"Wheels up, first thing in the morning", the General had said. CIA Special Agent Charles Carmichael (or Chuck Bartowski, depending on who you asked) wasn't usually excited about missions.
He'd been going on his own missions since he was seventeen. Granted, he was only twenty-three, but still most spies weren't even recruited until they were his current age.
But when you come from a spy legacy dating back to the Culper Ring, you tended to advance quickly in the world of international espionage.
Chuck's parents were spies, his grandparents, great-parents ectera.
Being a spy came naturally to him. And in his six years of being an official agent (he'd been going on missions unofficially since he was five), he had already distinguished himself at the best. The absolute best.
So needless to say, missions were a common occurrence in his life.
But this particular mission was special, and "special" wasn't a word Chuck used very often. Very few things were special to him: his family, his friends, his country, his girl.
He smiled at the thought of her, remembered that her golden head was resting on his shoulder, their fingers entwined, as the Gulfstream flew them to their newest assignment.
He smiled as she got up to get a glass of water, watched her as she moved with his adoring brown eyes. God, he loved this woman.
She had saved him. Sarah Walker (he was still getting used to calling her that) had saved his life.
He knew she was going through a rough time (Red Tests tended to do that to a person), and he vowed to help her through it. She was only nineteen, but, it seemed as if she had gotten much older in a couple of weeks.
But training to be a Special Agent in the CIA was designed to mature people, turn them into operatives. But Sarah had to grow up at a very early age.
He walked up behind her, encircling her in his arms. "I love you," he whispered, before kissing her cheek.
Her sapphire eyes glowed up at him. "I love you too." She turned her face to him just enough to lean in and capture his lips in a soft, tender kiss.
He spun her in his arms, to pull her deeper into the kiss, his arms encircling her waist. She moaned gently as her fingers wound their way into his close-cropped curls.
Chuck was thankful that it was a long flight, because right now, espionage was the farthest thing from his mind. His hands creeped up from her waist to cup her breasts, caressing them through the fabric.
She moaned, then reluctantly pulled her lips away from his. "I have a surprise for you," she whispered huskily.
He couldn't help but grin at that. "Do you really?"
"Yup," she said softly as she took his hands in her to lead him to the back of the plane, where their bedroom was located.
Their newly outfitted Gulfstream was more of a house in the sky. Fully stocked with a gourmet kitchen, gameroom (Chuck had insisted on that), and a master suite.
Most spies were granted such luxurious digs for their private jets.
But most spies weren't Chuck and Sarah.
And at the moment, neither of them were thinking about the objective of their next mission.
Sarah was walking them to the bedroom at a snail's pace, teasing him with sultry, seductive looks all the way. And Chuck, well he was fighting a strong urge to forget the bedroom, throw her up against the wall, and take her right there.
When they finally reached the bedroom, Sarah didn't speed things up, instead she pulled away from Chuck and slowly kicked off her black stilettos, unbuttoned her gray blouse, and slid out of her gray skirt to reveal a very familiar, almost infamous, lacy purple nightgown.
It was Chuck's favorite, for many, many reasons. "You're trying to kill me," he whispered to her when she finally stepped back in his arms.
"No," she said playfully. "You'd be dead already." He smiled and took a moment just to look at her, she was a vision.
"Chuck, stop staring at me," she told him.
"Isn't the whole point of this outfit for me to stare?"
"No, the point is for you take it off."
Chuck had no objections to that plan, and decided enough chitchat. He kissed her, intensely and passionately. His hands worked their way down from her face to her smooth thighs and back again.
She ground herself into him, feeling how hard he was through his pants and quickly decided he was wearing too many clothes.
She made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, the feel of his bare chest, sending a thrill straight to her soaking pussy. She did the same with his belt and pants, as he kicked them off with ease.
He picked her up, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and walked them over to the bed, pulling her nightie off on the way.
He placed her gently on the bed, and pulled off his boxers. He hovered over, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, before planting a delicate kiss on her lips, as he positioned himself between her legs.
He planted a trail of kisses down her neck, he gently licked the kiss between her breasts, before taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking biting gently, making her wetter and wetter.
"Chuck," she breathed huskily. He smiled before giving the same attention to her other breast. One of his hands creeped down between her legs, fingering her clit.
