A/N: I said I'd post this chapter before Thanksgiving. See how I follow through on things. That's right. Barely.

Chapter 15:

"Are you okay, dad?" Sarah said.

"I'm fine. They caught me in the airport parking lot. Must be losing my touch in my golden years." he grunted and shut up at a blow to the ribs.

Sarah tensed, and fought down the instinct to shoulder her AK. Escalation seemed like a bad plan when outnumbered two to one. "You hurt him and I'll-"

"Please, no histrionics," Conway said with a wave of his hand. "We're going to have a new deal now, and I will dictate the terms."

Even as he finished speaking, the lights went out, dropping the whole gathering into darkness but for the thin light coming in the windows on the upper story. The sun had set while Chuck and Sarah were led inside, and what little light remained was fading fast.

"Nice job with the lights, Major," Chuck said under his breath just as a laser dot appeared on Conway's chest. "You might want to reconsider that," Chuck said, pointing. "That's the laser dot from a sniper scope."

"What the hell are you talking about, Bartowski?" Casey's voice said through the earpiece. "I don't have a laser sight."

"Wha-" Chuck said, looking down to his own chest. There was a dot there as well. "Oh, crap." Each of Conway's men had a similar dot in the middle of their chest, as did Sarah, but not Jack or Bryce. The man behind Jack had a laser dot on his forehead instead of his chest.

"Well," Conway mused. "This certainly makes things interesting."

"My thoughts exactly," came a new voice from the shadows. Chuck recognized the voice and grimaced.

"You're early," he said.

"My, am I, Mr. Bartowski? It seems you're here entirely uninvited."

Conway frowned. "You know this guy?"

"Oh, we haven't been formally introduced; just our minions," the newcomer said, standing there in his hawaiian shirt and bermuda shorts, with a hand-held electric lantern illuminating his features. "Theodore Roark, Teddy to my friends. Quite a few of whom are in attendance out there, to keep everyone honest. If you try to raise your weapons they have orders to shoot."

"You picking this up, Casey," Chuck whispered.

"Yeah, just switched to nightvision. It's not as bad as it seems. Five guys, with laser sights on their guns, and handheld laser pointers. In the dark, it's a decent force multiplier."

"That in mind, my good man," Roark went on. "I'll be taking that case please, Mr. Conway."

"I don't think that's a great idea Teddy," Bryce said.

"Oh, Mr. Larkin. I'd heard you survived your little trip to the base. Pity the rumors are true."

"How'd you know?" Chuck said.

Roark gave the room a thin smile. "You rented a van on the expense account. I had the account flagged for odd expenditures, after a man matching your description shot his way off the island. Seeing you here with Mr. Larkin confirms my suspicions. I merely had the car company activate the GPS lo-jack system, and saw that you were coming here. I admit we had to scramble to arrive just as you were bringing in Mr. Larkin for this get-together. I must say, Charles- do you mind if I call you Charles? I must say, I didn't think you had the stones to try something like this. Live and learn. Well, I will anyway."

Roark hefted the case holding the Cypher. "It's about time I skedaddled, lady and gentlemen. You've been a lovely audience."

"Teddy," Chuck said. "Maybe we can just sit down and talk about this. Maybe over a slice of pizza. You like Pineapple?"

Roark shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but Bryce was already moving. His trick cuffs came undone at a flick of his wrist, and he made a pistol appear in his hand as if by magic. The guards hadn't bothered to search the 'prisoner'. Chaos erupted.

There was a huge roar from above them, which Chuck recognized as the report of Casey's sniper rifle an instant before the head of the man behind Jack disappeared in a red cloud. Jack stumbled forward in a sprawl and stayed down, eyes darting around in shock.

Conway and his remaining gunmen mostly turned to engage Roark's hidden goons. Two started to fire on Chuck and Sarah, but Bryce beat them to the trigger, sending both men spinning to the ground with bullets in their chests. At that point, the whole thing became a horrible unmanageable melee of gunfire lighting up the darkened warehouse sporadically. The noise made communication all but impossible.

Chuck and Sarah fired wildly, adding to the din, but then Sarah raced forward instead of toward cover. Chuck cursed under his breath and followed. They took up station over Sarah's father, and Sarah took her diving knife to the plastic zip-tie binding his wrists.

