I do not own Chuck.

Chapter 1: Old friends

Washington DC, November 2013

Captain Dave Charles of the Metro PD leaned back and sighed. Well, this was a clusterfuck.

Even after being out of the Marine Corps for more than 8 years, he still often talked like a Marine and he knew his subordinates in the Special Operations team made fun out of him about it behind his back. And sometimes to his face! He was a tough CO, but he also made sure he was a good CO. A happy team was a good team and if that meant having a bit of banter with his subordinates then that was fine. It wasn't like he couldn't give as good as he could take!

But part of being a good CO was minimising risk to his people as much as possible. Which was why he was worried about this situation. He looked at his deputy, Lieutenant Manuel Garcia. "Any ideas?"

The tall, dark-haired man shook his head, rubbing his hands together. It was cold inside the Command trailer, the heaters having not yet quite engaged following their recent arrival, and on the outside it was a cold mid-November day in Washington DC, their country's capital.

It was a day he knew was going to go badly ever since he'd reported for work this morning and found that Joe Richards' mom had finally succumbed in her long battle with cancer and one of his best operatives was going to be off for the next week. He felt sorry for Joe; losing a parent was always tough, and Momma Richards had fought long and hard. At least Joe had the support of his sister and two brothers. The Richards were a close-knit family and they'd pulled together when their matriarch had been diagnosed two years ago. Joe also had his police family; the team had held a number of events to raise funds for Joe's Mom's treatment and travel expenses. He knew Joe would have the support of his fellow officers, but that hadn't made the call with the heartbroken young man any easier this morning.

And then the emergency call out had come and, as they scrambled to get to the site of the bank robbery with hostages, he'd been informed that the medic that often worked with his team, Matt Frei, wouldn't make it either. At the time he'd not been too worried about that but, having just finished the initial contact with the hostage takers, now he was.

"We need to get a medic in there for the injured," he mused, "but it needs to be someone who can get us good intelligence on the shooters and who's smart enough to adapt to the situation if we have to breach. I'd put one of us in in a paramedic uniform, but it sounds like the injuries are too severe for our level of first aid training. They need a proper paramedic."

They'd been called out to an aggravated bank robbery. Someone had sounded the alarm and now the robbers were hostage takers and, to add insult to injury, there'd been an exchange of fire and a security guard, bank employee, two customers and one of the robbers were injured. He'd just got off the line with the leader of the robbers, who'd told him to call him Alex. The man had demanded a doctor to treat the injured.

Dave wasn't a negotiator. The negotiator for this incident was on his way and hopefully would be with them in the near future. But as a Special Tactics captain he'd done the course and he could fill in until the professional negotiator arrived. He'd managed to get a deal to release some of the hostages in exchange for a paramedic.

Paramedics were at the scene. He'd seen ambulances at the edge of the outer security cordon when they'd arrived at the incident. But he really needed a paramedic with special skills, and he didn't have one of those.

Manny had a calculating look. "I might know someone who could help Boss," he told Dave. "I saw him earlier at the outer cordon. Shall I go and see if he's still available?"

"Who is he?" he asked the younger man.

"He's good people Prof," Manny told him using his long-time nickname and current handle. There was no greater compliment in the younger man's vocabulary. The former special forces sergeant had left the military after being injured in Iraq. No longer fit enough for special forces, he hadn't wanted to go back to a regular unit and had decided to try his hand at being a cop. He'd made a reasonable street cop, but an outstanding SWAT trooper, and Dave had had no compunction about poaching him, even if he was a stupid army ground pounder. "He can do this job with his eyes closed. And he's a great medic. Even if he is a zoomie!" Even the disparaging nickname for the Air Force was said without any degree of rancor.

"OK," he told the LT, "Go and bring him over. Let's see if he's up for it."

Manny was only gone for five minutes. He knew that time was of the essence here.

The man that Manny brought back was tall, very tall. Dave estimated he was around six-four. He was quite a big guy as well with a fair amount of musculature, not totally hidden underneath his navy-blue paramedic uniform. He had much more musculature than Air Force guys normally packed, but not as much as special forces. He was carrying a red medical ruck on his back and Dave looked on approvingly – obviously the guy believed in being prepared – he'd brought trauma supplies with him to save time.

He had brown hair, relatively short, intelligent brown eyes and an open, honest face. Even without Manny's approval, Dave instinctively liked him.

"Captain Dave Charles, this is Chuck Bartowski," Manny introduced them.

Awful name was Dave's first reaction, and he grimaced. "I see you didn't do any better in the naming stakes than me!" he observed to Chuck, leaning forward to shake the man's hand.

"My parents were sadists," the younger man observed, smiling.

"Mine were X-Men fanatics," he replied.

"Oh?" Chuck's eyebrows shot up.

"My birth name was Xavier Logan David Charles," he told the younger man, grimacing again, "I dropped the first two. Now I go by Dave. But my tag's still 'Prof'."

"Ha, I get it," Chuck observed, grinning.

"Eh?" asked Manny, uncomprehending.

