A/N: All of Undercover Lover in one, short chapter. Chuck and Sarah barely interact in this episode. It's more Chuck an Casey...which is important for what Casey does in Marlin, I think. What's weird in this episode? Chuck and Casey are in Casey's apartment when Sarah shows up at Ellie's. Why is Sarah there? Chuck was across the courtyard! Anyway, here goes.

It was the middle of January before we had another full fledged, CIA/NSA sanctioned mission.

It started when Chuck came into the Wienerlicious in the middle of the day, our first contact of that particular day. It was actually sort of stupid, but I asked him to try the new breakfast corndog Scooter had just explained, then quizzed me, all about. Sometimes, the Wienerlicious really provided a needed distraction from the grueling nature of my real job. I was teasing, lightly, in that mode and just glad to see him, pretending and not-pretending to be his girlfriend.

He was very serious, dismissing the corndog right away. Although, his seriousness, though he claimed it was national security related, was actually just gossip to chew…something he couldn't wait to tell me. He flashed on Casey's ex-girlfriend.

I asked him if Casey knew, since if he had flashed, it was at least partially government intelligence related and someone needed to inform Beckman and Graham. He described a bad altercation with Casey over it. Chuck's sentiments mirrored my own. Who in the world would have been romantically involved with a guy like Casey? I even asked out loud, realizing after I'd said it that the same could be said for me. Who in the world would have been romantically involved with a girl like me? At least my answer was no one–none of my trysts or dalliances were romantically classifiable, not in the real sense. Casey's were fewer and farther between, Carina being the odd exception, but I always attributed that to her over-the-top appetite and lack of choosiness more than anything having to do with Casey himself, as a man.

Chuck actually asked me to do some digging and find out the whole story, stating that the Intersect had nothing on her. I was a little surprised at the boldness of that request, and I stated that back to him. Everything he had suggested was highly inappropriate. I even wondered for a brief moment if he would have scoured whatever database available to find out about me if he had actually had access. I hate to say it, but at this point here, if Chuck had that kind of access, I think he would have used it. I understand, I mean…I know now, he was in love with me…and he knew next to nothing about me, whereas I knew so much more about him.

Later, he would turn down an opportunity to learn something about my past, but here, I'm sure he would have jumped on it. His need to know wasn't nosiness…it was emotionally driven. I sometimes think of different situations, like what would have happened if things had been different, how things would have turned out. He loved me first, found out about me later, and nothing he learned ever cast a shadow on what he felt. If he had known more facts before he knew more of my heart…maybe he would have been different towards me, more frightened or repulsed. I don't really know. All I know is that everything happening the way it did worked out in the end…and, no matter what, and I mean no matter what, Chuck and I were destined to be together, and whatever circumstances may have come to pass, we would have found our way to each other.

He was so…cute, so adorable when he asked, like we were co-conspirators…I actually gave in. Before I went home from the Wienerlicious, and after Scooter had gone for the day, I accessed the CIA database from the computer console there. It was a huge breach of protocol, but it was related to what Chuck flashed on, and what Casey had reported to Beckman and Graham, so it was fairly easily explained in any type of audit situation. I wasn't all that worried. But what I did find was troubling, even sad.

Ilsa Trinchina was listed as a casualty of a terrorist bombing in Chechnya in 2004, a photo journalist working for the Associated Press. Her death coincided with a mission of Casey's from the same year, where he had been stationed in Chechnya as well. The mission specifics were classified, and digging further would have raised red flags, so I stopped. For a moment, I felt sorry for him, those words he had said to me about duty and sacrifice around the Lon Kirk incident cutting deeper into me. Perhaps he understood more than I would ever have thought he could. Not all sacrifices were made willingly. Some things were taken from you, even if their absence afterwards was still a type of sacrifice.

