Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or any other name brands that may be listed below.

Sometimes the movies got it right, and the life of a spy was full of action and excitement, with beautiful women and dangerous men, in luxurious and exotic locales.

And sometimes you had to fly coach.

John Casey was en route to Switzerland, to the U.S. Embassy in Bern, via Zurich.

He was also squeezed into the middle seat, in the back by the lavatory.

Because sometimes a spy didn't have access to a private plane. And sometimes a spy couldn't piggyback on a military flight. Because sometimes the assholes in Operations forced men-too-big into seats-too-small on a transport full of civilians for eight hours.

James Bond is full of shit, Casey thought grumpily.

XXXX

Switzerland was a beautiful country, the veteran spy had to admit. Beautiful and clean with great skiing.

These details were offset by Casey's distaste for their history of neutrality. The career soldier could not comprehend how a nation could sit at the foot of two World Wars and not participate. It was disgusting.

It was just under an hour by train from Zurich to Bern and Casey used this time to study the mission dossier. The lack of personal space on the flight prevented him from already studying the briefing and now he was on a time crunch. Paying the upgrade for the 1st class business lounge, the agent was able to plan in privacy and peace.

It was a type of mission John Casey had performed countless times in his career – a fetch. A fetch was simple; make contact with X person on the ground, take over possession of Y, and return it securely to Washington. It was as basic as ops went, but an agent could still get dead real fast when they didn't take even the most mundane assignments seriously.

And not for the first time since being briefed did Casey wonder why this mission had been assigned to him. General Beckman was smarter than most gave her credit for, an essential skill for someone in her position, especially a woman, so the spy couldn't help but wonder what her motives were. She knew the Burbank assignment had changed Casey, and despite feeling like he had failed when Operation Bartowski was terminated, he felt more fulfillment than he had in the years running up to it.

Despite being the home of the U.S. Embassy in the country, Bern was a backwater compared to Zurich and Geneva. Either this mission was bigger than he realized, or he was still being treated with kid gloves.

It was just past noon local time when Casey disembarked at the station in Bern, catching a taxi to the hotel that had been set up ahead of time for him. There he found the mission loadout already waiting, including building plans, burner phone, a tuxedo, and most pleasantly, a weapon. Flying commercial meant no gun, and no gun left Casey feeling more naked than any lack of clothing ever could. It was a NATO-issued Beretta M9 and he immediately tucked it in the waistband of his pants. The knot between his shoulders that he had hours earlier ignored disappeared at the feeling of the familiarity in his belt.

Now he was ready to go to work.

XXXX

When Casey saw her, it was like a punch to the gut.

And now he was starting to understand why Beckman gave him this assignment.

Her hair was brown and her eyes were brown, but he'd know that face anywhere.

After all, you never forgot your best partner.

Casey had managed an hour of shut-eye before he was due to meet his local contact. They were meeting off Embassy grounds, which the agent surmised meant they wanted to avoid any prying eyes, or potentially any moles within. On the way over, he expected to be dealing with some State Department lackey who was probably pissing his pants at the prospect of being part of some honest-to-God espionage. But he was wrong. This wasn't some simple consulate official he was meeting, it was a ghost.

She wasn't able to contain her shocked expression as well as Casey was his, he noted, her eyes blinking at a furious rate. Then he saw a brief glimpse of hope enter his visage and those unnaturally brown eyes began searching over his shoulder for something.

He shook his head 'no' at her, softening his expression, and her eyes widened before a mask of blank emotion slammed over her face. Casey wanted to explain but they were not alone. There was a man there waiting.

"Agent Thomas Williams, CIA," the mystery man said, stepping forward with one hand extended and his badge in the other. He was young, Casey noted. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, handsome in a suit that fit him perfectly. Another CIA pretty boy. He hated him already.

"Major John Casey, NSA," he parroted, flashing his own credentials and taking the younger man's hand. His hands were soft. It was disgusting.

Casey turned to the brunette woman and extended the same introduction to her. She snapped out of her melancholy, remembering herself. "Agent Susan Watkins," she said crisply. "CIA." Her voice sounded different than he remembered, a little more flat and nasal. For a moment he wondered if he had forgotten it, but that wasn't true. She had a new voice to go with a new appearance. Casey understood. She was a spy, and spies were whoever they needed to be when the situation called.

Still, it was very surreal.

Her grip was stronger than the one he'd felt on his hand previously and she maintained an air of polite professionalism. Casey cocked an eyebrow at her, silently conveying the message of Later to her. He knew she understood when she squeezed his fingers with her palm before releasing their grasp.