"Professor Charles Xavier is head of the X-Men," Chuck explained patiently to his friend.

"My parents thought they were being oh so clever. I did seriously consider killing them on several occasions. I settled for joining the Marines and getting the Hell out of Dodge!" he explained.

"Seems like it worked out OK for you," the younger man observed with another grin, before getting a "to business" expression.

"Yeah," Dave agreed, before also getting serious, "Did Manny tell you our issue?" he asked.

"Yes Captain," Bartowski replied, respectfully.

"And can one or other of you explain why you're perfect for the job?" he asked. "Manny didn't specify why."

"Chuck was a PJ in Iraq and Afghanistan," his subordinate volunteered, "Best damn medic I know. He saved my life Cap, and lots of lives that day."

No fucking way! Dave knew this story. Manny had shared it in the bar one night after a particularly challenging day. "You're the guy who abseiled into the minefield?"

Chuck looked embarrassed. "Just doin' my job." Well that was one way to look at it, Dave supposed.

"How many tours?" he asked, trying to give himself some time. He knew a bit about PJ training and now he understood why Manny was so adamant that Chuck was the right guy for them. This guy was a crack paramedic and Air Force Special Forces to boot.

"One of Iraq, two Afghanistan," the man replied with a slightly far off look. Dave knew that look. Had had it himself a few times. This guy had definitely seen action and he would have handled severe trauma on a daily basis. So he could almost certainly handle the medical aspects of the mission and, as a PJ, would also be able to manage the tactical aspects. He couldn't believe that Bartowski had fallen into his hands.

"If you're game, I'd like to press you into service Chuck. We could really do with your help," he told the man, already suspecting what the answer would be.

"I'm in Captain, just tell me what you need me to do."

Chuck Bartowski stood by Manny and another SpecOps trooper, waiting to be let through the inner tactical perimeter. He was nervous but focused. In light of the situation he'd added a lightweight Kevlar vest to his usual paramedic ensemble and fitted his anti-stab vest over the top of his uniform. He hoped it didn't all go to shit but, if it did, he'd go to ground and hope he was wearing enough protection.

He was carrying two medical bags and had a wheelable stretcher on which sat a defibrillator as well as other equipment. Just medical equipment though. They'd decided against giving him a wire because no one was quite sure of the tactical situation inside. Instead he'd be expected to observe and report to Captain Charles once he left the bank with the patients. He'd sort of wished it was an NSA operation – even six years ago Casey had had great gizmos to allow him to be able to hear and see what Chuck would be seeing. But Metro SpecOps didn't seem to have the same level of Tech available as the NSA.

He certainly hadn't expected this today. His normal fare consisted of road traffic accidents, druggies and homeless people, with the odd mental health case thrown in. In the three weeks since he'd been working as a paramedic in the capital he'd only had two police incidents and he'd arrived to both after the shooting had finished.

He tried to get day shifts as much as possible, so that he could maximise his time with Sarah in the evenings. Sometimes that wasn't possible but so far it hadn't been too bad. Often he was back late, but so was she. She was still working on the anti-Fulcrum task force with Casey. She'd given serious thought to taking a desk job at Langley but he reckoned she hadn't been ready to give up field work yet and, when they'd talked it over, she'd told him so as well.

Living together was so much fun, and they were discovering lots of things about each other. He'd loved the Sarah Walker he'd known in Burbank, but this new Sarah was totally different whilst still being somewhat similar in many ways. She was much more talkative about her feelings and willing to share her thoughts with him. They talked about her job, some of her friends and co-workers and, of course, about their experiences, both shared and otherwise.

He didn't know if that change was down to experience and age, or if it was the down to the psychiatrist she had told him she saw, but it was really nice and he felt much more intimate than he'd ever felt with her before.

He knew she was learning things about him as well. The new him was very different from the old him, and he knew that while she enjoyed the fact that his body was a bit tighter and more muscly and he was much more confident, she'd struggled to come to terms with why and how that was so. He'd had to educate her in the ways of PJs and what being one meant on a number of occasions, and sometimes that education had got kind of physical.

They were both competitive. Of course he knew that about her from when they'd been in Burbank, but it was a surprise for her to find that out about him. When he'd first beaten her when they sparred in the gym she'd been shocked and dismayed (even though he'd not beaten her too often since then), when he'd outrun her in the park she'd been incensed and when he'd outswum her she'd been grumpy for a whole day. But it was great to be able to do all this stuff with her and it certainly maximised the time they had together.

And they were learning lots about each other's physical likes and dislikes as well. He didn't know if it was because they'd waited so long, or because they were both older, but the sex was amazing. She made him feel like he'd never felt before and, judging by the noises he was able to extract from her, she really enjoyed it as well. And on top of that was the pure intimacy. He'd never felt as comfortable with anyone in his life. He'd never loved anyone like he did Sarah.

He knew she wasn't going to be happy with what he'd volunteered to do. She had a protective streak a mile wide. Which he could understand if he was the way he used to be in Burbank. But he wasn't. He didn't know if he could handle himself in her particular world, but he was pretty sure he could handle himself in pretty much any other nowadays.