It was the longest four seconds of Chuck's life, staring out into the warehouse, lit only erratically by bursts of gunfire. Chuck caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A man in black combat fatigues resolved out of the darkness, backlit by gunfire and heading their way, gun up and the laser nearly blinding Chuck. That wasn't good, a tiny detached part of his brain said; it meant the gun's barrel was pointed directly at his eyeballs. He turned, trying to whip his bulky assault rifle around in time.

The charging gunman jerked and spun to the ground in a cloud of blood, blackish in the brief darkness between muzzle flares. The thunder of Casey's sniper rifle came at the same instant.

"I owe you one, Casey," Chuck breathed.

"Taking fire, that second shot gave away my location. You're on your own for a while."

"Sarah," Chuck said.

"I heard," she said. "Come on, dad we've got to get you to cover."

"Give me a gun," Jack said. "I can fight."

Chuck grunted and retrieved the dead man's shotgun, tossing it to Jack. The gunfire kept on in the warehouse around them.

"You sure there's only five of them, Casey?" Chuck whispered, when they found a spot that seemed promising. A pair of shelving units packed with boxes made a T-shape, and a few feet down was a pallet full of TV boxes, screening them from much of the warehouse.

"Five to start," Casey said. "More now. Probably had a team on overwatch at the doors."

"Crap. I'm hit," Bryce said over his own earpiece. Chuck had nearly forgotten about him, somehow, in the conflagration. "Chuck, you've got a guy coming in, from three o'clock."

Chuck turned instinctively and squeezed off a three round burst at an indistinct shape that crumpled to the ground. "How the hell did you see him?"

A light appeared in the darkness, to one side of where the man Chuck had shot lay still. It disappeared and reappeared, and after a moment, Chuck recognized it as the illuminated dial of Bryce's wristwatch. "Got you," Chuck said. "I'm coming to you."

"Be careful," Sarah hissed, and Chuck pulled her in for a brief kiss.

Jack arched an eyebrow. "When did that start happening?"

"Now isn't the time for the overprotective dad shtick," Sarah said.

"Might ne my only chance!" Jack retorted, popping out of cover to loose a shotgun blast.

"Desert island," Sarah shrugged one shoulder. "One thing led to another."

Chuck kept low, moving in a crouch and peering in the direction of flashes as he went, but the firefight was moving away from them into the far reaches of the warehouse. He was scared out of his mind, but somehow he kept putting one foot in front of the other. Finally he knelt over Bryce, who was leaning against a metal shipping container. "How bad is it?"

"My leg," he said. "Can't walk, but I'll live. Shit! Get down!"

Chuck spun as he toppled to one side, finger instinctively squeezing the trigger. Bryce's pistol barked once, taking a gunman in the chest. Chuck sprayed half a dozen rounds downrange before his AK clicked on an empty chamber. He wasn't sure if any of those shots had come anywhere near the target.

"I'm out," Chuck said, leaning against the shipping container next to Bryce.

"Well that's just great," Bryce sighed.

"Roark's getting away with the Cypher," Casey said over their earphones. "I don't have a clear shot at him."

"Like hell he is," Chuck growled. "Gimme your gun, Bryce. Casey, cover me."

"South door," Casey said, "Back the way you came in, once you're outside you're on your own."

"You don't have to do this," Bryce said, reluctantly parting with his firearm, and a spare magazine, which he'd scrounged up from somewhere.

"I don't like to lose," Chuck said, echoing Sarah from earlier in the day, and suddenly realizing the truth of it. He didn't like to lose either. It was that same drive that had led him to succeed at Stanford, to work himself to the bone at Roark Instruments, not taking a day of vacation in the last four years. Maybe that was why it had hit him so hard when Jill had claimed to be running off with Bryce. It wasn't justthe seeming double-betrayal. He'd always felt a little jealous of Bryce for his track and field successes, even if he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on it. Had he been afraid all along Jill would come to her senses and 'trade up?' Could that be coloring his thinking even now, spurring him to chase down the bad guy when Bryce couldn't? It was an odd time to be dealing with epiphanies, and Chuck tried to shrug the moment away. He'd get himself killed if he let those kind of thoughts in right now. "Stay down, Bryce," Chuck said.

