For you and you alone I'll lay my monsters down

And we'll watch the sun come up over California

For you and you alone I'll find my way back home

And I'll love you like the sun loves California

You're my California

"My California"

Beth Hart

May 31, 2012

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

"Dad!" Alex exclaimed, jumping out the front door of her apartment and grabbing Casey in a fierce hug. "You didn't say you were coming!" she gushed. Morgan stood behind her, a wide smile on his face.

He breathed deeply, releasing her as he said, "I told Numb Nuts to tell you. Good job, Grimes," Casey growled over her shoulder.

"'I'll see you soon' is a little cryptic, Casey, if you don't mind my saying," Morgan told him, reaching over to shake his hand warmly anyway. "I was waiting for a definite."

"I wasn't sure exactly when we were leaving. I texted you once we landed in New York. Ever check your phone, Moron?" Casey quipped.

Morgan fumbled with his phone, clicking the screen. "Oh, look at that. So you did. Sorry, Casey," he said sheepishly.

"Oh, come on, I'm just glad you're back. Is your girlfriend here?" she asked with a wicked smile.

"Not here, here. At her…our…apartment," he corrected himself, still reeling himself over the change. He was living with Gertrude in Los Angeles. He had to repeat it to himself, just so he could get it to sink in.

"Dad, that's awesome!" Alex beamed. "So, I finally get to meet her, right?"

Casey had opened his mouth to answer, but never got any words out, as he was interrupted by the ruckus bowling into the courtyard. Dressed in their running clothes, Chuck and Sarah had just reached the arch at the entryway. Sarah was laughing, almost screaming. "I win, again!" she panted breathlessly.

Chuck came up from behind, running full speed, and swept her off her feet, swinging her up into his arms and continuing to run. "Not at the door yet!" he panted, his voice strained with her extra weight in his arms.

"Who's cheating now?" she teased, whacking at his back and kicking her legs in a playful attempt to extricate herself. She reached for his waist, squeezing, knowing he was ticklish.

He howled, almost dropping her, as she righted her footing and took off running again. "Once a cheater, always a cheater!" he called, chasing her, banging into the door as she fumbled with the doorknob, pulling her close and kissing her before she could push it open.

Alex had pulled Casey inside her apartment door, but hadn't shut it all the way, the scene playing out before them too irresistible to completely look away from, even if it wasn't the most polite thing to do. "Did I just see what I think I saw?" Casey asked quietly, his voice flat. Morgan had known him long enough to know under the stiff tone was the same hope they all had–seeing affection between their favorite couple was a tremendously positive sign.

"That's what I wanted to tell you, Casey," Morgan told him, whacking the back of Casey's huge bicep with the back of his fingers. "You've been running dark for three months. A lot's happened in three months."

"Walker stayed?" he asked incredulously.

"Dad, you really thought she was going to leave?" Alex asked him.

"When I left, it was looking pretty grim," Casey admitted. "Chuck was starting to lose it. One more minute and I think he would have just burst into tears. Please don't tell me he begged her to stay on his hands and knees or whatever," he grumbled.

Serious for a moment, Morgan explained. "No, he let her go. Three times total, now that I think of it. He found her on the beach, and they talked, and…she told him she wanted to stay. Work things out."

"Huh," Casey huffed. "Bartowski really pulled it off," he mumbled to himself.

"Pulled what off?" Morgan asked, skeptically.

"Got her to fall in love with him again," Casey said, an unaccustomed tenderness in his voice that Morgan still couldn't quite get used to.

"I guess he did," Morgan smiled.

"Huh," Casey huffed again, sticking out his chest slightly, as if with pride. "Let me go tell them I'm back," he announced.

"Uh, Casey," Morgan said, slowly smoothing out his beard with one hand. "I'd wait…oh, I don't know, an hour?" he looked at Alex, waiting for her to nod, "before going over there."

"Huh," Casey said a third time, this time his blue eyes wide and unblinking.

