My Moron! Bartowski! Dead!

I can't believe my eyes. The nerd was obliterated in a raging explosion that should only occur in terrorist hideouts! Why does he have to be so damn heroic all the time? If Chuck was in the trunk and I was in his huge, stinking converse sneakers, would I have done it? Would I have then so rashly removed the bomb and drive away to save everyone? A seething, fiery part of my gut is poking me to answer right away.

Yes! I would have saved them. Pretty much in the same manner. This whole scenario is like déjà vu…where did I hear that title before? In fact...where did I conjure up a situation like this?...I don't know, maybe a movie or fanfic or something…

I think I may have gotten out of this alive though. After all, I'm the NSA's top man...Chuck is Nintendo's.

I can't look at her, she's about to become a blubbering mess. Poor thing. She's a little worse for wear, but my girl Walker gets the job done. She'll pull herself together fast. All the same, I better get my shoulder ready. I wasn't nicknamed Sugarbear for nothing…Heh…Walker would at least feel the 'bear' part…unless after we trudge home later, we're both too fraught with anguish…the sugar stays in the bowl. Can't believe I just thought that!

Why is my vision blurred? Oh damn…they're coming. Do I want to stop them? What's the use of these annoying water drops anyway? To me, they're only another way to cleanse the waste and bacteria. Much like taking a piss, right?

I'm a one-man army…but I can't seem to overpower this writhing ache palpitating an extraordinarily vital organ in my ribcage! I may be forty-seven, but I'm the picture of health and this isn't a heart attack. I wish it were, at least that would be a reasonable explanation for my sudden chest constriction and shortness of breath.

Arghh! There it is again! The ache has risen into my throat. Swallowing those nasty, clogging lumps just won't cut it anymore.

I can't imagine the paperwork and briefings that will be held…they may as well bring out a big red stamp like the librarians used back in my day.

MISSION OVER!

MISSION SCREWED UP!

OVERDUE! Oh wait...sorry. I just had a horrific flashback of Mrs. Newbit, the Librarian, and her natty gray bun that looked like a dead squirrel. That witch had chewed, sharpened pencils sticking straight up out of it like missiles on standby in the Former Soviet Union. And she wasn't afraid to fire them at will. Man, she was Billy bad!

Yeah, you all go look that phrase up in the urban dictionary, ya posers! While you're surfin' the net, check out the IMDB page of that actor named Adam Baldwin…no, not the guy from Beetlejuice, dammit! Adam's the one who's NOT related. Big Baldwin's way more than just a friggin' orange and yellow pom pom hat on that show caterpillar or ladybug or something. They couldn't pay me enough to wear that piece of candy corn, let alone sing a banal theme song off-key about a man with a woman's name. Still…I think he'd play me in a TV show real well. We can simply call the show 'Casey.' I think I'll pitch it to Fox…they've got a great track record. Simpsons, anyone? 90210? Either way, Baldwin is the man to do me justice, now he's Billy Bad!

All right, I'm really losing it…what the hell was that thought all about?

It's over. The free world will once again be brought to its knees because NSA Maj. John Casey failed a crucial assignment. That's right. I will leave Agent Walker out of this. She had her hands full with Butchie Wang in there. I don't remember her name, so sue me you bleeding hearts! I'm guessing they were doing serious karate chop action in the parking lot. That would have been an amusing fight to behold. I'll have to press for details later…much later.

I had Chuck's life in my hands and I let him slip through my fingers. Maybe I'm the moron…

Aughh! No…Walker is gazing at me with those baby aqua doe-eyes! Yes, that's what I call them. Don't make too much of it, shippers! And let's not get smarmy and misconstrue the relationship I have with my Moron. He's the Intersect, and I'm the bodyguard. We're not best friends riding high through Burbank on a crude motorbike. Chuck had already done that numerous times on Morgan's ten-speed handlebars. I'm not Chuck's friend…I can't be…I'm NOT!

I don't think I can take this anymore. We're gonna have to tell Ellie and Devon and they will no doubt freak. I'll let Sarah handle that. After all, she's the girlfriend. I was just the immaculate and classy neighbor that made a mean quiche and looked hot waxing my Crown Vic. Oh man! I miss that car…if it wasn't for that Moron…

My eyes itch…is my face turning pink? Dang! That always happens to me at moments like this!

That voice! That whiny, drawn out, pitiful….

It's a miracle!

My Moron! Bartowski! Alive! Did I just say that out loud? Oh good… I didn't.

I'm much too stunned to be snarky. See, Maj. John Casey isn't such a failure after all. He knew exactly what he was doing when he revealed the hidden Nerd Herd remote to Chuck! Props to him!

BUT…I also know my Moron. Two years into this whacked out assignment and I can usually anticipate his reactions in these hair-raising scenarios. Chuck is in the know more than we know when it comes to our equipment. God, I hope he doesn't see the scalding tears in my eyes. Otherwise, I'll have to leave this mission. Chuck's looking all confused as to why Walker's about to snuffle and wail, but like the brave little Agent she is…she sucks it up. He lived, and everything is gonna be okay for this week. Chuck shifted his befuddled puppy dog eyes to me now. I gotta look away…I'll go and survey the damage to yet another Buy More company car. Not like there's anything left of it.

I'm okay…really…it's all good. I think…

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Damn, I need a scotch!

The End.