A/N: Unexpected travel slowed posting. Sorry.


The Missionary


Run and tell all of the angels
This could take all night
Think I need a devil to help me get things right
Hook me up a new revolution
Cause this one is a lie
We sat around laughin' and watched the last one die

Now, I'm lookin' to the sky to save me
Lookin' for a sign of life
Lookin' for somethin' to help me burn out bright
And I'm lookin' for a complication
Lookin' cause I'm tired of lyin'
Make my way back home when I learn to fly

I think I'm done nursing the patient
It can wait one night
I'd give it all away if you give me one last try
We'll live happily ever trapped if you just save my life
Run and tell the angels that everything's alright

— Foo Fighters, Learn to Fly


Chapter Twenty-Two: Whirlwind


Chuck struggled to put the SIM card into his phone while keeping Natalie on his lap; the little girl kept squirming, her pudgy hands grabbing for the phone.

Chuck had seen Sarah's glance into the rearview mirror, and he had seen the headlights move onto the highway behind them.

He felt the urgency. It seemed to slow and thicken his fingers.

"Hold on, sweetie," Chuck said quietly to Natalie, unconsciously, as he shifted the baby in his arms, better freeing his hands.

Sarah glanced over, anxiety and amusement mixed in her glance.

"Hurry, honey," she gave Chuck a tight smile, her tone carrying the seriousness of her request despite its teasing form, "we need to let someone know where we are."

Her eyes lifted to the rearview, her gaze calculating. "They're gaining."

Chuck fumbled, one-handedly, for a moment, then finally succeeded. "Got it!"

He powered up his phone, his pleasure at success reflected on Natalie's round face in a wide grin and giggle. "Hey, she laughs!" Chuck observed, forgetting their predicament, caught up for a second simply in the child's reaction.

But soon the sound of the growling engine behind them forced Chuck to start dialing and eclipsed the baby's giggle.

He called Beckman.

"Hello?" her voice was groggy for a second; Chuck spoke her name, and then she was fully awake: "Thank God! Agent Bartowski?"

It struck him that the title she used didn't strike him. He was beginning to think of himself as Agent Bartowski.

"Yes, ma'am, no time to explain. We have the baby, she's fine. We're south of Tijuana on the main highway heading north by northwest. But there's a Sinaloa SUV on our tail."

Beckman took this in immediately; her response was now more than awake, crisp. Chuck put her on speaker so Sarah could hear.

"Ok, keep moving. Do not stop, do not let them stop you. I'll talk to the Mexican military officials. After we've secured you, I'll call Stanfield."

"Okay, ma'am, I've turned on the phone GPS; you should be able to find us."

Chuck could hear Beckman talking, not to him, muffled, giving orders to someone.

Then she was speaking to him. "We're hunting for you on satellite. Contact is being made with the Mexican military. It's daylight here, midmorning..."

"Still dark here, although dawn's coming, and we're exhausted," Sarah said quickly and distinctly. "But I'm guessing we're no match for the firepower in the SUV. Luckily, there's only one. They'll have a hard time stopping us unless they get help."

"LIke trying to checkmate when you only have your king and one knight," Chuck offered.

Sarah gave him a puzzled look and Beckman missed a beat.

"Ah, right." It seemed to take her a moment. "As you get closer to the city, they'll likely have more assistance. As far as cartels go, I believe Sinaloa still controls the city, though the suburbs are contested. Just stay ahead of the SUV. Give us time to get to you."

"Okay," Sarah said, and Chuck felt her ease up a bit on the accelerator. "Our best chance of staying out of reach is to abandon the highway; they can't match me in tight spaces."

"True," Beckman agreed quickly, "but it's going to be easier to get help when you're on the highway or in the open. Keep north. I'm hoping to get someone to you by air — a chopper."

"Ok, — but hurry. We'll be in the city proper in another twenty minutes. We had a brush with CJNG, and I think their appearance has Sinaloa scattered."

"CJNG? Jesus, are you on some sort of cartel greeting tour? Never mind. Hold the line."

There was more muffled talk, then silence, then more muffled talk.