Then he was running for the doors after a fleeing Teddy Roark. His hands moved as he made his way from cover to cover, memories coming back from that summer learning small unit tactics, the smells and the sounds. He was running on autopilot now, finding and thumbing the magazine release on the pistol, catching the falling mag and replacing the partially expended magazine with the spare Bryce had slipped him. He wanted a full clip in case there were still more gunmen outside. He kept the other mag in his free hand in case he needed to reload.

His heart hammered in his throat as he approached the door, and spotted Roark slipping out. The case trailed behind him, glinting in the dim interior of the warehouse. Chuck's focus narrowed down to the doorway he needed to go through and his legs pumped, his lungs burned.

A gunman rose up out of the darkness, and fell away with a sniper rifle bullet through him, and then Chuck hit the door with his shoulder, and stumbled out into the street.

He glanced around for some sign of Roark, and saw the man at the open door of a black sedan parked some way off. Teddy's head turned at the sound of the door cracking open against the side of the warehouse, and a moment later he turned fully, bringing a revolver to bear. Chuck still had some forward momentum from his headlong sprint out of the warehouse, and he turned the stumble back into a run. He rolled and came up to his knees with his back to the wheel-well of his rented van.

Roark squeezed off a couple of shots, both hitting the van with metallic 'wham' sounds. Chuck heard the engine of the sedan rev and found his way to his feet, spinning into a firing stance with his elbows resting on the hood of his van.

Chuck fired several times, all into the windshield about where the driver's head should be, but the sedan came on regardless. Roark must have been hiding down behind the dash. The sedan was aimed to hit the van broadside, and Chuck came out from behind cover to change his point of aim. He fired another handful of shots, blowing out the front tire of Roark's getaway car. The car went out of control, swerving away and flipping onto two wheels. Chuck kept shooting, almost instinctively, until the gun clicked empty. Roark's out of control getaway car careened past him; it missed the van in a shower of sparks as it skidded by, until it came to a deceptively gentle stop a few yards from the exterior wall of the warehouse.

Chuck caught his breath and walked carefully toward the black sedan. He reloaded as he went, just pausing long enough to check and see how many rounds he had left. Five Shots.

"Teddy," Chuck said. "Throw out the gun, and I'll try and get you out of there. There was no answer. "Mr. Roark, are you alive in there?"

Chuck was only a few steps away when the metal let out a squeal, and the car teetered briefly before ot flopped back onto four wheels with a crash and squeal of protesting metal. One of the remaining tires popped from the impact and already-fractured windows let go entirely in a crunch and tinkle of broken glass. Chuck took one more step toward the vehicle and ducked his head to look into the passenger compartment, expecting the worst.

It was empty. Chuck blinked and leaned over further, at a loss. There was a brick down by the pedals, almost as if someone had wedged the gas down... "Hell," Chuck said, as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He spotted a figure behind him in his reflection in the miraculously unbroken side view mirror.

"Hands up. Do it now, or I'll kill you where you stand."

"What now, Teddy," Chuck said once he'd complied.

"I'm going to need the keys to your van, Charles."

"Of course you are."

"And no sudden moves please."

"Whatever you say," Chuck grumbled. In the mirror, he could make out surprisingly tiny details. He concentrated on that as he dug in his jeans with one hand. Chuck squinted, and it looked like the hammer was down on Roark's revolver. It didn't necessarily mean much, but it was maybe an extra split second to react before Teddy Roark could shoot him in the back. He should have been shivering in fear, but the rush of adrenaline or whatever it was was still with him. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he held out the keys in his left hand, well out so Roark would have to move.

Teddy shuffled forward and the picture became clear in the little triangle of glass. He took a deep breath, and shifted his weight, moving his foot just a little. The moment crystallized in his mind's eye, and he put the plan into motion before he could chicken out. Chuck dropped the keys when Roark's hand was still out of line to catch them. Teddy lurched forward, risking his balance to try for the keys. They bounced off his fingertips and jangled on the concrete.

The tableau held for another half-second, as Roark opened his mouth to demand Chuck pick up the keys, or something. He never found out what.

