...as unseen events conspire around them and their cover relationship seems to be coming to its inevitable end, Chuck and Sarah each contemplate what they want most...

Canon Reference: Episode 201 ("First Date")

Contents: Second of two chapters promised last time (except it became two chapters)

Disclaimers / Easter Eggs: The author has made no profit or derived any other material benefit from this work. No ownership of CHUCK or Tron is asserted or implied. Also in this installment, no ownership of Berry Gordy's The Last Dragon, any Marvel comics, Michael Clarke Duncan (RIP) in The Whole Nine Yards, any songs (or instrumentals) by Sir Elton John, or Kurt Russell's Soldier and The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes is asserted or implied.

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Part XXXVI: The Beast of America, Part 7

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093: Catch Me, I'm Falling

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"Those who are bound by desire see only that which can be held in their hands"

"Bruce" LeRoy Green, Berry Gordy's The Last Dragon

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Orange Orange Frozen Yogurt, Burbank, CA; Thursday May 28, 2008 10:45 am

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"I still can't get over: 'Somebody order drive through?'" a smirking Sarah said mockingly as Casey emerged from the back room of what was supposedly her yogurt shop trying to break the ice after yet another briefing since last night.

"Heh. Yeah, good one, huh?"

"What I mean is I can't believe Chuck's rubbing off on you."

"Shut your mouth" he replied to her, sitting there with one leg over the other, bouncing her leg like she did when she was nervous. He hadn't seen her nervous often which was why it was so easy to recognize.

"Want some ice for that?" Sarah gestured toward his cheek. "It's still swollen," Sarah observed of the mark on Casey's cheek which he had stubbornly left unattended. As if he needed a visible Red Badge to justify his claim that there was a leak that needed to be plugged in their custody chain. As though someone with all the proper security clearances hadn't ambushed Casey with an aerosol poison on his own doorstep.

If Casey hadn't fully tricked out his apartment with a detox shower and a readily accessible adrenaline shot he wouldn't have survived. As it was he was still putting on a brave front for everyone. As if he hadn't puked his guts out twice from the after-effects once early this morning and the first time when they had come in for their first ass-chewing last night.

A lesser man would still be cowering on the floor whereas Casey had cleaned himself up and done the damn job. He was a machine and Sarah was glad he was on their side.

She had been relieved that there hadn't been much questioning about her being out with Chuck beyond her rote "cover maintenance" excuses and none about her being unarmed, assuming instead that she had simply been hopelessly outnumbered.

Beckman and Graham had reserved most of their ire for the loss of the Cipher and projected that blame on Casey until he finally stopped "taking it like a man" and pointed out that the primary fault belonged wherever the breakdown with the courier had occurred.

Their superiors had been chastened enough to give Casey some credit for "securing the secondary resource" - here meaning their only currently viable human Intersect - and then convinced that they needed to evaluate the communication chain for any clues as to how compromised the overall operation might be.

Casey had feelers out all over the world and opted to crash in one of the detention cells last night. He let her pull surveillance of Bartowski from his apartment where she alternated between watching Chuck sleep through the infrared cameras and reviewing possible background matches before dozing off in one of Casey's arm chairs under a military issue blanket.

It both gave her some peace of mind and allowed her to drive in with Chuck, stopping off on the way so she could bring Casey some breakfast options. As repulsive as food often sounded after the effects of such toxins it was often the key to feeling somewhat normal again. She brought plain oatmeal and a greasy breakfast sandwich, both of which Casey inhaled with a smirk from her but no other commentary.

He had been moments from death and yet shook it off to come save her and Chuck. She wouldn't forget that anytime soon.

"Yeah. Sure," an exhausted Casey slumped in the bench seats along the wall of the yogurt shop, a rare acceptance of some sort of assistance though Sarah had no intentions of actually nurse-maiding him.

"Any word from Washington about the Cipher? Colt?" Sarah filled the bag with frozen yogurt - some toxic orange concoction - rather than ice as she asked about his briefings this morning.

Casey had checked in with Beckman again and then some other NSA and less-conventional resources. Sarah had decided it best to remain scarce to avoid revisiting her less than advisable "cover maintenance" while there was known mercenary activity in the area by a group somehow aware of either her or Chuck's movements.

It was another lapse she didn't want examined more closely even though she had been able to determine how they had tracked them and overheard the dinner planning conversation with Morgan which enabled them to secure the restaurant and the civilians inside prior to their arrival.

"The courier was bribed," Casey revealed as Sarah closed the zip-top baggie full of frozen yogurt. "He's been taken care of. Showed up this morning like nothing happened, saying he never got the assignment and thinking he got me. All he knows now - or knew - is that he gambled for a big bag of cash and lost spectacularly. I'm trying to get what I can on the rest of them from a few contacts."

Sarah returned to her seat, handing the bag to Casey as he continued.

"They're scouring the merc networks. No idea on Colt or any of his men. Ahh," he grimaced as he applied the cold pack to the raw wound. "I've been in the ghost business a long time. These guys are very, very good."

