Hot off the presses! Or something like that. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I do own a collection of the comic books, which I got as a Christmas present.

Chuck Versus The Rescue

31 December 2005

2300 Hours

Hotel du Louvre Rooftop

Paris, France

"Bryce," Chuck spoke aloud once his brain registered the identity of the man whose attack he had forestalled. What is he doing here?

The blonde addressed her partner lying on the ground beside her as she stood up, "He's the Fulcrum agent."

Discerning that her boyfriend and her adversary were familiar with each other, she arched an eyebrow at Bryce as she studied his face for clues of their relationship, which went unnoticed as his current preoccupation was on the enemy operative whom had caught her unprepared, effectively disposed of her pistol, and thwarted Bryce's assault from behind without any difficulty on his part. He's good, she admitted once more. "He has the flash drive."

He can't be… Pushing himself up, Bryce extended his hand out to Chuck whilst his tone was meant to ease any antagonism on his friend's part. "I don't believe you'd betray your own country, Chuck. Give us the USB, and we can fix this."

Chuck shook his head, backing away as he placed plugs in his ears before he reached into his pocket, "I don't think so, Bryce." I don't plan on sticking around.

Sarah looked at the man skeptically as he pulled out a pen, "A pen? Reall—"

With a click, a blinding flash of light combined with the bang of a deafening blast overwhelmed the two CIA agents' senses, disorienting them as they could neither hear nor see.

"What the hell?"Sarah cried out, vainly blinking her eyes to regain her sight while she clasped her ears as an attempt to stop the ringing. Must have been a flash grenade. After a moment, her vision and hearing returned; she looked to her boyfriend to find that he had recovered as well.

Bryce regarded the empty space where Chuck had occupied seconds earlier with a frown, running his fingers through his wet hair out of habit while he considered the remains of the flashbang, an intact grenade body, and how the man had somehow set it behind them undetected. Damn it, Chuck. How could you be working for Fulcrum?

Racing down several flights of stairs, Chuck tore through the hotel lobby, paying no attention to the perplexed looks he received from the staff and the affluent guests of the Hotel du Louvre. I need to get somewhere secure. He inwardly groaned at the thought of staying at Fulcrum's local base.

Interaction with his 'fellow' Fulcrum operatives was stiff, to say the least. The rogue agents whom compromised the organization were adept killers, harboring an immense amount of enmity towards the existing government procedures. Not the type of people to sit and chat with.

The heavy shower that Chuck had faced on the rooftop had subsided, leaving a frigid mist in its place. He welcomed the chill for it alleviated him a bit by dulling the pain that throbbed from his tender right thigh where he had gotten grazed by the blonde's cautionary shot. Man, this hurts. His nostrils flared slightly as he pressed forward, doing his best to keep away from the major streets, notoriously laden with tourists, as he meandered through the upscale shopping district.

There it is! He thought as he jogged towards the side entrance of the Fulcrum safe house veiled as a boutique. Typing in the pin into the cloaked keypad, Chuck awaited his entry to be sanctioned when he perceived someone approaching from behind, inciting him to turn around.

"Charles," A dusky-haired vamp gave him a wicked smirk as she drew near, her stilettos tapped against the sidewalk with each step she took, while her escort unit followed close behind.

"Alexis, how are you?" Chuck responded with a tense smile, which the Fulcrum operative disregarded as she batted her long, dark eyelashes at him. I can't catch a break, he grumbled. She's been after me for months.

Every move she made was imbued with deliberate allure meant to render men under her control. "I've missed you." She pouted her ruby lips, lightly tugging at the taller man's suit jacket; her mild irritation towards him and his unresponsive libido was ably hidden as she placed her hand on his wounded thigh. "You're hurt. Where've you been?"

"I ran into some trouble when I went to pick up the package." He took her hand in his, restricting it from drifting anywhere else. "We should go inside," Chuck proposed, moving aside to permit the woman entrance into the base first.