Chuck let his right leg collapse under him, spinning as he fell and bringing the gun around. His hands met on the grips and he could see the shock on Roark's face, the tension in his forearm as he squeezed the trigger. It was a long, double action pull, and it came by reflex, not well aimed. The shot went high, grazing Chuck's scalp.

Chuck's finger convulsed on the trigger of his pistol. Roark's second shot was better, and Chuck felt something punch him in the left chest even as he loosed a handful of shots that crumpled Roark to the ground like a puppet with its strings suddenly and irrevocably cut.

Chuck collapsed back into the door of the sedan, with one hand already clapped over the scalp wound. He clutched at the pain in his chest and looked at his hand, covered in blood. He gasped for breath and his vision doubled. He shook his head to try to clear it and a wave of dizziness washed over him, followed quickly by darkness.

Heaven was nice, Chuck decided, but it wasn't heavennice, if that made any sense. He was comfortable, sure, but the fluffy clouds felt entirely too much like a mattress, and not, you know, angel feathers or something. Also, he reflected after a while, that his chest hurt, and his scalp hurt, and he would have thought that saint peter would have taken care of those sort of things on the way in. Also it was very dark. Voices intruded on the darkness, and Chuck recognized them. It seemed obvious now that he would have to face the facts. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"NO!" A gruff voice answered. "Would you like to be?"

Chuck levered himself up on his elbows and opened his eyes. He had to squint from the lights and shade his eyes with one hand. They were back in his hotel room, and Secretary/Major Casey was glaring at him. "Not particularly, no," Chuck said. "It just comes as something of a shock. I distinctly remember getting shot in or around the heart-al region."

"Yeah," Sarah said, and Chuck blinked and stared at her for a moment, thankful that she'd come through unscathed. He winced when his ribs twinged. She was sitting next to him, with her feet tucked under her and the case tucked under one arm. "I think your phone has had it, though." She passed him the remains of the gadget; the screen had a quite obvious bullet hole in it, and the bullet had put a nearly inch-deep dent in the outer casing.

Chuck managed a grin. "Guess it's a good thing I'm such a nerd," he finally said. "Ellie thought I was crazy to bullet-proof my phone."

Bryce let out a laugh, and Chuck turned. He was slow catching up, it seemed, taking in his surroundings, but he was glad to spot Bryce and Sarah's dad sitting at the table playing cards. His leg was wrapped from the thigh all the way down to his ankle. "Is that... duct tape?"

"A thousand and one uses, Chuck," Bryce said. "This is only number three oh six. There's a master list someplace."

Chuck managed a weak laugh, and clutched at ribs that were bruised and tender despite his cellphone stopping the bullet. "Yeah," he said when he'd gotten over the discomfort. He fiddled with the ruined cell phone for a moment, before he set it aside, and let Sarah help him to a sitting position.

"So, everybody got out okay? Stating the obvious, I know. But I thought I heard a police siren there at the end."

"Yes," Casey said. "Walker and her dad and me got you and Larkin loaded in the van and got out of there just before the cops showed up. It's still on the news, if you're interested. CNN can't decide who to blame yet. Local cops are calling it a gangland slaying. Or the Philippine equivalent."

"Any of Roark's men make it out?"

"We don't believe so." Casey said. "It's all over but the paperwork, for me. Since you killed Roark."

"Oh, hell," Chuck said. "I killed my boss. It's not at all like in that movie."

"What movie?"

"I don't know. I don't get out to a lot of movies. It was like throw mama from the train, but with their bosses. I can't remember-"

"Cram it!" Casey said. "Okay, Walker. We waited until your boyfriend woke up, like you said. Now hand over the case."

"Well..." Sarah said. "About that. There's the matter of my-our- me and Chuck's, money. That'll be 450 million dollars please. I'll take a check."

Casey turned beet red and Bryce's head turned so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. "What!"

Chuck fought back a grin and watched her work.

Jack was just as perplexed as the two spies.

"You said yourself, Bryce. The... contents of this case are worth roughly three billion dollars. International salvage law entitles the recovering party to 15% of the value of property recovered from the sea floor. Comes out to 450 million in this case."

"That's my girl," Jack laughed.

"What?" Casey demanded.