"If you'll join me over here, Major Casey," the young agent said, "I can run you through the plan for this evening and you can see why we requested a third for this op." Agent Williams motioned to a table on which blueprints and pictures and memorandums were strategically placed and invited the NSA agent to follow. Casey spared one last look at his former-partner-turned-partner-again before turning his focus on the task at hand. It was time to get to work.

XXXX

Casey sat on the bed in his hotel room, facing the door. It was late, and he was waiting.

The tuxedo was back hanging in the closet and the gun and other mission gear in the room's safe. His own bag was packed and seated next to him, along with the briefcase he'd obtained earlier.

The mission had been a success, with only a few hitches. The CIA idiot Williams managed to bungle the handoff, leading to some gunplay with what turned to be a mole on the Embassy staff and his hired muscle. And that had been a lot of fun.

Crouched behind some puny little Peugeot with his old/new partner, trading shots in the dark, it felt like the old days. It felt good. The adrenaline, the sense of accomplishment, the patriotism... It was sweeter with her there. She looked more alive in that moment than at another other point since their reunion earlier that day. It also served to remind him of who wasn't there. Realizing that made John Casey really feel the loss of Team Bartowski. Everything they did, what they could have done. Losing that was like losing an arm. You didn't know how good things were until you didn't have it.

He didn't wait around after the hostiles had been neutralized to help clean up the mess. The briefcase was his mission and it was complete. Before he left the two CIA operatives, he took his old partner aside.

"Do you know where I'm staying?"

She nodded yes.

"Good. Meet me there when you're done."

It was nearly two hours later when he finally heard the knock at the door. He glanced through the peephole first to confirm before opening.

She looked tired. So tired. Her face was scrubbed clean of any makeup and he could see age that he didn't remember from their time in California. Her eyes were back to their original blue, but she hadn't changed her hair.

"You're later than I expected," he grunted.

She rolled her eyes. "My partner wanted to celebrate a job well done." She put emphasis on the word 'celebrate'. "He took it hard when I said no." Her eyes danced with amusement when she added, "I think he thinks I'm here 'celebrating' with you."

Casey chuckled and shook his head. Let the arrogant CIA idiot think that. He returned to the bed to grab his things. "C'mon. I've got somewhere in mind where we can speak." He left unsaid his distrust of whomever set up the room ahead of time. It was likely bugged, and what he had to say was best left unheard by anyone but the two of them.

No more words passed between the two spies after leaving Casey's room. He led them down a couple blocks to a pub he'd passed earlier in the day after he arrived in Bern. It was a traditional English-style pub named Borthwick's, the wooden facade a deep brown, a stark contrast to the concrete that seemingly made up the rest of the city.

That changed before they had a chance to step inside. Casey had a hand on the door before realizing his companion had stopped several feet behind him. He looked back at her with a quizzical expression which she missed, her gaze planted firmly at the ground.

"What are we doing here?" she questioned wearily.

"In the briefing, when they said there'd be a local contact... I had no idea it would be you."

"Would you have taken the mission, had you known?" Her eyes still wouldn't meet his.

"It doesn't matter. It's the job, and besides," he said with a feral grin. "I have intel for you."

She met his eyes at last, blue flashing against blue. Nodding twice in rapid succession, she followed him inside.

The décor was as Casey expected – more mahogany than you could...well, shake a stick at. Earthy tones, low lightning, soccer club banners festooned about. They slid into a booth in the back, away from the other patrons. Casey let her take the side facing the door. He preferred that seat as well, so as to better assess any potential threat, but he could see she was on edge. It wasn't his hill to die on.

A waitress appeared seconds later, greeting them in a language Casey could barely understand.

"English?" he asked.

"Yes," the waitress replied, in an accent the gruff man found particularly appealing.

"Got any Johnnie Walker?"

"Oh yes," she nodded. "We serve all five labels here."

Casey reached into his coat and pulled out a money clip, and peeled off three crisp $100 bills. He handed them to the waitress and said, "The black. Two glasses. Leave the bottle. This should cover it."

The waitress nodded, returning with the drinks in short order.

Casey poured generous helpings into both glasses, and slid one across the table to his companion. As soon as it was within reach, she snatched up her drink and knocked it back in one smooth motion.

She hissed as the whiskey burned a path down her abdomen. Not bothering to wait for Casey, she reached across the table for the bottle and refilled her glass. She sneered defiantly at the smug look on his face, downing the drink in two quick gulps.

Casey sipped his beloved Johnnie slowly, waiting her out. Every move from the moment she came to his door to now was calculated and deliberate. He had to do this right, or else she'd rabbit.

