I do not own Chuck

Chapter 3: Some things never get old

Chuck was busy putting together his medical pack. The pack he carried for his everyday life as a paramedic was a general pack with solutions for a wide range of issues. If he was being sent in for tactical medical support he would need a tighter range of equipment and he would need a lot of it. He'd been shocked, and quite frankly dismayed, at the age and quality of the equipment that constituted the trauma packs that the Metro PD Special Tactics team carried with them. If they all made it and he did one thing at the end of this operation, he'd be writing a report for Captain Charles which would make some clear recommendations on what his troops should be carrying.

He'd been round to the ambulances in the area and begged and borrowed more of the equipment he'd need, primarily topical haemostatics, gauze, compression bandages and tourniquets. He'd also spoken to the nearest hospital and told them to get their blood supplies ready. He was about as ready as he could be, except for his own personal gear.

He was in one of the people carriers that the tactical team used. It had shaded windows so nobody could see inside. All of the preparation for the attack was taking place under cover just in case the enemy had an observer. They would only reveal that an assault was taking place in the few minutes before the assault was launched.

The door cracked open. It was Sarah, carrying a black holdall and already clad in a black tactical suit festooned with weapons. They hadn't had a chance to talk. After his revelation, the agents had gone to speak to Beckman and he'd made himself scarce. He didn't want to inadvertently hear anything classified, so he'd removed himself to the Special Tactics wagon where Captain Charles was speaking to Manny. The Captain had detailed Manny to introduce him to the other members of the Metro PD team and told him to put together a tactical support medical pack.

"Here's your gear Chuck," Sarah told him as she climbed into the vehicle.

She looked tense, unsurprisingly, given the responsibility that was now resting on her and Casey's shoulders.

"Are you OK?" he asked, reaching out for her hand as she dropped the bag at his feet.

She gave him a brittle smile, "I'm still pissed at you if that's what you're asking?" she offered, then squeezed his hand, "But given what's going on, I guess I'm just as happy that you're here. That we're together."

"I'm sorry you're upset," he told her, "But this is my job and I'm not going to apologise for doing my job." He understood that she might be pissed that he hadn't talked to her before going into the bank but he'd tried to. He didn't understand why this was such a big issue for her.

"It's not your job Chuck," she ground out to him, looking anywhere but at him, "Your job's to be safe. It's not your job to risk your life. You're not supposed to do that any more. You're not The Intersect, you're not a PJ. You're just supposed to have a normal life."

Now he understood. He pulled her over to sit next to him. "Sarah, honey? Look at me." She finally did and he could see the tears in her eyes, some dribbling down her cheeks. He reached up to wipe them away with this thumb. "Sarah, I love you very much," he told her, "And part of that is understanding and accepting who you are. And what makes you tick. As long as I've known you, you've worked for the CIA. You've risked your life. You've served our country. That's part of who you are. You've been happy to put your life on the line for the Greater Good."

He stopped his ministrations, cupping the sides of her head and looking directly into her eyes, willing her to understand. "But that's what's driving me too. Just in a different way. You go off and fight for our way of life day in day out, but my work is much more personal. I see the people I try and help directly. But it's who I am. I want- No, I need to help people. Just like it's who you are. I've never once asked you to stop being who you are for me, but you seem to be asking me to give up who I am for you. I could no more have turned down Manny and Captain Charles this morning than you could. They needed help, there was no-one better than me. What should I have said?"

He looked at her, willing her to understand. She stared at him for long seconds, wide eyed, almost as though she was seeing him for the first time. Suddenly she reached out for him, "You're right," she said into his neck as he wrapped her up in a hug, "But is it wrong for me to want to protect you?"

"No," he told her, savoring the feel of her body in his arms and her arms around his body, "But you've got to let me be me as well. Don't you think I'm not worried for you every time you go on a mission?" he asked, somewhat plaintively. "Every time you and Casey are on the job I'm worried for you. That you might be injured or hurt or captured, or something worse? I've seen what happens when missions go wrong Sarah," he told her, conscious that he was right on the edge emotionally, and hoped she saw and appreciated that, "I've held your broken body in my arms," he swallowed, remembering when that had been the case, before continuing thickly, "But I understand that what you do is part of who you are," he paused and then was able to continue more normally, "I'm just asking that you accept that about me as well, honey."

