Hello, my little weasels. Thanks again for all the reviews. Keep 'em coming. I know I said Tuesday, but I changed my mine. So please enjoy. Things are really fixing to ratchet up. I can't tell you how stoked I am to write the next few parts.

CHAPTER TWELVE: FIRST AID

Living with a couple doctors provided some useful information. First aid, CPR, the Heimlich. Though Chuck was fairly certain they never addressed the issue of gunshot wounds.

The few moments after Rachel's collapse, a million different thoughts ran through Chuck's mind. Oddly enough, turning his captor over to the authorities was nowhere in the top ten. Of course, taking her to the hospital wasn't either, though for a completely different reason.

"Doctor's have to report gunshot wounds," Chuck muttered as he piloted their stolen car. He spared a glance in the rearview mirror. Rachel was out cold, blood seeping through her shirt. Her skin was pale and clammy. She didn't look good.

"What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?" he repeated frantically.

Two minutes later, Chuck roared into the courtyard of their hotel. He slammed the brakes, the car screeching to a halt at their door. Hurriedly, he leapt from the vehicle, throwing open the rear passenger door. Rachel collapsed into his arms.

Very delicately, with a strength he didn't quite know he had, Chuck scooped the wounded agent up and carried her to the door. Cradling her in one arm, his free hand jammed a key into the lock.

Once inside, he delicately laid his cargo on the bed. Searching through Rachel's bag, she found a pocketknife and a pint of whiskey.

"Gonna have to do," Chuck decided.

Again, with a surprising resolve, Chuck used the pocketknife to slice away Rachel's shirt. But then, for a brief moment, Regular Chuck returned, and a wave of nausea struck at the bloody sight.

The bullet entered above her left breast, just below the shoulder. Gently, Chuck turned her over, checking her backside.

Crap. No exit wound. That wasn't good.

Chuck grabbed one of the pillows and ripped away the case. After splashing some whiskey on the wound to disinfect – and taking a shot for himself – he tightly rapped the pillowcase around her shoulder to slow the bleed and cover the wound.

She needed a doctor. Right now.

"Where the hell do I find a doctor?" Chuck wondered. "Why can't I know a damn doctor?"

Oh... balls.

Chuck's hand dipped into the back right pocket of Rachel's jeans and found her iPhone.

-----------

Exiting James Craig's house, Sarah walked across the circle drive and slipped behind the wheel of her Porsche. Soon as she closed the door, she sagged in her seat, suddenly drained emotionally. Individually, James and Chuck had that effect on her. Talking to James about Chuck proved doubly so.

It didn't help that she experienced a moment of schoolgirl jealousy when James mentioned his relationship with Rachel. She didn't love him, not anymore, not like that. It was just...

"Ahhhhh!" Sarah screamed, pounding the steering wheel. "I should just be a lesbian! Boys are nothing but a freakin' pain in the ass!"

She hadn't slept in a week. Chuck was missing, who knows in what condition. And seeing James again... Emotions were bubbling to the surface. And she just wasn't good at emotions. Stupid emotionally repressed childhood.

She. Really. Needed. A. Cigarette.

But knowing she gave her word to James, Sarah instead elected to slam her foot on the gas, pushing the speedometer over 100 as she blasted onto the freeway. An adrenaline rush would have to do.

The speedometer pushed past 120. The Porsche 911 dived in an out of traffic, moving past the others cars as though they were in idle.

"Freakin' girly feelings!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Maybe James and Casey are right," she continued ranting. "Maybe I can't do this job. Maybe I get so caught up in what I feel I lose perspective."

A beat. Then:

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

She punctuated the scream by slamming her fist into the car horn several times. So loud was her catharsis that she nearly missed the fact her iPhone vibrated in her pocket.

She reached into her pocket and removed the device. Staring at the display, she frowned at an unfamiliar number. Briefly considering tossing the damn thing out the window, she instead jabbed the 'Answer' button.

"What?!" she snapped into the phone.

There was a brief silence on the other end. A familiar silence. Sarah's heart soared.

"Chuck?"

"Sarah... I need help."

-----------

Ellie was idly flipping through the pages of a bridal magazine when the front door opened. Sarah swept in.