XXX

"Come in, Morgan!" Chuck called from the hallway at the sound of the knock on the door.

"It's not Morgan, Bartowski," Casey called as he entered the apartment and shut the door.

"Casey!" Chuck exclaimed, moving down the hallway quickly, a wide smile on his face. "This is a surprise," he beamed.

"Yeah, since Morgan never checks his messages. It wasn't really as spur of the moment as it seems. I'm not a spur of the moment kinda guy," Casey grumbled.

Chuck laughed, genuine happiness exuding from every pore. It was such a change from the last time he had seen Chuck, but he wasn't complaining. The worry about Chuck's well-being had been gnawing away at him the entire time he had been gone, kept up to date with terse messages from his daughter or Morgan. "Where's Sarah?" he asked casually.

"Still in the shower. She should be…out…soon," he said, the warm rush of words slowing as he felt the reality of it around them, how much Casey didn't know.

"So you're good? You guys?" he asked, not wanting or needing the granular details.

Chuck pressed his lips together, a crooked grin on his face. He nodded, understanding that Casey would want an abbreviated version, but not trusting his voice as he actually felt it like that. They were good. They were ok. The relief of acknowledging that made him feel weak.

"Has she remembered anything? Other than that little bit that you told me?" Casey asked him.

"Some things. Not a whole heck of a lot, all things considered," Chuck told him bluntly.

"You know, Beckman called me right as we were landing. Told me she was just checking in. But she seemed, I don't know, a little extra concerned. About the two of you. She didn't offer any more and I didn't ask," he said quietly. "Are you sure everything is ok?"

"Sarah and I are fine," he affirmed with strength. "Sarah…is…struggling with some stuff," he added, swallowing over the emotion that he knew was too much for Casey. "But she's gonna be ok. Dreyfus is here, in L.A.," he said. "Beckman sent him for her."

Chuck had no idea that any personal conversation had ever occurred between Casey and Dr. Dreyfus. Casey had merely shown up at the hospital with Sarah and Dreyfus, just in time to save Chuck from Kowambe. That had been one of the hardest conversations Casey had ever had in his life, trying to explain how he felt about Chuck to this man, when he had never really acknowledged those feelings to himself until he had seen Chuck deteriorate so rapidly.

"What 'stuff,' Chuck?" Casey asked warily.

"The…uh…missing time. While she was…with…" He couldn't finish, couldn't say the name out loud without the inside of his throat burning like acid. He closed his eyes, shook his head. "He's treating her for PTSD, Casey," he said softly.

Casey huffed inside his mouth, a compassionate breath followed by prolonged silence. "It can happen to the best of agents, you know. Especially since she doesn't have full recall. It's treatable. She'll be ok," he told him, a calm wisdom in his voice.

For all the constant grief Casey had given him over the years, just those few words, in that tone of voice, seemed to rinse the worry away from him. God, he had missed Casey, he thought, smiling and clapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Casey!" they both heard, spinning to see Sarah as she emerged into the living room. She was smiling, and walked straight up to them, grabbing Chuck from behind, making no overt moves to touch Casey at all.

Casey smiled, remembering clearly the last time he had talked to her she had called him "Colonel," like she hadn't known him at all. He studied her face, the spy in him able to discern the authenticity of that smile. It was what he knew of as a real smile–from the past, when her true feelings about Chuck had shown through when she had been trying to disguise it. She looked like the old Sarah. He hadn't realized how worried he had been about returning, to find some iteration of tragedy associated with her memory loss, until the relief he felt flowing through his veins now that he knew whatever tragedy had been looming had also been averted.

"Walker, looking good," Casey said crisply. She smiled, color rising in her cheeks.

"How's Gertrude?" she asked, twisting her mouth to the side.

Casey looked at Chuck first, before he answered. "Great. You remember Gertrude?" he asked.

Chuck swallowed hard, not sure what she actually remembered about Gertrude. Sarah had already told him she remembered least about the time they had been married, and Gertrude had reappeared in Casey's life during the same timeframe. "You put a tracer on her, instead of just asking her out. I was in the van. Right?"