"I'm sorry," she said, giving him a squeeze, and still speaking into his neck, "I- I'll try."

"A great man once said "Do or do not - there is no try"," he told her in his best Yoda impression, striving for some humor.

She pulled back and gave him a playful glare, "You're such a geek."

"Nerd," he told her.

"Whatever," she retorted, pulling herself together and giving him a fragile smile. "Briefing in ten minutes. You'd better get your clothes on."

"Normally you're trying to get my clothes off," he complained.

"Yeah, well normally we're not trying to storm a building to defuse a chemical weapon that could take down the whole of Washington!" she retorted pithily, then, "But you're right, you do make it difficult to concentrate, so I'll meet you outside." And then she was gone.

"Casey, can I have a word?"

While, in their days of working in Burbank, Casey would've dismissed Chuck's request out of hand in order to get on with the raid, his respect for the younger man's talents meant that this time he answered in the affirmative. "What is it Bartowski? We're kind of on a timetable here."

"I know," the younger man replied, "but something's worrying me about this, and I can't quite get my head around it."

"What's up Chuck?" Now Walker was in on the act. After the pre-assault briefing wasn't a great time for a team member to raise an issue but they both respected their former teammate's intuition. Chuck had stayed at the back of the briefing, allowing the element leaders to be at the front, but every time Casey had glanced at him he'd had a pensive expression in his face, so this intervention wasn't a complete surprise.

"Go on," he allowed.

Bartowski grimaced, "Well, I don't understand what their exit strategy is," he explained, "They must know that we'll breach – that's standard procedure, even if they don't know that NSA has taken over control of the operation. So, are they planning to beat us off? I didn't see any heavy weapons in there. And also, why that building?"

"What do you mean Chuck?" Walker spoke for him.

"Well, if it's an airborne chemical weapon, why not go for the tallest building you can find and set the bomb off on the roof, so you'd get maximum range. Why a bank on the first floor of a low-rise tower? It doesn't make sense."

And it didn't. Why didn't they think of that?

"Hmpf," he grunted, exchanging a glance with Walker. There was definitely more to this than met the eye. Bloody Bartowski.

"Casey," continued the PJ, now somewhat excitedly, "What doesn't go up must go down. Can we have another look at the building plans?"

Perhaps the kid was onto something.

And the kid was, they'd found out. A careful study of the building plans found that the vault for this bank connected with the remnants of a historic tunnel which linked in with a key junction in the city's sewerage system. If the weapon was detonated down there it had the potential to infect the whole of Washington DC and make it uninhabitable for years to come. On top of that the sewers offered a viable escape system for the Fulcrum/Ring agents

"Good work Colonel," General Beckman told them from the screen. "I've got specialist units on the way with motion sensors and seismic equipment to help you in your search. Do you need more manpower? USAMRIID has a specialist strike team that we can get to you in 40 minutes. They're experts on dealing with potential chemical attacks."

"I'll take whatever we can get, General," he told his boss. "This adds a substantial amount of ground that we need to cover. We'll put together the brains trust here and at HQ and try and decide how to reconfigure the attack."

"I'll leave you to it Colonel," the older woman replied, giving a wry smile, "And tell Bartowski 'well done'. Make sure you include him in your planning process."

"I will Ma'am," he confirmed, reflecting on how both the General's and his attitude to their former colleague had experienced a substantial change over the years.

"So that's it." Casey concluded the briefing, "Any more questions?" They both looked around the room to make sure there were none. Their own tactical team and the Metro PD Special Ops team had been supplemented by USAMRIID's strike team, a specialist team from the FBI and a team of special operations engineers. In all, about forty combatants, plus tactical support staff.

The intervening hour had been a busy one as they'd sought to identify what the enemy forces were likely to do and how best to counter that. She and Casey had both been surprised at Chuck's ability to get inside their opponents' heads and suggest what they might try and do. Once the remote sensing equipment had arrived it had been clear that several of his guesses had been right on the money.