"Casey..." Sarah ventured because she had been dwelling on the possibility since last night. Since they had deemed Chuck the "secondary" resource. The possibility she had been blinded to as she focused too much on her inevitable departure and loss of the man in question from her life. Foolishly avoiding the possibility of losing him altogether in a very permanent way. "...I don't have anything to worry about do I? About Chuck? I mean he's safe, right? You would tell me if Beckmann or Graham wanted him..."

"Dead? Mm," Casey grunted. "Don't worry, Sarah. He's safe."

It wasn't a lie. He didn't divulge that he had been carrying a kill order for Charles Bartowski, at least as a contingency, for nearly a year but it wasn't a lie.

It was the same order she had been carrying when they first arrived. Hers had just been rescinded. By Graham or of her own accord he wasn't sure. But it wasn't a lie. Bartowski was as safe as he could be... in the context of Sarah's question.

The cipher was gone. Bartowski remained the sole human Intersect. Therefore, the status quo had been restored.

Uncomfortable with his role in the whole affair and the fact that happenstance had spared him from executing his orders, Casey moved to leave but Sarah called after him.

"Thank you for coming for us," she said without looking up.

Casey turned in disbelief. They didn't do that. Thank each other for doing their jobs. He didn't feel a need to explicitly state that she had proven his earliest assumptions about her wrong and more than earned his respect. And she never felt a need to point out that she had allowed herself to rely on him as he now relied upon her without a second thought.

"Do I wanna know what you two were doing at that restaurant?" Casey deflected.

"Eating," Sarah said with a smirk as she finally made eye contact.

"Do I wanna know?" Casey reiterated. He wasn't blind. Or stupid. He was surprised they held out this long.

"Probably not. Plausible deniability and all. But with the Cipher gone… it won't be a problem."

"Well... it better not. And you're welcome," Casey said and he had never been more pleased to have failed a mission.

He allowed his relief to wash over him that the cipher WAS gone and the prospect of making Bartowski obsolete would wait for another day. It was up to Walker whether she was able to keep it in her pants or wanted to fight the fight of pursuing her obvious attraction she shared with Bartowski. Still he felt the need to test her response.

"Guess it all worked out for the best, huh?"

"Yeah," Sarah sighed regretfully. "Except for not getting Chuck his life back. But it's nice to have someone I can count on covering our backs."

Sarah thought nothing of it as Casey offered a typically indecipherable grunt in response and let the door close behind him.

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Casey made his exit and trudged across the parking lot, his anger rising with every step. It wasn't just Bartowski he had been prepared to betray, it was Walker too. His partner. He hadn't been fortunate in partners over his career and had not been assigned to many who he would consider good ones. Definitely no one as good as her. No one as deadly as her. No one as crafty…

Did she know about the order? Was she working him? If so, she couldn't blame her. It was to protect the kid. It was interesting that what she said she regretted was that Chuck wouldn't be given some sort of Shangri-La return to ignorance - as though they would ever just ignore the risk he posed with all that intel in his head - rather than regret over whatever had been interrupted with the two of them out on an unsanctioned date last night.

He and Sarah Walker were two of the deadliest people alive and the kid was getting under both their skins. He ignored several customers as he stormed through the sales floor of the Buy More and through the 'Employees Only' doors. The whole situation from the top of the NSA down to the Buy More break room just pissed him off.

Casey saw the handwritten "Interviews in Progress" sign on the door to that break room but heard Bartowski's voice from inside saying, "Okay, here's the thing: We're at the Buy More? And this is not the mafia..."

He rolled his eyes and decided that whatever nonsense was going on inside was definitely not important enough for him to worry about interrupting. Whatever nonsense these idiots had saddled Bartowski with not knowing what he had been through last night.

Casey barged in and Grimes - foolish enough to attempt to interfere with a decision already made and try to stop him - was lucky to be merely shoved face-first into the far wall as Casey made his way to the first aid kit.

So fucking wasted here, he thought as he heard Bartowski making excuses for him. And so fucking wasted if Casey's superiors had their way and disposed of him like he was no more than the rest of the used up trash that worked here. The dregs of society that Bartowski had tried to personally save - Casey knew the strings he had pulled to get most of these petty criminals and hackers jobs here - and who returned the favor by only holding him back and taking advantage of his good nature.

Casey went about acquiring a bandage from the first aid kit ignoring anyone he had to go through to get there and only then noticing Bartowski's agitation as he had transitioned from apologizing for Casey's behavior to frantically ushering everyone else from the room.

"Morgan, now, now, now!" Chuck was barking orders and clapping his hand to emphasize the urgency and demand rapid compliance, actively clearing the room. "Move it, move it, move it! Shut the door."

"What is it?" Casey finally asked with a sneer.

"I know where they are," Chuck said calmly.

"Who?"

"Who?" Chuck returned to his previously agitated state in an instant. "What do you mean, who? Colt! The guy who smashed you in the face last night," Bartowski pantomimed an abbreviated punch has he said it. "Yeah, I flashed on your scar. It's the emblem for their organization. They have a secret hideout downtown. Warehouse 17 on 103rd Street. We'll hop in the Herder..."

