DISCLAIMER: I don't own Chuck. Or Spiderman, or Star Wars, or Porsches... did I miss anything?

Disobeying traffic laws was a skill that came very easily to her. Her knuckles were white, as she held the wheel in a death grip. She could fabricate lanes, and pass five cars on a one way street with her eyes closed. She swerved around an SUV that had stopped at a stop sign. Her mind flooded with profanities directed at the car. She relished in the feeling of anger. Numbness, cold and unfeeling, had washed over her the moment she had revved up the Porsche. She knew her destination, and the twists and turns she made had flowed from her hands, as if they had a mind of their own. Her feelings had been locked away; they would compromise the mission.

She made an illegal right turn, and tried to ignore the blaring car horns, and muffled shouts from the outside world. Daring to take a breath, she floored the car onto the highway. Everything was moving much faster here, and there was more potential for fatal accidents. She winced when she glanced at the speedometer, but knew she had to push it further. Stay calm and you'll be fine .She found some grim humour in that. What does it matter? I'd rather be dead anyway if anything happens to him. She shook her head and blinked rapidly, clearing her eyes. Feelings lead to failure. They had ingrained that into their brains at the farm. But Chuck had proved them wrong, time and time again. Chuck… please hold on.

"CLEAR"

Beep…. Beep… Beep.

He had experienced many unpleasant ways to wake up. To name a few:

A bucket of cold water dumped on his head by his Stanford frat brothers. God bless the tradition of hazing the newbie.

An enourmous grape stinking belch, courtesy of Morgan, as he sat on his bed and played games into the early morning hours.

The unpleasant sound, yes sound, of a dirty diaper being soiled by a one year old Sam, slumbering on his chest.

Beep… Beep…

Although he considered those some of the worst, he also had terrifying memories of waking up in the clutches of those who weren't very friendly and they're very unfriendly methods; torture. Chuck often wondered why bad guys always resorted to torture first. Couldn't they at least try talking about it?

Beep.

But Chuck had just found the one to beat them all. Being brought back from the dead really took the cake in this contest. He'd compare it to pins and needles a hundred times worse, and all over and throughout his body. No wait, it didn't really compare at all.

Beep.

His vision was filled with excruciating light, his lungs seared as he took a huge gulp of air, his heart hurt like hell, well, his whole body hurt like hell. His limbs were as heavy as sacks of potatoes, as he instinctively tried to curl up to fight the terrible cold air.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Someone, no several figures leered over him. His blurry vision only saw them as dark shapes as they broke up the blinding light. "I think he's stabilizing," said a muffled voice, echoing from seemingly very far away. Why is he speaking into a barrel? Chuck pondered the silliness of someone putting their head in a barrel, and then trying to talk to someone. Of the very confusing situation he was in, the one thing he could focus on was an incredibly irritating beeping noise. It just wouldn't stop.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Would someone please turn that off! "..turr-ioff.." Chuck groaned. He realized there was a mask on his face. They probably didn't hear him. A wave of exhaustion hit and his eyelids felt heavy. The bright lights soon dissipated.

The traffic was getting congested. She checked her car's GPS. Only a few more miles. She started grinding her teeth. Chuck hated it when she ground her teeth. She stopped. She maneuvered her way around a large truck and accelerated through a gap between the two lanes, big enough for her car. Her pedal was flush with the floor, whipping past the other cars. The gap narrowed and she had to stop. Sarah banged her fist against her window, her frustration boiling over. WHY IS IT SO F-

The flashing lights of a cop car could be seen over the rows of cars. Her eye's snapped to the GPS. CHUCK! The dot on the GPS indicated that Chuck was meters, not miles away. Her threw her seatbelt over her shoulder and opened her car door in the same second. The door smashed into the car on her left. She didn't care.

Sarah ran. She ran faster than she had in years. She ran without looking, her eyes fixated on the flashing blue and red lights. Her gun chaffed her back, where it was tucked into her pants. She ran for Chuck.

She weaved past the last car, and surveyed the situation. There were three cop cars at the scene and two ambulances, she thought with dread. A group ofparamedics were clustered together on the ground, while more of them loaded a large man into the back of one of the ambulances. Her hand slipped off of the gun handle at her back. It didn't look like she was going to have to fight. She desperately craned her neck for a look at what paramedics were doing on the ground.