Now the time for planning was done. Her and Casey were to lead the main body of their team, with the USAMRIID strike team and some Metro PD troopers, through the sewer system with the hope that they'd be able to overwhelm the Fulcrum/Ring team from behind. The FBI team and half the Metro PD team would go in from the front, providing a diversion.

Needless to say, they planned to keep their tactical medic with them. Beckman had ensured that Chuck was returned to active duty status for the duration of this operation and seconded to Homeland Security so that he'd be able to carry weapons to protect himself. He hadn't been to Air Force OTS yet, but he'd been promoted to Technical Sergeant shortly after joining the Air Guard. As such, he outranked most of the troops except for the unit commanders and deputies.

There were clearly no questions. "OK, positions everyone," Casey ordered, "and good luck."

As the briefing split up, Chuck sidled over to her partner, "You should've slipped in 'May the Force be with you' Casey, it was the perfect time!"

The older man glared at the medic, "When you're leading a mission you can say whatever shit you want Bartowski, but I'm not spouting any of your sci-fi crap before Hell freezes over! Now go and sort out your lady feelings with Walker so we can get a move on!" And with that he turned and made for the exit.

Chuck grinned at her, "It would have been perfect though, don't you think?"

She couldn't help her grin, "Yes, it would have been great." She'd enjoyed the Star Wars films when he'd introduced her to them. Well, the original trilogy anyway. The prequels had been shit.

She reached out to her boyfriend, serious now. "Be careful out there," she told him.

The grin dropped off his face as he became more focused, "I will. And you be careful too," he told her, "I don't want to be offering either of you my professional services." Then he leaned in for a quick kiss. They stared into each other's eyes. "Love you," he told her.

"Love you too," she replied, as they both turned away and went to work.

"Go! Go! Go!" The order came through Sarah's earpiece as the diversionary team on the surface went ahead with their attack on the bank building. It made scant difference to her situation since her group had been slowly and stealthily sneaking up on the target area for the past 20 minutes. She was just behind the advanced unit, wearing a full tactical load out with gas mask and night vision goggles. She knew Casey was beside her although she couldn't tell him apart from the others with all his gear on. Chuck was a bit behind them.

The scout raised an arm and they all lowered themselves. She was glad for the gas mask and chemical protection gear. She really didn't want to think about what she was crouching in now.

"Enemy in sight," came the quiet call from ahead in her earpiece.

"Execute!" she replied. She had tactical command of this part of the operation. Casey was the overall mission commander and he had lots of things to coordinate and, anyway, this was in line with the plan.

Abandoning stealth, they all sprinted forward along the sewage tunnel. Up ahead it opened out into a large, cavern-like area, which was lit, to some extent. There was the bomb, just as Chuck had described it, and around it maybe seven or eight enemy fighters. Who were facing away, towards the cut away door of the bank vault, just visible in the distance.

She stopped and took aim with her silenced gun, aware of Casey doing the same next to her. She pulled the trigger twice, a double tap, and her target fell to the ground. Six of the enemy fighters fell to the ground and then the other two reacted, returning fire. Sarah took cover and discarded her NVGs, worried about being blinded by any sudden lights. It was dim, but she could make out the bomb and the Fulcrum fighters as they fell under renewed fire from her group.

"Unit six, status?" barked Casey on the tactical frequency.

"Heavy resistance but we're moving in now," replied the FBI special agent in charge, "Four dead hostiles, three retreating towards your position."

Shit, that meant five weren't here. "Unit five, pursue additional hostiles," she ordered Lieutenant Garcia, who would also take some of the USAMRIID team.

"Copy," he replied, pealing off up a side tunnel that led eventually to safety while their element made sure the Fulcrum fighters were taken care of, and assumed defensive positions as the bomb disposal team went to examine the bomb. She saw Chuck move over to help one of their team who had been shot in the exchange of fire. She covered one of the fallen Fulcrum agents as a soldier knelt down to check her pulse. The man shook his head and stood up.

"Agent Walker?" came the voice of the USAMRIID leader, Major Richards.

"Major?" she questioned.

"The bomb is live, Ma'am, ten minute countdown."

