body," Casey orders.

Chuck watches them pick up the body. Rushworth's left arm dangles, his wrist showing out of his suit sleeve. He catches a glimpse of a small tattoo shaped like a tree with four tangled limbs, which sends a series of images flashing across his brain.

"Wait."

"What is it, Bartowski?"

"There are four of them."

"Four?" Bryce asks.

"Yeah. Did you get Mostolowitz?"

"Of course I did," Sarah says defensively.

"Well, sorry, I was a little preoccupied." The words come out petulant and vindictive and childish. He takes a breath, and rubs a hand over his eyes. "That leaves one more guy."

"Did you get an image of him?" Bryce inquires.

"No, but his code name's Boreas."

Casey grunts. "How does that help?"

Sarah silences him with a look. "You two take care of Rushworth. We'll find the last guy."

He watches Bryce and Casey, bearing Rushworth's unconscious body, exit into the stairwell. He starts to follow them, wanting more than anything to get into some dry clothes, but Sarah's shout stops him.

"Chuck!"

He doesn't turn, just closes his eyes as raindrops pound into his body.

"Can we talk about this?"

"Now? Don't we have a job to do?"

"That'll be kind of hard, seeing as we're both soaked to the bone."

"Well, then what do you propose?" he asks, turning around angrily. He has no clue why he's so angry with her, but he's finding it hard to dial down his tone after what just happened.

She stares at him for a moment, then steps forward hesitantly. Reaching her arms around his shoulders, she pulls him into a deep, but brief, hug. "I'm just so glad you're okay."

The embrace is so short that he doesn't even have time to respond. By the time he realizes that he should return the gesture, she's gone, walking toward the doorway. He wants her back, wants to wrap himself in her embrace, doesn't even mind the rain soaking him now, he just wants to feel her next to him again.


'Cause you are not alone
And I am there with you
And we'll get lost together
Till the light comes pouring through
'Cause when you feel like you're done
And the darkness has won
Babe, you're not lost
When the world's crashing down
And you can not bear to crawl

Showering calms Chuck, so he takes a nice, long shower to calm himself down after the night's events. He and Sarah managed to, uh, "aggressively convince" (her term) a waiter and waitress to give up their uniforms so they could sneak back into the party. Once in, Chuck had no problem identifying the fourth and final leader of the Fulcrum branch.

So Chuck breathes deeply, and lets the warm water rush over him, wanting to clear his mind. Sarah's given him so many mixed signals the past few days that he can't keep them straight. Hoping her actions stem from confusion brought on by Bryce's unexpected return, he decides that he should talk to her tonight. Once he's relaxed enough, he shuts the water off and hops out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

Catching sight of himself in the foggy mirror, he can't help but think back to his first date with Sarah, and how nervous he was getting ready. He had thought she was so beautiful, and so amazing for actually being interested in him. He was convinced there was something there, that she could see something in him that most people overlooked. He shakes his head, water flying off his hair, and forces that train of thought from his mind. Thinking like that'll only make him depressed.

He dries himself off, slides into his pajamas, and runs a towel over his hair. Sighing, he knocks quietly on the door to Sarah's room.

"Chuck? Is that you?" Her voice is muffled through the door.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Come in."

He walks slowly through the door, only to find her curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped around her tucked-up knees.

"Hey," he says quietly, a tad caught off guard by her vulnerable position. "I thought we could have that talk now."

"Sure." Her smile, no matter how reserved, lights up his world.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" he asks her, leaning against the door frame.

"Wait! You came in here! You didn't come armed with conversation topics?"

"But you were the one who wanted to talk on the roof!"

His laugh echoes hers, and he realizes that she's unwittingly said everything she felt in that hug that almost crushed the life out of him. She smiles and pats the mattress, and he wastes no time in accepting her offer.

He flops onto the bed, his arms folded under his chin, which makes her giggle. "I think we need some chicken soup."

"Are you feeling sick?" she asks, her voice suddenly thick with concern.

"Eh. It's been a long day, and it's good for the soul." He draws the last word out in an attempt to draw a smile from her lips. It works, and he can't help but love the comfortable atmosphere of this moment.

"Listen," she begins in a serious voice, "I'm sorry I've been . . . difficult the past couple of days."

"Sarah –"

"No," she cuts him off, "I owe you an apology."

He lifts his head to look up at her, and it's hard not to find her breathtakingly beautiful, even with her plaid pajamas and her still-damp hair dangling messily around her face.

"We're friends, right?" he asks in a soft voice.

"Of course," she answers, her voice equally low. She places one of her hands over his and runs her thumb along his knuckles.

"Then I just want you to feel like you can come to me, if you ever need to talk."

She falters, "I'm not the best at talking through my feelings."

"Well, then even if you don't want to talk. If you just need to be with someone who cares about you, who understands you – somewhat – I want you to know that I'll be there, Sarah. Don't ever forget that."

She's silent for so long that he gets uncomfortable and looks away. He's about to excuse himself when she whispers, "I won't."

He looks back at her, a grin lighting up his face. "Good."

She returns his smile. "Wanna watch a movie?"

He nods, and she flips on the television. They climb under the covers, leaning against the headboard.

"Ooh, wait! Go back! That's Serenity," he exclaims, his hands gesticulating wildly to emphasize his enthusiasm.

"Oh, come on! I've seen that movie at least 8 times since I've met you. I don't even want to think about how many times you've seen it before I came along," she protests, but turns back to that channel anyway.

Two minutes later, he glances over at her to find her thoroughly engrossed in the movie. He decides to call her out on that later, though, reveling in the feeling of just being with her. He feels courageous enough to wrap an arm around her back, and, to his surprise, she doesn't object. His happiness increases when she snuggles into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he's pretty sure that he can stay like this forever.


I said, baby, you're not lost
I said, baby, you're not lost
I said, baby, you're not lost
I said, baby, you're not lost