"Hey, Ma'am get back in your car!" She shot a glance at the officer who rushed forward. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to drop him. That's when she saw their family car. Chuck's car. Her stomach lurched.

"Ch-chuck, no." she gasped and stumbled forward. The police officer grabbed her arms. The instability of her own voice shocked her. She tried to break the officer's grip. Stop acting so wimp, she chided herself

"There's been a traffic accident, nothing else to see. Return to your vehicle." He said forcibly.

Sarah tried to catch her breath. "He's my husband."

"Wha-" he started. Throwing his hands off, she made a sprint for the paramedics. No, no, no. She already knew her fears to be true. She saw his hair then his face- oh god!

Chuck was lying just outside the driver's side of their car. His face limp, eyes closed. He had an oxygen mask on, but she didn't miss the trickle of blood coming from his mouth. The paramedics had opened his shirt and attached wires to his chest. She felt another jolt of fear at the large bruise on his stomach. One of the paramedics kneeled over him with a pair of paddles. She wanted to vomit.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She sought the source of the noise. It was coming from a portable monitor, attached to the wires on his chest. Looking at Chuck's heartbeat brought a small level of comfort. He hasn't left me. She closed the distance between her and Chuck. They were transferring him onto a stretcher.

"Did you find any I.D.?" Another officer asked the paramedic who was securing a strap across Chuck's torso.

"His name's Chuck Bartowski, he's 47." Sarah answered. They both jumped; they had been unaware of her presence. She reached her hand out for his and gripped it tightly. He was cold.

"Who-"

"How-"

"I'm his wife! He was on the phone with his sister, when, well, whatever happened, happened, so she called me, and I drove here." She tried to explain in a rush; she really wanted them to stop looking at here like she was some crazy woman.

The officer looked puzzled. She reached into her back pocket , withdrew her wallet and chucked it at him. "Here! Take it, verify who I am!" She snapped at him. Her glare shifted to the paramedic. "STOP STARING AT ME AND GET HIM TO THE HOSPITAL, GOD DAMN IT!" She quickly wiped the tear streaks off her face.

"Sir, I completely understand you. Come- pletly. Unfortunately, as I've already said, I cannot refund your purchase because it was a sale item, the important word to take note of, sale, item, so yeaah…" The irate customer's face turned a shade of purple, and his jowls quivered. Morgan winced, preparing for the shout.

"I SPENT TWO GRAND ON THIS POPCORN MACHINE! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO DO ONE THING! MAKE POPCORN! IT WORKS FOR SHIT!" Gobs of saliva clung to Morgan's greying beard, as the rotund man bust his blood vessels. "I AM A LAWYER, I HELP PEOPLE FOR LIVING! I MAKE THEM HAPPY! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO DO THE SAME?" Morgan was getting confused. "I PAY MY TAXES, I WORK FIVE DAYS A WEEK! ALL I ASK FOR IN RETURN IS A POPCORN MACHINE!" Well now he was just listing off things he does. "YOU ARE DIRT. YOU ARE SCUM. YOU HAVE NO SENSE OF RESP-"

Nope. Morgan was not taking this. Running a hand down his tie, Morgan stood tall (figuratively). "Sir, remove your popcorn maker from my sight and get out of my store, or I'm calling the cops." He pointed towards the entrance. The man stared down at him, daring him. Morgan made a show of reaching his hand over to the phone, and picking up the receiver. The man continued to stare at him, calling his bluff. But it was no bluff. Morgan extended his other arm above his head and slowly lowered it, his pointer finger coming to rest on the nine. He pressed it. 9. "Don't make me do it man. You and I both know the cops have better uses for their time." The larger man huffed loudly, and crossed his arms. 9. Quickly grabbing his popcorn maker, the customer turned away from the service desk, and stormed towards the entrance. "Yeah, good riddance!" Morgan added. He quickly put the receiver down, with a sigh of relief. "And don't come back to Buy More ever again! You're banned Jabba, from this one and every other Buy More in the greater Los Angeles area!" The man disappeared though the sliding doors, and into the bright California sun. The cowering Buy Morons and Nerd Herders peered out from their hiding spots. They broke out in applause.

