You get 2-for-1 tonight, as I came up with a great idea for Chuck vs. the Wookiee. Or to be more precise, nobody else decided to do this, which surprised me. Let's face it, we ALL want to know what happened in Prague, not just Chuck. Here's one theory. Definitely not one of my darker chapters, to say the least.

NOTE: This will push the "T" rating a bit towards the end, so just warning you now. And push that little green "Review this Chapter" line if you ge the time tonight. It would be most appreciated.

CHUCK VS. THE WOOKIEE – WHAT HAPPENS IN PRAGUE…

Prague, Czech Republic
August 12, 2005
11:30 PM

Casey surveyed the nightclub, watching the 20-somethings bump and grind on the dance floor. The only thing that distinguished this club from any club in the States was the inordinate amount of cigarette smoke, which bothered him to no end. He practiced not coughing for this mission, knowing he would eventually end up here, but there was nothing he could do for his watery eyes. However, such inconveniences would have to be ignored. He had a job to do.

He found his mark at the opposite end of the club, sitting in a booth with two different flavors of arm candy, blonde and brunette, on either side of him. Ironically, it was the two women with the plastic personalities to match their chests that presented the problem. This was a smash-and-grab job, with the mark being the one who gets smashed. However, Casey needed some alone time with the mark, and these ladies would not provide it. Yet.

He bided his time, trying to blend in as best as he could. The Tylenol and water he took earlier was helping him with the vodka and Red Bulls he was drinking now. He hated them, but there weren't a lot of scotch drinkers in this club, and he was trying to remain inconspicuous.

His opportunity presented itself. His dossier indicated his mark's dates, to use the term loosely, had an affinity for Ready to Go by Republica and absolutely had to dance to it. If the DJ played the club version, as Casey expected, it would give him 6 minutes and 5 seconds, which was more than plenty of time. He watches the two women light up at hearing the song and hit the dance floor after giving the mark a kiss and a none-too-subtle caress under the table. He sits back in the booth, relaxed and alone.

Casey had practiced this part two nights ago in the club. He walked in measured, stumbling steps, trying hard to make it look like he was drunk without being overt. He wanted to dance on that line between uninhibited and noticeable. He made his way around the edge of the dance floor, checking to see that his drink was in the perfect position. His NSA instructors were always telling him to work on his acting skills. If he had a weak spot, it was situations where he had to appear harmless, and this was one of those situations. Intimidating was his wheelhouse; innocent took a lot of work.

He was within a few steps, and the mark had the significant alcohol haze Casey anticipated. Two people were about to pass out. However, one of them was faking it, and the other would never wake up again. Casey makes his stumble, landing awkwardly on the mark, spilling the drink all over. Both men fall into the booth behind the table. Out of sight, Casey wraps his arm around the neck of the mark and jerks hard, breaking the man's neck. He carefully sits up, pretending to look horrified that he spilled his drink on the mark.

"Vážený pane, je mi líto, že to jenom." ("Sir, I am very sorry to do that do you.")

Casey glances around quickly and realizes he didn't even have to say that much; nobody was paying attention. All the better as he checks the pulse of his mark to confirm he is dead, then pushes the man's eyelids shut. He goes into the mark's pocket and finds the safe deposit box key that was the goal of this mission. He pulls the dead man up and leans him back in the booth, using a nearby post for a headrest. He gets up as the mark's dates return.

"Nejlepší nebude obtěžovat ho příliš mnoho. Je to prostě mrtvý na nohy večer." ("Best not to bother him too much. He's just dead on his feet tonight.")

Casey continues his stumble towards the restroom. Quickly he enters the stall. He takes a good look at the key he recovered. This key would be a big help in tracking down several terrorists involved in the heroin trade overseas. Memos and plans to reroute shipping lanes to fool Interpol and local authorities were contained in that safe deposit box.

Of course, he doesn't think he can just walk out, as the mark was well connected and surely had guards outside. However, he could change his shirt, the wig he was wearing, and walk back into the club as a different person. One would expect an agent to run like hell and get out of Dodge if they just stole something crucial, so Casey chose to do just the opposite. He would hang out in the club and leave when a majority of the club hoppers would. The task now would be to blend in.

As he returned to the dance floor, the crowd was getting into the music even more than before. No doubt they had a lot of "liquid courage" inside of them at this point and were far less inhibited. For a brief second, he envied their "party like there's no tomorrow" attitude, as he spent his formative years ensuring there would be a tomorrow for them to party. Perhaps that brief little bit of envy made him notice the redhead on the dance floor, surrounded by 4 sloshed pretty boys. She didn't seem to take notice of them, but her morning sky-blue eyes were locked on Casey.

