Coming to Jesus.

A/N: I apologise in advance for bringing a certain person with the initials DS into this story, my bad. I have to thank Virgil (by which I mean BillAtWork) yet again for his unwavering support and brilliant ideas. See the title there? Yeah, that's pretty much his. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Oh, and I don't own Chuck :(

Daniel Shaw sauntered into the apartment of Sarah Walker, an air of superiority surrounding him as he took off his $100 sunglasses to survey the carnage around him. Of the seven men he'd sent to apprehend Agent Walker, four were dead found around the side of the apartment building, one shot to the head for each, whilst the remaining three lay unconscious on the carpet in front of him.

A chorus of all clears met his ears, nothing more than he'd expected, but you never could be too careful when dealing with the infamous Sarah Walker.

'Why leave these ones alive?' Shaw contemplated, his eyes once again making a sweep of the battered apartment. It definitely wasn't Walker's style to leave anyone who may potentially provide information breathing.

'No', Shaw thought, the gears in his head turning almost audibly. 'This is the work of someone else, of…'

"They're gone sir." A voice behind him called, pulling Shaw from his reverie.

"So I can ever so plainly see. Thanks for stating the obvious, Michaels." Shaw replied sharply.

He'd pretty much had enough of these Fulcrum bozos and their complete lack of competence. It was what Shaw imagined working in a zoo would be like, you'd spend ages teaching and nurturing the bastards until they shat it all back out right on your shoes. And Daniel Shaw wore an ostentatiously expensive pair of Italian, Prada loafers – he was going to let no-one shit on those.

Kneeling down over one of the fallen Agents, Shaw inspected the swollen shoe mark pulsating on his face.

'That', Shaw mused before slapping the unconscious man into the waking world, 'is definitely too big to be the foot of a woman…'

Shaw, upon hearing a pained groaning noise, turned his attention to the agent below him. He couldn't remember his name, Daniel Shaw's time was too important to waste it on memorising all the names of the scum he worked with, but did remember the unique, anaesthetising properties of his rank halitosis that slowly, but surely, made its way to his nostrils.

Scrunching his nose in disgust, Shaw grabbed the collar of the now lucid man, cutting off any air to his lungs before it had a chance to slide down his throat.

"What happened here?" Shaw ordered, his tone of voice leaving no question as to who was in charge.

"It… was… a trap…" The man wheezed, his face looking as though it was going to explode.

"There…" The agent continued, Shaw releasing his hold momentarily to allow the fallen man to finish his sentence.

"A man… There was a man… Highly trained… I've never seen anything like it…" the man finished, Shaw finally letting go of his collar, causing the man's head to reconnect with the floor, another groan accompanying it.

'It definitely wasn't Casey…' Shaw surmised, picking up his cell that had just begun to ring. He'd made sure that that problem was a good 2,000 miles away before he'd gone ahead and set the wheels in motion regarding the acquisition of The Codex.

"Shaw… Yes, I understand…" Shaw told his phone, the voice on the other end displaying the annoyance that Shaw was feeling.

"No, that won't be necessary… I'll get the information, director… Yes, sir, I understand…"

'Damn it', Shaw silently fumed, hanging up his phone and squeezing it in his palm. Walker was gone, and although that wasn't ideal, he'd much rather have her in custody… If not for the information she possessed, then, well…

But Bartowski as well? Chuck was the only other lead they'd turned up concerning the whereabouts of The Codex, but that really wasn't surprising considering he was, after all, the Intersect. The second team he'd sent to Chuck's Burbank apartment to coincide with Walker's lip loosening session had arrived, only to find it completely devoid of life. Yes, it was entirely possible that he'd simply popped out to get some milk, but given the circumstances, and the description of what had occurred at his current location, Shaw was pretty certain that wasn't the case.

Shaw sighed and let his eyes take in the carnage once again. Bartowski couldn't do this, not on his own. But then that meant…

'Shit…' Shaw cursed internally. The 2.0 was online, was active. Shaw thought back to his initial meetings with Chuck under the guise of working for the CIA. He'd been ordered by the Ring director to provide reconnaissance on the capabilities of the 2.0, only to discover the project had been an abject failure.

A rush of anger spread across the usually cold, cool Ring agent, the phone in his hand suddenly meeting the wall opposite him, sliding down onto the dresser below it.