"Where's Devon?" she demanded.

"In our room trying to get some sleep. Look, I know we're under 24/7 lockdown, but that does not give you the right to just barge in here."

"Ellie, listen, you're pissed at me, I get it. But right now I need you to do three things. First, shut up. Second, grab a medical bag. Third, come with me. We need to be gone before Casey's next surveillance shift begins."

"Excuse me?" Secret Agent or not, Ellie was about to pummel the woman for ordering her to shut up.

"Do you want to find your brother? Then come with me before Casey gets back."

Ellie's eyes narrowed distrustfully. "Why? Do you not trust him to retrieve my brother?"

"When it comes to breeching a door, I know John Casey will back me up. When it comes to bringing Chuck home in one piece, I think Casey would do right, but I don't know he would."

Despite the somewhat ominous implications of that statement, Ellie latched onto the comment just before. "Hold on! Do you know where my brother is?"

Sarah nodded quickly. "Somewhere in Vegas."

Ellie's relief was cut down fairly quickly as she recalled Sarah's second condition. "Why do I need a medical bag?" She instantly paled. "Oh God. Is Chuck hurt?"

Sarah was unsure how to answer. So she merely repeated the words Chuck had told her minutes earlier. "He says he needs a doctor. Didn't say why."

Don't think too hard about it, Sarah told herself. It's Chuck, he never gets hurt.

"Give me five minutes," Ellie said, already heading for the hall closet.

"Be ready in three. I still need to commandeer us a secure vehicle."

"You mean steal."

Sarah's stared back blankly. "Two and half minutes. And don't tell Devon where we're going."

Ellie grunted in annoyance and hurriedly retreated into the bedroom.

She cast a quick, envious glance at her slumbering fiancée. Since this ordeal had begun, he'd managed to secure three or fours hours sleep a night. About twice the amount she could manage.

She reached into her closet and retrieved her black medical bag. Just like her counterparts of days gone by carried when making house calls. Sure, in this day and age, it was probably a little hokie. But it was her graduation gift from Chuck, which is why she absolutely adored it.

Her brow furrowed. And now its contents were going to be used on her brother. He was hurt, she was just sure of it. Her baby brother was kidnapped by a bitch whose world he didn't belong in and now he was hurt.

And she wasn't necessarily talking about Rachel.

Damn that woman! Damn her for pulling Chuck into this Secret Agent World. Damn her for pulling Devon and herself into it. And especially damn her for feeling guilty about it. Things would be so much simpler if Ellie knew the blonde agent was an unfeeling bitch...

Back to her fiancée...

Who was she to give such an order? He was the man she would marry. And Ellie simply wouldn't leave him in the dark. So Ellie found a message pad and scribbled a quick note.

A few moments later, Ellie reappeared in the living room, medical bag in hand.

"You ready?" Sarah asked.

"Lead the way, Agent Walker."

--------------

Twenty minutes later, Ellie was astounded when Sarah drove her Porsche into a mall parking lot.

"What are we doing here?"

"I told you," Sarah said, drawing a slim jim from beneath her seat. "We need to commandeer a new ride."

Sarah was out of the car quickly. Ellie fumbled with her medical bag a moment before joining her.

Sarah perused the aisles of cars like she was searching for fruit at the produce stand. Glancing the rides over, giving their tires a slight kick.

After a few moments of growing irritability, Ellie snapped, "Are you just about done? Don't we have someplace to be?"

"Don't rush me," Sarah snapped back. "I need to find one..." Sarah trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought. I need to find one Chuck will like.

She finally found it in Aisle 4B.

"There we go."

Looking about, seeing if anyone was watching, Sarah slipped the slim jim into the driver's side door of a black 2009 Dodge Challenger.

"They teach grand theft auto at the CIA academy?" Ellie questioned harshly.

"No. Cleveland," Sarah answered. She cracked open the door and slid inside.

"Buckle up," she said from the driver's seat, unlocking the passenger's side door for Ellie to slide in. "Once I hit an Interstate, I tend to go kinda... fast."

--------------

If Chuck didn't know better, he would swear an infection was already setting in.

