A/N: I promised another chapter to appear last night, but that was before I fell ill. My apologies. A good night's sleep has fixed said issue, so on with the chapter. This chapter has some coarse language. My apologies if you don't like it. I'll try and keep a lid on it.

Disclaimer: Don't own Chuck, or any other reference I may make throughout this chapter. Well, I do own some things, but not the IP of them, which is what counts… right?

PS: Read the whole chapter before assuming things, thank you :P

Chapter 12

The flight to Rome had gone a lot faster than Chuck had anticipated. As a matter of fact, it seemed like they had arrived there, in a simple blink of the eye. Sarah wasn't complaining. Actually, she was more aggressive than usual in her advances. He was pretty sure he heard Casey retch a couple of times. The trip went so fast, that Chuck couldn't remember any details. As a matter of fact, it seemed like the only thing he saw the entire trip to the hotel was Sarah. Not that he minded.

The hotel itself was drop dead gorgeous. Chuck really could learn to appreciate living on the government's dime. Of course, he would never tell Casey this. The last time he made an off-handed comment like that, it earned him a massive handprint on his trachea and a closed windpipe for a good ten seconds. If it wasn't for Sarah's glare of steel, he probably would've slipped into unconsciousness. From that point on, he learned never to mess with John Casey, USMC.

But here they were, in the Hassler hotel. It was stunning. Of course, they'd gotten the presidential suite, with an amazing view over Rome. He heard a feminine throat clearing behind him. "So, are you just going to stare out of the window all day long?"

"Seriously, Sarah. You should join me. It's gorgeous. Look at the view!" he said, enthusiastically.

"I think you'll like this view better," she said, as Chuck heard the telltale sign of Sarah impatiently tapping her foot against the plush carpet that was laid in front of the bed. His mind told him what was coming and to brace for it. But he willed his mind to shut up. After all, he cherished Sarah and he knew the kick she got out of seeing his reaction. And how could anyone ever not react to the stunning sight of Sarah in all her glory.

He slowly turned around, and his body took over. The muscles in his jaw ceased to work, causing it to drop wide open. Chuck's irises expanded, and then retracted again leaving them glassy and unfocussed. Blood left his limbs at an alarming rate, flowing to the one appendage that seemed to have a set of unrestricted arteries. He felt his vocal chords vibrating in sync with his mouth, as the air left his lungs to form words. "Holy shit…" he muttered, reverently.

"I didn't know you were religious," Sarah teased him. "But I can probably make you talk to God… or at least have you saying his name a couple more times."

A tiny thought made its way through Chuck's cranium. It was his 'how did I get this lucky again?' thought that passed through from time to time. It usually paired with a vivid image of Jill's face. Before Sarah, he would bristle at it. Nowadays his reaction was a lot less visceral. Mellow even. It was petty, but he felt like he had won in the end. He got the better end of the deal. Of course, the first three years were anything but happy, but it all seemed like a distant memory. Reminiscing those days served to make him more appreciative of the days of the present. Sarah broke him out of his reverie though.

"So are you just going to stand there, or are you going to take affirmative action?" An unusual sparkle in her eye coupled with her words caused Chuck to shake off his daydreaming. Besides, who needed daydreams when visages like that were around? "Don't worry, I can make it an order from the National Security Agency if I have to," she added. Chuck shrugged. Who was he to go against the will of the United States government?

Chuck's fingers flexed and dug into the soft flesh of Sarah's shoulders. She let out an appreciative purr. A post-coital massage was her new favorite thing in the world. Chuck loved to give Sarah pleasure, whether it was through making love, a massage or even something as simple as cooking. Sure, they hadn't had many opportunities to do so, but when he could, it became one of his favorite pastimes.

Sarah bit down on the comforter, to keep the moan from escaping. "Oh God, Chuck. Your hands should be sent in for scientific research. They're magic," she said, before shuddering to the heat that his hands seemed to inspire, wherever they went.

"I'm glad you approve," Chuck said, before swatting at her buttocks. "Now get your butt in the shower, and afterwards we can go walk around for a bit. See where the night takes us."