"Alright," Beckman breathed. "We're on the line with the Mexican military; they're cooperating. Cars are on the way from Tijuana, and a helicopter is being scrambled…"

Chuck gave Sarah a look. She nodded. "ETA?"

"Seventeen minutes."

Sarah's lips made a grim line. "This'll be close. When we see the chopper, we will head for the first open ground we can find. Tell them to keep an eye on us."

"Yes, and ground support, law enforcement, should arrive soon afterward."

"General," Chuck said, "can we trust Mexican officials, law enforcement? Isn't it riddled with corruption, cartel influence?"

"Yes," Beckman conceded, "but I'm going through a man I know, General Hernandez Almanza. He's heading the Special Forces sent into Tijuana a few months ago to help battle the cartels. He'll take care of you."

Sarah looked at Chuck. His eyes went out of focus when Beckman mentioned Almanza.

After a few seconds, Chuck blinked his eyes and gave Sarah a quick nod and tight smile, the Intersect okayed Hernandez.

"Ok, ma'am," Sarah said, "we'll call you when we're airborne."

"Be careful, Agents. Keep that little one safe."


The prolonged and strange chase continued — a murderous version of Follow the Leader.

Sarah made no effort to outrun the SUV; the SUV made no effort to overtake her.

Sarah began to have the odd feeling that she was pulling the SUV behind them, that it was on a chain running taut between the cars, but that hers was the one supplying the speed, the power.

The houses had changed, grown nicer and more tightly packed. Sarah knew they would soon be in Tijuana proper. If the Sinaloa SUV had requested help, it was likely to arrive soon.

Sarah began to watch the cars heading in the other direction as intently as she did the one she knew was following them.

Sarah's mind was divided. Part of her was entirely focused on the driving, but another part of her returned to Chuck's previous actions.

Twice, he had saved her with a projectile, once a skillet, once a gun. He saved me. Each action had taken a remarkable combination of effort and precision. She might have chalked the skillet up to luck, maybe; but the gun? Something was going on with the Intersect, with Chuck — something that they had not predicted, something that Graham kept from them if he knew it. The Intersect would and could protect itself: Sarah knew that by learning it the hard way, when Chuck disarmed her on the fateful date night.

But no one seemed to think the Intersect had offensive powers, only defensive, and self-defensive ones at that.

And yetChuck saved me.

Chuck had saved her twice.

But maybe it wasn't her, maybe it was the baby, Natalie.

However, Mateo had not been threatening Natalie and had shown no interest in the little girl. Both times Chuck saved Sarah, Natalie had been in Chuck's arms.

It didn't seem like the skillet or the gun was thrown directly to protect the baby. They both seemed thrown directly to protect her, Sarah. Chuck, the man who had barely been able to talk to her or look at her for weeks, except to do so in hostility, had saved her twice.

She had assigned herself a personal mission: to protect Chuck. But he had been protecting her.

Maybe Chuck has a personal mission too?

Sarah hardly knew how to begin to answer her own question.

Her motives for her mission were complicated; she either had not or could not fully explain them to herself. She did not know if she could imagine Chuck's at all. Chuck himself was puzzling enough, but Chuck plus the Intersect was exponentially more puzzling.

Still, he saved me.

Sarah looked at Chuck and the baby out of the corner of her eye. He was looking behind them, one hand patting the baby on the back, soothing it. The baby seemed fascinated by the passing lights.

Warmth radiated through her, starting in her middle, somewhere deep inside her. She felt full of and flush with mulled wine — although she had drunk nothing. She did not exactly speak any words to herself, entertain her own thought, but she began to wonder if she really was the heartless baggage she had taken herself to be for years.

And then the part of her still focused on driving saw an SUV traveling south, on-coming. Its headlights flashed and the SUV behind them flashed its answer.

"Fuck," Sarah whispered, and she punched the gas pedal to the floorboard. Her side of the four-lane was protected from the other by a high median, too high for even the SUV to scale at any speed without serious damage and danger.

But there was a crossover behind her; she had just passed it. The on-coming SUV could use it to join the northbound traffic.