"We recovered it," Bryce said. "Casey and I recovered it from Roark at the warehouse!"

"To be fair," Sarah said. "You helped us recover stolen property after we salvaged it and it was stolen by pirates. And Chuck was the one who chased down Roark. They'd have to decide it in court. Or, alternatively, you can give my dad the cost of a replacement boat for the one that sank, and one million dollars each for me and Chuck and we won't sue."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Jack complained.

"You're getting a replacement boat," Sarah said. "Take what you can get."

"Don't count your chickens before they've hatched, Walker. I haven't agreed to any of this," Casey growled. "What's to stop me from just taking the case away from you, huh?"

"Well," Sarah said. "Funny you should ask. Chuck mentioned, in passing, how this case has an anti-tamper device. If someone were to say, put in the incorrect code five times running while nobody was watching, bye bye thingamajiggy inside."

"Oh, hell."

"A push of this button, and nobody goes home happy," Sarah said, finger poised over the enter key.

"That's blackmail," Bryce said.

"Technically that's extortion," Jack said with an expansive wave of his hand. He looked at his cards and grinned. "Gin, by the way."

"And it's really more of a gray area if you want to get into it, since we're entitled to much more than we're asking," Chuck said.

Jack grinned and gave Chuck a nod of acknowledgment before he went on. "Now blackmail would be me telling you how if you didn't pay we would go to the press with this whole situation. A few Philippine citizens died in addition to the head of a major US tech firm, all at the hands of United States intelligence officers, or their proxies. That could maybe start an international incident if it hit the newsstands. Better if this stays secret, don't you think?" He grinned like a cat.

"Ugh, fine," Bryce said. "Let me call my deputy director."

"Hey," Casey said. "The NSA still hasn't signed off on this deal."

"Then, in that case, John," Bryce said. "The CIA will be keeping the-" he glanced at Jack for a moment, who hadn'tbeen read in, "Thingamajiggy all to itself."

Casey grumbled for the entire two hours it took to get the funds transferred from the CIA's discretionary fund. He stormed off with the case holding the Cypher as soon as the transfers were complete.

Bryce lingered for a while after, and finally just bit the bullet. "Uh. In light of your meritorious service," he rummaged in his pockets and came out with a pair of business cards that read, simply:

Langston Graham

Director

Central Intelligence Agency

"If either of you decide you want a change of careers."

Chuck goggled at the card for a moment and shook his head, still overwhelmed first and foremost by the whole not being dead thing, followed closely by his newfound financial independence. A distant third was a job offer at CIA.

Sarah grinned and shook her head. "We'll think about it."

Bryce nodded and, with some help from Jack got to his feet and hobbled out on a pair of crutches. "Gotta get going. I'm hitching a ride back to Guam on a military jet. Sorry I got you caught up in all this, Chuck."

The door closed behind him, and Jack Walker frowned at Chuck and Sarah. "Well," he said. "I've got a plane to catch too."

"What about your replacement boat?" Chuck said.

Jack shrugged. "Oddly enough, the cost of a new boat is almost identical to the amount of money it'll take to get the Armenians off my back for good. Funny how that worked out, eh kiddo?"

Sarah grinned. "Yes. Funny."

Jack shook his head. "Almost like you planned it that way."

"Almost," Chuck said.

Jack grinned and shook Chuck's hand. "You treat my little girl right," he said while fixing Chuck with a steady glare.

Sarah rolled her eyes and got up from the bed to walk/shove him to the door. "Will you be okay getting to the airport on your own?" she said. "Last time you tried, you wound up in a warehouse with a bag over your head."

"I'm supposed to be the one protects you, kiddo."

Sarah waved Graham's business card and lowered her voice. "This is the second time I've turned down the CIA, remember. Maybe I can take care of myself after all?"

"Sorry, Darlin," he said. "Fatherly prerogative. You're never too old for worrying."

"Ugh," Sarah said. "Fine. I'll get you my new number when I get to LA."

He darted a glance at Chuck, who had lapsed into what looked like unconsciousness. "He's still a schnook."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "He's my schnook now. So lay off him."

Jack shook his head, but grinned and hugged her and whistled a jaunty tune to himself as he walked to the elevators.