Sarah stood up. "That sounds amazing." She let out a happy sigh. "I could get used to living like this." She sauntered off to the shower. "Oh, hey. Could you get my brush out of my bag?"

"Sure thing," Chuck said, before hopping off of the bed. He started rummaging through her bag, when his eye fell on her passport. He felt inexplicably drawn to it. He flipped to Sarah's I.D. card. The picture was the first thing that got his attention. God, she's gorgeous, he mused as he used his thumb to trace her facial contour.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The surname box didn't have the correct letters to form Walker. What the hell? He looked at the box, and froze. Larkin. That had to be a mistake. But there it was, clear as day. Sarah Larkin, United States citizen. He was so caught up in thinking about what it could mean, although he had a pretty damn good idea as to what it meant, that he didn't see Sarah. He did however hear her clearing her throat.

"Chuck, we need to talk."

"Yeah, I kind of figured," he said, with a coldness that neither he nor Sarah had ever heard before. "Mind explaining me what the hell this is all about?" He threw Sarah's passport to her. She didn't make an attempt to catch it. It made a hollow slap when it collided with Sarah's stomach, after which gravity pulled it down to the floor. Chuck let his gaze linger on the passport, before tracing up Sarah's lithe body. He stopped on her face, but wasn't surprised to find it blank. Void of any emotion.

Sarah shrugged. "Does it matter? I could probably spin a story to make you believe I was his sister or something insane like that, and you'd eat it up. But since you asked, I'll be honest.

Yeah, we're married. It was my job to help you find the Intersect and get you to upload it. I'd suddenly have a change of heart, and beg you to upload it. We'd probably spin it so that Bryce would take me hostage and you would have to upload it to save me. Since you know, that plan is out of the window." She walked over to Chuck, and when she passed him, Chuck felt something akin to a breeze passing over his skin. His tear-ducts were working in overtime and he found the tears in his eyes to be too heavy to hold. Sarah bent over and rummaged in her own bag. When she had found what she was looking for, she straightened and turned around. In her hand was a pistol. Chuck couldn't discern what make or model it was, but it didn't matter. In his mind, he already knew what the outcome of this all would be.

"So are you going to upload the Intersect when we ask nicely? Or are we going to have to have a few more conversations? Maybe with Ellie?"

Chuck stood up, the tears still cascading down his face. "I thought you loved me. I truly did. Either shoot me now, or don't bother. I've got to get out of here."

"Chuck." Sarah called out to him. Her voice seemed hollow and distant. He turned and walked to the door, expecting a gunshot. It never came. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sarah standing in a dejected form. He felt bile rising at the sight of her, and ripped open the door. Once more, Sarah called his name. It seemed even hollower than the first time. He walked into the hallway and made his way to the elevators. He didn't bother looking back anymore. It was obvious. A guy like him could never have someone like her.

Sarah was torn. On one hand, she really wanted to spend every waking minute with Chuck. But that was kind of a conundrum, as said object of her affection was currently fast asleep. She didn't know whether to let him rest up or wake him up. After all, once they got in Rome… Well, all bets were off. She was expecting some pretty heavy lifting from him. And after that, maybe a massage… God, she loved his massages. His fingers could melt every last knot of tension that her body could throw up.

It seemed almost criminal to wake him up. His face had an adorable grin plastered all over it. She hoped that he was dreaming of her. She was sure that she'd starred in a couple of dreams all over the Los Angeles area, but somehow thinking that she was in his suddenly seemed like one of the most important things in the world to her. The elation increased when she heard him softly mumbling her name.

But her elation changed in an instant when she noticed fluid leaking out from under Chuck's eyelids. That couldn't be right. The grin disappeared and even though she couldn't see his eyes, his facial features took on a sign of dejection.

"Chuck," she whispered, trying to get him to wake up. It didn't seem to have an effect. She grabbed his shoulders, and gave it a couple of small shakes. "Chuck, baby. Wake up; you're having a bad dream."

Chuck's eyes flew open, and he sat up. He looked at Sarah's face, and her heart broke at the hurt she saw etched in his features. "Chuck, what's wrong?" she asked, concern evident.

