A/N: My thanks go out to Dana for beta'ing this chapter and for tolerating my recent obsession with semi-colons and dashes. Seriously, they are even starting to annoy me. She's awesome. If you haven't checked out her latest story, Little Girls, Paper Wreaths, & Choc Chip Cookies, then you totally should. It's really good!

My additional thanks go out to Crumby,NMH, and LinShoe85, were reassuring me that this story hadn't descended into too much chaos.

Chapter 14

All's Hell in Small Towns

19th October, 2007

Baskersville, California

09:03 PST

She'd screwed up.

She'd screwed up big time.

Even amidst all the confusion that Sarah now felt, she knew that for sure. Kissing Chuck – trying to kiss him – definitely hadn't been the wisest thing to do. She'd been stupid, impulsive, reckless, desperate, pathetic, and a whole host of other adjectives that she really didn't care to think about. To say the least.

She'd replayed that moment over and over again in her head, repeatedly, drawing out and analysing every damned second, until that it was all she could see every time she closed her eyes. Him. Chuck. Rejecting her, turning her down – not to imply that she blamed him, of course. She felt like crap for putting him in that position. Knowing him – and she really didn't – he probably thought it was his fault, that he was somehow taking advantage of her vulnerability. And the truth was, she had felt vulnerable. Finding out that Graham had knowingly ordered her to kill an innocent for her Red Test had started her questioning what else she'd done that she thought was right. Her actions last night, though, as stupid as they probably were, had felt right. Natural, if not for a better word, and that just confused her even more.

She still didn't know what the hell she'd been thinking. Sure, she acted on impulse all the time – somewhat of a necessity in her line of work – but never like this. Never. She didn't do emotions. Emotions made things real, and when things were real, she got hurt.

She'd screwed up.

Releasing her clenched jaw, she pushed all thoughts of Chuck and that moment to the back of her mind, before glancing up at the clock in the corner and looking around the café. It was the same as when she had checked thirty seconds ago – and also the time before that. She didn't really know why she even bothered to look; the chime on the door would let her know the instant that anyone entered. Her instincts, thankfully, were still as sharp as ever. Ten years in the CIA has seen to that.

She took another cautious sip of whatever warm beverage she was drinking, swallowing it uneasily. It was now six after nine; Skinnard still wasn't here, and that was unnerving. His absence could mean entirely anything, and for at least the last thirty minutes, her mind had been processing one disastrous scenario after another.

While she had no real ground to suspect that anything had gone astray, something had felt off since yesterday and – then she saw it.

# # #

19th October, 2007

Baskersville, California

09:05 PST

Across the street, Chuck was lying flat against a rooftop, behind the cover of a small ledge. He had a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes, through which he was watching the café opposite where Sarah was waiting.

Having him wait on the roof had been her idea; this was as hidden as he could get in this small town. From here he could see down both ends of the street, as well as inside the café. They'd parked the truck in an alley, several hundred feet behind the café, out of sight, should they need to make a quick escape. Failing that, the woods weren't far, as Sarah had noted. He wasn't entirely comfortable, though, hidden away up here while Sarah was so exposed – then again, as she had tactically pointed out, he was the one who was probably in more danger. That hadn't really made him feel better.

Despite his rather awkward position – and he'd been lying there for nearly an hour – the most difficult thing he was discovering about lying there was keeping focused as a lookout and not getting distracted watching Sarah. And, damn, not getting distracted by Sarah was proving to be the most difficult task of all. She was sitting alone at a table by the wall, hands laid out in front of her; just a regular girl in her twenties, out for a morning coffee. From the calm expression on her face, she looked almost peaceful, beautifully so. But, Chuck knew, she was ready. Waiting.

Whenever his eyes fell on her, it was hard not to stop his mind from flashing back to last night, to when she had tried to kiss him and he had stopped her with that terribly awkward hug. Aside from discussing the mission, they hadn't really spoken much after that – and what could either of them have said?

Part of him was still reprimanding himself for stopping it, and for letting Sarah think that he had rejected her. He hadn't; he could only fantasise about what it would've actually been like. But it just wouldn't have been right. She had only just found out about her Red Test, about what they'd done to her. He was still angry for not thinking before he'd opened his mouth. He really hated the Intersect for that; Sarah would have been better off not knowing, particularly after everything that had happened. But who the hell was he to judge? He was tired of playing God – Bryce had never been able to teach him to live with that. He had never wanted to be put in this sort of situation, with so much at stake…

This, Chuck thought, was kind of ironic given his current position.