God damn it. The kid just couldn't catch a break. He was his own worst enemy. Never knowing when to stand down. When to back down. When to stay in the damn car and let the professionals do their jobs. When to let sleeping dogs lie. He may not be conventionally gung-ho or "brave" or have a prayer of holding up at all under actual torture but, when it came to doing the right thing, Bartowski would never break. And god damn it, that was what Casey loved about the kid.

He wished he could say the same about the people issuing his orders. Even though he understood why some hard decisions had to be made, he didn't have to like it when a good man got caught on the tracks in front of a freight train. It was them that Casey realized that - in a career of being the guy to do the things that guys like him do - he had just never met anyone quite like the kid. Someone who so clearly didn't deserve it where it had been easy to convince himself that the others did.

As Bartowksi continued to write his own death warrant, Casey wanted to scream at the universe but instead assumed his most calm, hostage-negotiation tone. A tone foreign to him that a less agitated Bartowski would have questioned but Casey thought perhaps he could slow-walk this whole thing and at least give Colt and his group of mercs a solid head start…

The world was now officially completely upside down.

"Cool your jets, hotshot. I'll call it in," Casey tried to placate Bartowski.

"What do you mean call it in? There's no time! They could be on the move already."

"Relax. I'm not gonna rush us into a hideout situation until I'm absolutely certain we have the upper hand. We'll get the Cipher. Just might take some time."

"Casey, I can't take this anymore. Do you understand what I'm saying? I can not do this anymore! I almost died twice in the period of one day, all right? And when I'm looking at my life and what my future could be, I see that it doesn't completely suck. Your Intersect, your new Intersect is almost done. And when it is, I'm free, I'm cool, I'm clear, I'm out of here. I have a future and a life that I want to live."

For someone who wanted out so badly, the kid didn't even realize that his first instinct was that they couldn't let these guys get away. Casey had seen him in action enough to know that - although the context of his conscription into service was always at the front of his mind - letting the bad guys win was unacceptable. If it had been the other way around...if letting them go somehow meant Bartowski was free of the Intersect...Casey was fairly certain they would be having a very similar conversation despite it wrecking Bartowski's life. Again.

"Future's a dangerous thing, Chuck," Casey offered cryptically, already knowing which course the kid would take. "Doesn't always work out like you want it to."

"What happened to you? You were this close to being done with me and being a real spy again."

"What? You don't you want me here to catch you when you fall?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'd rather have you flying jets and blowing things up."

Casey took a breath and realized Bartowski was trying to goad him into doing the right thing. Walker was right about him rubbing off on him. He had always had that gallows humor but the quipping had escalated around Bartowski. Not only did Bartowski's insistence on building Casey's pop culture knowledge have an impact on his smart-ass nature but their give and take - the kid was the quickest witted person he'd ever met - made him want to keep up with Bartowski's mental gymnastics.

He challenged him. In many ways. And he wasn't going to let this go. Bartowski's own self-interests aside, the kid couldn't just let these guys get away. Couldn't do what Casey had just considered allowing to happen. And the civilian had to be the one to remind the soldier that he couldn't just let it happen either, no matter the consequences.

He was one of the good guys with the bad luck combination of knowing too much and not knowing how to back down.

The kid just couldn't catch a break.

It had been nice to think it was all going to work out but Casey had to respect the fact that Bartowski had the integrity that he had once convinced himself was at the root of all the awful things he had done. He was the best of them. And if Casey deserved his place on this team he couldn't just let the bad guys go either.

"Wait here."

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Downtown Los Angeles; Thursday May 28, 2008 2:30 pm

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Happiness was within her grasp.

Not in her grasp. Like the way Chuck was currently in the grasp of the imposing Mr. Colt, dangling upside down off the side of the building by his ankles.

Sarah could barely tell Chuck was there, supported only by Colt's massive arms with one of Chuck's ankles in each hand in front of him. Colt was talking to the man dangling off the side of the building, Chuck stalling again to give her a chance to get in position

No, Chuck - or rather her chance for happiness - was not in her grasp.

He - or rather that opportunity - was within her grasp. Not yet hers but within her power to attain.

Or once was because like so many things, that opportunity was a fleeting thing.

Because fearing the worst was about to happen she called out for Mr. Colt to "Freeze!" and a man the size of a mountain looked back at her over his shoulder, then back down to Chuck with a shake of his head telling her even from behind that he had simply become tired of their cat and mouse games.

In an instant, all their opportunities were gone. The massive man simply opened his clenched hands - relinquished his grasp - and Sarah's world stopped turning.

Chuck Bartowski's flailing limbs slipped out of sight beyond the building's edge and for Sarah Walker everything slowed down. And turned grey.

There was a sudden high pitched wail that rattled her bones. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. A concussion grenade perhaps because, for the first time in her life, she froze. She literally froze. Whatever it was, she felt sick to her stomach and slightly dizzy. The unflappable Enforcer was too disoriented to shoot straight.

