"Talk to me."
They were agents, and they couldn't discuss anything that happened with anyone. Even Chuck would be dangerous. All they had were each other.
"Talk to me," she'd say, over glasses of wine in Castle.
"Come on, John. You know you can talk to me," her voice would be slightly pleading, begging for Casey to tell her his secrets. "Nah, Walker. I'm not the sharing type," he'd reply, and she would look down with a flicker of defeat and sadness in her gaze. Now, now when she stood in Chuck's arms, now when she no longer needed Casey to talk to, he regretted it. If only he had talked to her. If only he had trusted her. If only... Late at night, laughter and voices could be heard from their house, because she was talking to Chuck, talking to Chuck like she had never talked to Casey. She had given him the chance, but he had shot her down, and now he would grip his pillow and wish for something different.
"Talk to me." He whispers.