Chuck's eyes flickered towards the bell clock down the street, and seeing the result, he shifted uncomfortably. It was seven minutes past the hour. He didn't like the idea of staying here, letting Sarah wait in that café alone for more than was necessary. And from what she had told him, Skinnard wasn't the type to be late.

It was only then, in the new angle that he'd moved to, that Chuck realised something was wrong, but he couldn't quite place it. He adjusted the focus on the binoculars. Sarah looked as calm as ever, and nothing had changed in the café; the streets were calm and -

That was it.

The streets were calm.

Less than a quarter of an hour prior the streets had been bustling with activity – as they should have been at this hour. People had been going to work, parents were taking their kids to school, all of them just people going about their lives. It should have still been chaotic, but now there was nothing! There was barely anyone on the sidewalk, and the actual traffic had dropped completely.

Something was wrong.

Shit.

He had to warn Sarah.

Then, just as Chuck started to move, he saw it – and everything seemed to happen at once. A sudden, blinding flash of light through the café window caused him to drop the binoculars, and he bit back a cry as he brought up a hand to cover his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Trying desperately to blink the white out of his eyes, he pushed himself back from the ledge and stood up. It was too hard to make out what exactly was was going on below, but he could tell that there were suddenly people in the street once more, running, seemingly from all the directions. The sounds of shouting and screaming filled his ears, and sirens; lots and lots of sirens.

Chuck didn't hesitate as he turned and ran, straight towards the fire escape on the other side of the building. Mentally cursing himself and willing his eyes to focus, he all but jumped onto the stairwell and started sprinting down it.

Chuck pulled his Walther out of the back of his jeans.

This wasn't the plan.

The good guys were here.

# # #

19th October, 2007

Baskersville, California

09:07 PST

It was the flash of metal that tipped Sarah off.

The man on the table next to her was careless; the reflection in her napkin holder of the handgrip under his jacket as he was leaning over for the creamer was all needed to know something was wrong. He must have noticed something too, for he had already started to spin around, scrambling to draw his weapon, just as she jumped up, overturning her entire table and crashing it into him. Blinding sunlight flashed out the window as it reflected off the metallic table. Coffee and condiments went everywhere and the man next to her let out a cry and went down in a heap.

She was vaguely aware of people around her shouting, but she didn't pause to check; two other men in the café had already started to rise, reaching for their weapons. Grabbing a fresh napkin holder off the nearest table, she hurled it across the room, straight into her attacker's head, before turning around, and making a mad dash towards the back of the café. The remaining man standing yelled after her. Luckily, the panic of the actual civilians in the café meant he didn't have a clean shot – not that she was sure he would've taken it anyway.

A second later and she was running through the kitchen, having already passed two screaming waitresses. Seeing the Desert Eagle that was now in her hand, the single chef merely stepped out of her way. The sound of sirens – thankfully from behind her – suddenly started to plague her ears as she exploded out the backdoor and into the alley.

A quick glance told her it was empty – not for long, no doubt – but she didn't stop, instead ramming herself back into the door so that it slammed shut. She quickly kicked up a piece of wood idly lying next to the dumpster and wedged it under the door. The loud thud that hit the door a second later, followed by a shock of pain told her she hadn't done it a moment too soon.

"Dammit," she cursed out loud, taking the safety off her Desert Eagle.

Forgetting any lingering pain from her injuries, she took off at a sprint down the alley; the Ford was parked on the street at the other end. Given the repeated crashing against the door, her improvised door stop probably wouldn't last for long – and that was the least of concerns right now; whoever was after her would be in the alley in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.

Whoever.

The sirens meant police or the FBI; it wasn't the Ring. But it was as good as; if they were caught, one would most likely lead to the other.

What the fuck happened? Had Skinnard sold them out?

And where the hell was Chuck?

She didn't have time to dwell on it; the sound of running from an adjoining alley, one perpendicular to her own, caused her to instinctively duck. Two men in SWAT gear were heading straight for her.

"Federal agents!" One of them screamed from thirty feet away. "Freeze!"