"I want a trace on one Charles Irving Bartowski right now! He gets on a plane, I want to know. He buys a burrito, I want to know. He takes a frikkin' dump, I WANT TO KNOW!" Shaw shouted, his phone in pieces on the dresser opposite him. Finding a ghost like Walker a second time may be asking too much, but Bartowski… He'd lead Shaw right to them…

"I'm going to find you." Shaw spat at the photo of Walker and the Intersect sitting toppled over next to the remnants of what used to be his cell. Walking over to the dresser, Shaw picked up the photograph. It was crinkled, well-travelled and depicted a man and woman, almost one entity, that appeared, even to Shaw's trained eye and as much as it made him want to vomit, very much in love.

"And when I do, there'll be hell to pay…"

Admiring the view of Agent Walker the photo gave him, an evil grin started to form on his lips. She was indeed very beautiful… If he could inspire Walker in the same way she'd inspired the 2.0, and by Shaw's own admission, he'd managed, one way or another, to inspire more than his fair share of beautiful women…

"Maybe this isn't such a bad day after all." Shaw smirked, licking his lips as he pocketed the photograph, whistling his way out of the apartment and down the hall.

"Not bad at all…"

Sarah let the wind blow through her hair as she sped down the Interstate in gay abandon, the breeze was so invigorating and fresh; it felt almost as though the sins of her past were washing away, into the wind. Almost. The thought that she was on the run from a very determined and well-funded nefarious organisation, had access to very limited resources herself, and, had no way to know who to trust anymore, seemed oddly insignificant. At this moment, she felt free, liberated from her shackles.

Besides, she had Chuck with her and she knew that no matter what, whatever predicament she found herself in, emotional, or physical now it seemed, Sarah could trust him to be there. Her mind replayed the words he had spoken to her on the beach, an echo of those she had once uttered to him.

Trust me.

And Sarah did. In fact, she could do a darn sight better than that, but for the first time in her life, she actually trusted someone so completely, so totally, that everything that had weighed on her so heavily for so long didn't seem all that heavy at all anymore. It seemed that Chuck had very strong shoulders as well as a heart of gold.

Sarah slammed her Porsche into 5th gear, easing the clutch back up slowly as the accelerator met metal, enjoying the throaty roar of the engine as she opened it up. Glancing sideways at Chuck, she gave a wry smile, his knuckles white as sheets, palms gripping the dashboard for dear life. At least some things never change – she could still scare him shitless with her driving.

Chuck was scared out of his mind. To be honest, Sarah's driving, however proficient, was always on or around 100 mph and that, to Chuck's mind, was more than ample. He usually kept his eyes firmly on the road, his mouth shut, and prayed to a higher power that he wouldn't be squished like a bug.

But not today. Despite the fear coursing its way around his body, Chuck couldn't help but let out a small laugh at the sight of Sarah. Her hair was manic; a trail of golden flames flowing at liberty around her, her eyes twinkling in the bright sunlight, almost becoming a sun in their own right. Or so Chuck thought. He was sure they had their own gravitational pull, anyway.

Chuck reluctantly turned his eyes back to the front, looking down momentarily at his ghostly white knuckles on the dash, causing him to release a full on belly laugh. She was back, and beautiful as ever.

'Definitely Sarah Walker.' Chuck smiled, leaning back in his seat and turning towards Sarah. 'Welcome back.'

"What?" Sarah's voice drifted across to him, her tone mischievous and playful.

"Nothing", Chuck replied, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. "It's just… The reports of Agent Walker's death were greatly exaggerated."

"Really, Chuck? Mark Twain? I was expecting something from Star Wars or Firefly or something!"

Sarah laughed out loud in glee, a sound Chuck was rarely treated to, but one he'd never forget, the trademark Bartowski grin gracing Chuck's features in response.

"Well… I find your lack of faith disturbing, in that case, Chuck!" Sarah continued, the cute slack jawed expression that found itself suddenly on Chuck's face only acting to enhance her laughter as she swerved to avoid a slow moving artic.

"Agent Walker was never dead; she'd just taken a wrong turn in a dark wood, where the straight road ahead had been lost."