Her name on the hotel registry had to be a fluke, then. Russian nationals often recycled dead people's information to get phony passports and other travel documentation. There was still a relative lack of standardized computer record keeping in Russia at the time and keeping track of who was dead and alive wasn't as easy as it was in the West. Using a previously living person's credentials ensured travel with relatively few problems. By the time most fraud was discovered, the travel had been completed and the names could be recycled yet again. It was a huge issue for the intelligence community.

The next morning, first thing, we had another briefing in Casey's apartment, although it was only with Beckman. She has explained Graham had been in a meeting that ran over. Everyone Chuck had flashed on, all Russians traveling with phony passports, staying at the same hotel, was highly suspicious. The government wanted to know why, so they decided to send Chuck and me to the hotel undercover at a private party to do some intelligence gathering, specifically to see if Chuck had any additional flashes that could give them more information.

I never had the chance to tell Chuck what I had found out the night before. I actually think he didn't think I would do it, after the trouble I gave him about it. He started teasing Casey again, which surprised me, since he had been the one to tell me how badly Casey had reacted the day before when Chuck had mentioned her name. I think he was just so surprised to find something that made Casey seem more human and less robot-like that he just couldn't leave it alone.

I touched Chuck's back, almost pinching him, trying to signal him to stop. The reaction Chuck had explained the day before made perfect sense, Casey's pain stuffed further inside him than mine was in me—that was pretty deep. It was that deep for a reason. Casey prided himself on his lack of emotion, his stoic response to all things when faced with duty. Chuck was digging into a buried hornet's nest, thinking he was giving a gentle teasing. I had a bad feeling that was not going to end well. Of course, Chuck ignored the subtle signals I was giving him. I couldn't be more obvious without letting Casey know I had snooped.

Casey stormed off. I had to tell Chuck that Ilsa was dead. I left to go after Casey, to try and explain that Chuck just didn't understand. Casey had to have moved extra quickly, for even after I was outside, he was nowhere in sight.

I didn't see either of them, Chuck or Casey, until we reported back to Casey's apartment to get ready to go undercover. I had to explain everything I had learned, in more specific terms to Chuck right before the mission, out of Casey's ear shot. I didn't finish until we were on our way into the hotel, once Casey went in a separate entrance.

Once he understood, Chuck was very sympathetic. The tender sweetness of him, shining through, as always. I think he also had some new revelation about Casey in that moment, more understanding and acceptance for the way he was, knowing what he had been through. Empathy–Chuck's greatest quality. He even apologized to Casey, although, typical Casey, he brushed it off and focused on the mission and the work. I know he appreciated Chuck doing that, even if he couldn't say so. I think Chuck knew that, too.

Our intelligence about the party was off, as Chuck and I were both way overdressed to blend in. Fortunately, Casey thought quickly and we ended up being able to pose as the wait staff, grabbing trays of drinks and mingling in the crowd. I made sure Chuck looked around, to see if he flashed, which he did, once he saw the faces of the people whose names he had flashed on the day before.

We were walking through, making the rounds, when a drunk Russian on the dance floor thought he recognized Chuck as one of his long lost relatives. He made such a big scene over it, pulling other people in, that I had to sort of scoot out of the way. Chuck handled it ok, playing along, dancing with the whole drunken lot of them. I backed up into the path of a Russian gangster who grabbed my ass and asked me how much for the night like I was a prostitute. I almost broke his arm, twisting it off me and threatening him. Injured, he took off.

Chuck apparently recognized Ilsa as he saw her in the crowd while he was dancing. He tried to signal to me, pointing, but his rotund dancing partner mistook his pointing for a request for me to dance along with them. I was dragged into the center of the circle on the dance floor. Chuck leaned in and told me he spotted Ilsa, then pointed her out to me once we circled around to face her.

I called for Casey, telling him our cover was blown, which was the fastest way to get him to get us out of there. We could always explain later. I really wanted to get Casey away from there, worrying what would happen if he saw her like that…while we were working. My calling him had the opposite effect from what I wanted, however, as he almost ran straight into her.