And what would that accomplish now anyway?

"Your boyfriend's dead now, baby. What you gonna do?"

The taunt barely registered. She had already decided that she didn't want to kill the man she had previously decided it would be unwise to fight. She wanted to hurt him until he begged for her to kill him. Before she could really assess exactly how to do that, he was on her. Within her grasp. And her within his. The indecisiveness of her rage and whatever had disoriented her allowed him to knock her pistol from her grasp.

That she had been able to hold on to. To embrace that useless hunk of metal or one like it for a decade. But what she really wanted was gone and beyond recovering.

Breath heaving for no apparent reason, it hadn't been until Mr. Colt knocked her pistol from her hands that she realized what that bone rattling, sickening sound had been.

It was her - screaming - as the dim but persistent hope of eventual happiness was extinguished.

Her weapon being knocked from her grasp stirred her back into action. Sarah didn't even realize what she was doing until she was on him. Foolishly inside the reach of a man she had already assessed as someone she did not want to fight.

But rather than making a strategic retreat, left with only the ashes of potential happiness sifting through her fingers, Sarah Walker directed her formidable skills to the impossible task of destroying the immovable object in front of her.

She dodged his first strike and countered with an axe kick to the back of his neck. It would have incapacitated or even killed a lesser opponent but barely staggered the enormous Mr. Colt. He threw the hardest punches he could thinking the sheer force would end this fight quickly. She countered those next two punches by sheer luck, roundhouses aimed at her torso that simply ran into all the force she could muster in her own attempted strikes like two locomotives on the same track.

The ferocity of her elbow strike at his sternum caused him to simply shove her backward when he absorbed it. He recovered to similarly absorb her follow up front kick and catch her foot only to barely duck away from her enzuigiri, catching the leaping, spinning kick on his jaw rather than the back of the neck where this time she fully intended to separate his skull from his spine.

Another exchange of blows found her inside his reach with hands nearly catching her at the waist where God knows how much organ damage he could have done with just the tips of his fingers digging in. Luckily it left him open to a double ear slap with her cupped hands that just missed the mark.

He had started to pull her in and close the distance so the double strike missed toward the back of his head causing her cupped hands to miss landing exactly on the ears where she could have ruptured one or both ear drums. She swung her fist for the side of the head again and he shot his massive arm up to both block the strike with the mass of his lat muscles and, as her hand slipped down his side from the force and weakened by her ignoring any notion of conserving her strength, he trapped her arm against his side and pulled her in.

This is the physical advantage he had been trying to establish from the beginning and when he pulled her forward to stumble into him his right hand found her throat and lifted her skyward without hesitation or even any apparent strain. He held her aloft by her windpipe easily but he wasn't the only one who could grapple.

She gripped his arm and pushed with all her might to lift herself up and relieve some of the pressure on her throat before she righted herself and swung her leg over to attempt an arm bar. If she locked it in perfectly she could use her full body weight and strength of her back against just the strength of his bicep. But given how easily he had lifted her any delay in destroying his elbow joint could mean giving him the opportunity to smash her head against the rooftop.

Mid-swing she second guessed her remaining strength against his - reconsidered her ability to effectively apply an arm bar even with the full strength of her already weakening body pitted against just that of his massive bicep - and connected her toe with his temple instead of going for the arm.

At least she could get her breath back but now he was on her, taking her leg out and then absorbing her next wild, oxygen deprived punch with the same trap move against the side of his body. Then her second arm was trapped in much the same way and he pulled her in to exactly where she didn't want to be. The very reason she had assessed him as a 'no-go' target last night when she had been capable of rational thought.

The act of keeping her arms pinned prevented him from wrapping her up in the full bear hug, not wanting to potentially let her squirm an arm free and go for an ear or an eye. But it was enough.

And he simply squeezed until they both felt something pop.

Mr. Colt laughed and let her limp body fall and, lying there, she knew she was done. But also realized that what had popped was one of the plates in her tactical armor. And that Colt was hovering over her. She had gone limp at the sound in a desperate ruse to fool him into releasing her and giving up his physical advantage.

She didn't have much left in the tank and considered making a break for it. But then the vision of what he had done to Chuck was still burned onto the back of her closed eyelids. And she gathered her breath for one more shoot to kill.

The best way to chop down a big man but having to leverage her jujitsu skills to kick from her back. A split kick to both knees, another shot to an ankle, and when he doubled over from that a kick to the head. It didn't matter that she couldn't quite get to her feet.

If she could draw him in, get him to go for her throat while she was on her back maybe she could bring her legs up for a triangle choke. He could still bash her head in but she could choke him to death or conceivably break his neck. Maybe she could kill him before his immense hand completely crushed her windpipe or snapped her neck. She no longer held any illusions of winning this fight outright or even of leaving this rooftop alive but that didn't mean she was going to let Mr. Colt survive their encounter either.

"Okay, enough with the foreplay. Step away from the blonde."

Sarah heard Casey's voice behind her opponent. The fight had all transpired in a matter of moments as Casey climbed the fire escape and - despite the fact that he saved her from mutual destruction against Mr. Colt - she couldn't help but be disappointed that Casey interrupted.