1 January 2006

0400 Hours

Abandoned Warehouse

Outskirts of Paris, France

Ugh… A groan escaped Bryce as he roused from his sedated slumber. His limbs sore from his discomforted state – his wrists were manacled high above his head as the rattling of chains signaled whenever he swayed from his position. What the hell happened? …Chuck escaped… We grabbed a taxi to get back to our hotel and… We never got back to our hotel! The taxi driver… He…

"Bryce," Sarah breathed out with evident relief as she became aware of his cognizance. He's okay. The low temperature palpably affected her as her body shook, worsened by the scarce amount of clothing she presently bore owing to how she had been stripped to her underclothes. We just have to get out of here.

"How long was I out?" He inquired as he found his partner to his right, comparably bound and underdressed. Surveying their surroundings, he remarked the chain link fence that surrounded the wide space around them. Rusted pulleys and chains were suspended from the ceiling as numerous crates lined the other side of the fence. A warehouse, how quaint.

The assortment of syringes and torture-related tools situated on a table adjacent to the entrance of their confinement unnerved her as she replied, "No idea, I woke up a few minutes ago."

Tilting her head back to view her restraints above, she made an effort to free herself as she strained to wriggle her wrists from the cuffs, but to no avail as the rough metal scraped against her skin.

The sound of heels against concrete forewarned the shackled CIA agents of their captor's appearance.

Attired figure-hugging business suit, the woman sauntered towards them, her hips swaying enticingly as she did so. She greeted them, noting the captive man's attentions lingered on her chest, "Happy New Year. It's a shame you missed the countdown."

As she made her way towards them, the dark-haired Fulcrum operative selected a machete from the table, pointing it towards the sneering blonde once she was close enough. "Sarah Walker," She then directed the pointed end of the blade towards the good-looking brunette, "And Bryce Larkin of the CIA.

"We have reason to believe that you have information about the Intersect." A corner of her lips quirked up into a malevolent smirk. "So, who wants to tell me first?" This is going to be fun.

0450 Hours

Duplex Suite, Castille Paris Hotel

Paris, France

At the sound of his ringtone, Tank! by The Seatbelts, Chuck undesirably roused from his ephemeral slumber and grabbed the source of the jazz song atop the bedside table, answering, "Hello?"

"Bartowski," The recently promoted Director of the CIA began, the increased curtness in his speech, though slight, indicated the importance of the problem he was about to address, "Two of our agents were on an investigation that brought them to Paris. They were expected to report in their status at 0100, local time."

Chuck speculated what had occurred, "A rescue mission?"

"At their last briefing, I was informed that they were going to a local hotel to intercept a package from a member of Fulcrum." Graham rubbed his temples at how he was starting off the New Year, Larkin…

It couldn't be. Chuck inquired, "Which hotel?"

There was a slight pause and a shuffle of papers on the other line before his superior replied, "Hotel du Louvre. The agents are—"

Outwardly sighing, Chuck furrowed his brows at the predicament, "Bryce Larkin."

"And Sarah Walker." Graham added, "How do you—"

So Bryce Larkin is CIA? Fantastic, he thought as he mussed his hair up from his irritation, "I got acquainted with them earlier on the hotel's rooftop."

What? The Director scowled at the oversight, mentally making a note to confront the agent supervising Walker and Larkin for their failure to alert the duo about the undercover operation in Paris. After taking a moment to contemplate on the matter at hand, he succinctly conveyed his decision, "This is, indeed, a rescue mission. Head straight to the Charles de Gaulle Airport immediately. I'll make sure there's a plane waiting for you."

Chuck raised his brow at what his superior was implying, "Sir?"

"You're going home, Bartowski. I'm relocating you back to the LA area. After you rescue Larkin and Walker, that is."