"Yes, yes. I'm no hero, it's just my day job. " Morgan waved them off as they patted him on the back. "Okay, get back to work."

It had been a long day for the Los Angeles and Surrounding Area Buy More Traveling Supervisor. He had started the morning at the south most location to fire a belligerent employee. The store manager had refused to do it, so they had to call in the big dog (figuratively). After that, he had driven across town to dole out corporate bonuses at California's most successful location: Burbank. It had caught a bit of fame after people found out that a certain two famous German rock stars had started out there. Jeff and Lester going on tour had been the best thing that had happened to that place in a long time. Morgan closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the cool counter. While he was being force fed a subway foot-long by Big Mike, he'd gotten the call that a man was refusing to leave a prime Buy More east location, claiming his popcorn maker always burnt his popcorn. After having to take a detour from his regular route, the highway traffic had been insane, he had arrived to deal with the violently spitting man.

His phone vibrated on his belt. Oh man, I was sooo ready to go home. The classic Spiderman cartoon theme starts playing.

Spiderman! Spiderman! Does whatever a spider ca-

"L.A.S.A. Buy More. Traveling Supervisor Morgan Grimes, at you service." He put on a cheery voice.

"Morgan…" Alex starts.

He was so relieved. "Oh sweetie, if I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have had to say that mouthful. When am I gonna learn to look at the call display, eh?" Morgan chuckles.

"Morgan I just got a weird call from Ellie."

Morgan takes a pause. Ellie? He hadn't spoken to Ellie since Stephen and Emma's Star Wars birthday bash. Man that was great. He was so proud of Chuck raising them to love Star Wars as much as they did. He hadn't been able to get his Melissa to take to it yet; maybe seven was young, but he wanted to integrate nerd at an early age. And John, their eleven year old was set on not being a nerd. He was disturbingly similar to his grandfather, although he did have Morgan's sense of humour.

"Oh? What's going on with El?"

Alex hesitated. "Well… um… she asked me to head over to Chuck and Sarah's. Said the kids were alone, and… she'd get back to us when she had a chance. I just picked up John and Melly from school and I'm on my why there now."

"Who-ho hold the phone." Morgan resisted the urge make a joke his about his choice of words. "Chuck and Sarah would never up and leave the kids alone. What did Ellie.. I mean did she say something, anything else?"

She was silent for longer than he was comfortable with. "Alex?"

"She was…"

Morgan switched the phone to his left hand and ran his right hand through his hair. His stomach started turning with angst, "was what?"

"She was brief. Sounded like she was in a hurry."

He didn't like the way Alex said that. "Kay, I need to figure out what's going on. I'll get a hold of m'boy Chuck and call you back. Love you."

"You too."

"Bye." Morgan dropped his hand to his side, his phone dangling loosely from his fingers. They'd never done anything like this before, they were the most protective parents he knew; well, other than Casey. He brought his phone back up to his face. He held down "C", speed-dialing Chuck. The screen flashed "Calling John Casey".

"No, no!" He hit the disconnect button. Yeesh, wouldn't want to call Sugar Bear without a good reason, he thought, shaking his scruffy haired head. He had forgotten that he he'd switched Chuck's number to the 1 key last night, as in #1 best friend. He should've remembered, he had spent the hour before bed explaining his reorganized speed-dial layout to Alex.

He successfully called Chuck on his second try. It rang once, and then went to voicemail. Morgan huffed in frustration as he listened to Chuck ad lib a song to the tune of The Imperial March. "Hey. This. Is Chuck. I missed your caaaall. Sorry. I missed your CAAALLL! I'LL. CALL. YA BACK! As soon as I caaaan. As soon as I-" Morgan disconnected. Chuck never declines his call. What is going on? Where was his boy Chuck? Maybe Sarah could tell him. He held down "S", and put the phone to his ear. He couldn't fight the feeling that no one would greet him on the other line.

Author's Note:

I'm changing the rating to T. I didn't expect to have this much swearing. But come on, his popcorn machine didn't work; if that's not a good reason to swear, well I don't want to know what is.

JR Lai