Chuck,

Don't grieve over me. I know you are, and I know me telling you not to isn't enough to stop you. But you need to know that when you're upset and blaming yourself for what happened, you're putting yourself at risk.

I know you're not sleeping well, if at all, and you're not eating regularly. You're making yourself sick with guilt and grief, but Chuck, you can't do that. You need to be alert and aware, not exhausted and distracted. Fulcrum is still after you, and right now you're an easy target. If not for yourself and your own safety, do it for me.

I need you to understand that I didn't die a martyr or a hero. I died protecting you, firstly because you were my charge and it was my responsibility to keep you alive. Secondly, and more importantly, because even though I couldn't tell you when I was alive, I loved you. I made a promise to myself to protect you at all costs, and if my life was the cost, I would have gladly given it.

I know you never understood how I could choose the life I lived, the life of an undercover agent who wasn't even allowed to tell his lover his real name, but I need you to know why. I saw a lot of things when I was a kid. A lot of bad things. My dad was in the military and we moved around a lot, sometimes living in war zones and third world countries. I saw men die, fighting for what they believed in, no matter how wrong it seemed in my head. I saw men kill women and children just because they felt like it. And I swore to myself that I wouldn't let that happen again. I made a promise to fight for the greater good, to protect those innocent civilians who were hurt by the evil that exists in men.

The problem was, even though I fought against the darkness, it took hold of me. I took pleasure in intimidating, in controlling, in killing. In all of the things I despised and had sworn to oppose. I grew comfortable with them, carrying out the actions for the purpose of the government. I followed my orders and I turned into those men I had watched kill little girls who were standing barefoot in the snow, shivering because they couldn't feel anything but the cold. That's what I had become, until I met you.

There was something about you that made me see what I had turned into. That made me want to be ME again. I wanted to be better. I wanted to protect you and love you, and in the end, I couldn't even do that. I refused to follow my orders, for once choosing what I believed was right, and in doing so, I failed you. I'm sorry, Chuck.

You always asked me to tell you something true, something real. And every time you looked at me and asked, I broke a little more because I didn't know what was real and what my cover was any more. I lived so long as John Casey that I couldn't remember what my parents named me. I couldn't remember my parents' phone number, or what my brother looked like.

You saw me as Major John Casey, NSA agent sent to protect you. As John Casey, your coworker at the Buy More. As John Casey your neighbor, your friend. As John Casey, your lover. But in reality, I was no one. I didn't have an identity during my years in the NSA, and my death went unmarked and unnoticed but for you and my superiors. I didn't exist, and you can't grieve for something that was never there.

Chuck, I need you to move forward and protect yourself now. You learned enough from me that I know you'll survive. You know how to keep your mouth shut during an interrogation and you know how to fight back, and that will let you survive nearly anything. You need to be strong. I know you can get through this. Let Ellie and Morgan love you, they can help you.

And if you find that you need more answers than I was able to give you, take some time off from the Buy More and go to Seattle. Look up Evelyn Linderman, and tell her who you are. She can tell you much more than I can remember.

Be safe, Chuck. I'm watching and waiting for you.

John