"So," Chuck said when Sarah came back to bed. "Would it be in bad taste to order more room service?"

"If we used your expense account, definitely," she said and snuggled in next to him, careful not to jostle his tender ribs too much. "But, I recently came into a little money."

"Hmm," Chuck said. "So I'm to be your kept man, then?"

"Well... maybe," Sarah said. "You'd have to put out more."

"Give me a break, I'm wounded here."

She turned in his arms enough that he could catch the mischievous glint in her eye. "Let me kiss it and make it better."

Epilogue:

Burbank Buy More

Three Months Later

Chuck could hardly believe the turn his life had taken. Three months ago, he'd been relatively happy, working himself near to exhaustion, but at least it had been respectable work. Here he was now, working at a Buy More like he had straight out of high school to help Ellie with the rent after their father split.

The million dollar payout Sarah had talked the CIA into had gone straight into his business startup. Which wasn't dead, just... hibernating. He had underestimated the costs of actually operating the business and needed to work long hours at a second job just to keep Bartowski Softworks in the black.

The fall of Roark Instruments was still ongoing, with TV coverage of the court cases supposed to last for another six months. Roark's personal journals had turned up after the man's death, detailing both his own dirty dealings and those of dozens of others he'd been in contact with. Chuck figured that was this 'FULCRUM' he remembered Bryce talking about briefly, but the TV news was calling them 'The Network'.

He'd tried to find work at another software company, or something, anything really other than making a barely livable wage at the buy more. But it seemed like someone was conspiring against him. He'd figured staying on at RI would be in poor taste, having shot the CEO to death in the Philippines, but he was fairly sure the rest of the company didn't know about that. He had a nagging suspicion maybe the CIA was sabotaging him, trying to nudge him toward taking the job offer. But that was probably just a combination of paranoia and dead-end job talking.

Sarah was the bright spot, though her enrollment in the Marine Biology department at UCLA had sent shivers through his Stanford-loving heart, she was doing something she loved, and that was what was important. "Yes," Chuck said, "I'll hold."

"Hey, Chuck," Morgan said. It was just weird and a little sad that Morgan had never risen above the rank of Green Shirt. Chuck had only been back at the Buy More for three months and they'd already promoted him twice, to Nerd Herd Supervisor, and now there was talk around the store that Big Mike wanted him to step up to Assistant Manager. "Did you see Fringe last night?"

"No, I was out with Sarah last night," Chuck said, digging for the customer file he was looking for. He checked his work absently. "No spoilers. Yes, I'm still holding."

"Stop the presses," Morgan said. "Who is that? Vicki Vale."

"Huh?" Chuck glanced up from his folder. "Oh, hey Sarah. Morgan, you remember I told you about Sarah, my girlfriend."

"Wha..." Morgan said. The gears of his brain grinding to a halt were nearly audible. "You didn't say she was... hah..."

Sarah leaned over the desk and gave Chuck a peck on the cheek. "Chuck's told me all about you," Sarah said.

"Nothing good, I hope," Morgan said. "I mean- wait. I did that wrong. Um, Chuck, help?"

"Don't mind him," Chuck said. "Carnival freaks found him in a dumpster as a child."

"But they raised me as one of their own," Morgan said, becoming slowly more dejected as he spoke. "I'll just, um. See you two later."

Sarah shook her head at Morgan's departing back. "Well, that was entertaining. What did you tell him about me?"

"Oh, you know. Dead shot with a spear-gun, scuba diving instructor. I may have glossed over a couple of... surface level details."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Because you wanted to see his head explode when I visited you at work?"

Chuck shrugged. "Guilty as charged, take me away. No really, take me away from this place?"

"Well," Sarah said. "My coursework is done for the semester, and a friend of mine has got a line on a dutch schooner that sunk off the coast of Florida in 1742. Supposed to be full of stolen Spanish gold. But... we'd have to be at the airport in twenty minutes, and I didn't want to speak for you."

Chuck considered for all of a second before letting the phone fall from where he had it pressed between his head and shoulder. "You're driving," he said and vaulted over the counter. "Big Mike! I quit!"

THE END

A/N: Happy turkey day. This AU is now complete. Time to get Frontier finished.