But the laughter in Chuck died the moment he looked upon Sarah's beaten face. From his position in the passenger seat, the worst of her wounds were hidden from him, the only clue that she'd been tortured earlier this morning a small cut on the top of her cheek, just below the eye. But the other side… It was a battlefield of bruises, cuts and swelling. The only comparison Chuck could make of the contrast was Harvey Dent, but even then…

Chuck thought back to their escape from Sarah's apartment, his eyes coming to rest on his hands, now placed lightly in his lap. The way Sarah had so coolly killed those men surrounding her Porsche, no hesitation, no indecision, just four quick squeezes and they were gone. Poof. The life extinguished from them as a fire in a vacuum; and at the time, Chuck was indifferent, in fact, on some sadistic level, he was pleased. They'd dared lay a hand on Sarah, they got what they deserved.

But now… Even if they did get what was coming to them and Sarah had done it in as painless a way as possible, everyone deserved some respect in death. Chuck sent out a silent prayer for the four men's souls and their families, if they had any, hoping that with it, some small piece of forgiveness for Sarah and himself was found.

The reality of their situation sunk in like a bag of stones in a river. This was it, make or break. They either got out of this one alive, or they didn't. Period.

Chuck was faintly aware of a slowing of speed, Chuck's eyes lifting from his lap to be greeted by the oh so familiar car park of the Burbank Large Mart.

"Besides, Chuck, isn't making jokes about my reported death, however fictional, just a tad sadistic?" The twinkle in Sarah's eye matched with her amused tone of voice.

"Well, you can't blame a guy for being in a good mood, can you?" Chuck lied, putting on his best imitation of the infamous Bartowski grin, which, luckily, Sarah seemed to have missed.

"Oh?" Sarah replied, dipping the Porsche deftly into what seemed to be the world's tiniest parking space and shutting off the engine before turning herself, bodily, to Chuck.

"And why would that be, Mr Bartowski?"

"Well, Miss Walker, look at things from my perspective. Here I am, the birds are singing, the sun is shining and I'm sitting in a beautiful car sitting next to the even more beautiful woman that I love." Chuck replied leaning in conspiratorially close to Sarah, this time not a tinge of deceit to be found in his tone.

"Can't you feel it too?" Chuck whispered, his warm breath on Sarah's lips causing them to automatically part, a shaky, spidery breath being released in the process as she leaned in closer to him.

'Now's not the time, or the place', Sarah's mind argued with her body. They were, after all, in the middle of a large open parking lot, hadn't even done the slightest sweep for any enemy agents, and were still dangerously close to Shaw and his Fulcrum friends.

"I think I'll defer that question till later, Chuck", Sarah sighed, forcing herself to pull away from Chuck to open the car door. "When we're safe."

"We're never going to be safe." Chuck stated matter-of-factly as he followed Sarah's example and exited the car.

Walking around the Porsche, Chuck met Sarah at the hood, its black glossy paint casting a subtle shadow upon her features.

"But it'll keep till tonight."

With that, Chuck gently scooped Sarah's hand up in his own, their fingers interlocking perfectly as though they had been made for each other.

"So, why are we at the Large Mart?" Chuck asked as the couple walked shoulder to shoulder into said building.

"You'll see…" Sarah replied cryptically, her hand tightening to give Chuck's a gentle squeeze, before dragging Chuck off in the direction of one of the aisles.

"You'll see…"

Casey was having the time of his life. He looked forward to his annual weapons recertification at Fort Meade more than anything else in the year, he got to get away from the nerd and his lady feelings, use a vast array of hi-tech, powerful weaponry, and, best of all, there was an almost infinite supply of ammo. Not that Casey needed it, mind, he had held the record in the NSA for the highest kills/shot ratio for the past 5 years.

Casey smiled to himself, a brand new M4 carbine stripped on the table in front of him, his favourite post shooting range past time. The gun, to him was like an extremely practical form of art. The way all the mechanical components worked in perfect synchronicity and with deadly accuracy was beauty personified, or at least Casey thought. And he dared any Marine to argue with him.

'Can't beat the good old direct impingement system', Casey mused, noticing that this particular firearm, although new, still retained the older, more reliable system over the newer gas piston one, as he lovingly began to reassemble the carbine.

The silence in the room about him filled Casey with a feeling of peace and contentment. One week without the nerd and his incessant talking about lady feelings, whining about how life wasn't fair, yadda, yadda, yadda, was like Christmas to Casey. Yes, every year, Casey sent a letter to 'Santa' and asked for a week without the nerd that involved lots of guns, and strangely enough, every year, good old 'Santa' came through.