But then her next thought was that now she could still kill him. Kill him for killing Chuck. If she could just get her battered body to respond. But then a dozen guns were trained on the two of them and something else that had never happened to her occurred. She felt all the fight in her drain from her body.

She had failed him in every possible way. The wind whipped the hairs that had escaped her ponytail around her face and she couldn't bring herself to get up from her knees as Colt's men closed in for the kill.

Until she heard a door open behind her and her heart leapt back to life at her nerd calling out "Excuse me..."

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Sarah could barely drag herself to her feet, seeing Chu- Agent Carmichael standing there. Using the identity that Casey had dismissed as "made up" but directing their tactical team as though born to it. They had only described Chuck to the team as "friendly on site" and given a general description but apparently he had acted with enough false authority to direct their tactical team to surround the mercenary team that had surrounded her and Casey.

Not just doing the job that wasn't his to do but reveling in it. Asking Colt if he found his team imposing. Throwing the giant's words back at him. An outsider would have thought he was mocking them with the awkward way he directed Colt's team to abandon their weapons but Sarah just thought he was doing an admirable job of making things up as he went along.

He had no idea what he was doing. But that didn't stop him from coming for her. And Casey, of course. It was a combination of bravado and confidence that he hadn't quite embraced yet but she had seen in him all along. Just because he wasn't trained to filter his natural fear response didn't mean he wasn't capable of pulling off...whatever he had done that had Mr. Colt actually chuckling behind her.

She heard Colt's admiration and acceptance of defeat as Casey secured him "Your boss? Carmichael..." and Sarah could practically hear Casey shaking his head in disbelief as he reacted but was it really such an impossible idea? "...He's good."

Mr. Colt - leader of his own team - didn't seem to think it was such an impossible idea and Sarah could now focus on the fact that Chuck was alive and well and somehow standing with his arms crossed staring down the imposing man she had just fought a losing battle against. With her breath still heaving from the fight and her hair whipping around her face she approached "Agent Carmichael".

"Don't worry, I'm fine," he said in reaction to the disbelief that must have been evident on her face with his hands briefly held up apologetically.

Although he was confirmed alive and well with her own unbelieving eyes the adrenaline was still coursing through her body. She had gone from attempting to avenge him to being saved by him in a matter of moments and now her thoughts turned to whether they had managed to free him of the burden of the Intersect. And all the limitations that came with it. Because she just as suddenly had very specific plans for the two of them.

"Do you have the cipher? Please tell me you have it," she asked.

"Of course I have it. It's me," he said as he held up the device in question.

Only then did she feel actual relief. Not at achieving their mission but at getting Chuck's ticket to freedom back. And at his devil-may-care smile. And the goofy channelling of Han Solo for the second time in the past few days that confirmed to her that this was her Chuck in front of her and not his alter ego, Charles Carmichael who - made up or not - existed somewhere inside Chuck Bartowski.

As Casey plucked the Cipher from Chuck's hand and their team set to the task of securing the prisoners and Sarah was pleased to see that Mr. Colt was at least limping. She considered kicking him in the knee as he passed but heard the mercenary's last words on the topic, directed at her nerd as Casey escorted the man off the rooftop, "Huevos grandes, amigo." She couldn't agree more and wanted to get Chuck off the roof to somewhere where they could speak freely so that she could say so.

"Let's get you checked out," she said as she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the stairs. They rode the elevator down the rest of the way along with half the tactical team and their prisoners. After a single deep breath and exhale Chuck was lounging casually in the corner, seemingly without a care in the world.

Sarah was deliberately ignoring the sideways glances at the two of them from the men - friend and foe alike - who knew she just fought the massive leader of the mercenaries they had taken into custody one-on-one and was still standing, who had witnessed the exchange between her and Agent Carmichael before they left the roof hand-in-hand, and who now marveled at both Carmichael's nonchalance over the whole affair and the warrior woman's fierce stance as she stood between the man in the corner and anyone who would dare threaten him.

The men stood aside as she held "Agent Carmichael" by the hand and briskly escorted him out of the building.

"Where are we go-" Chuck began as Sarah tugged his arm and pulled him past the medical personnel who had been dispatched then up the alley next to the building. It wasn't the most desirable spot but whatever was currently keeping her heart rate up and her skin on fire - whether residual adrenaline or something else - wouldn't allow her to wait a moment longer.

Sarah pulled Chuck out of sight behind a dumpster and spun him around, lightly backing him up against the brick wall where she reached up and cradled both sides of his face. She looked into those warm eyes and he grinned but humored her without speaking until she convinced herself that he was here in front of her. Whole and unharmed and... Perfect.

For the second time her body reacted without her permission. Not freezing this time but leaping into the inadvisable. She moved her hands behind his neck, closed her eyes, and pulled him down to crash his lips into hers with a searing kiss.