Chuck and I slowly extricated ourselves from the dancing circle in an effort to get to Casey away from her and out of the hotel. Chuck argued, trying to let Casey have a few minutes with someone he thought he'd never see again but who was really alive. Always the romantic, that's my husband. Not a bad thing, but it didn't quite work out in this setting. We were still trying to figure out what to do when the head bad guy, Victor Federov, jumped up on a table and introduced Ilsa as his fiancee. The spotlight in the room shifted to her, taking Casey in within the same circle. He looked spectrally white in the garish light, standing there, barely holding himself together.

We were all shocked, not quite believing what we had just witnessed. We shook ourselves out of that stupor and got Casey out of there as fast as we could. I ended up driving Casey's car, with him in the passenger seat and Chuck in the back. It was the quietest car ride I have ever had with that many people in the car. We left the radio off. No one said a word. I listened to Casey breathe for 20 minutes straight. I counted the seconds of intake, seconds of exhale. He started off close to hyperventilating, but by the time we were back at Echo Park, he was in control, deep breathing like he was doing a meditation.

I didn't breathe myself until I got out and went to my car, parked near Chuck's Nerd Herder in the back. I quietly told Chuck to let Casey sleep on it, alone. If he must talk to Casey (which of course he did) he should wait until the next day (which he also did.) His first instinct is always to talk to offer comfort, but someone like Casey, especially in the state he was in, would not have tolerated that kind of conversation from Chuck at that time. He needed to decompress. Like a volcano.

The next day, orders came down from Beckman that I was to surveil the Russians at the Grand Saville, which involved posing as housekeeping and planting bugs. It was unusual for me to work alone, but word had gotten back to Beckman that Casey had been personally compromised during the party the night before, so sending me alone was the safest bet. That type of work was mundane, tedious, and involved doing more housekeeping work than CIA work, in order to blend in. Just one more glamorous perk of this job–delivering room service and placing mints on people's pillows on the company dime.

I had been pretending to work for a few hours when I ran into Casey and Chuck. I asked them what they were doing. Casey tried to say something, but Chuck cut him off, rambling about not being able to sleep and flashing or whatever. I was a little irritated, not to mention feeling like there was something Chuck wasn't telling me, but to be honest, he was so cute, the way he was talking, I let them into the security closet where I had set up my equipment for the night. I left them in front of the monitors and went to deliver my bugs.

I was all the way to the door of the bridal suite when I walked past a man speaking Russian into a walkie-talkie. He had a wrap on his wrist; I recognized him as the man whose hand I had removed from my ass, precipitating the need for said wrap in the first place. Problem–I was easily identifiable by him, and he knew I wasn't a housekeeper. He approached me, telling me the floor was private.

I had to turn to confront him, and he did recognize me. He started talking Russian into the walkie-talkie so quickly I couldn't understand everything he said. I grabbed the walkie-talkie out of his hand, pushed him down, and clubbed him across the face with the silver lid of the food tray on the cart I had brought with me. I couldn't leave him on the floor, so I called Casey on my com and told him to deliver the bug while I disposed of the unconscious man. He wasn't part of the original plan, but any good spy knows, you use whatever you have at your disposal when things get tricky, even mission crashers. Chuck actually answered, but I didn't know that then, or I would have thought of a different plan. Chuck pretended to be Casey, though, a dumb move, all things considered. He was covering for Casey's personal mission, though, to be fair. I put the key in the sugar bowl and dragged the man to the nearest utility closet as quickly as I could before someone else saw me. He was heavy, but not unmanageable. It took me about 15 minutes.

When I went back to the security closet, Chuck was gone. I called him. He didn't answer. He didn't answer because he got caught while trying to deliver the bug to the bridal suite, hiding under the bed while Casey and Ilsa were…getting reacquainted. During that, I also found out Chuck flashed on Ilsa and realized she was also a spy, not the woman Casey had ever believed she had been.