Shit. "How many minutes left?" she queried moving towards the bomb.

"If I'm reading this right, six minutes left," he replied calmly, standing to face her. "Andrews says it'll take at least 10 minutes to defuse."

"Show me," she asked, moving towards him, trusting that the rest of their team and Casey could take care of the remaining Fulcrum and Ring agents.

"Here, Ma'am," the Major told her. The big red numbers were counting down on a laptop. This was not good. If they didn't do something their capital city would be uninhabitable and thousands would die.

A laptop.

"Chuck, we need you here!" she called into her radio.

"Sarah, I'm treating a patient," he replied.

"NOW Chuck!" she yelled, "The nasty bomb which could make most of Washington DC uninhabitable is more important!"

It took him about 30 seconds to make it to her position. "What's up?" he enquired.

"Can you defuse that bomb in four minutes?" she asked.

He jerked, looking at her in shock through his mask. "You've got a bomb disposal expert, haven't you?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, but he's stuck and we're running out of time," she replied. "Chuck – the detonator's a laptop!" she told him, staring into his eyes, urging him to get it.

"Oh shit," he muttered. "Help me get my gloves off," he told her, trying to strip his heavy rubber gloves off. "Can you get internet signal down here?" he asked the Major as she and he both worked to pull his gloves off.

"Do it!" she told the Major. "Anything to get a signal down here. ASAP!" she looked over her shoulder, "Casey?!"

"I'm on it!" came the reassuring voice of her partner. Chuck had succeeded in getting his gloves off and now squatted next to the laptop, sizing it up. Taking a deep breath, he typed something on the keyboard, pausing for a few seconds. Clearly gaining confidence that they were still there, he now typed faster.

"I'm in," he announced, then after more typing, "This box is not Wifi-enabled. Irene's not gonna work." He stared down at the keyboard, deep in thought. "Gonna have to try something else."

"Casey?" she called to her partner as Chuck typed so fast that she thought his fingers should blur. Boxes came up on the screen then were minimised and replaced by other boxes.

"I heard," was the reply. In the background she could hear Casey working to keep people away from Chuck so that he could concentrate.

"Time?" from Chuck.

"Two minutes, forty seconds," replied the Major

"OK," acknowledged Chuck, pausing then softer, "OK. Let's do this." He looked up, "I don't suppose anyone's got any Chardonnay have they?!"

"Sorry, fresh out," answered the Major, clearly a cool customer. Sarah was impressed that he hadn't asked anything about Chuck's credentials or what he was doing. Sarah herself was struggling not to ask what Chuck was doing. There wasn't time to risk distracting him. If one person could save the day in this instance, she knew it was her boyfriend, but sitting on her hands wasn't exactly Sarah's forte.

The typing went on, then - "Time?" asked Chuck again.

"One minute thirty seconds."

"This is gonna be tight," muttered Chuck, still typing away, "give me updates every twenty seconds please." Chuck was totally focused on the laptop and Sarah was totally focused on Chuck. All she was conscious of was her own breathing, harsh through her respirator, and the rivulets of sweat coursing down Chuck's face.

"One minute," came the timing from the Major.

Sarah couldn't help herself, she moved forward and squeezed Chuck's shoulder. Reassurance for herself as well as Chuck. She couldn't see his face, but heard his distracted, "Gonna be OK."

"Forty seconds," The Major's voice was terse as Casey came to stand beside her.

She looked up at her partner. "Figured I should be here," he explained. She looked up to see that they were practically alone apart from the bodies of the fallen Fulcrum agents. The light from the bank vault lit the area in which they were standing but beyond that the sewers were dark, lit only by the lights from their wrist flashlights.

"Twenty seconds."

Chuck stopped typing, "And done," he told them, looking up and giving a terse smile. "Here goes nothing," he announced, pressing down on the enter key with his finger.

They all stared at the screen as a succession of numbers and letters spread across it, scrolling down the screen faster and faster. "What did you do?" asked Sarah.