It took a moment for a shocked Chuck to return the kiss but then he recovered and kissed her back passionately. He pulled her close as her tongue playfully darted between his lips. He smiled against her lips as he joined in as she realized that she couldn't get close enough to him for her satisfaction or even peace of mind. Chuck pulled her tighter against him to kiss her harder and deeper but froze when he hugged her close and a soft moan turned into a slight grunt of pain.

Chuck pulled back to see her reluctantly open her eyes. Then he reached up to lightly stroke her still wildly disheveled hair back to frame her face with a gentle stroke of each middle finger from her temples down to her ears. Then he gently cupped her face, much as she had done.

"Hey," she said. Finally breaking the silent stare between them.

"Hey yourself. You actually fought that guy?" Chuck asked, knowing better than to ask if she was okay. He would just treat her gently until he could assess for himself.

"Yeeeah," Sarah replied sheepishly, knowing Chuck wouldn't see it as a tactical misstep but also not even willing to revisit the intense emotions that had led to her doing such a foolish thing.

"God, you're amazing," he said in open wonder at her instead, making her feel the way no one had ever made her feel. The way only he could.

"You're really OK?" Sarah asked, afraid that this was all some cruel joke or comatose dream having actually lost the fight and only dreaming from a hospital bed that he had somehow been restored to her.

"Yeah," Chuck said, then grinning at the kiss and her arms still lightly looped around his waist. "Better than OK now."

She smacked his chest and almost blushed at her own impetuousness. Then the persistent mental image of his flailing body dropping out of sight off the side of the building caused her eyes to water and she choked out her equally persistent disbelief that she had another chance to seize her happiness, "How?"

"I'll tell you the whole story later if you promise not to be mad," the corner of Sarah's mouth quirked upward at that. She was pretty sure it would make her mad but she was too happy to let it show right now. "But I tricked them...slipped away from them. You won't believe how Morgan helped without knowing he was helping. But Colt caught me on the roof and then...Casey. He caught me. Like, literally. My arm feels like it's been half pulled off but-"

Sarah shut him up with another searing kiss that Chuck was much faster to respond to but that ended just as quickly.

"Let's get out of here," she said with a sexy almost growling rumble in her voice that caused Chuck's eyes to widen as much as his smile. His reaction shook her to her senses, "I mean... I have to finish securing the scene. And that's a lot of agents to debrief in there. But... later?"

"A do-over?" Chuck asked with a grin.

"Yeah. A do-over. Definitely," Sarah smiled back.

"Our third first date," Chuck mused before asking "Where would you like to go?"

"I don't want to take any chances," she half laughed before looking up at him that same seductive way and playing with the hair at the back of his neck the way she had done both at the restaurant last night. Looking up through her eyelashes with a slight huskiness in her voice, "Can we just stay in?"

"I... Uhh..." Chuck stammered as she raised her eyebrows to hammer home what she was suggesting. "Absolutely. Can I cook dinner for you? Awesome and Ellie are going out to some Mongolian place before pulling doubles. Morgan's even got some marathon gaming lined up..."

"Perfect," Sarah purred at the idea of no interruptions. She didn't know where she'd be tomorrow but she knew where she wanted to be tonight.

"So... My place? I have to pick up some stuff so... Nine-ish?" Chuck asked and Sarah nodded.

"Take the Herder. Get yourself punched out and home safely. And I'll see you then... Agent Carmichael," Sarah instructed with a teasing tone while straightening Chuck's shirt before deliberately swaying her hips as she walked back to finish up with the the prisoners and debrief the tactical team so she could get ready for her third first date.

Happiness - at least some fleeting version of it - was within her grasp.

It was just up to her to seize it.

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094: Funeral for a Friend

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Major John Casey's Temporary Residence, Echo Park, CA; Thursday May 28, 2008 8:45 pm

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"Ahem! Major Casey…" came the General's voice from the video link, waiting in an open status for a call he hoped wouldn't come but startling Casey into excessively and irreparably snipping a branch from a bonsai tree when it did.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," the General said with slight amusement in her voice. She had never understood what Casey found so soothing about the care and maintenance of the tiny trees given how often he had to abandon them.

Casey had a similar thought as he contemplated the ruined bonsai, soon to be abandoned if this call was about what he expected it to be.

"The new Intersect ready?" he asked curtly.

"We're minutes away," the General replied with a seriousness to her tone that signaled to Casey that all of the ramifications he expected of that event were still in play. Still, he wanted confirmation.

"Which means..."

"Your order remains the same," Beckman said glancing away and then back to the camera. "Chuck Bartowski is to be eliminated."

Casey let out a sigh as the last hope for any reprieve was removed.

"What was that, Casey?"

"Nothing, General. It's just..." General Beckman reached to sign off their video conference and Casey found that he couldn't silently accept this order without offering an alternative. "Chuck's served his country with honor. Maybe he even has potential as an analyst for the organization?"

"I unders-" the General began but was interrupted by Director Graham, who had not announced his presence until now.

"Let me, General. Major Casey, can you extract these secrets from Mr. Bartowski's head? Can you guarantee him safety from kidnapping? From torture?"