She was the first woman Casey ever took note of in this way since Ilsa's death. That haunted him for a long time, and he vowed never to make the mistake of falling in love again. Every NSA agent is told not to fall in love with anybody, and almost all of them still have to learn it the hard way, like he did. But this wasn't love; it was Casey appreciating the fire red hair and come hither look she was giving him right now. Well, there was no rule saying he couldn't enjoy a little company while blending in. Actually, that would help sell the cover quite well.

The 4 drunk, horny guys seemed to fall away at Casey's mere presence in front of the woman. She had a smile that could light up a room and spell trouble at the same time. Casey always liked that combination. She saunters up to him as a new song booms out over the speakers. She grinds her hips against him as she takes his face in her hands. His hands go instinctively for her hips as they move to the beat of the song. Her smile becomes even wider as their dance gets sweatier and more intense. Casey can actually feel his posture relaxing as he dances with this woman. Hmmm, maybe you can have a little fun on this job without actually killing someone.

She turns around, pressing her back into Casey. She grabs his hips to keep him close, and then she sways her backside in just the right location to keep Casey very interested. She takes his hands, sliding them slowly under her top along her taut stomach, stopping them just short of her breasts, ensuring they keep their moves on the dance floor above board, albeit barely. She purposefully flings her hair to the left so the right side of her neck is exposed. Running her hand along Casey's face, she pulls him down to her so he has no doubt she wants him to devour her neck, which he dutifully does, the upstairs brain no longer in control at this time.

As a different song with a slower beat begins, she turns toward him, hooking her leg behind his and pressing her lips on his, her tongue dancing and demanding a response inside of his mouth. She takes out what looks like a hotel key card. Casey recognizes it as the hotel across the street from the club. She playfully runs it along the tip of his nose, arching her eyebrows in a way that left no doubt what she had in mind. Had Casey been thinking straight, he might have thought this was a bit too convenient. However, he had the key, his mission was accomplished, and he waited a reasonable amount of time to make sure nobody associated him with the elimination of a major terrorist a while ago. Since he couldn't leave for two days anyway, a little dalliance wouldn't hurt, right? Stress management? You can only go to the scotch bottle so many times to unwind.

The two hurry across to the hotel. The second they are in room 1104, she is all over Casey, kissing him hard and unbuttoning his clothes. He tries to retake some semblance of control, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed as she continues to flutter her tongue inside of his mouth. The two collapse on the bed as she removes her blouse and rolls on top of Casey to remove the rest of his clothes. She removes his shoes quickly and then goes for the belt. She slides his pants off quickly, taking the boxers with them. She crawls up his body, planting kisses anywhere and everywhere she can. Straddling him, she starts kissing and licking his neck, slowly sliding his arms up while moaning into his ear. She continues her assault on him, kissing him hard with want. She grinds her hips on top of him to emphasize her point…or perhaps his. He is completely distracted by her, so he never even hears the tiny clicks of metal against metal. However, he can feel the cold steel on his wrists. He looks behind him to see his wrists handcuffed to the bed. She kisses her way to the side of his face, tickling his ear with her tongue.

"Hi, Johnny."

Casey's eyes go wide. How in the hell did she know who he was? How did she know he was on a mission? He didn't ask how he allowed this to happen. His own stupidity was the answer to that.

He isn't given time to protest, as she takes off her bra and stuffs it into his mouth. She rubs her breasts along his face as a final tease. She remains on top of him with a slightly disappointed look on her face, as this had to end. "Well, at least now I know you're nickname isn't 'Big John' because you're 6'4"."

She extracts herself from him and reaches into his pants pocket, retrieving the key Casey got from the mark.

"I'm Carina. Not to worry. I'm one of the good guys. It's just I'd rather receive the credit for retrieving this and help the DEA stay one step ahead of the drug cartels in the Far East. I do like your style. It took you 2 minutes what would have taken me two hours."

She starts to put on her clothes. "Unfortunately, I have a plane to catch. Otherwise…" she glances down at Casey approvingly. "…I would have definitely had fun with that."

Casey was 20 shades of mad and 40 shades of embarrassed. Sadly, he suspected it wasn't the first time a man was emasculated and complimented in the same sentence.

"You know, I shouldn't leave you like that," Carina responds in a tone that is part mocking and part sympathetic. She retrieves a towel from the bathroom and tosses it on Casey. She glances at where it landed and smiles.

"Guess you need a bigger towel. See ya, Johnny."

Carina walks out of the hotel. Casey remains handcuffed to the bed, cursing himself for being duped like that.