AN: I decided to forgo school work today and finish another chapter. Hope it doesn't come back to haunt me. Thanks for the reviews.

Chapter 5

There's nothing I can do now but wait and make the final stand whenever our foes happen upon us. They will find us, I've resigned myself to that. It's just a matter of time. My weapons are in place and I've run several scenarios in my mind, all of which involve superhuman efforts on my part. I can handle three on one. Anything else will be a challenge.

I'm not sure whether Chuck has slipped into the coma I feared or it's just a temporary state of unconsciousness. He's slightly sheltered from the falling snow, so I decide to leave him in his current location, while I return to my lookout point and sit in silence.

Surprisingly, a lot of my life as a spy has involved sitting, waiting, and silence. Eighty percent of my work is reconnaissance and relationship building. Before I met Chuck, I hated that part and yearned for the twenty percent, when I could be part of the action. In the last year, I've learned to appreciate the quiet moments that most agents consider mundane.

I'm brought out of my introspection by a strange sound. Checking all points of access, I find no cause for concern even though the noise continues. My body stills and my senses adjust so that I am able to pinpoint the source, which turns out to be the injured man in front of me.

"Chuck?"

Hoping that he is once again a member of the here and now, I scurry to his side. My gloved hand skims the curve of his face, waiting for his eyes to open and that groggy grin to grace his features. It's all for naught, however, as I realize that origin of my excitement is his chattering teeth. His flimsy clothing appears to be no match for the weather and an unmoving form.

Without thinking, I shrug off my winter coat and drape it over him. I tuck the sides securely under his body, ensuring maximum insulation. His shaking and chattering lessens, but nothing will help him unless he wakes up and moves around or rescue arrives.

Moving back to my station, I start to realize how cold it truly is tonight. With the loss of my coat, I'm left in just a long sleeve cotton shirt and jeans. I rub my hands up and down my arms, in an attempt to create heat from the friction and to keep my blood pumping.

I don't know how long I sit there for, but I think about everything and nothing at the same time. Like déjà vu, another noise from Chuck captures my attention.

"Sarah," Chuck says weakly, breaking the precarious calm of the forest and startling me.

"You're awake," I state, in relief.

"What happened? Where are we?"

I frown at his questions, leaning towards him. "You don't remember?"

Just as the last word leaves my mouth, a bullet pierces the rock where my head rested only seconds ago. I swear under my breath and dive towards Chuck. He looks at me in panic, but I ignore it, trying to see our attackers. Sticking my head above the rock, in the direction from which the bullet was fired, I see no sign of life. I actually can't see much of anything between the snow and the trees. They shouldn't be able to see me either.

"How in the world," I wonder quietly to myself.

"Why ar..e we be..ing shot..at," he asks, his chattering teeth chopping his words.

He must not be warm enough, even in his newly conscious state. I stop myself suddenly, as something sits at the tip of my brain, but refuses to compute.

That's it, I think to myself, crouching beside Chuck. He looks at me in concern. They can't see through the rock so they might assume there is only one of us. I need to hide.

"I want you stay here. There are people after us, but I'm going to take care of them. If they confront you, say you're alone."

He doesn't respond.

"Can you do that Chuck," I question, taking his face in my hands, forcing him to look me in the eyes.

"Yes. Play dumb. I think I can do that," he responds weakly, giving a little grin at the end to pacify me.

"Good. I'm going to get us out of this," I assure him, before moving away, into the shadows of the surrounding rocks. When I'm at an acceptable distance, I plop down on the ground, toss my bag to the side, and begin covering myself with snow.

I can't believe I didn't consider that they might have heat vision. That's not something a CIA agent generally encounters, unless they're the ones using it. My only consolation is that it wouldn't have changed what we did, even if I had known ahead of time.

My lower body and torso are sufficiently covered. I grab my gun, positioning my hand and head so that I have a clear view of Chuck, a clear view of the path behind him, and a good firing angle. As thoroughly as possible, I cover my head and arms with the cold precipitation, hoping it's enough to fool their goggles.

I hear a branch crack. Chuck must have heard it too because he visibly winces. He's going to be fine, I reassure myself for the millionth time. The noise came from the forest and I adjust my eyes quick enough to see two dark figures emerging. When they're close enough for me to see specifics, I assess their treat level.

Catching a glimpse of the goggles around their necks is all the confirmation I need of their status. I mentally prepare myself to take life, knowing that I can't afford the niceties of a non-lethal wound, not when Chuck's well being hangs in the balance. My hand tenses around the gun's handle once, before firing two quick shots. I watch as the bullets hit their marks and both men fall to the ground.

"Nice shot," a voice says behind me.

All the blood drains from my face as I realize that someone snuck up on me, putting him at a serious advantage. As quickly as possible, I spring from my snow cocoon to face my adversary. It wasn't fast enough and he easily kicks my gun away, causing me to stagger.

"That wasn't very nice," I say, in an attempt to seem less concerned than I actually am.

"It wasn't nice of you to kill my partners," he sneers.

I'm through talking and go in for the attack. He's able to fend me off and I realize that we're evenly matched. I throw a kick and a punch at the same time, hoping to land something. Fearing for his consciousness, he blocks my arm, allowing my leg to connect with his side. A grunt of pain escapes his lips and I can clearly see the anger flash through his earth colored eyes.

"That's it. I'm done playing games," he quips, like some villain from a B movie.

The bigger man begins a barrage of kicks. I hold my own, but am eventually brought to the ground by a swipe of his leg. His knee presses against my chest, just below my throat. I struggle to escape his hold, but it is futile. He leans his head in closer to me, with a grin on his face. I have no doubt he's about to gloat.