Was Casey actually embarrassed? Chuck thought in amazement.

"Good recall," he grumbled.

"I think I missed that part the first time around," Chuck laughed. "Smooth, Casey. At least you went after some sound advice," he teased, tilting his head toward his wife.

"So you two lovebirds just loafing around here all this time?" he ribbed them, expertly changing the subject. He leaned in closer to Chuck. "I appreciate the funds you've been sending my way, but it's not necessary, Chuck."

"The money is yours, Casey. That's interest. Beckman got the money released. The money Decker froze. We're fine, Casey. Honestly," Chuck assured him.

"You have the money?" Casey asked him.

"Where did you think I was getting four thousand dollars a month?" Chuck asked him sarcastically.

Casey laughed. "Didn't want to ask," he grumbled. "So you're ready to get it off the ground then, right?" Casey asked him.

"I, uh, wasn't sure if and when you were coming back. Or if you, uh, still wanted to, you know, work at a job you might not need a gun every day for," Chuck told him.

"If that's your way of asking me if I'm still interested, I am," Casey told them. "Provided you don't mind if I work with Gertrude from time to time. Cure for the itchy trigger finger, if you know what I mean," he said with a snicker.

"That's great," Sarah said with a smile. "You said Casey was the last piece, right, Chuck?" she asked perkily. "That whole plan, all that stuff on the computer. We can move forward. That's what you wanted, right?"

"The doctor did say working again is a step in the right direction, didn't he?" Chuck said to her. "Let's do it," he said, suddenly caught up in the moment. "I mean it. Pull up that business plan and let's get cracking. Casey, you got time?" Chuck asked him.

He nodded. "Get the pipsqueak on the phone, Bartowski," Casey grumbled.

XXX

"Your wedding ring, Sarah," Dr. Dreyfus said slowly.

Chuck had left her alone in their apartment, spending time with Morgan and Alex during her allotted appointment time. She was on her feet, pacing, refusing to lie or even sit on the sofa as he sat in the chair with the notebook on his lap. He'd asked her to sit, but relented when she insisted adamantly that she couldn't stay still.

"What about it?" she asked, absently twirling the rings on her finger around against her palm and then back outward again.

"Your decisions. About when you wore it, and when you took it off," he said, prompting her to talk.

She walked to the window, turning her back to him, crossing her arms tightly. "We're married," she said, sensing how lame the answer sounded.

"The moment you woke up, you were wearing it. Nicholas Quinn never took it from you. Instead, he convinced you the marriage was just part of your cover. You never thought that was suspicious?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply, spinning to face him, her face flushed with anger.

"Would the CIA have ever condoned you legally marrying a rogue spy, just to lure him in? A mark is one thing. But marriage?" he asked again.

"Look, I was disoriented with the worst headache I'd ever had in my life. I felt…odd. But what he said made sense at the time. He showed me Chuck's picture and I didn't recognize him. But I felt…something…when I looked at his picture. He told me Chuck was responsible for Bryce and Graham. I thought that must have been why…I felt like that. The more I interacted with Chuck, the weirder it all seemed. But who was I to question anything, right?" she scoffed bitterly, her way of telling him she thought he was right.

"I'd pretended to be married as a cover before. It was only later, in the apartment, that I realized we were really married. It was…disconcerting, and it continued to be," she explained, crossing her arms again and turning away.

"That's why you still had it on, when you turned on them in the Intersect room, or while you were fighting with Chuck before he saved your life?" Dreyfus asked.

She turned to look at him, nodding as she turned back to the window. She had to close her eyes hard, as he drove home that dichotomy that stung.

"When did you stop wearing it?" he asked her dryly.

The silence stretched for minutes and minutes before she answered him. "Once I knew it was real," she said quietly.

"That seems…counterintuitive, doesn't it? To wear it with no problem when you thought it was fake, not able to wear it after you knew it was real," he said in a measured cadence, emphasizing each word.