Sarah rolled to take cover behind the wall where the alleys intersected; a burst of automatic weapons fire followed. Her eyes widened with shock. They had fired first! Who the hell were these guys? Federal agents didn't fire first unless –

Another burst of fire cut off that thought.

Instinctively, she reached round the corner and fired back, remembering at the last minute to make sure the two shots went wide. There was the distinctive sound of boots skidding to a halt, and Sarah used the moment to launch herself back up and into the centre of the alley. More cries of "Federal Agent!" followed her as she continued.

This was bad.

The high building walls on either side dropped away to a metal fence on her right that ran parallel to the alley – and was that someone running across the cracked concrete towards it? The person, not dressed in tactical gear, jumped the fence in an impressive two step move, and landed in a roll not ten feet in front. She very nearly fired, stopping at the last second when she recognised the person.

"Chuck!" she cried, heading over to him. Panic started to set in when he didn't get up immediately. "Chuck! Are you all right?"

"Sarah!" he groaned awkwardly, looking up at her with wide eyes, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he started to shakily stand up. "The cops! Skinnard sold us out!"

"Not now, Chuck!" she said, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him up. He was still heavily panting. "We gotta go."

He didn't argue as they carried on towards the end of the alley, and they reached it with only a second to spare; the two SWATs rounded the corner onto her alley just as they made it onto the street. The truck was, thankfully, where they'd left it. No police were in sight and the street was relatively clear of civilians.

She tossed the keys to Chuck, who was already by the driver's door, and adopted a defensive position against the truck, levelling her weapon back at the alley. "Get the truck started; I'll cover you!"

"We can't kill them, Sarah!" he yelled back, fiddling to open the door. "They're cops. We can't shoot the good guys."

"Just shut up and open the door—" Only she froze; the words seemed to fall out of her mouth as she saw the laser-sight trailing along the ground until… "Chuck, get down!"

Sarah didn't think; she threw herself forward, tackling Chuck down behind the truck. The shot came a second later, landing harmlessly into the pavement beside her.

"S-Sarah?" Chuck said from under her, and she was suddenly aware of her how she was lying almost completely atop of him, her arms wrapped around his head. The rest of her was pressing against his - She quickly pushed herself back into a crouch, so she was leaning against the truck. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Keep down, Chuck!"

Sarah's grip tightened around the Desert Eagle. Chuck's own gun had skidded across the pavement when she had tackled him; he couldn't go for it without putting himself in the sniper's line of sight. She knew she had only seconds to take out the sniper – or at least distract him – before the two SWATs chasing her emerged from the alley.

She took a deep breath, and looked over at Chuck who had pressed himself into a squatting position behind the truck. "When I shoot, get in the truck!"

He gave her a nod to show he'd understood, and without waiting any longer, she spun around and unloaded half her magazine at the roof of the building opposite. There was no way she'd actually hit the sniper – but he didn't know that.

"Sarah!" She turned to see that Chuck had half climbed into the truck, but that he was taking cover behind the steering wheel. "The alley!"

The two SWATs had finally emerged it seemed, and they had their guns trained on the truck.

Praying that the sniper had at least ducked for cover, she rolled out to get clear of the truck's open door, before firing two clean shots at the SWATs. They both dropped their weapons and collapsed on the sidewalk, rolling in pain. Then, out of nowhere, Chuck had his arms back around her and was pulling her into the truck. She didn't protest, scrambling in after him.

"You shot them!" he said accusingly, as she pulled the door closed.

Sarah shook her head. "They'll live."

Chuck made a shrugging noise. "Fair point. Apparently you're driving," he said, managing to sound surprisingly calm.

Sarah looked down. He was right; she was in the driver's seat. Without wasting time to think, she keyed up the ignition and kicked down on the accelerator.

"Nooo!"

A sudden screaming sound through the open window caused her turn her head around, just as she was pulling the truck out onto the road. A man dressed all in black was running straight towards the truck, coming up on the driver's side. Sarah blinked back surprise; the man looked familiar – and he looked pissed. No, pissed was an understatement; he was furious. And from the rate the truck was accelerating, he was going to reach it before they escaped.

Shit.

"Is he going to—?" Chuck started to say from next to her, but was cut off as the man all but leapt onto the outside of the driver's door. Abruptly, her vision was filled with raven-black hair and a snarling face that she now recognised, and a hand was grabbing at her shoulder. The other one had placed itself firmly on the wheel, trying to drag it to the left – and crash the truck.