Sarah needed to create room between herself and the SUVs before they could coordinate their efforts.

"Looks like another knight just appeared on the board," she told Chuck as she weaved from lane to lane, dodging cars.


Chuck had been looking back at the angry SUV lights. Daylight was coming. He felt rather than saw Sarah's side-eye as he turned back to the front, patting the baby.

Sarah's face was a picture of concentration: except for a wispy smile that seemed to dance away as he looked at her. He had no understanding of how he could be affected by her at such a moment — with so much on the line — with a kidnapped baby in his arms — but he was.

He was. But he was supposed to hate her. He knew her past, their past. But there was something about her — he could not isolate it as a feature of her face, her expressions, her posture, — it was all of them and none of them; it was somehow the whole of her. He did not think she was all she had been.

Whatever that means.

He would deal with that later. He saw Sarah brace herself as headlights passed them going the other way, an SUV, and then she cursed to herself and the car sped forward; he felt the speed press him against the seat, press Natalie against him.

Sarah made a comment about chess, playing off of Chuck's earlier one, even as she concentrated on driving, even at a time like this.

She was a deep file, Sarah Walker, a deep file.

Sarah was constantly challenging; she was constantly surprising.

How can I know so much and so little about her? Can you know someone side to side but not front to back?

Not just pieces but whole dimensions of his partner eluded him.

The Intersect knew much but not all. No amassing of facts was equivalent to knowing a person.

To knowing her.

"The chopper, Chuck!" Sarah shouted.


Chuck bent forward and looked up. There, against the graying dawn horizon, was a chopper. He could not hear it but he could see it.

Sarah had been looking from it to the roadside. "Hold on, Chuck!" she warned him. He pressed his feet against the front of the floorboard and put one hand on the dash, one arm around Natalie, who began to cry, startled by Sarah's shout.

Sarah whipped the wheel to the side and the car vaulted suddenly from the pavement to the gravely roadside. The rear slid out but Sarah compensated with the wheel and the car suddenly straightened. Dust was billowing behind them, but in a moment, Chuck saw four headlights within it, obscured but unmistakable.

Sarah had left the road and was driving across patches of dirt and grass. Chuck finally realized it was a construction site: a number of half-built houses stood close together, bricks and lumber and dirt piles stood next to the houses. A large area had been bulldozed, flattened, but no houses had been started in it. Sarah speared the car in that direction, and as they got closer, Chuck could hear the helicopter above them.

Sarah spoke quietly. "In a moment, I'm going to stop. I'll wheel the car so that my side's facing the SUVs. You get Natalie out, stay low, and run toward the chopper. I'm sure the pilot will know to come down on the far side of the car. I'll meet you there."

Chuck looked at her, about to reject the plan, when Sarah whipped the wheel again and the car slid to a sideways stop. "Get out!" Sarah yelled.

Chuck did. He got out, tucked the baby against himself, hunching over her protectively, and he began to run from the car, bending his neck to glance up at the helicopter. Sarah was right; the pilot was landing a bit ahead of Chuck.

The rotors on the chopper beat at the dust, kicking up a storm of it in Chuck's face, mouth and eyes. He squinted and kept running.

Shots rang out. He veered, now to one side, now to the other, afraid for the baby but not even thinking about himself. More shots.

The pounding of the rotors became deafening. The chopper sat down on the dirt. Chuck saw a door slide open, a man in fatigues gesturing toward him, another man in fatigues beside him, firing a rifle at a target somewhere behind and to the side of Chuck.

In the distance, Chuck heard sirens. He reached the chopper and handed the baby to the man without the rifle. Behind him, he heard yet more shots, many shots, in rapid succession. He turned.

He could barely see the car. It was almost parallel to the chopper but about forty yards from it. On the other side of the car, maybe twenty yards from it, were the two SUVs. Chuck thought the doors were open.

"My partner's in the car," Chuck yelled, "we have to wait for her!"

The soldier nodded and fired. Chuck could see the sirens now, bunched, several cars traveling the highway.

The soldier lowered his rifle and gestured to the approaching cars. "The cavalry!" he said in accented English, smiling below his dark mustache.