"It's been nice meeting you Agent Walker. Too bad it had to be under these circumstances," he says.

"Go to hell," I grind out, kicking my legs wildly, in another escape attempt. He pulls a gun from its holster on his belt. As hard as I try to fight it, panic and fear fill my system.

"I'm going to kill you now and then we get to take the boy toy Intersect home to play. Do you think he'll cooperate or are we going to have to be persuasive," he questions, but already knows the answer.

My gaze flicks to Chuck momentarily and I see another man looming over him. The man draws his leg back and delivers a vicious kick to Chuck's side. I can hear his faint cry of pain and it ignites something inside of me. As inconspicuously as possible, I bend my leg and reach for my boot, drawing out a knife.

The man above me gives one last chuckle before he pulls the trigger on his gun. I move my head out of the way, bringing my arm up as far as it will go and stabbing him in the back. In pain, he loosens his grip and I am free enough to move. Not even thinking, I finish him off and whip my head around, towards Chuck's previous location.

His attacker still towers over him and I let out an unworldly sound, as I sprint towards them. I cover the fifteen or so yards faster the Marion Jones on steroids, taking the last few feet in the air, as I jump into the hefty man. We are both thrown to the ground, but he is surprised and I am prepared. In an almost blind rage, I pummel him endlessly, until Chuck's voice breaks through the fog.

Realizing that using the man as my punching bag will not make us safer, I grab the collar of his jacket, lift him up, and smack him back to the ground. I repeat this several times before I am able to speak.

"How many more of you are there," I yell.

He refuses to answer so I repeat my process and question, along with a few other choice words to scare him. Taking the knife that I used on his friend, I press it to his throat.

"I'm generally a pleasant person, but you all seem to be bringing out a dangerous side of me," I threaten. I'm not sure if it's my words or the look of pure hatred that I'm sure appears on my face, but he concedes.

"No one else. There were just four of us, but more will come when they don't hear back," he supplies, with regret.

"We'll just have to make sure they hear from you won't we," I say, taking the radio from his belt and holding it to his mouth.

"What," he questions.

"Bring them on the air and say you have the package. If you say anything else, I'll kill you."

I press the button and he complies, saying, "Person Two to home. Person Two to home."

After a few seconds, a voice comes through the equipment. "We hear you Person Two. What is your status?"

I give the man a menacing glare and he responds accordingly. "We have the package."

I decompress the button before he can say anything else and wait for his team to give their acknowledgement. Once I hear what I want, I flash the man a happy smile before knocking him unconscious with the handle of my knife.

"Now that wasn't so hard," I say, dragging him to the nearest tree and securing him with Chuck's tie.

As the adrenaline begins to wane, I realize that we might just get out of this thing. Help should get here before Person Two's home team realizes they don't really have the package. This brings my thoughts back to my asset, to Chuck. I rush to him as quickly as possible. He's no longer leaning against the rock. Instead, he's lying prone on the snowy ground. There is blood dribbling from his mouth and down the side of his face. I brush it away with my thumb, morbidly fascinated at how it soaks into the cloth of my glove.

"Oh, god," I say, sitting beside him. To my relief his eyelids snap open, but his brown orbs looks less than alive.

"Did you get them," he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I smile and nod my head, as moisture begins to fill my eyes. Unconsciously, I wipe at my face to hide my weakness. Chuck raises his hand, in an attempt to comfort me, but it quickly drops back to the ground.

"You have to stay with me Chuck. Help is on the way," I plead.

He gives me a small smile, before saying, "Thanks, for everything. Best almost year of my life, if it were remotely real."

My mouth opens and closes, but I don't know what to say. It doesn't matter because his face quickly goes limp. I tear the glove off of my right hand and grab his wrist. He has a weak pulse. The fact that he's still alive is good enough for me. Getting to my feet, I take in our surroundings, as the sky begins to lighten, thanks to the clearing storm and rising sun.

I have to get Chuck to civilization. There must be a ranger station around here somewhere or other campers who have means of communication. I wander around the site, picking up the stern weapons and placing them properly throughout my body. Once everything is set, I stand above Chuck. Mustering all the strength I've ever had, I pick him up and toss him over my shoulder, making sure the pressure if away from his rib cage.

I start off into the forest, labored, but determined to survive. Chuck's weight begins to get to me and I stumble every few steps. With a few breaks in between, I'm able to trek for hours. Before I know it, I sun is out in full force.

A particularly nasty fall forces me to drop Chuck to the ground so that I don't seriously injure my knees. I'm about to pick him back up when I notice that his chest isn't moving. Slightly panicked, I lean my ear to his lips and wait to hear the sound of his breath. Nothing happens. Refusing to accept things, I once again put my fingers to his wrist. I can't feel a pulse.

Grief begins to overcome me, even as my training kicks in and I start CPR. For the first time since that night on the pier, my lips touch his. It is not how I imagined our second kiss would happen. When nothing changes, I begin banging on his chest, as tears fill my eyes and spill onto my cheeks. Eventually, I bring my hands to my own body and rock back and forth, trying to stamp out the pain.

I hear a rustling behind me and viciously mop away the moisture before grabbing my gun. Prepared to die along with Chuck, I whirl around to face the threat. Relief and shock flood me as I see Casey's face.

"Whoa Walker. It's just me," he says, putting his hands in the air.

I lower my gun and look back at Chuck's unmoving form. I hang my head in regret.

"You're too late. Chuck's dead."

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The End...nah I'm just kidding. One, maybe two more chapters to go.