So that's what they were going to go with? By the book? Extreme risk outweighs any other humanitarian or even human concerns?

The proverbial man who knew too much to be allowed to live?

The biggest problem from Major John Casey's point of view was that, despite his feelings on the matter, everything he had seen in nearly two decades as a spy - until meeting Charles Irving Bartowski, of course - screamed to him that they were right.

"No," a dejected Casey admitted honestly. He couldn't guarantee any such thing. Even Bartowski had realized those situations were possibilities and discussed it with him. Made him promise.

A fact he saw no point in reminding General Beckman of with Director Graham present and more than willing to simply replace Casey in the execution of this order.

"Then it's clear," Graham declared when it was really anything but. "Chuck Bartowski has served his country with honor. Now he'll die with honor to protect it."

In the nation's capital, Director Graham impatiently closed the video conference. He had an army to build and Chuck Bartowski had no place in it. In California, Major John Casey steepled his fingers in front of him and considered the value of the man he was ordered to kill.

The young man who had braved more dangers than he would ever have expected, even having seen him do it that very first night. Repeating the feat on many missions since. A man who might not be suited for being an agent - a role that would require things of him like the orders given to Casey himself tonight - but certainly as an analyst. Or more. A man who might be better suited to be giving the orders to agents than the two people who had issued his own orders tonight.

Casey looked up when the video link sprang back to life, Beckman reopening the conference with her gaze still on the door that must have just closed behind the Director of the CIA. A man completely the opposite of Chuck Bartowski; someone they were now both convinced was one of the most evil men they had ever known. The worst possible means to an end in their profession.

"Major Casey... John. I wish we could pursue the analyst option. That young man has served his country with honor. You were right about him when you told me that. Tonight and before. It's simply out of my hands unless we completely break open the security of this operation and escalate it up the chain. We don't know enough about how deep Fulcrum is embedded to risk that. However, the option still stands for you to recuse yourself. Director Graham informed me that he has recalled Agent Walker and everyone's guard is down. Pack up. Get out. Let his cleaners handle it. I'll make sure our cleaners create a reasonable story for his sister. You've served your country with honor too. This isn't something you should be asked to do."

Casey looked over at the hastily repaired picture of Ronald Reagan that had housed his emergency adrenaline syringe. He knew the man had flaws, but as President he also represented an ideal. Had achieved great things for some shaky semblance of peace to effectively end the Cold War.

Casey was a Marine. Part of a brotherhood that you never leave. Strived to personify that ideal himself. Then he was given an opportunity to make even more of a difference.

Or so he told himself.

He had compromised those ideals. A little bit at first. Then a lot. Then he had let his grief over Ilsa's death send him down the path of a cold-blooded killer. And found, to his current dismay, that he was better at that than he had been at anything before. He was the man you sent when you wanted someone dead. The very type of man - the very thing - the unrepentant, unfeeling instrument of war that Beckman now suggested be sent in his place.

Why shouldn't he be asked to do it? Worse, who should be asked to do it? Graham's cleaners? He wanted to laugh at that. The idea of such people being worthy of such a task. Himself included. He wasn't worthy of killing such a man.

But definitely not those homicidal puppets of Graham's with no idea of the hardships endured or any respect for the man who had lost everything just because a former friend considered him the best option to trust with all the secrets of a nation. No more thought than Larkin had given him. A former friend who gave no consideration to the sacrifices Bartowski would have to make for that decision. No consideration to the inevitable outcome facing them right now.

Even with all he had done since, John Casey - the man he had reinvented himself as in order to make that difference in the world - was first and foremost, a soldier. And he had prided himself on doing his duty but also knew there were times when an order should not be obeyed. He would have been proud to have had a man like Bartowski counted among his soldiers - especially, he thought with a smirk, if he had the authority to train him as he saw fit.

He had even once described Bartowski to the General as an unconventional soldier. His only proof - and the only thing he needed to know about the man - was his professional assessment that Bartowski unfailingly chose to do the right thing.

Marines always said that there was no such thing as a former Marine. But was that still true if you betrayed the code of honor he was being asked to betray tonight? If he betrayed one of his own?

Walker had said Chuck was rubbing off on him and she was right. The damn geeky computer that wore tennis shoes. The one who called him - or at least seemed to consider him - a friend and pleaded with him earlier today to help him exit this world of theirs. The one who once foresaw this outcome months ago and considered this type of exit if not this exact scenario. The one who made him promise to do it cleanly.

The future's a dangerous thing, Chuck.

His exit wasn't going to be the one that any of them would have preferred… but he'd be damned if he let one of Graham's thrill-kill ghouls make a mess of it. And Bartowski was a marked man.

Faced with the impossible conundrum of reconciling what a soldier should be and what a soldier sometimes has to do, Casey tried to honor his foolishly naive vision of the brotherhood to which he was no longer sure he belonged. Did it really matter who killed Charles Bartowski?

Major John Casey decided that if he had any respect for the man Bartowski had proven himself to be or the promise he had once made to him - and given that his friend had been marked for death regardless of his choice - that it absolutely mattered. And saw only one imperfect choice available to him.