He'd tried to call her before he'd moved up to the inner perimeter but her phone was turned off. From experience he knew that probably meant that an operation was ongoing. He'd WhatsApped her a short message to tell her he loved her, and then left his phone and his other personal effects with Manny.

He didn't feel that this mission was a particular risk. Of course it was more dangerous than his usual work, but given any of them could be hit by a bus any time he didn't think there was too much to worry about. Oh how he'd changed from Burbank! He remembered being so uptight about everything then. He still couldn't believe that he'd let himself waste five years of his life after Jill dumped him. The man that he was now wouldn't let himself do that and he was quite surprised he'd ever let himself do it. His experiences with Sarah and Casey had shown him he had a lot to offer and if PJ training had failed to beat him down then he realised he could pretty much do anything if he set his sights on it.

Even being a Tactical Medic for Metro PD Special Operations, if needed.

It had been strange to see Manny again. He'd stayed in touch with the cop since Iraq. He'd felt bad when his friend had had to leave SF (almost like he'd failed, although Manny assured him that he didn't feel that way) and they exchanged regular/occasional emails. He'd emailed Manny when he knew he was coming to DC, but they hadn't yet been able to meet for the drink they'd promised each other. And then, this morning, while he camped out at the outer cordon with the other paramedics he'd seen Manny coming out of the Command trailer. They'd waved, bumped fists, shook hands but Manny was in a hurry to get set up and had told him "later" before disappearing back into the trailer.

But he'd returned only 30 minutes later to ask Chuck for this help. That had been an interesting conversation.

"Yo, Chuck?" Manny's call had distracted him from a make time conversation with Jo Wright, one of the other paramedics who Chuck was getting to know. Jo had been telling everyone about one of her previous call outs which had involved a man who had managed to get an electrical cord stuck in an important piece of his anatomy. It was one of the funniest stories Chuck had heard – being a PJ he hadn't really had exposure to too many non-life-threatening injuries but he supposed he'd have to get used to those sort of situations now.

Manny looked a bit wired when Chuck looked up and he could immediately gather that something was wrong. "What's up Manny?" he asked, excusing himself from the group of gossiping paramedics.

Manny looked relieved and motioned Chuck over, maintaining a decent distance between them and any other bodies. "We need your help man," the cop told him, "I can't answer too many questions here but there are injuries and the Captain needs a medic with a "particular" skill set," he made mock inverted commas in the air with his hands, "if you know what I mean?"

Chuck was puzzled, "But surely you've got a tactical medic? I though most SWAT teams did?"

"We do normally, but he's not on today," Manny explained, "And anyway, you'd be better for this job." The cop looked at his watch, "Time's of the essence, man. Will you help us?"

"What sort of danger level is it?" he asked. Sarah would be pissed if he volunteered for anything that was stupidly dangerous.

"Should be no contact. We need someone to go in, treat patients and then come out with them. At least, that's what we've been told. We just need someone who can keep an eye out on the tactical situation while they do that, if you get what I mean?"

That sounded OK, and if there were people who needed help then it was his job after all. And it wasn't like anybody had told him he had to stay in the ambulance! "I'm there," he told the cop, "Just let me grab some equipment and we can go."

"Chuck." Manny was trying to attract his attention. "It's time. Good luck." His friend gave him a taut smile which he supposed was meant to be reassuring.

He gave his own smile back, which he guessed also probably wasn't that reassuring. "OK. Thanks man." They bumped fists and with that he stepped past the inner cordon, wheeling his stretcher towards the armed man that was now visible at the doors of the bank building.

"Captain!"

Dave Charles stood as Chuck Bartowski ran into the Command trailer. He'd already been notified by his people that the freed hostages and the paramedic were on their way out. No fatalities, so Bartowski was obviously as good a medic as Manny had thought.

"It's not a robbery," the man called urgently after making sure the door was firmly closed behind him. "They've got some sort of bomb in there!"

That was news to him, but it certainly explained the current situation a bit better.

"That's good info," he told the man, pleased that he'd got out unharmed and that Manny's and his faith in him to pull this off had been rewarded. Then he nodded to the man sitting to his right who was just swinging his chair round to face Chuck and rising to his feet. "But you should probably tell him. He's in charge here now. Special Agent John Casey. Department of Homeland Security."

Please review if you get a chance!

A/N1 Metro Police Department boasts a Special Operations division and within that is a Special Tactics Branch. According to their website the Special Operations department works with Federal agencies on occasion.

A/N2 Tactical medicine has been a rapidly-emerging sub-segment in recent years. Tactical medics give pre-hospital care in dangerous situations. It wasn't common in the 2000's to get medics working directly with SWAT teams but has become increasingly more so as the type of weapons encountered and severity of injuries has changed to require urgent medical treatment at scene. Tactical medics may or may not be cops (and may or may not carry weapons) but they will have the same training and may go into situations alongside cops.