John Casey trusted very few people in his life. Maybe five, if that. It seemed strange that four of them were here with him, now. Alex, Morgan, Chuck and Sarah. He would have, albeit reluctantly, given his life for them. He would have died for Alex, been tortured a million times for Chuck, would shoot himself for Morgan. And then there was Sarah... Wonderful, wonderful Sarah. The spy that was so closed off, the spy that was perhaps more private then even him. He would have died a hundred million times for her, repeatedly. To protect her. Sarah with her compassion, and her love and her loyalty and her secretive ways. Secrets he could understand. God knows he has plenty or secrets himself. But Sarah had more. Chuck loved Sarah. He could see it in his eyes, the way they glazed over when she was there. Casey's eyes were always sharp and clear, alert, ready for anything. Chuck would always lean a bit toward Sarah, his arm around her, his hand in hers. Casey would keep himself upright, resisting the urge to take her hand. Chuck loved Sarah. But Casey loved her more. Sarah loved Chuck. It was obvious almost immediately after the first year. She loved his touchy feely ways and his geekiness and his love for confessing emotions. She loved his humor and his Buy More job and his relatives. Sarah loved Casey. She loved his gruffness, his bravery, his secrecy. She loved his respect and experience and his insults and his slightly offensive humor. Sarah loved Casey. But she loved Chuck more. If she had a choice, she would pick Chuck. If Casey had a choice, he would pick Sarah. Chuck loved Sarah. Casey loved her more. Sarah loved Casey. She loved Chuck more.