He sighed and finally separated his bridged fingers, surprised that General Beckman - watching more emotion pass over John Casey's face in those few moments than she had seen in the entire time she had known him - had patiently waited this long for his response.

Casey always waited for the General to dismiss him. He owed her his life. And his obedience. And, until tonight, he had never questioned her judgment. Simply deactivating the comm link from his end was all the statement he was willing to make about the lack of respect he had for Beckman not challenging Graham's position more vigorously.

But before he did so he subtly reiterated what he thought of the young man by calling him something he had called Bartowski before. Unconventional to be sure... but then it would take an unconventional man to befriend the unrepentant executioner of the U.S. Government.

It didn't even surprise him that his only words to the General took the form of those from a movie Bartowski had lent to him.

One that depicted exactly what he was. Both versions. The good and the bad. What he once was and what he could now see of himself and his life since leaving actual service and embarking on a life in the shadows. See through the patriotic bullshit that he had been hiding behind for years to see the version he had become. Something less that the conventional version. The robotic kind that only did as it was told.

The version that obeyed orders. That did his duty.

Even if that duty was to kill his better brother for simply knowing too much.

He wanted to be better than that. But since the kid deserved better than the alternative, he also knew he was the only man for the job.

He'd made a promise.

He reached for the switch to disconnect their feed and go dark until the deed was done. 'Just like flipping a switch' he had once described it to Bartowski. And he had one last comment for the General before he flipped this switch with a remarkably similar contraction of the muscles of the same finger he would use to do the same to his friend.

For once, Casey saw the appeal of Bartowski so often expressing himself in pop culture references as he left the General with the dystopian sci-fi action movie distillation of all of his fractured thoughts and unsparing self-criticisms on the matter:

"Soldiers deserve soldiers, ma'am."

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END OF LINE

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A/N2: The last line (substituting "ma'am" for "sir") are four of the only 104 words spoken by Kurt Russell throughout the entirety of the movie "Soldier"; Part of the Kurt Russell collection Chuck lent to Casey in Chapter 77 (in Part XXV) after the promise made in Chapter 55 (in Part XIX)

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Striking Distance: I just deleted an overly lengthy dissertation on a Marvel comics "X-books" crossover event from 1993 called "Fatal Attractions" (and the resultant "Onslaught" and "Heroes Reborn" story arcs three years later) but the question at hand is: How did an armed Sarah Walker possibly allow Mr. Colt to get close enough to disarm her?

I didn't dig my copies out from storage (so the reference is a 23 year old recollection) but the notion of a bad ass character unable to function and hearing a deafening noise they only vaguely associated with their paralysis only to find it is their own screaming is borrowed from Part 5 (Wolverine #75; "Nightmares Persist").

Wolverine #75 is known for the (now well-known and accepted) revelation that Wolvie's claws are not an addition or side-effect of the Weapon-X program as previously theorized when, near the end of the book, he unsheathes his now bone claws. Wolverine's healing factor was overloaded from the events of the previous issue and, despite Professor X's best efforts to hold his mind together against the shock and trauma of Magneto ripping the adamantium from his skeleton and out through his skin, he is embracing his imminent death... until he hears Jean Grey call for help.

But in the beginning of the book, as they are escaping Magneto's mutant haven/fortress of Avalon and trying to save his life, Wolverine is quite annoyed by an incessant high-pitched sound that he initially cannot quite identify...

Oh, in case you didn't get this half-assed analogy, in many ways beyond this little Easter egg: Chuck is Jean, Sarah is Wolverine.

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The Order: I know many have very legitimate objections to the primary premise of this episode (well, secondary to the event that makes the episode title eponymous). That's why I've laid so much ground work on Graham's Machiavellian machinations.

It does take some characterization gymnastics to not make him completely reprehensible for it but don't get too far ahead of yourselves and start judging Casey too harshly... The episode isn't over yet.

And don't judge Beckman too harshly... The STORY isn't over yet. Wink, wink, hint, hint, I may not plan thoroughly - gotta leave some room for the story to breathe - but I do plan WAY ahead! Also, don't assume that your friendly neighborhood narrator has forgotten certain things previously written or didn't include them in that haphazard planning.

However, the topic of the kill order (along with the red test) is, understandably, a hot topic among Chuck fans. Both are heinous concepts and yet, although they should not be accepted as nifty in any way, neither should they be discarded as "ridiculous" because they are rooted in very real human behaviors, fear-driven decision making and antisocial psychology.

Some view the kill order as both illegal and immoral. If you are one of those idealistic fools... Good! You should be. Even for the "right" reasons, such things are tyrannical in their logic.

The unfortunate truth is that from a purely Machiavellian point of view - e.g. tossing ALL morality out the window - it absolutely makes sense... It's just eeeeeevil. But you should also be aware of another unfortunate truth. Tyranny works. Or rather, tyranny works when it is allowed.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." (JFK likely via / adapted from Edmund Blake)

As for whether Casey has rationalized it enough to himself to do it? Stay tuned...