"Had to write my own virus," replied Chuck, "very simple, just a way to overload the processor and the hard drive. It should take about ten seconds…"

As the four looked on, the clock continued to count down. "Or maybe longer," Chuck observed with a wince as it slid below ten, then to nine, then eight, then seven, six, five, four…and then froze. Everyone exhaled, Chuck the loudest, "Phew!" He leaned back, took another deep breath and got to his feet, a little bit shaky. "Tell the Bomb Disposal guys not to jostle the connections."

With that, he turned away and started walking into the vault.

"Where are you going?" she demanded. Even though, because of the gas masks and protective equipment, she couldn't give him the kiss that she most certainly wanted and he absolutely deserved, she could manage with a hug. But it seemed he had other places to be.

He half-turned around. "Got patients to treat," he told her, "Saving the world's only a sideline for me. Gotta get back to the day job!" and with that, he left. Sometimes she hated her boyfriend.

"Me and my team are out of here John," Dave told the NSA agent. His long-time friend looked tired, and well he might after the day they'd all had. He was wearing a fresh tactical suit. His other gear had had to be deep sixed, given the proximity to the chemical weapon and the sewage.

Dave was pleased he'd drawn the above ground portion of the raid; Manny and the underground team had had to go through a 30 minute decontamination regime after they'd returned to the surface.

It was three hours after the raid now, and he'd finished all of the on-scene work he needed to do. It was a Federal crime scene so Metro PD were only needed for crowd control going forward and he could get his boys and girls back to their base. It had been a difficult operation and three of his people had been injured but Bartowski had taken care of them – after he'd finished disarming the bomb. He couldn't believe that the kid had been able to disarm it, apparently cool as a cucumber according to Major Richards. The Army major had been really impressed by the PJ.

The NSA agent tiredly rose to his feet. "Thanks for your help today Prof. Thank your team for me as well. It could have gone very differently."

He grimaced, "It could," he acknowledged. "That Bartowski's something else isn't he?"

Now it was Casey's turn to grimace, "Yeah, he is."

"How did Agent Walker know he could help with the bomb?" he asked. He'd been dying to know.

Casey stared at him for a moment. "Let's just say that it's not Chuck's first bomb and leave it at that," he replied quietly, "I can't tell you anything else Dave."

He digested that. "It sounds like Bartowski's a good person to have on your side."

His friend smiled sadly. "He is. The best." The man looked oddly regretful.

"I'm surprised you let him go," he observed. The intelligence agencies weren't known for letting good people go.

"It wasn't our finest hour," agreed the NSA agent, "I've tried to bring him back in since then, but he told me he wants to focus on being a medic."

Does he now? That's interesting, thought Dave. "Manny said he's a pretty good medic, and certainly he did a good job here."

"He is," replied Casey, "I know from personal experience, like your LT. Plus, he had a great record on operations. Two Bronze Stars, over a hundred lives saved."

"So he is good people?"

"Are you building up to something Prof?" Casey regarded him questioningly.

"I see the attraction of having a trained tactical medic that can go in upfront with my people. Give treatment from within the incident perimeter. With the type of weapons we have to deal with these days, minutes can make a difference. I think Bartowski could do that. He's already reamed me out about the quality of our medical equipment. What do you think?"

Casey looked at him thoughtfully, "He'd be good at that. He's wasted tending to drunks and derelicts. Good luck selling it to him though."

Dave didn't actually think it would be that difficult. It was clear that Bartowski was good at trauma care. He seemed to enjoy it. Becoming a tactical medic for Metro PD special operations would tie in nicely with Chuck's Air Guard PJ responsibilities – there were clear synergies in the training, and Bartowski would be learning new things in his team. Plus the fact he was needed here. Bartowski was the sort of person who wanted to feel needed. Manny and he would take Chuck out for a drink ostensibly to thank him for volunteering and sound him out about the new job. In the mean-time, Dave needed to speak to his boss to get permission to bring Chuck in. If he had to let Matt Frei go, so be it. Bartowski would be an improvement. The younger man had really impressed him.

"Yo, Prof! You in there?" Manny's shout came from outside.

He extended his hand to Casey, "Til next time, John. Take care of yourself."

The older man shook, "You too Prof."