Her skin was even sweatier and clammier. As Chuck placed a hand over her forehead, he was stunned by the heat. But even out cold, she seemed to respond to his touch. She leaned into it a bit, a slight smile gracing her face.

"Heinrich..." she murmured.

Chuck recoiled. Who?

"Heinrich..." she murmured again.

"I'm here," Chuck said. Magically, those two words seemed to sooth the fitful agent.

As Chuck pondered just who the hell Heinrich was – and how long it would take Sarah to get Ellie here – he suddenly recalled something. Something that had been nagging him since the beginning. And the answer was in his hands.

Rachel's iPhone.

-----------

Ever since they were children, Ellie habitually poked fun at one of Chuck's little quirks.

While playing video games – dating back to the days of the original NES, the one system she actually played – Chuck had this habit of contorting his body in conjunction with the onscreen action. It didn't matter what he was playing: Contra, Lifeforce, Castlevania, Zelda, or Kid Icarus. Sitting Indian style on the floor, his little body would pop an inch or two off the ground as his on-screen character jumped. Or he would lean left or right as his on-screen persona ducked and dodged bullets, arrows, or various fiends from hell. Or even lean back sharply when something on-screen managed to surprise him.

Driving shotgun in a Dodge Challenger currently roaring away at 115 mph on Interstate 15 eastbound, Ellie suddenly thought of those days. It may have been due to the way she contorted violently in her seat, fiercely gripping the seat or door handle so tightly her entire hand turns white.

She spared a quick glance at Sarah. She had one hand on the steering wheel – and only one eye on the road – as she maneuvered the Challenger around a Chevy Malibu doing a piddly 75. Her other hand and eye were focused on her lap, casually perusing through the car's CD collection.

"Crap. Crap. Okay. Double crap. Oh yeah. Here's a good one."

She ejected the Blue October CD from the player and tossed it out the window, replacing it with AC/DC. The first manic strains of musicemanated from a very sweet stereo system. Ellie's eyes widened as she recognized the opening chords.

Oh Lord, Ellie thought. She really is in love with my brother. She's gone completely insane.

"I'm on the High-way to Hell!" Sarah belted out loudly, her hands beating out the drum rhythm on the steering wheel.

-----------

There had been several times he'd caught her glancing at her phone, her thumb brushing against the screen in the tell-tell motion of scrolling. So as Chuck began to search through the phone's functions, he softly murmured, "Pictures. It's gotta be pictures."

He thought this because he recognized that thumb motion. The scrolling through dozens of digital images. He also knew because of the bare wisp of a smile that would grace Rachel's features, the same look Ellie described him as having whenever he viewed pictures of—

Oh boy.

Ohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboy.

Suddenly Chuck knew. All those strange instances. Those awkward moments. Every weird vibe he ever caught off Rachel was justified. There was a reason for it all.

And now he'd gone and told Sarah she was here.

"Oh crap," Chuck decreed.

Frantically, he began to grab all the various items laying about the room. Weapons, clothing, food...

What the hell was he doing? No time for that! Besides, those were all things they could buy later! He had to get Rachel out of here! Right freakin' now!

He went to Rachel's side and bundled up her nearly nude form in the leopard print blanket – he'd shed her clothes down to her underwear once the fever kicked it – and delicately lifted her up. "Keys, keys, where the hell'd I put the car keys?"

He found them next to the television. Maneuvering Rachel into the crook of his right arm, he snatched up the keys. He felt a little bad skipping out on their bill. Maybe Rachel wouldn't mind if he mailed payment to the motel manager once they cleared the city.

"Hold on, Rachel," he begged. "I'll figure out what to do. Just hang with me."

Just as he was about to reach for the doorknob, the door kicked open from the outside. Backlit by the afternoon sun, Sarah Walker strode into the room, her Colt at the ready. And right behind her, with almost euphoric relief etched on her face, was Ellie.

"Chuck?" Sarah questioned, not quite believing she'd found him. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Are you okay?"

Whatever answer she was expecting, it wasn't for him to bemoan:

"Oh, double crap."

END PART

Oh yeah. How's that for an ending? Stay tuned, next weekend, Part 13, Secret Agent Dreams and Stranger Things, Part II.