Chuck shook his head a couple of times, a few drops of his tears landing on Sarah's hand. He tried to clear his head, but the memory of the nightmare kept replaying in his mind. Time and again, he saw that damned surname. Larkin. It had robbed him of so many things, what was one more thing to add to the list? He had to look in her passport, and see with his own two eyes that it wasn't real. The dream seemed too vivid. Almost like his subconscious was telling him something. "Huh? Nothing."

"You're really going to do that? You were crying in your sleep, and you're telling me it's nothing?"

Chuck sighed. "Look, I'd tell you, but you'll probably just get angry… I'll tell you in the hotel, promise."

Sarah looked like she was about to disagree. But the look in Chuck's eyes made her rethink her strategy. He was obviously not in the mood to talk about things, for the first time ever. So she agreed, but made him promise to tell her everything the moment that they reached the hotel. Chuck agreed. He still didn't want to do it, and thinking back to the dream it all seemed a little bit silly. Still, there was that nagging part in the back of his head that kept repeating one simple line to him.

She's too good for you.

Even though the hotel seemed to be quite accurate with regards to his dream's interpretation, the city itself and the view were anything but. It was ten times more awe-inspiring than he had thought. As he looked over the city, he couldn't help but stare in wonder at the skyline of Rome. "I had no idea the city was this gorgeous."

Sarah walked up to him, and encircled her arms around his waist. "It is beautiful. It's so much richer in culture than Burbank. I do think this is my favorite city in the world."

"Who could disagree with you? I can only imagine the people of old actually building this city from the ground up."

"Yeah," she muttered, reverently. Still, they both felt the rather large elephant standing in the room. Admittedly, it was a rather large room, so in the grand scheme of things, said elephant might not have been all that imposing. But it seemed as though it moved towards them, and cornered them until there was nothing left to do but talk about it. So Sarah broached the subject. "Look, Chuck… About the plane…"

Chuck disentangled from Sarah. He walked over to the bed, and patted next to him. Sarah quickly joined him. "Look… It's silly, I know. But it's just that it seems that it's always Bryce Larkin that gets what I want. He got my ex; he got the life that I had always envisioned for myself. He's successful in whatever he does. And sometimes, thoughts of him taking you away creep up in my subconscious. And that's what you saw in the plane. I dreamt that you were married to him, and were simply playing me all along. And the sad fact is that it wouldn't even surprise me.

I mean, look at you. You can't tell me that you don't know you're gorgeous. But it's more than that. You're intelligent, funny and all around amazing. There is literally nothing that you can't do and trust me, I've tried finding things. And what the hell have I got going for me? I play video games… For a living! I live with my sister and her fiancé. That's like the equivalent of living in my mom's basement… if I still had a mom."

Sarah heaved a deep sigh. She walked to her bag, and grabbed her passport. She gave it to Chuck. He flipped to her I.D. card and repeated the motions he experienced in his dream. He ghosted his thumb over her picture, still looking as gorgeous as ever. And to his relief, her surname was shown as Walker, just as it should. The tension in his body finally eased.

"I do remember that conversation. And I hope you remember my speech to you. You seem to continuously draw wrong conclusions when it comes to what I want. So for the last time, in a hopefully long, long time; I don't care what kind of a past you've had. I don't care that your skill set is being grossly underestimated and underused. I don't care that you live with your sister and her fiancé. I don't care about anyone else's opinion, but yours. And it's sort of annoying to not being able to get you to understand that. We made a pact, where we would talk about things when they were becoming hard. I always figured you would mean a situation where one of us had a problem with someone else. I've kept to that promise, and I've yet to be disappointed in you. It's weird to see you forgetting that pact, if thoughts like that are able to creep up in your mind.

It's not a contest Chuck; it's a simple fact of life for me at this point in time. I love you. Truth be told, I don't even know why we're talking about this when there are so much more different, fun things we could be doing." Sarah's eyes flashed with the same sparkle that was there in his dream. He knew where it was headed. After all, even he couldn't deny that he was intelligent. But this time, it wouldn't have a bad ending.