Casey grunted a small laugh to himself at his slightly extraneous thought. A short, red-headed, stern general that lived in D.C. was nobody's idea of Santa, except of course for Casey.

"Thank you very much, Santa", Casey chuckled, as much as a man like Casey could chuckle, whilst attaching the optional Grenade Launcher mount he'd found too mouth-watering to leave sitting around, unused, with the Quartermaster. He almost fumbled the AN/PEQ-5 Carbine Visible Laser, playing an impromptu game of hot potato with it as an annoyingly whiny voice met his ears.

"Soy un perdedor, I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?"

Casey grunted his #4 – angry and in possession of a deadly weapon - at the intrusion. Just when he thought he'd gotten rid of the moron, Chuck had to go and ruin it by calling him, probably about some new so-called life revelation, or to tell him that Morgan had finally succumbed to the horror that was the Mystery Crisper.

"I ask myself that question everyday", Casey grumbled before fishing his phone out of his pocket and accepting the call.

"What do you want, moron?"

"Hi, Casey!" Chuck's perky voice came from the other end of the line, only adding to Casey's annoyance. "How's the weapons recertification go…"

"Cut to the chase, moron. I'm busy. What do you want?" Casey growled, his calm mood quickly flying out of the window.

"I, uh… I'm…" Chuck mumbled, seemingly managing the difficult feat of swallowing his tongue.

"Spit it out Bartowski, I haven't got all day!" Casey interjected, quickly wishing that Chuck was standing in front of him and his precious customised M4.

"I'm going on a road trip for a few days. With Sarah."

"Oh", Casey replied, his usual witty retort at a situation such as this falling silent on his tongue. "Does Walker know you're calling me?"

"Nah", Chuck replied nonchalantly, "thought I'd bite the bullet early and get it over and done with before I forgot."

"Oh. Well then… Have a nice trip. Uh… Keep me up to date with any changes in situation."

"Cool! Thanks Casey, will do. Enjoy firing bazookas and giant guns at life sized Bin Laden replicas or whatever it is you do there!"

"Yeah..." Casey replied absently. "Thanks."

Hanging up his phone and placing it gently on the table next to the now reassembled M4, surprise was evident in his face. Casey wasn't at all sure as to how he felt about this sudden, unsupervised escapade Chuck was going on with Walker. He wanted, much to his own surprise, things to work out for the moron, because despite all his annoying qualities, Chuck was a good guy, and a patriot. And Walker… She'd had a rough time of late. Okay, she'd had a rough time pretty much from the get go, her life hadn't been all daisies and puppy dogs, and even though she kinda brought some of it on herself, she was still the best God damn partner he'd ever worked with.

"Hmm…" Casey replaced over his usually preferred grunt, his eyes wide, an expression of quiet satisfaction coming to rest on his face.

"Good luck you two… God knows your going to need it."

So, the trip to the Large Mart was less spy oriented than he'd originally envisaged, or maybe just less obviously spy oriented. He'd let his mind wander to imagining Sarah and himself walking out of the Large Mart, trolley full of odd bits and bobs like plungers and can openers that Sarah would miraculously transform into some sort of miniature explosive or low level listening device or something… But in reality, they'd bought what Chuck would deem pretty average in someone's weekly visit to the supermarket. Packaged food, such as Pringles and Beef Jerky that would last a long time and wouldn't need to be cooked, a first aid kit (because Sarah was a pragmatist), assorted toiletries, a change of clothes, which Chuck was surprised at – he didn't even realise that the Large Mart had a clothing department – and various other mundane, but essential items (including a healthy sized bag of frozen peas for Sarah's cheek) had found their way into Chuck and Sarah's trolley.

Chuck sighed, his legs crossed at the ankle in front of him with hands behind his head as he lounged on the bed of the room Sarah had gotten them at one of the seediest hotels Chuck had ever laid eyes on, just outside of Barstow, California.