"That's how a spy would react, right?" she countered.

"Of course. Counter to how everyone else behaves and thinks," he grumbled. "But not how Chuck's wife would react," he said, innocently, but driving the point home to Sarah as he spoke.

She turned around slowly, her eyes enormous in the fading daylight that shone through the window. "It was like…lying to him. Wearing it, when it obviously had been given to me with the…sincerest of motives."

"Spies lie, Sarah. And you had already told him, that was all you knew how to be," he told her. "But not about that, right, Sarah?"

His words, the sentiment behind them, affected her. He was right, of course. Somehow she had just never let herself go down that path, thinking in such a manner. But he was right. She felt winded, but she found her voice to respond. "I kept thinking, how did that happen? I saw myself talking about how I'd fallen in love with him, when it was wrong, and dangerous. He was an asset, and I was protecting him. But somehow, all of that was true, and more importantly–he loved me. He really loved me. I knew that, I saw that…in the house. It hurt worse than anything I ever imagined–thinking how badly he was suffering, and I couldn't make it any better. It would be like mocking him, wearing it when I couldn't be his wife."

"But he saw it, when you came to say goodbye, that you'd taken it off. And you never told him why, did you?" Dreyfus prodded.

"I couldn't," she whispered. "He was devastated. And I know that made it worse. But I didn't want to lie to him."

"Were you honest with him? Completely?" Dreyfus asked, tapping his pen against his lips.

"No," she said softly, so softly he had to strain to hear.

"What were you dishonest about?" he asked.

She waited a long time before she responded. "I told him I didn't feel…it," she said, her voice shaking.

"Feel what?" he asked.

That was the question, wasn't it? She had parsed that out, standing there in front of him, feeling the pain both physical and emotional that filled him to overflowing. It certainly wasn't nothing. She had cried harder after watching that video than she ever remembered crying since she was a small child. Looking back, she tried to sort it out. She didn't feel what he felt–the committed love, the lifelong promise. Mostly because she was afraid of what that meant, what she had given up that she didn't remember.

"Like I was his wife," she answered, shocking herself at the simple truth of those words.

"But you do now?" he asked, gesturing to her hand as she turned back to look at him.

"Being married. It's a commitment, not just a feeling. A promise to do something, no matter how hard everything gets. I wasn't ready to do that, not then. So I took it off," she explained.

"What changed, Sarah?" he asked again.

"Once I spent time with him, even just for that short period of time, I realized who he was. Why he was so…special. How he could have been so special. To me. He found me, told me everything. I wanted that back. And I thought to myself, the first step was committing. Making the effort to do what I promised, even when I didn't always feel the way I did when I made that promise," she sighed.

Dreyfus stayed quiet, writing in his notebook, for a long stretch of time. When he finally spoke again, the subject seemed to have changed. "So if you never remembered another thing about your past, if this is all of the past with Chuck that you remember, is that enough?"

She spun quickly, her face almost frantic for a moment before she reigned it in. "Why would you ask me that? You think I won't remember anything else?"

"Just answer the question, Sarah, if you can. Take your time, but ask yourself. Is this enough?" he pushed.

As opposed to what? She asked herself. Meaning, would she leave? Or would she just live in this constant state of angst, knowing how upset he was, missing their shared memories, searching for something she was never going to find and grinding away at his happiness? But that was just it. The only other option was to not be with him.

That would be like removing a limb, or an internal organ, without anesthesia. For him too, she knew that. She knew how troubled he was when she couldn't remember something, but he dealt with it. Accepted everything for what it was worth. Took the good and minimized the bad. Because he loved her, she told herself, the warmth spreading inside. For who she was, not what she remembered.

And no matter what, dear God, did she love him.

"Yes," she answered passionately, her voice trembling.

He huffed, grinned as he dipped his head. "I know," he said. "And with that knowledge, understand that your trauma from all this hurts him, as much as his pain hurt you on the beach when you decided to stay. And he needs to forgive himself, the same as you did. He's not my patient–you are. But know that can begin with you. Healing from the trauma that seems to remind him of all of his failures, much more than is healthy or prudent."