Vincent walked through the streets of Rome. The glare on his face spoke volumes to the passersby. Not even the obnoxious street vendors bothered talking to the man. It was probably a good thing too. He would've almost assuredly slit their throats.

The reason for his bad mood was clear as day. He lost his targets, and he had no idea on where to look for them. With a frustrated groan, he gave up and decided to look for a place to settle down and have some dinner. After that he would probably look for another hour or so before retiring and claiming failure for the first time in his illustrious career with Fulcrum. It wouldn't be pretty and Vincent felt the shame. The sun however was still comfortably warming the Italian air, so there was always that.

He struck down in the dining area of a quiet bistro. The sweet, soft tones of an acoustic guitar filled the little establishment which was filled with all sorts of paraphernalia, from ceramics to old records. Vincent liked the atmosphere it breathed out. It was simple, elegant. It reminded him of his favorite weapon, the stiletto knife. He had always had a thing for the Sicilian mafia, so it seemed poetic justice for his weapon of choice to be the stiletto. That didn't mean he was opposed to guns. He just preferred a more direct approach. There was nothing like the feel of freshly spilled blood pouring over one's hands, while watching the life slip out of someone's eyes. Vincent shuddered in excitement. He really needed to find his targets.

The sound of laughter reached Vincent's ear. He didn't associate with laughter, unless it was of the maniacal variety. But this seemed… happy, careless. He twisted his neck, trying to discern from where the sound was coming from. His eyes fell on a vibrant young couple. The woman, a blonde, wearing a purple dress that seemed to be molded for her. The man was wearing a sports jacket, with a blue T-shirt with an imprint that Vincent had never seen before. His hair was brown and in stark contrast with the woman's. Where hers was long and fair, his was unkempt and wild.

He glanced back to his menu, until a third patron caught his eye. The man was dining alone, but Vincent noticed his eyes twitching to the couple. It seemed to him like he was keeping tabs on them. The dots finally connected in Vincent's mind. These were his targets. It seemed that destiny had decided to throw Vincent a bone. God knows, he deserved it. He felt the side of his pants. The holster with the Glock 19 still firmly attached to his hip. It may not have been the classiest of weapons, but it did the job. Plus, the twenty-round magazine always helped things. He thumbed off the safety, and prepared to stand up. A shout rippled through the bistro. It was the voice of the fair-haired woman.

"Gun!"

What the hell? How did they spot it? He was sure that he had it tucked safely away. But she wasn't looking at him. He saw her eyes flit towards the street, when she dove under the table, dragging the man with her. That's when all hell broke loose.

"You look fantastic, you know that?" Chuck said, as he eyed Sarah for the umpteenth time that night. He was particular to a lot of looks on Sarah, but this ranked among his favorites, along with the always successful birthday suit that Sarah donned seemingly every day.

"You don't look so bad, yourself. I never knew how well you could fill out a sports jacket." Sarah answered, as she twirled a string of pasta around her fork. Chuck was amazed at how graceful it looked. He was fumbling his own cutlery, but he did finally manage to get the general gist of properly eating the damn food. He shot a surreptitious glance at Casey, who seemed to be doing the same thing as Chuck was. Safe in the knowledge that if any sort of excrement would hit a series of blades mounted on a standard rotating at a swift pace Casey would be there, he turned to focus on his companion.

He had apologized profusely after their physical make up and Chuck's post-coital massage, which made Sarah emit sounds that were even sexier than his mind had conjured up. He acknowledged that it was wrong to accuse her of something that she hadn't even done except in his own mind, but at the same time he made her acknowledge that he had a, given the circumstances of his youth, rational fear of her leaving. She promised to try and assuage them better. The implications left unspoken brought a blush to Chuck's face.

As he tried twirling another batch of noodles around his fork, his wrist accidentally shot out, and pasta was flying over the table. When Chuck had finally dared looking up at Sarah, he saw her desperately trying to hold in a laugh. A deep sigh by Chuck was all it took to break the dam. Sarah's laughter filled the little bistro. It still sounded amazing. There was just something about everything Sarah did that seemed to make him love her even more. But just as suddenly, the laughter stopped, and Sarah's eyes went wide.