Shoving his phone onto the rickety bedside table after Casey had hung up; Chuck looked over the room he found himself in. The ceiling was a strange, yellow, nicotine stained colour, the carpet, what was left of it, seemed to be a brown colour, all though at some point in its life, Chuck surmised that it had once been a vibrant red. His eyes swept over to the small bathroom located just to Chuck's left. The sight of moist, steamy air wafting in clouds out of the closed bathroom door brought his mind squarely to the person behind it, and the almost conversation they'd had earlier. He'd let her off the hook, giving her a temporary reprieve from a conversation that, he knew, needed to be had, as much as Sarah had avoided it.

Chuck thought through all the arguments Sarah had ever given him as to why their being together was a bad idea. She said she'd lose her objectivity, wouldn't be able to protect him, keep him safe from harm. But hadn't she realised that fighting this was doing more harm than good? Chuck steeled himself mentally. Tonight he was going to lay it all out on the table, clear the air and make sure Sarah knew exactly how he felt. He just hoped that she felt, at least to some extent, the same way he did.

His eyes still locked on the trails of steam dancing around the door, Chuck faintly heard the water shutting off, followed shortly by the sound of feet padding against tiled floors. Suddenly, the door flung open, a heavenly aura of golden light surrounding a silhouetted figure, tall, lean and distinctly feminine. Chuck gulped. Yes, he'd described Sarah as an angel many times before, but at this moment, he couldn't have meant it any more sincerely. Stepping out of the light and into the bedroom/kitchen/dining room, Sarah's features became distinguishable to Chuck, her soft inviting lips down to her sensually curved hips was all laid bare to him, in Sarah's tiny hot-pant-esque sleep shorts and tank top.

"The shower's free if you want it Chuck" Sarah called, a hairbrush suddenly in hand, removing the inevitable tangles showering brought with it before they could become too much of a nuisance.

"I'm good, thanks", Chuck managed to ramble out at the speed of light, his voice at least an octave higher than its usual tone, his body suddenly sitting totally upright, making him feel like an old wooden puppet.

"If you're sure…" Sarah replied amusedly. Why ever Chuck didn't want to take a shower was beyond her. In a place like this, she often felt as though she needed a shower at least 3 times a day to keep herself hygienic and well-received.

"But this place is pretty skanky", Sarah added, an inkling of mischief evident in her voice, matching the sparkle in her eyes. "Wouldn't want you to get all dirty now, would we?"

Chuck gulped. The way Sarah was standing, okay, so she was just brushing her hair, but man… Could she do it any sexier? Chuck was quickly beginning to rethink his stance on not having a shower, the sight of Sarah, and her there pyjamas doing strange and wonderful things to his body. Chuck shook his head slightly. Here before him was the perfect chance to get everything out in the open, a chance at a real beginning with Sarah, and he was about to ruin it by trying something overtly physical just to please himself in the short term? No. He'd waited over two years to have this conversation, and he sure as hell wasn't going to allow his body the masochistic pleasure of pissing away the opportunity.

"God, I love you Sarah", Chuck blurted before he could attach the brain to mouth filter, a crimson colour rising from his throat to rest upon his cheeks.

Sarah's hand instantly dropped from its position brushing her hair, coming to lie limply at her side, her face innocent and unguarded. Chuck's sudden admission had surprised her, and it wasn't just because of its content. It was the way it had come out of seemingly nowhere, after all, she wasn't doing anything particularly amazing or romantic or anything that would be a precursor to declarations of love - brushing ones hair wasn't exactly all that sexy either.

'Might as well go the whole hog now', Chuck thought, inhaling deeply to prepare himself for the conversation of a lifetime – he wasn't about to let her wave the white flag on this again.

"I know what you're going to say, Sarah, that you don't have feelings for me, can't. But pretending that you don't have those feelings isn't going to make them miraculously disappear, Sarah. Believe me, I've tried, and as much as you try to forget about them, the stronger they get, the more persistent, the more virile, until it consumes every fibre of your being and it's all you can think about. You can't do the things that you used to do, can't go on in the world that used to fulfil you, because you know that there's something out there that's bigger and better than all that. I spent two years figuring it out Sarah, and I know that you've been brought up to believe that love is a hindrance, a disease that'll get you killed, make you a liability in your line of work. But, Sarah… Once you let it out, admit everything to yourself, to the world, God… It feels so good, and you suddenly realise something. That a job is just that. A job. It's not a life, it's not… What's the point of being good at your job if it stops you from being who you are, stands in the way of things that you want for yourself, and stops you from being human?"

