Editing note: Since this White Picket Fence Future story turned out to be a series as I work through the issues Season 3's left me with, I'm pulling all of the stories together under the Chuck vs The White Picket Fence Future title and making it a chaptered fic instead of a bunch of short fics. The order runs 'Casey vs The White Picket Fence Future', 'Chuck vs The White Picket Fence Future', 'Sarah vs The White Picket Fence Future' and 'Morgan vs The White Picket Fence Future'. These stories haven't changed apart from a couple of typos being corrected. I have 3 more fics to add to this series: 'Devon vs The White Picket Fence Future', 'Ellie vs The White Picket Fence Future' and 'The White Picket Fence Future'. I hope you like them, and sorry for the delay.

Casey vs The White Picket Fence Future Note: So I've watched all of S3 and... it's left me with some issues. A whole bunch of issues. *sigh* I've still got a lot to work through before I can get back to my preferred Chuck/Casey schmoop, but hey, this is a start. This story is Chuck/Casey and Chuck/Sarah and mentions m/m sex, which means a homosexual relationship. If you don't like that kind of thing, if you're underage, if it's illegal where you are, don't read this story. Life's too short to get upset by things you read on the internet, okay?

Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, I'm just playing in it. Thanks to all involved in making Chuck such a fantastic show.

Every year there's an evening when, missions permitting, John Casey holes up and gets drunk. It used to be on the anniversary of Ilsa Trinchina's death, but when she turned up alive, that pretty much put paid to that. No, since then, it's been the anniversary of him giving up Chuck.

Charles Irving Bartowski, nerd and spy, who'd spent six years getting over his first love, who'd fallen for Sarah the first time she walked into the Buy More with a broken cell phone. He still wears his heart on his sleeve, carries his feelings there, in his eyes for anyone to see.

And that's why, when Sarah kept leading him on only to knock him back, when the job, the reminders that she was a killer too, got to be too much, he turned to Casey.

Casey's straight, single, a military man. But he's been through seduction school and he knows that sometimes, some nights gender doesn't matter. Some nights it's all about a warm body lying beside you in the darkness, it's about shared breath, it's about the arms around you. So he holds Chuck together, gets his mind off the lies and the secrets and somewhere along the way, he forgets this isn't about him, this isn't about them.

But then Sarah gets her act together and Chuck gets conflicted and in the end, Casey makes it easy for him. He puts some of Uncle Sam's special training to good use and in the morning, when Chuck wakes up, he's in his own bed, well-rested and in love with Sarah. It's not that he doesn't remember what he did with Casey, it's just that those memories aren't important any more. There's no need to think about them, no need to dwell on all those nights spent sweat-slick and hard, straining against each other, making that most primitive of connections.

Casey had the chance for a white picket fence life, for a wife and a family, and he chose to step into the shadows instead. Chose to make what difference he could in special ops, black ops, as an assassin and a spy. In the end, it turns out he has a family anyway, a daughter who might just want to get to know him.

And Chuck, Chuck has a chance at a normal life. Well, as normal as a life can be when working for the CIA, when the woman he loves works for the CIA, when he has a computer in his brain and has finally learned why not to kill.

He has a chance at that white picket fence future. Casey figures it's something he deserves. He's normal America, he's what Casey's been fighting for all his life and even if sometimes he dreams about long legs tangling with his, he's Colonel John Casey, military man and spy, and picket fences take too much damn painting, at least until he's most of the way down a bottle of whiskey and he's drunk enough that Neil Diamond sounds good. Then, acknowledging the irony, he raises his glass in a toast to young love and the Fourth of July and white picket fences.