0523 Hours

Abandoned Warehouse

Outskirts of Paris, France

"Just tell me everything you know about the Intersect and you won't have to go through this pain." Alexis repeated as she paced in front of the two CIA operatives, stopping in front of Larkin for a second to regard the man's toned form. I wonder how he is in—

"Fuck you." Sarah spat, a trail of blood trickled down to her chin from the cut on her lower lip. Her breathing ragged due to the several fractured ribs she knew she had acquired from her role as the malicious woman's designated punching bag. Inwardly frowning at her partner's drug-induced comatose from whatever the Fulcrum agent had injected him with, she opened her mouth to voice her intense animosity but was interrupted at the sound of a new arrival.

"Started the fun without me, Alexis?" A tall, brunette man clad in a thick grey pea coat stated with a trace of dry humor as he moved into the light that had started to emerge from the windows above, exposing his identity as the man she had pursued to the Hotel du Louvre's rooftop.

Shrugging his coat off with ease, Chuck moved aside some of White's preferred implements of torture to make room for his jacket as he continued his façade as the woman's blasé colleague. He slightly winced at the blonde's battered figure – her hair now clung to the blood smeared on her face whilst her ivory skin was blotched with the beginnings of discoloration, from Alexis's thrashing no doubt.

How am I going to do this? He wracked his mind for a way to do so without the merciless Fulcrum operatives realizing whom he was truly loyal to. They'll figure it out that I'm CIA and they'll come after me… Damn it. I'll have to eliminate them.

Noticing Bryce's insentient form, he tersely ordered, appearing unperturbed by the bloody state of the blonde captive and rolling up his sleeves as if he was preparing to join the woman on supplying the torture to the restrained, "Wake him up."

One of the idle Fulcrum goons promptly obeyed the command as he carried a bucket of water and lumbered towards the unconscious prisoner.

With a strong forward lunge of the bucket, an ice-cold wake-up call greeted Bryce Larkin on the face, inciting him to lift his head up instantaneously in order to consider his situation. Chuck? He took notice of the callous woman who had impaled him with a syringe standing adjacent to Chuck, He IS working for Fulcrum then…

"Charles, what brings you here?" The sadistic Fulcrum agent casually asked as she browsed the table of miscellaneous tools of torture, wielding several before setting each back down as she opted for the single-tail whip.

"Ugh!" Bryce groaned from the hard right hook he received to his face, producing a crack as his nose broke. Agh! The blow caused him to swing to his right and bump into his partner as blood dripped from his damaged nose and onto the ground, marking the concrete with crimson specks as he swayed from side to side.

That's a mean right hook. Alexis remarked as Charles shook his hand off to the side, though the gore from his assault remained on his knuckles. Drawn by the man's sudden show of aggression, she asked, "Why such hostility?"

"They gave me trouble earlier." Chuck responded offhandedly as he joined the dark-haired woman beside the weapon-covered table, indiscernibly slipping his hands into the coat he had placed on the table.

Directing a leer towards her fellow Fulcrum operative, Alexis turned away and proceeded to stroll towards the bound CIA agents, her selected instrument of pain in hand.

Sarah observed as Bryce readied himself for the impending strike – yet, none came as the tall lean brunette swiftly withdrew two tranq pistols that had been concealed in the grey pea coat he had taken off earlier and commenced to shoot at every Fulcrum operative in sight, resonant thuds denoted each successful hit as sedated bodies soon littered the warehouse floor.

Automatically retrieving a bolt cutter and his coat from the table after he posited his pistols securely on the back of his waistband, Chuck moved towards the restrained operatives and effectively clipped their chains, starting off with Bryce.

Rubbing his sore wrists as soon as he was freed, Bryce grimaced as he readjusted his nose, perceiving a small pop when he did. Hope it heals back alright.

Unable to bear her own weight, her aching legs gave out from underneath the instant she was freed from her manacles; instead of hitting the concrete, however, Sarah was caught by the man from the Hotel du Louvre.