"Gun!" she shouted, before literally diving over the table, taking Chuck down. A hail of gunfire erupted outside the bistro, as the single window that the place had owned was shattered into thousands of tiny shards and fragments. Chuck glanced towards Casey, to see him hiding behind a table, motioning for them to take cover behind the bar. The grin on Casey's face unnerved Chuck to no end, but who was he to argue over semantics with a decorated military officer when bullets where wizzing past his head? He grabbed Sarah and dragged her behind the bar.

When they reached the bar, a pistol had appeared in Sarah's hand. "Where the hell did you get that?" Chuck asked. Sarah arched an eyebrow, and hiked up her dress. Along her right thigh, a holster was situated. Chuck found it oddly erotic. Still, he couldn't help but wonder. "You brought a gun… on a date?"

Sarah gave a half-shrug. "Casey told us to prepare for the possibility that stuff like this might happen. It apparently never hurts to come prepared." She pinged out a couple of blind shots towards the source of the gunfire.

Chuck dared peeking around the corner of the bar. He was pretty sure he was hallucinating at that point in time, as it looked like John Casey was whistling a tune while casually reloading his weapon. Chuck recognized it as an IMI manufactured Desert Eagle .50AE. Playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare really taught him more than he cared for. As Casey locked eyes with Chuck, he motioned them out the back door. Chuck's brain made the automatic connection between leaving and not getting shot at. It seemed like a brilliant idea.

Luckily, Sarah didn't put up much of a fight. He had half expected her to just go full blown Trinity, throw in a couple of cartwheels for good measure and run off the walls, into the face of danger. Instead, she let herself be escorted out of harm's way, re-holstering her pistol. The view of Sarah's thigh caused Chuck to silently contemplate the merits of jumping her in a back alley, but decided that for health precautions it would be a rather bad idea. And truth be told, he'd rather not have Casey finding them in a… compromising position.

Casey came bursting through the door and looked at the couple. His face showed a weird mixture between adrenaline and ecstasy. It made Chuck think of the trollface that he had found throughout his daily visits to the depraved society known as /b/ on 4Chan. It was scarily similar. Still, it didn't matter what Casey's visage looked like. His next words were golden advice, after all.

"Run!"

Vincent was frustrated to say the least. The sudden gunfire meant two things. One, it was apparent that he wasn't the only one gunning for his targets. That infuriated him to no end. His targets were his and that was that. It was unsportsmanlike to come between a hunter and its prey. And two, it meant that he couldn't possibly take them out, even if they had survived. Vincent wouldn't know. He was playing his scared civilian role to a Tee. Hiding in the bathroom stalls. Pure brilliance. But gunfire meant the police. And the police meant that a getaway would invariably lead into a car chase. As much as he enjoyed his job with Fulcrum, he wasn't about to sit in an Italian jail until they could bust him out. Vincent still had a shred of self-respect left.

Five minutes after the final shot had rung through the by then deathly silent Italian evening, he peeked his head out of the stalls. As he walked into the bistro, it looked like a hurricane had torn through the restaurant. Almost the entire alcoholic collection that was proudly displayed behind the bar was shot to pieces. There were several blood stains on the walls, but most of the carnage was outside. It seemed that whatever company ended up making body bags would've had to be working overtime to accommodate the Italian police force.

Vincent was impressed. There were at least ten bodies lying outside. The odds were staggering, and yet it seemed that his targets had cleared them without too much trouble. He grinned. "It turns out that they have some tricks in their bag," he whispered to himself. He walked past the carnage and somehow managed to evade the police officers that were swarming the scene. He picked up his phone and dialed the Fulcrum elders.

"It's Vincent… No, they've gotten away… Another team was gunning for them… I'll find them again… Of course… Why does everyone always assume I eat people? It's rather offensive… Fine… Yes sir."

He put his hands in his pockets. The temperature had dropped a few degrees. There was still some warmth left of the day but for an inexplicable reason, the world felt just a little bit colder. A growing sense of unease started in Vincent's stomach. And if there was one thing he could trust, it was his intuition. As he passed around a corner, he bumped into someone.