"God, you're so wet," he mumbled. He teased, massassing her clit with his forefingers, sending a wave of pleasure shooting through her.
"Chuck, I want you inside me," she mumbled as her hands gripped his curls.
Chuck nodded, aligning their thighs, and entering her quickly.
He loved watching her face as he filled her to the hilt. He started thrusting slowly, and built up speed at her request.
"Chuck, Chuck, Chuck," his name, forever on her lips. He felt her tighten around him; she was close. So was he.
Her sapphire eyes went even wider as she climaxed, clenching around him, quickening his release as he spilled into her, with a final thrust.
He smiled widely at her, as he pulled out of her, kissing her lips and wrapping his arms around her, as they both bathed in the afterglow.
Twenty minutes later, neither one of them had moved. Of course, Sarah was always reluctant to leave Chuck's arms. He just made her feel so safe, so treasured. She would've stay liked that with him forever, if she could've.
He looked over at her, she had that look on her face, that one she always got when she was in deep thought. "Penny for your thoughts," he asked.
"I was thinking about you," she said with a smile. "Us. How this all happened. Started."
"Yeah, that is an interesting story, isn't it?" he said, a smile crossing his lips.
"One for the record books."
1 Year and 5 Months earlier
Charles Carmichael, and his team, Agent Len Davis, Agent Blaine Waters, and Agent Cal Cross, had been captured.
They had been after the ruthless Egyptian arms dealer, Faruak Vosloo, for months. They'd finally reached his base, his headquarters.
The schematics had shown the underground bunker to be protected by fairly minimal security. But the schematics had been wrong.
The place was crawling with bad guys, bad guys carring semi-automatic assault rifles.
All that was par for the course for one of the CIA's best teams. But some things you just couldn't see coming.
There were far too many of them. Outmanned and outgunned, they'd surrendered.
But not before, Chuck had alerted the nearest NSA Black Ops Team that they were in serious danger.
But Vosloo was not a patient man. Angered by the team's unwillingness to talk after three rounds of intense, brutal torture, he'd ordered Davis, Waters, and Cross killed by firing squad.
He was about to do the same to Charles, but the calvary had came before he had a chance.
The Black Ops team was headed up by Chuck's old friend, John Casey.
When he'd pulled a battered and bruised Chuck from the rubble of that compound, he could tell that he was looking at a changed man.
"Chuck," he grunted. "Are you all right?"
Chuck was shellshocked, eyes burning at the first sight of sunlight in in 48 hours. All he could think about was his team, falling under the hail of bullets.
"Oh, God," was the only thing he said. They'd pulled him into the helicopter, tending to his wounds.
Casey looked at him with concern. Chuck had only said two words. Anyone who knew him knew he couldn't shut up for more than ten seconds.
But he sat, stone silent, as he was treated for his injuries and led safely back to U.S. soil.
The painkillers and bandages helped the visible blows, but everyone could tell that the inner ones went much, much deeper.
Three months after that, Chuck returned to Langley for reassignment. His vacation was much needed, but he was now ready to get back to work.
But he didn't want a team. He could handle solo missions. He would. No one else was dying on his missions.
He was to meet his parents, and other high-ranking CIA officials for a briefing for his new assignment.
He walked through the Farm, admiring the place. It felt good to be home. He'd spent the last three months on a beach, with nothing but his thoughts.
His nightmarish thoughts. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the bloodied bodies of his former team. It haunted him.
He wanted nothing more than to put it behind him, and the best way to do that was with a mission. Something exciting, thrilling, that would occupy his thoughts completely.
His parents, Agents Frost and Orion, a.k.a. Steven and Mary Bartowski, had been quite worried about him after the ordeal. He had to admit, that he was a good liar. By this time, he'd completely fooled him that he was fine, completely over what happened.
His sister, Ellie, the only person in the family not involved the in the spy life, was less convinced. She knew Chuck better than anyone. She could size him up instantly.
And when she'd visited him on his vacation, she could tell that something deeper was going on. And she'd promptly informed her parents that she thought Chuck needed more time.
After consulting with Morgan Grimes, Chuck's best friend and fellow agent, the family had agreed: Chuck did need more time. They just had to figure out how to tell him that.