"I don't want to fight with you Sarah. I think I once told you I could be your own personal baggage handler", Chuck let out a shaky laugh, the fire in his eyes strangely juxtaposed by the wetness filling in them.

"Let me help you, Sarah, like you helped me so many times before. I love you, Sarah and I make no apologies for it. I love you and I know, in my heart, that you feel the same way, too."

Sarah sighed. Chuck was right. Denying her feelings for him was getting her nowhere, and if the past two years were anything to go by, denial was probably causing her to go backwards instead. Sarah's shoulders visibly slumped. With her back now to him, Chuck couldn't read her expression that was always so evident in those luscious baby blues.

But the arguments were there, and they were just as valid now as they had ever been. Even if she was ready to pursue something… more with Chuck, she couldn't be the things that he wanted, they may have taught her a lot of things at the Farm, but being an honest-to-God girlfriend was not one of them.

"I've done terrible things to you, Chuck and I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to forgive myself for the mistakes I've made, I suppose all I can say now is that I'm sorry. Sorry I never told you how I felt, sorry I ran away from, what was probably the best thing in my life, sorry that I made such a mess of things."

"Sarah…"

"No, Chuck, this is my turn to speak. I need to say this, so you understand. I'm not a normal girl, I doubt I ever will be, and as much as you love me, how long will it be until I come home from a mission that's been going on for too long, taken me to some God forsaken hellhole and you're miserable? I've made too many mistakes, and I don't want to add to my list of failures to protect you, Chuck, I don't want us to take the next step and realise that it was all for nothing, that we're simply incompatible… That the love wasn't enough. I don't know how to be a girlfriend, Chuck, I've never really seen myself that way, even when I played the part for a mission, it was always just a role in an elaborate imitation, a line in a play… And the whole white picket two and a half kids thing? Chuck, I can't… I… I can't just give up who I am in the blink of an eye…"

"Sarah…" Chuck breathed, rising from his seat on the creaky pre-ikea era bed to stand directly behind Sarah, still facing the table, head low as if her eyes had found something infinitely interesting on the carpet. But then again, in a place like this, maybe they had.

"I'm not saying now, now, y'know. " Chuck chuckled, his warm breath erecting the hairs on Sarah's neck as it passed over her delicate skin, her head leaning backwards automatically towards the source of her exquisite torture.

"But soon. When we're both ready, and we will be, then we'll see, together. If you need the time to be the badass world-saving spy you are, then I'll be right beside you."

"No, Chuck!" Sarah almost shouted, swivelling on her heels in an instant to bring her face to face with Chuck. That was the one thing she didn't want - Chuck being hurt even more because of her. Hadn't he listened to anything she'd just said?

"If there's one thing I won't negotiate on it's your safety. I'm kinda neurotic when it comes to that, Chuck…"

"Sarah, when I say we're in this together, I mean that." Chuck replied soothingly, his hands coming to rest on Sarah's arms, which had somewhere in the process become crossed, rubbing them gently.

"Not one foot in the water, one on the sand, but both feet in and in the deep end if necessary. And, by the way, I feel exactly the same way about your safety."

"I was sure you were going to say 'there's no I in team' or something equally cliché then." Sarah answered, her tone soft as Chuck's hands made the arguments she'd had lined up take a backseat in her mind, leaving them in storage as her body moulded into his like a missing puzzle piece.

"Me? Please, I do have some original ideas you know, even if the government decided to commandeer it for their long term storage." Sarah felt Chuck's chin on her cheek retort, his voice echoing her tone.

"Yeah? I guess last night in the kitchen was one of those oh so precious original ideas then, was it?" Sarah grinned roguishly, poking Chuck in the chest so hard it caused him to stumble a step backwards.

"Uh… I… Well…" Chuck stammered, yet again rendered speechless by the magnificent Sarah Walker.

"Actually, I have some stipulations about… How shall I put it..? The more athletic part of our relationship…" Sarah continued, all the while poking Chuck in his surprisingly muscular chest, keeping him on the back foot.

"Wha..?" Chuck replied, his legs now flush with the foot of the motel bed, his last route of escape from the deceivingly solid fingers of one Sarah Walker cut off.

"What happened last night, the whole rejection of blonde CIA agent named Sarah Walker for… Umm… Intimate bonding. Never. Again."