"Mi scusi, signorina." Vincent said, hoping his Italian could pass muster.

"That's an acceptable level of Italian, Vincent," the woman said. Vincent's eyes widened.

"You," he said, the anxiety that he hadn't felt since he had reached the tender age of twelve years old rearing its ugly head.

The woman nodded. "Who else could they send?"

"You're fictional… A legend! You don't exist."

"It seems that my reputation precedes me. It's a shame. I do enjoy playing things under the radar." The woman pulled out her pistol, a Beretta 92fs. She pointed it at Vincent's head.

He had to do some quick thinking. Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. It might work. "Please… Don't kill me… I have a family," It was a massive gamble, but he heard that it had worked once before. A Russian bodyguard had gotten his life spared because of that particular sentence.

The woman let out a laugh. "It seems that legend sometimes has it wrong. It didn't actually save the man. But for what it's worth, Vincent… So do I." She pulled the trigger and Vincent's brain matter sprayed on the wall behind him.

"Fuckin' bollocks!" Cole shouted to no one in particular, as he threw his phone at the wall. He started pacing around the Prime Minister's office at an alarming rate. The fibers of the rug gave way with every step that he took, and it wasn't long before there was a rather beaten path in it. Bits of the former phone were strewn around the room. The assistant looked positively terrified.

"You've got to be kidding me… An entire team taken out by a bloody yank that could've fought in World War II and some fit bird. How did that happen?"

"Mr. Barker, please calm down and wait for the Prime Minister. It'd be easier to just tell him the story instead of shouting it at the walls."

Cole was about to unleash another tirade, when the doors opened. The prime minister briskly walked in.

"Barker. What are you doing here?"

"To inform you of the travesty that is our trans-Atlantic operation. So far, our operatives have been successful in most of the countries. We're still waiting to hear from our Spanish colleagues, but we're not expecting any issues there. The only country giving us issues is America."

The vein in the Prime Minister's right temple started bulging out. "We can't afford failures, Barker. There's only one way for Great Britain to rise to its former glory again and we do it by controlling the only Intersect in existence."

Cole sighed. He had heard this speech more than he cared for. "Yeah, I get it. We control the only Intersect and we can control the NATO. You've told me this before."

"Don't get smart with me, son."

"I'm not, Sir. I'm just frustrated, is all." Truth be told, he was frustrated at a lot of things. One of them was that he felt particularly bad about his orders on the American side of things. It was his job to kill a young couple in love, simply because the bloke had the misfortune of being able to remember a ton of stuff.

Of course, it didn't help that the woman was a real looker. Cole found it to be a particular shame but even if he didn't have to kill them, he wouldn't bother trying to get his biscuit in her tea. He was raised according to the proper British etiquette and that meant that a woman that was taken was simply that; taken. Still, this mission was in the good for the British Empire and Cole would do a lot for his country. The slogan of the Revolutionary war still ringed true. For King and Country.

"Look, you're one of the best agents this country has. Now your country is calling for your service, Mr. Barker. I need you to go to Rome and personally see to it that the potential Intersect hosts get eliminated. Are you up to that task?"

Cole heaved a deep sigh. No, I'm not. "Yes, I am, Sir."

"Excellent, you'll leave in two days. Your job is to go to Rome and pick up the trail of the Intersect host. Find him and kill him. He is your prime target."

"Understood, Sir."

"And Cole…" Cole had stepped towards the door, but stopped. He didn't turn around though. "Don't let me down."

Bryce was nervous. It didn't happen a lot, but sometimes things would slip through his devious nets. This was one such occasion. A sudden conference with the Fulcrum Elders that would invariably involve the Ring Elders had him on edge. Something went wrong in Rome, and Bryce wanted to know what was up. He was sure he had erased every track leading to him. He even had the Ring's sanction of using the legendary Frost to clean up the loose ends with Vincent. So what could've gone wrong?

The telltale beep of the video chat being enabled shook Bryce out of his reverie. He braced himself for what was about to happen.