She waited to answer him, forcefully regulating her breathing. "Isn't that why you're seeing me?" she asked.

"It is, Sarah. But to concentrate on that healing, we have to concentrate on the pain that caused it. I wanted to make sure you knew all of it, including why it's so important," he said slowly.

She looked away as his words saturated her thoughts. It sounded awful, frightening. But she would do it, what he asked. She would do literally anything for Chuck.

XXX

Chuck lifted himself up on his hands, pulling his lips from her mouth as he heard her gasping, at the same time she lifted her body to keep more of her skin touching his. He felt her shift her legs at the same time she reached up for him, running her lips across his collar bone, towards the hollow at the base of his throat. "Sarah," he whispered breathlessly.

He twisted to the side, grasping her hip and turning her onto her stomach. She felt him slide next to her. "Chuck, what are you doing?" she asked, a hint of confusion in her voice.

"You trust me, don't you?" he asked, his breath close enough to her ear that it made her shiver.

"Yes," she said without hesitating.

He reached around her waist from behind, pulling her up so the backs of her legs were flush with his thighs. He slid his hand down her spine, threading his fingers into her hair from the back of her neck. Gentle pressure on her head triggered a memory, vague but real. He wanted her to rest her head on the pillow. She suddenly knew why he had asked her what he had. Not being able to face him, touch him, kiss his mouth, while they were making love distracted her, why she had never really preferred this. But she complied, trusting him as she told him she would.

She sighed as she felt him connect to her, her breath catching in her throat at the sensation. "Oh my god," she gasped, her amazement evident in the tone. She gasped again as he started moving, then started moaning as the sensations intensified. When he reached around to touch her breasts, she lost control of her voice. It took her almost no time, nearly screaming as her muscles tightened around him, every part of her flooded with pleasure. She had fistfuls of the sheets in both hands, almost untucking them in her vigor.

Another memory surfaced, as she anticipated his next move, as he nudged her down to lay flat, all of his weight on top of her. He reached his hands under the pillows, threading his fingers through hers, holding her tightly against him. She felt his mouth against her ear, his labored breathing tickling against her neck. His rhythm was perfect, bringing her to another peak moments before his own. She was lost, floating, comfortable in his arms, even comfortable under the full weight of him pressing down on her. Still out of breath, he rolled to the side, pulling her with him until they were spooning.

"How did you know…how did that…" she tried to ask him, slightly out of breath, and not able to form the right words.

He laughed. "We were drunk. It was a bet. That I won," he said, the breathy quality of his voice so alluring.

"That was me losing a bet?" she asked, spinning around to look at his face.

"We were drunk," he laughed again.

"Well what was supposed to happen if you lost?" she teased.

"You promised to do all sorts of despicable things to me with your mouth," he said, his laughter held at bay, but just barely.

"Why does this bet seem so messed up?" she teased.

"We were drunk," he repeated for the third time, in monotone now. In the deepest, sexiest voice he had he said, "And let's face it. There are no real losers when we make bets about sex, right?"

She turned over, so she was facing him. He was still smiling, but he saw the seriousness on her face, and it sobered him. "What?" he asked softly.

She laid her hand against his cheek. "Even if I never remember another moment, it doesn't matter. You know that, right?"

He pulled her closer, holding her tightly against him. "I know, Baby," he whispered.

"I love you, nothing's ever going to change that," she whispered in return. His eyes softened in the dark, glassy, and she felt him gulp hard. Her heart was like a bird, breaking free from its cage, soaring inside her. Maybe she had been afraid to tell him how she felt before, keeping things inside that she had struggled to put into words. Without those memories in between them, all she had left were words. And if she had learned anything, it was that he was comforted by words. He had given her literally everything. She vowed to give him what he needed.

She fell asleep in his arms, no nightmare or awful memory strong enough to break through the peace that had wrapped around her like a cocoon.