Her next refill was much more conservative, pouring barely enough to coat the bottom of the glass. She brought it up to her nose and swirled the liquid around, breathing in the aroma. The gesture was basic spycraft, completely meaningless and meant to buy the agent a precious few seconds if the situation demanded it.

She was stalling, truth be told. What he said, what he didn't say, what he wasn't saying... It activated a muscle she'd tried to suppress for a while now - her heart. She searched Casey's eyes for any hint but only cold blue was reflected back.

Draining the meager contents of her glass, she laid back against the bench seat and folded her arms under her breasts. She was sure she'd need something holding her up for what she was about to hear.

"Is he dead?"

"No."

To Susan, the woman who was known by many names but had only one that mattered, Sarah Walker, the world stopped. She pressed both of her hands over her heart, hoping the pressure would keep it from bursting out of her chest.

"Say it again."

"No," Casey repeated emphatically.

Something long dormant inside the CIA Agent stirred, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

What does that mean? If Chuck's alive, why is Casey here without him? A cold spike of fear punctured her abdomen. "Is he..." In a hole? Locked away from his sister? His friends? The sun? If she didn't say the words out loud, it couldn't be true, right?

"No."

Never had the word sounded sweeter to Sarah. It also seemed too good to be true.

"So help me John Casey," she growled, "if this is your idea of a game and Chuck is hiding in the bathroom or something and waiting to for you to signal him..."

Casey let out an amused grunt and shook his head. "No."

Sarah slumped back against her seat again, anxiously running a hand through her hair. Her mind was buzzing like a hornet's nest full of questions and possibilities. What the hell is going on right now?

"He's got a message for you, Walker. Would you like to hear it?" Casey suddenly not monosyllabic anymore snapped Sarah back into reality.

"A message? Does he know I'm here? Did you tell him we were working together on a mission again?"

Casey held up a hand to stop her. "Enough with the Twenty Questions. Do you want to hear it or not?"

"Of course!" Sarah shouted, now completely frantic.

Casey's head turned back and forth, his motions slow and deliberate, as if scanning the room. In truth he was - the spy side never truly turned off, no matter the situation. But it was also to draw out the moment that much more. He had Walker coiled up tighter than a spring. This was just too much fun.

"Bartowski..." he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in just a hair, "He wanted me to tell you..." Sarah nodded unconsciously, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Her heart was pounding so loud, she wondered how it was that Casey didn't hear it from across the booth.

"Hey."

Casey let out an amused grunt at the shocked look on her face and sat back up straight, bringing the bottle of Johnnie back to his side of the table. He had refilled his glass and taken a drink before she finally blinked, he noticed with internal delight.

"What the hell is wrong with you Casey!?" she shouted.

This time he really was worried they were drawing too much attention. People were looking. "Cool it Walker," he hissed. "Low profile, remember?"

A growl rose, low and feral, from her gut. Sarah snatched the Johnnie Walker back and took a long swig, straight from the bottle. She set it down not-so-gently and slid it angrily back at Casey. Finger pointed like a weapon she spat, "What the hell kind of game are you playing here? You think you can come waltzing in and screw with me?"

Shit, Casey thought as she dropped a hand out of sight under the table. He was losing control of the situation rapidly. He held up both hands, palms facing Sarah, in an effort to placate her.

"Stand down, Walker!" he whispered, urgency thick in his voice. "OK fine, so I'm having fun at your expense." He blanched at her expression, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring.

"But I'm being totally on the level here. What I said is exactly what Bartowski told me to say."

Forehead scrunched, Sarah stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "What the hell are you talking about, Casey?"

"Bartowski... I'm here and he's not because he's out, Walker. He's not my asset anymore. Beckman cut him loose."

Shock was replacing the anger that had been flowing through Sarah Walker's body since Casey's ill-timed quip, with a faint undercurrent of something her heart recognized as hope nestled just below. "What-" she swallowed thickly. "What does that mean? He found a way to get the Intersect out of his head?"

"He's out, Walker," he repeated, avoiding her question. "Retired. He's still got a handler, but it's mostly to make sure the geek stays out of trouble. You know how he's a magnet for that sort of thing."

A tiny smile formed on Sarah's lips as memories from a better time pulsed through her mind. Casey was relieved to see her hand reemerge from under the table empty.

"Wait," she said, snapping out of her reverie. "New handler? Who?"

"Fellow by the name of Conti. Don't know him. Beckman trusts him, though. They go way back, the two of them. The kid likes him, too."

"You've been in contact with Chuck?!"

"Haven't you been listening to me, Walker?" He emptied his glass and poured himself more. "He's been out for two years, and I pop in once in a while to see how he's doing."