"Agent Larkin, you have been brought into this meeting because you were the one who supplied us with the intel on the Ring agents that Vincent was targeting. Is that correct?" a Ring Elder asked.

"Yes Sir, that is correct. Fulcrum had gotten false information about the possible danger of a team of special Ring agents in Rome. They acted as they should when one doubts a team of agents, but in this case their suspicion was ungrounded. However, intel suggests that Vincent was part of the C.I.A. and giving them information on our operations. I feel that I did my job to satisfaction by requesting the immediate clean-up of Vincent."

A Fulcrum Elder jumped in. "Agent Larkin, we wish to update you on data that you might not be aware of. It was in fact discovered that Vincent was in fact not part of the C.I.A. It seems your mole can not be trusted anymore."

Bryce fixed an affronted look on his face. "Yes Sir, I'll see to his removal immediately."

The Elder spoke up again. "Very well. Now on to other matters. Vincent called us, shortly before his assassination and gave us the sitrep on the team of Ring agents he was sent to kill. It turns out that another group actually tried to get to them, before Vincent could."

The look of shock on Bryce's face wasn't an act.

The Elder continued. "Chatter suggests that it may have been an attack, sanctioned by the British government, although it is unclear at this time why they would sanction an attack on a team of Ring agents. We would like you to keep an ear out for anything you might pick up in relation to this attack."

Bryce nodded. "And what about the team of Ring agents?"

The Ring Elder jumped in. "There were no bodies found on the scene that correlate with the descriptions we have from you. Our guess is that they escaped, safe and sound."

Bryce blew out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Thank God."

The Ring Elder chuckled. "We never figured you would get so invested in us, agent Larkin?"

"Are you saying that's a bad thing?"

"Not at all. Have a good day, agent Larkin."

The video chat closed and Bryce was left standing with a pit in his stomach. Things were becoming more and more complicated and he was at a loss as to how he was going to get out of this one. How could he possibly spin the story to not make the Ring and Fulcrum wonder why everyone seemed to be so interested in this little made up Ring team?

It seemed to Bryce that there was but one option left. They would have to fake their own deaths.

Sarah was lying on Chuck's chest. The adrenaline had ebbed down, but it was replaced with a rush of endorphins. One thing led to another and here they were, post-coital for the second time that day. Of course, a massage was involved afterwards. It had become a sort of unspoken pact between the two of them.

"It seems that Europe doesn't take kindly to Americans." Chuck quipped.

"How so?"

"Well, we've only been here for one and a half weeks, and we've already been shot twice. That's twice more than in America."

"Well, we can't say that it hasn't been exciting."

"That's true. But if I'm honest, I would like all the excitement to pipe down a bit. I'd like to show my girl how much I love her, without getting people in our close vicinity shot. Or at the very least, shot at."

"I think you're doing a fair job so far." Sarah teased.

"That may be. But I would like to remind you that the dinner didn't count as a date. I'm pretty sure there's a rule somewhere, that states that when gunplay is involved, it kind of negates the romantic atmosphere that a date supposedly brings."

"True. And besides, there's still a lot of things that I can show you in this city. We've barely scratched the surface."

"We've mainly been scratching other itches." Chuck put in. Sarah giggled.

"Exactly, so we've still got a city to explore, a scientist to meet and the odds of the team that stormed us in the restaurant coming back with backup are still rather high. Sufficed to say, we'll have our hands full for the upcoming days."

"All the more reason to cherish our time."

Sarah couldn't agree more.

A/N2: This seemed to take forever to write. I constantly got distracted by one awesome story after another updating. Anyway, next update will be coming around between Tuesday and Wednesday (Cue sad audience track) due to me being absent for said tournament in Prague. In the words of the Captain: "It's gonna be awesome."

Please note: The first part wasn't angst for angst sake. It's purpose will be revealed somewhere down the line. Trust me.

Coming up next time: the city gets explored, scientists are met and there is still a high chance of more bullets being hurled towards our heroes at a frighteningly fast pace. Oh, and we might go to another city! Until next time.