I found all of that out once I found them both, Casey and Chuck, running away from the bridal suite. I brought them back to the security closet and cleaned out my equipment while they explained. The hardest thing to believe was that Chuck had actually convinced Casey to go to the hotel to tell Ilsa how he felt. Or, in actuality, it was hardest to believe that Casey had a heartfelt conversation with Chuck in the first place. Chuck had slowly started to get under Casey's skin, which was hard to do, considering back then Casey's skin was like rawhide. The camaraderie this incident fostered played a significant part, I believe, about a week later, around the time Ellie and Devon got engaged. Worth noting here.

Once Beckman was informed that Ilsa was DGSE, she was less concerned with the second failure at attempting to surveil Federov. I had been awake for almost 24 hours, so she ordered me to get some shut eye while they contacted Ilsa's superiors at the DGSE for some collaboration. I woke up to a message from Beckman that stated she had become aware that Ilsa's cover may have been compromised in all the blundering around we'd seemed to do. She couldn't get in touch with Casey and she wanted me to go to the hotel to extract Ilsa, protect her from Victor if at all possible.

I thought it was odd that she couldn't reach Casey. I couldn't reach him either…and then I couldn't reach Chuck. Something was up. Feeling a sense of urgency after Beckman's call, I decided to drive straight to Chuck's apartment to see if he was there.

Chuck wasn't there, only Ellie, drunk on red wine, crying over a fight she'd had with Devon.

Ellie and Devon. My sister and brother in law. It's worth talking about them here, as a pair, since that is how I think of them. Wherever one is, there is the other. Not in a bad way, no, in the best possible way. They were individual people who were better when they were together. Both doctors, highly intelligent and motivated people. They were friends and lovers, husband and wife, although just boyfriend and girlfriend when I met them. Devon was a little brash, a little too free-flowing with the way he talked sometimes, but that was just him. He was from Connecticut originally, but was right at home in California. They were the first real couple I had ever observed interacting, just being a normal couple. A lot of what I learned how to do, how to be normal, or as normal as I could be, I learned from watching them. I learned how to be a mother and a wife by watching Ellie, and how she interacted with Devon.

Here, though, right before they got engaged, Ellie was having a get-real moment. She had had an argument with him about their anniversary gift and him always getting his way that had ended up with her storming off and him walking out of the apartment. She was making her needs known, what she wanted and expected from him. Communicating, which was something she and Devon knew how to do and Chuck and I, even far removed from here and in the midst of our relationship, struggled to do. That was something else we learned from them, slowly but surely.

I had never seen Ellie quite so…disheveled before. She was always so warm, so sweet, so in control of herself and every situation, or so it seemed. Worse, she was taking my presence as a comfort, some type of girl-talk commiseration opportunity. I was absolutely the last person who could have given her advice, or even comfort, in any kind of situation like that. I was pretending, my cover life, but somehow, I didn't think I could pull that off, not with her like that…so vulnerable, so in need. If Chuck had been there, she would have talked to him, I know it, but he wasn't. He ended up at the hotel again with Casey, which I will get to in a second.

She told me she was ok, but she really wasn't. She was close to sobbing, whimpering, while I was trying to get out of there. Standing close to her, she reeked of alcohol. She started talking, half drunk rambling that only made partial sense. I felt awful, wishing there was something comforting I could say.

I was pacing, Ellie was drinking and rambling. Chuck ended up calling me, telling me very briefly that Ilsa was bugged and Victor now knew she was a spy and she was walking into a trap. Casey also had gotten himself good and drunk, while Chuck was there with him, when they found all that out. Chuck had driven Casey because he was in no shape to drive himself. He also wasn't of his right mind, dragging Chuck down there alone while he was barely functional. At least Chuck had the common sense to call me and let me know.