Chuck reported to the office of General D. Beckman at 0800.
His parents, his two best friends, Morgan and Bryce Larkin were there. So was Casey. He sighed. He knew was this was: an ambush.
General Beckman was also there. "Agent Carmichael, I trust you're well," she said. "Please sit."
He looked over at his family and friends, and their well-practiced emotionless faces as he took his seat. Great, he thought, they're up to something.
"We have your new mission," the General said. "Something stateside." She pushed a folder labeled TOP SECRET across the desk to him.
He opened it and stared for a few moments. He honestly couldn't believe his eyes. "Recruit training?" he asked, shocked. "You can't be serious."
"We are, Charles," his father told him. "It's a good assignment."
"Yeah, for retirees. Dad, I need to be out in the field. I'm an operative. That's where I belong."
"Charles," Mary said softly. "A new mission is…a lot of…stress."
Chuck rolled his eyes. "Oh, now I get it. You're worried about me. I'm fine. I'm ready to be back out there.
"Chuck," Casey said sternly. "You're not."
"Colonel's right," Beckman interjected. "After all, you haven't even hinted at who you'd like to be on your new team."
"I'm not working with a team. I'll be fine solo."
Simulatenous sighs echoed in the room.
"Chuck, buddy," Morgan said. "You know, you've been through a lot. It might not be such a bad idea to wait a while."
"Who's side are you on, buddy?"
"I'm always on your side, buddy, but I think they're right."
"They are," Bryce said with finality. Bryce and Chuck had gone to college together. It was at Chuck's suggestion that Bryce be recruited into the CIA.
"I'm fine," Chuck repeated. "Okay, I spent a lot of time clearing my head, putting Cairo behind me. I'm ready. Give me a real mission."
"Chuck, you complete this, and you go right back into the field," his dad said. "And you get your pick of agents, including the recruits."
"I'm ready for a field mission now."
"You have your mission, Agent Carmichael," Beckman deadpanned. "It's either you train the recruits, or you take another vacation. An idenifite one."
I can't believe I'm here, Chuck thought with a sigh. He was a spy, damn, a trained assassin, a special operative. He was practically James fucking Bond himself, and he was training.
He thought of the old saying 'those who can't do, teach.' But he could do, he was ready to do. And he just looked on in jealously as Bryce, Morgan and Casey flew off to their fancy international assignments.
While he was stuck at the Farm, going to waste. But Chuck wasn't suited for bitterness, sulkiness, sure. But not bitterness.
There was a part of him, that wanted to sit at home in his pajamas eating cheese puffs, but the bigger part of him just couldn't sit in supsended animation. So he reported for duty. Training duty, that is.
I can't believe I'm here, eighteen year old Sam thought to herself. She and a bunch of other teens, were being taken to Langley, Virginia. She couldn't believe that she was going to be trained as a CIA agent.
She looked around the huge motorcaid she was currently riding in. All the people there looked to be around her age. A couple of the boys made eyes at her. But she was used to that.
Part of her just couldn't believe she was here. After all, people who grow up comitting crimes don't usually expect to be trained any law enforcement agent, least of all the CIA.
She felt like she was in a dream. She thought she would wake up as she arrived at orientation. She felt like she was in a dream when she arrived at her classroom and took a seat.
But it all became very real when her instructor came in. She had expected to see, a military man, a retired James Bond or something.
But this guy, he couldn't have been more than a few years older than her. He was like a young Bond. He was wearing Converse, a white shirt and jeans.
"Good morning, class. I'm your instructor, Charles Carmichael. You can call me Chuck. Welcome to the Farm. You've been chosen because you are the best. And here, you'll get even better. All right, let's get the boring stuff out of the way. Role Call: Jeremiah David Reese?"
"Here," a guy with frizzy red hair and Clark Kent glasses said with a smile. Sam smiled. Classic nerd.
"Abigail Lynn Gregg?"
"Here," a tall, slender brunette with piercing gray eyes said as she winked at "Chuck". Sam rolled her eyes. Classic femme fatale.
"Here," Sam said quickly. "Call me Sam." Chuck looked up at her and smiled.
In later years, Chuck would often say that he finally understood what Robert Burns was talking about when he wrote "to see her is to love her"