Chuck watched, expecting the SUVs to go, to run, before they were pinched between the chopper and the cars. But they did not move.

"Hijo de puta!" the soldier muttered, shouldering his rifle again. The Intersect translated the phrase though Chuck knew it from action movies. Son of a bitch!

"Your partner needs to run. I don't think the cars are here for us, I think they're here for them." The soldier nodded at the SUVs, now easier to see in the settling distant dust.

At just that moment, Sarah landed on the ground on the chopper side of the car. She had crawled across the seat. She'd evidently gathered that the cavalry was not there for her. She gathered herself and began to run.

Chuck had lived through moments that seemed to extend, to slow, like slow-mo replays during a football game, but never one like that. Sarah ran, crouched down, twisting to fire her gun behind her. The soldier was firing too, trying to keep the men hidden behind the open SUV doors from being able to sight her before firing.

Chuck heard more choppers, or thought he did.

Sarah came toward the helicopter at what seemed a glacial pace. Chuck could hear Natalie crying behind him. But he could not look away. One of the SUVs fireballed into nothingness.

And then, suddenly, time sped back up, and Sarah was a few strides from the chopper.

Chuck saw her leap — toward the door — toward him.

And then she landed on him, tumbling him back into the chopper. He caught her in his arms.

He heard the soldier shouting at the pilot, but for a moment, all he really knew was Sarah safe in his arms.


Sarah hugged herself to Chuck, his warm body against her, his arms around her.

Chuck was alive; Natalie was alive; she was alive.

She was airborne.

They were airborne.

She heard the door slam.

She heard the rotors beating madly.

Or her heart.

Thumping.


A few hours later, Natalie in her arms, Sarah stepped off a different chopper at an airfield in San Diego.

A limo door opened, and Sarah saw Skipper and Rob running toward her, toward Natalie.

Sarah had held the little girl all the way from Tijuana to San Diego. She had enjoyed the little girl in her arms, and enjoyed being able to watch Chuck play with Natalie as they flew.

Behind the running parents walked General Stanfield and Casey.

Sarah focused on Skipper who was weeping as she reached Sarah, her arms extended completely for Natalie. Sarah handed the baby to Skipper. Skipper squeezed the little girl, kissed her, then mouthed a watery Thank you to Sarah and then to Chuck, who had joined them.

Sarah's arms were empty, and there was an echoing emptiness inside her.

She watched the mother and daughter closely, suddenly feeling as if lifted out of a whirlwind and set down in a still and holy place.


Natalie gurgled happily, knowing her parents.

Rob had his arms around his wife and child, both at once. General Stanfield came around the side and found an opening. He bent and kissed his grandchild's head tenderly, a blessing, then his daughter's head.

He turned to Sarah and Chuck, shaking her hand and then his. "Thank you, both. We were terrified all morning, and then Beckman called…" He stopped, his voice thickening. He cleared his throat and tried to laugh. "As I said, you two are quite a team," he glanced at Casey, "that is, you three." He looked back to Sarah and Chuck. "You must be exhausted and you still face debrief, but know how grateful I am to you, how indebted. If you ever need me, I'll do anything I can for you."

"Thanks, General," Chuck said.

"Okay, you two," Casey interjected, "Beckman says I'm to get you inside. There's a room for debriefing, then we have another chopper flight back to LA. We should be home, in Burbank, this afternoon." Casey headed toward the building beyond the limousine

Home.

Sarah turned to face Chuck.

There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much unsaid between them. She had been trying to tell him about their date when they'd been interrupted, trying to tell him about the moonlight and the kiss.

But standing on the tarmac in the glaring sun, exhausted, her emotions worn and tattered by the mission, she was unable to summon adequate words.

"You did good, Chuck. Thanks, for — you know, everything." That was all she could say.

Chuck's eyes deepened and for a moment she felt like she saw far into him, seeing more than she knew how to comprehend.

He nodded, pressing his lips together. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "We're a team."


A/N: Still one more chapter in this arc, The Will To Believe. More soon, I hope.