I got off the phone and knew I needed to get out of there fast. Ellie was weepy and clingy and didn't want me to go. Fortunately, Morgan showed up right at that moment. She literally begged me not to go and I felt terrible. Morgan answered my call to help and told me he would stay with her. Ellie hated Morgan, but he was all I had, so, again, making the best of what I had at hand.

I drove like crazy to get to the hotel.

Ilsa's wedding was about to take place outside at the hotel, and I crept my way around back, trying to see if I could find Chuck or Casey. He was so brief on the phone, blurting things out, I had no idea what to expect, where they were, or what they were doing. The bridesmaids walked. Then I saw Ilsa, beautiful in her wedding dress, walking herself down the aisle. No sign of Chuck or Casey. I called Chuck again. He used to use the Mexican Hat Dance tune as his ringtone for when I called–why, he never explained to me. But as I was calling him, I heard it go off, in the crowd of guests, where Chuck most certainly was not. Something had happened. Once I saw who stood up, it was the same Russian I had stowed in the utility closet at the hotel. I hid my face as he walked by, but then I followed him as he walked away.

I caught up to him and then I attacked him. He took an elbow to the face and my heeled foot to his midsection and then he was on the ground. I put my foot on his chest and my gun in his face and asked him where Chuck was.

I was interrupted by very loud, high-pitched shrieking. I knew it was Chuck's voice. Before I could do anything else, I turned and saw two men, tied together, falling out of what looked like the eighth story window. Chuck screaming all the way down…Chuck and Casey, pushed off the balcony.

Not survivable. I knew this. My mind went blank and my blood turned to ice.

I watched helplessly as they plummeted downward. Straight into the hotel pool. The only way that fall was survivable.

I heard the story later, of how they fought in the hotel room, tied back to back. They had been forced onto the balcony, and Chuck wasn't strong enough to hold steady against the onslaught. I don't think he knew it at the time, but Chuck climbing over the railing and dangling his legs over gave them the angle they needed to reach the pool. Chuck's feet flat on the ground next to Casey, when pushed, would have made them go down head first into the cement below. Both would have been killed while I watched. Stupid luck kept him alive this time, and it left me shaken.

At that moment, once I heard the splash, not sure if they were still alive, I punched the Russian across the face with all my might and ran. I slowed down as I approached the pool. I watched Casey pull Chuck up to break the surface of the water, and then watched Casey while he climbed out of the pool, dripping wet in a tuxedo. Everyone stood still and stared. Then everyone pulled their guns at once and pointed them at Casey. I hoisted my gun and advanced, telling Federov no one was going anywhere.

I was horribly outgunned, but shooting anyone here was never my plan. The element of surprise was. I made eye contact with Ilsa, briefly, sure she would know what to do. I dropped my gun, not all the way, just angled on top of my foot. I kicked the gun to her as she stood at Victor's side at the altar. She was the end of the graceful arc, and the gun was at the base of Federov's skull before I even blinked. I took the gun of the man covering me at the same time.

Cleaning up the scene took a good portion of the night. Almost 25 men were in custody, and there was now the accompanying scene processing, statements and reports. Casey got Chuck out of there relatively early, since he was always harder to explain when the Intersect wasn't the direct, explainable reason. I let the work and the chaos of the scene distract me, but by the end of the night I was exhausted. Ilsa actually left with Casey, which surprised me. Everyone has needs, though, I guess, even Casey.

I went back to my hotel to sleep. I did sleep, at least a little, but I kept waking up, having multiple nightmares…watching Chuck falling out of windows and crashing onto cement or pavement or something else. It had all happened so fast, I just never realized how afraid I had been…how close I had come to losing him. The argument I had with myself, telling myself it was only because it was my job to protect him, was harder to win this time.

What I couldn't stop thinking…what would I do without him? Problem was, I was without him. He wasn't mine, no matter how hard I pretended that he was, no matter what I felt or what I thought I felt.

What if he died and he never knew what I felt about him? That was tortuous to think.

What was even more tortuous? How could I ever have expressed it, when I didn't even know?