"Yes Ma'am." Chuck managed to mock salute before he felt the soft springy feeling of a mattress hitting his back, two mesmerising blue eyes coming level to level with his, their pupils the size of the moon.

"Never again."

Anything more Chuck was going to say was quickly cut off by Sarah's soft, voluptuous lips burning his own, the heat that passed between them tingling provocatively as Sarah's tongue vied for supremacy with Chuck's, their dance expertly choreographed whilst his eyelids fluttered closed. Chuck already had some idea as to how this would play out, he had, after all, spent the better half of 2 years dreaming about this moment, praying for it almost. But now that it was actually a reality, that the blonde goddess currently doing wonderful and exotic things to his body was really here, with him, it was so much more than he could have ever imagined.

Their tongues continuing to dance as Sarah's hands rubbing sensual circles on Chuck's chest, under his shirt, Chuck could feel Sarah becoming more and more excited as he gently caressed her breast above her almost non-existent tank top that had ridden up so far, it was barely relevant. Chuck grinned, he was pretty sure that Sarah could feel his mutual excitement growing beneath her, in fact…

"Hi oh" Chuck managed squeak out between kisses, Sarah definitely could feel his excitement now, her hands firmly planted south of his waistband.

"I'm. So glad. I didn't. Tell Casey. We'd be. Doing this", Chuck moaned, his sentence punctuated with soft kisses trailing down the side of Sarah's neck, causing her to moan in return.

Suddenly, Sarah pushed herself up on Chuck's chest, and out of reach of Chuck's searching lips.

"You talked to Casey?" Sarah asked, her tone switching to agent mode.

"Yeah", Chuck replied absently, leaning forward towards Sarah in an attempt to capture her lips once more, his fingers playing with the hem of panties.

Ice hit the pit of Sarah's stomach like a tonne of bricks. Her eyes coming to rest on the cell that was now lying innocently on the bedside table, Sarah cursed internally. How could she have forgotten to get rid of the phone? That was practically the first thing anybody would monitor if they wanted you found. Shit…

"Chuck… Please don't tell me you used your cell to call him." Sarah responded, her answer pretty much made obvious by the cell on the table. Maybe he'd just been playing Angry Birds or something…

"Uh huh", Chuck answered, his voice still sounding distant and distracted, "Whilst you were in the shower…"

"Fuck. Chuck get your stuff and get to the car." Sarah exclaimed, suddenly on her feet and in full agent mode.

"Wha..?" Chuck replied, the confusion in his voice spreading rapidly over his face.

"NOW, CHUCK!

That was all the prompting Chuck needed as he sprang from his position on the bed, his phone forgotten on the nightstand as he sprinted towards his bag. Sarah, following Chuck's example, quickly grabbed her keys and bag off the table and flung open the door, only to be greeted by an unwelcome familiar, converse printed face.

"Ah, Agent Walker." The man said, two of his companions securing his flanks. "We meet again."

The feeling of a familiar Browning 9mm came to rest on her forehead.

"Put your hands on your head, Agent Walker", Bub smirked, his teeth seemingly more yellow than only hours before as he limped forwards, a grimace of pain on his face, pushing Sarah back with the barrel of his gun.

"Wouldn't want any funny business, now, would we?"

The last of the Fulcrum agents squeezed into the room, slamming the door closed behind them before training their matching pistols onto Chuck and Sarah as Sarah slowly lifted her hands. Bub paused as he took the time to drink in the appearance of Agent Walker and her barely there lingerie, licking his lips with his putrid tongue in approval.

"So…" Bub began an air of confidence reminiscent of one Daniel Shaw about him. "You planning on doing some night-time driving?"

Bub momentarily took his 9mm from Sarah's forehead to gesture to her chest area before putting it back into what now seemed to be its new holster.

"I see that your high beams are on."

A/N 2: That last line, all Bill. There's much more, tbh, that belongs to Bill, but I felt that that line in particular was pure genius. BTW, brownie points to anyone who caught the Inferno reference, of course in honour of Virgil :D

I hope that you enjoyed the chapter and are making sure that you have a nice and, if at all possible, stress-free day. Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated, and maybe, just maybe the next chapter may finally shed some light on Morocco… and a little thing known as The Codex…

Thanks for reading! :)