Two years. Shit, Sarah thought. Has it really been that long?

"You visit him? When did you two become such pals? And since when are you allowed to freely visit heavily-classified assets?"

"He's a civilian again," Casey said as if explaining to a child. "And what I do with my down time is my business. And to your other point, so what? He's a good kid. He trusts me. Someone had to keep him together after...you know."

Oh, Sarah knew. She knew too well. She appreciated her former partner's attempt to not rub it in her face.

"For what it's worth," Casey continued, voice now gentle. "The kid is still stuck on you." That got her, he thought.

Sarah's body instantly relaxed. Her demeanor calmed, her eyes no longer quivering in anger. She took a deep breath and ran an anxious hand through her hair again.

"Every time, before I leave, Bartowski asks me that if I should ever bump into you out here in this wide, wicked world that I give you a message for him."

Sarah stared at the NSA man, overwhelmed with feelings she'd worked hard to keep a lid on.

"And now I've done it. A promise is a promise and I honored it."

With a shaky hand, Sarah reached out for the whisky and poured herself a generous helping. It was as if the nerves she felt when they got to the pub were the appetizer, and this was the main event.

Because everything had changed.

She'd been playing by their rules, forced to, for so long, longer even than the game itself. And now here was Casey, telling her Chuck was out. Chuck was free. He and Chuck were friends, and Chuck...

He still cares.

Sarah almost couldn't think the words, for fear this was all some weird dream and she'd wake up to find it never happened. Not since 'That Day' had she felt so many emotions, and never in her life so many contradicting ones. Joy and fear and elation and confusion and happiness and anxiety flowed from the tips of her toes and bloomed up through her legs into the rest of her body and she wanted to cry and shout and she thought she might explode like a geyser.

Sarah took a drink, letting the liquid constitution do its work and calm her. This was just... It was a lot to deal with.

Casey let her process the bombshell he'd dropped on her. In the old days, he'd relished at the prospect of needling Walker and her lady feelings. It was petty and it was immature but she was compromising herself more and more with each day and he had to check that before it destroyed them.

And then it destroyed them, he thought again ruefully.

"What aren't you telling me, Casey?" she said quietly, breaking him out of his own clouded thoughts.

"Plenty," he grunted. "It's not my place to tell you everything. I wouldn't want to give you an excuse."

"Excuse?"

"Yeah," he rasped, swallowing a gulp of the honey colored liquor. "I could sit here and give you the full sitrep and then maybe you decide that's enough for you. Maybe you decide to let the past be the past?" He cocked an eyebrow in surprise when she didn't immediately defend herself.

"Nah. I did what Bartowski asked me to do. Now I can wash my hands of it."

"Are you going to tell him you saw me?" she queried.

Casey paused. "Honestly? I don't know." He weighed her with his eyes before continuing. "If I tell him and you don't show, it'll destroy him. The kid is stronger than we ever gave him credit for, but it would destroy him."

He could see her withdraw into herself, deep in thought. Let her chew on that, he thought.

The geek had changed them both, had taken two spies and shown them they could be more. It was enough for Casey to simply know that, to know that he was still capable of caring. He eyed Sarah, wondering if she knew herself how deeply she'd been affected. Judging by her expression, she was thinking the same.

Casey checked his watch; he still had a couple hours before he was wheels up, but the time was right. A warm buzz was starting to spread to his extremities and the idea of getting a seat upgrade, damned the cost, before flying home and debriefing was beginning to sound more and more appealing.

"My job's done," he announced. "Got a ride to catch," he explained, sliding out of the booth. Casey clutched his bag and the briefcase in one hand and gestured to the bottle with his other. "Enjoy the rest of that." He took a breath before adding, "It was good to see you again. Take care of yourself, partner." He tipped his head in acknowledgment and started for the door.

"Casey..." Sarah called out hesitantly. He stopped, but didn't look back. "What do you think I should do?" Now he was glad he didn't; that was the most vulnerable Casey ever heard her sound. He didn't want to know if her face matched the emotion of her words.

He chanced a quick glance back at her, more to reassure her he had heard her plea than anything. "I can't answer that, Walker. But you know how often people like us get second chances." Casey looked back one last time, locking eyes with her to emphasize his point. "Ball's in your court now," he said, before disappearing into the cold Swiss night.

Author's Note: my greatest gratitude to Zerectica for once again being my troubleshooter and also for simply being good people.

Thank you all for reading, and extra thanks for those of you who take the time to review.

I hope you enjoyed the first real appearance of Sarah in this story. I still haven't revealed the whole story, but I hope this'll do for now.