Sarah dragged the wheel to the right in an effort to counter his weight, and shoved her elbow into him, trying to knock him off the door, but to no avail. The next thing she knew, Chuck had scrambled over and had his hands on the wheel, taking the weight of it from her.

"Sarah, now!"

Realising what Chuck meant, she released her right hand from the wheel and curled it into a fist, then slammed it straight into the man's mouth. He let out a searing cry and fell back onto the road. Sarah watched as he rolled over several times before stopping.

She heard Chuck breathe heavily from beside her as they pulled away. "Who the hell was that? He looked like he knew you."

Sarah concentrated on driving for a couple of seconds before swallowing; she knew exactly who he was.

"He does. I mean, he did, a lifetime ago." She dared a look over at him; her mind was still shocked at what had just happened. From Chuck's expression, so was he. "He's the man leading the CIA taskforce to bring you in. His name's Special Agent Daniel Shaw."

# # #

19th October, 2007

Two miles outside Baskersville, California

06:57 PST [Two Hours Earlier]

It was coming up on seven A.M. when John Casey pulled up at where the CIA taskforce was assembling, just outside of Baskerville. He'd driven throughout the night to get here, and the night was starting to catch up to him. Shaw had chosen a gas station parking lot to brief his team which, Casey noted, had already started.

So much for inter-agency co-operation, he thought to himself, stepping out the vehicle.

Shaw's team consisted of about twenty men, half of them were dressed in tactical gear – men on loan from the FBI – and the others were in civilian clothes. At the centre of everything was Shaw, dressed all in black. His face turned from serious to smug when he saw Casey approaching.

"Ah, Colonel," he said, moving forward so that the circle cleared for him. "General Beckman said you'd be joining us."

Casey stared at him.

"Oh, sorry, Major," Shaw said, with only an ounce of mocking in his voice. "I'd forgotten about the demotion."

Hadn't he just.

Casey eyed Shaw's men, several of whom looked slightly uneasy. "Well," he said slowly, asserting himself into the circle, "you would know, Special Agent Shaw."

He heard a couple of men in the circle laugh. Shaw frowned at them before turning on Casey.

"The past's in the past, Major; nothing to get worked up about. Now I suggest that we get back to the briefing."

"Don't mind me," Casey said seriously, folding his arms.

Shaw's eyes tightened for a moment, before he shrugged and looked back to his men. "As I was saying before we were interrupted, the primary target here is Bartowski – you've all got his photo from when he was at the Agency. We need him alive. Is that clear? He is the primary target."

Casey watched as the men all nodded in acknowledgement.

Shaw took a deep breath before continuing. "We do not have a confirmation on Bartowski's location, but he is believed to be travelling with the now rogue CIA agent, Sarah Walker, and she is known to be in Bakersville."

Casey felt himself frowning at the way Shaw had said Walker's name – his mouth had contorted slightly as he had said it. "Walker's rogue now?" he asked. "Last I heard she was simply missing."

"Things have developed," Shaw said simply, barely keeping the irritation out of his voice.

In other words, Casey thought, shut the hell up. There was no point arguing with Shaw; he wasn't going to give anything away he didn't feel was absolutely necessary – like the rest of CIA.

"The Agency now considers Walker to be expendable. If given the opportunity…" Shaw paused dramatically, and gave his lips a quick lick. "If need be, take her out. Bartowski is the primary target. The Agency only needs only him alive."

Again, Shaw's men all acknowledged this order.

Casey swallowed uneasily; what things in the last few hours could have possibly developed that lead to an active CIA agent suddenly becoming expendable? And why the hell was Bartowski so important?

He blinked when realised Shaw was staring at him. "Is there a problem, Major?"

He looked back at Shaw and gave his best grunt. "No. No, there isn't."

Only everything about this.

"Good," Shaw said promptly. "Now let's go over the logistics…"

Shaw's voice trailed off as Casey clenched his jaw. He needed to call Beckman and find out just what had transpired – though she would probably be pissed; he had been sent to here to get her answers, not the other way around. Nevertheless, Shaw had alluded to the higher-ups being involved, and if he was right, Beckman would know about it.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and went to back to listening to Shaw.

And his plan.

# # #