"Penny for your thoughts?" They were both shattered. It was the evening after the raid and they were both struggling with the aftereffects of all the adrenalin and the energy they'd expended during the day. It was going to be an early night tonight in the Walker/Bartowski household. They'd come back from work (separately), showered and were now working on dinner. The problem was that both of them were really too tired to do very much more than chew.

They'd been having a desultory conversation but Chuck had been staring into space for the last two minutes.

"Sorry," he told her, looking at her. She could see the fatigue in his eyes. "I don't think they're worth that much. I was just thinking about Fulcrum."

"Fulcrum?" she asked, surprised, "Why?"

"Do you think that's the end of them now?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied, "That was all the ones we knew about. It's damn well taken us long enough." And it had. Too damn long with too damn many lives lost.

"I was just thinking. We were there at the beginning and we're still there at the end," he grimaced, "The only one that didn't make it is Bryce."

"Bryce?" she questioned sharply, "how do you know?" She still didn't know how she felt about Bryce, but she'd had years to reach an equilibrium over what he'd done. She was sorry he was dead, as she was for anybody who died in the line of duty, but she'd never been able to quite forgive what he'd done to Chuck and how he'd betrayed her.

"I know he's dead Sarah," he told her tiredly. In response to her questioning expression, he turned his chair round so he was facing her directly, "He wrote to me."

"Wrote to you?" That didn't make sense. How-?

"Two letters actually. From beyond the grave." He tiredly ran his hands through his hair.

"I'm not following you Chuck?" she questioned. Maybe it was because she was so tired, but she couldn't quite grasp what he was saying.

"He wanted to apologise, and also to right a wrong."

She took a deep breath, "Chuck if you don't stop being so cryptic, you'll be sleeping on the sofa for the next week!"

He seemed to recover his energy enough to give her a shit-eating grin. "You never asked about OTS. I was surprised."

"OTS?" she frowned at the apparent non-sequitur.

"You can't go to OTS without a college degree," he replied.

Frowning, she replied, "I didn't know that."

He looked at her steadily. "Luckily I have one. A double major in Computer and Electrical Engineering, with distinction. From Stanford University."

"What?"

He nodded slowly, "Bryce wrote to them. It was sent after his death. I guess he thought if he was dead he didn't need his degree. He said that he'd made up the accusation of cheating and he wanted to clear my name. Copied me into the letter as well," he paused, "Why he couldn't have let them know earlier I don't know. I'm sure he could have brought up some spy shit reason."

"Spy shit reason?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, like you've never done it?" he asked, the grin in his voice if not on his face.

"The letters were sent as soon as his spy will was executed. He wrote and apologised for screwing up my life. First at Stanford and then with the Intersect," he paused, reaching out for her hand which rested on the table. "It's funny, as pissed as I am at him for Stanford, I can't be sorry about him sending me the Intersect. If he hadn't, we'd never have met. It was worth it if just for that."

"Oh Chuck." Despite everything that had happened she also couldn't be sorry for that. Her life was millions of times better for having met Chuck and Casey. "But what about Stanford?"

He gave a half grin, "Turns out they have an academic forgiveness plan for serving personnel. We had a bit of back and forth. At the end of it they made a very generous charitable donation to the Wounded Warrior Project and I got my degree. I'm still disgusted about how they behaved, but it's in the past now," he gave another grimace. "Do you know what happened to Bryce? I often wondered."

She didn't, so she shook her head. "I was abroad at the time, deep under cover. I only heard he'd passed when I got back to the States. I can ask if you want?"

He shook his own head, "I can probably manage without knowing. It's been long enough." He stared into space for a moment, and then lifted his glass, "To Bryce, hopefully he found a bit of peace wherever he is."

She grimaced, but raised her own glass, "To Bryce."

Please review if you get the chance.

A/N: USAMRIID is the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases and is the US Army's main institution and facility for defensive research into countermeasures against biological warfare. I don't know if they have an associated assault team though - it's used in Chuck vs La Belle Dame sans Merci by Grayroc (which I heartily recommend for a read) - but it would make sense; Irene is a reference to the Irene Demova virus which Chuck used to defuse his first bomb in the first episode of the series.

Update 21st August: Thanks to those who gave feedback in reviews; factual errors have been corrected.