Chuck held the bruised agent up, covering her scarcely dressed form with his coat, and released her once she was steady on her own. He considered the unconscious Fulcrum operatives before he made his way to the exit, "Let's go."

Sarah viewed the man charily, unsure whether to trust him or not – bearing in mind that she had no other choice, she tentatively trailed after the man, clutching his coat around her body closer to retain the warmth it provided.

Becoming aware that his partner had went along with their rescuer without him, he viewed the array of syringes set on the table before he seized several filled with a poison he distinguished was lethal. He hastily injected each of the tranquilized rogue agents with a fatal dose before he raced after Chuck and Sarah.

0600 Hours

Charles de Gaulle Airport

Paris, France

The ride to the airport had been occupied with an agreed silence following Chuck's elucidation of his identity and his occupation within the CIA; the rest of the period had been spent catching up on some well-deserved rest as the two recently liberated operatives slept as comfortably as they could in the backseat.

"Sir," The flight attendant greeted as Chuck entered the plane, following after Sarah and Bryce. "We'll be departing in five minutes."

With a nod from the only uninjured agent of the trio, the steward disappeared to his station.

Taking the seat opposite of the partnered operatives, Chuck looked out the window, watching as an orange light peaked from the horizon, casting light onto the awakening city.

Sarah studied the man across from her – the same man she had meant to cause bodily harm to, hours earlier – his gaze unfocused as she determined that his mind was anywhere but the present. Strange, how things work out.

She was unaware of how her attentions lingered on him as the sunrise's orange glow shone on his face, drawing shadows from his sharp features that made the entire moment picturesque.

"Babe," Bryce reiterated for the concerned flight attendant, finally bringing his partner out of her oblivious reverie.

"Yeah?" Sarah responded as she realized she had been staring, "What?"

"The plane is airborne and stable. I wanted to inquire if you'd like to change of clothes." The steward politely expressed as he poured Bryce a glass of the Bordeaux he had requested.

"That'd be great, actually." Sarah unbuckled her seatbelt and tailed after the flight attendant.

Establishing that his partner was out of audible range, Bryce began, "Chuck, how did you—"

"Recruited into the agency the same day as my expulsion." The reply was brusque, unwelcoming – it straightforwardly revealed how Chuck felt towards the man whom epitomized his past.

Damn it, Bryce thought as he observed the man he still regarded as his only true friend; all the precautions he had done to deter Chuck Bartowski from becoming entangled in the clandestine business was all for naught – he had failed. "Chuck, listen, I can explain–"

"Save it. I'm sure you had your reasons, however thoughtless they were." He looked at Bryce, straight into the man's eyes, deliberate and unwavering as he spoke. "I want to get one thing straight: you are not my friend. It's been two years. I'm no longer the Chuck Bartowski you knew. I don't know about you, but I've grown, Bryce. From my own choices and yours."

He did not want to be there. In front of Bryce Larkin, the man who framed him, the man who got him expelled for what seemed to be no reason at all. He wanted to forgive the man, but residual anger prevented him. All in due time, maybe. With a mental sigh, he resolved, He works for the CIA. I work for the CIA. I should be professional. "I'm going to ask the pilot how long our flight will take."

Without another word, he stood up from his seat and left for the flight deck.

I'm really sorry, Chuck. Bryce ran his fingers through his hair, his mind overrun with what the man had said. I did it for your own good. I—I really did. His reasoning occupied his thoughts as it played on a loop; his actions appeared more and more callous as he contemplated on what he had done.

Author's Note: I'd like to thank you all for continuing to read this fanfic! I'm really enjoying writing for y'all whenever I get the chance. Please review and tell me your thoughts on this chapter!

Tank! by The Seatbelts (Cowboy Bebop's opening theme) is currently my ringtone and I made it Chuck's since it's jazz and I assume he likes jazz since his favorite song is Nina Simone's version of Feeling Good. It also has the spy theme going on with it. Do listen to it if you don't know the song.