Chapter Text
All We Leave Behind Us
Chapter One
-x-
It only took one glance towards the parking lot in front of the Wienerlicious to see that Walker was coming in hot. Looked like the word had gotten out, and now on cue, the glass door was one good kick of her boot away from swinging open, and she’d waste no time busting his nuts for not –
“What are you even thinking?” Sarah said, adding a few bad words at the same time the door smacked against the back wall. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Two for one fried hotdogs on Christmas Eve. Eat up, Walker.” Casey tipped his chin towards the boiling vat of corndogs without looking up from the laptop where he was working. He had commandeered one of the diner’s tables, since there was no decent workstation at the fry joint, only an abundance of wiener grease. “See, now I told you.”
“You jerk.” Sarah’s grip tightened on her cell phone. “You know damn well that’s not what I mean.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’re off wieners,” Casey said to his partner as she rounded the display rack of Wienerlicious Christmas Gift cards. Something for the most desperate of shoppers, he figured. “Except Larkin’s. That you’ll eat right up. How does treason taste, anyway?”
“I would say Christmas brings out the asshole in you, Casey, but it’s like any other day around here.”
Casey ignored the jibe, mostly because it didn’t offend him in the least. “ETA on Bartowski?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the Buy More. Since the report on the Taiwanese ambassador still had holes in it as big as Larkin’s ego before it was ready for the bureaucrats to review, he didn’t bother looking over.
“He’s locking up the cage and reviewing the customer log. Ten minutes.” Sarah checked the live video feed steaming on her phone just to make sure he hadn’t managed to get kidnapped in the past three minutes. “Plenty of time to tell me what the fuck you’re thinking.”
The words were precise and expressive from a woman who didn’t show much anger. Welcome to the dark side, CIA. Yeah, she was pissed, probably thinking he had missed a link in the chain of command, with Walker being lead agent and overall Bitch-in-Charge on this mission. Not his chain anymore, sister.
“Wanna do this, Walker? Fine. I need to brief you on a situation.” Now that their bosses had leaked the word to her, he might as well play her game. He should at least let Walker hear it from him.
“Brief me, Major,” Sarah snapped.
“And let’s do this fast, because the nerd will be barging in any minute.”
“You mean, Chuck. You know, your boyfriend?”
“Everyone forgets the word ‘cover.’” Casey pushed his chair back and stood, folded his arms over his chest, but not before he darted a look at the vat countdown timer. He didn’t want to add the stink of burned wieners to this conversation. Seeing they had another minute before the crispy-charred stage, he angled back around to eyeball her. Rain dripped off her hair and jacket, courtesy of the coldest Christmas on record in Southern California. Bleak and biting, they had called it on the news. Casey called it fit for wussies. “I’ve re –“
“Oh, stop right there, Casey!” Sarah threw her hand up in a sarcastic gesture. “Let me guess. You’ve requested a transfer out of here.” Raking her eyes over him from his laced ankle boots to his feathered Bavarian hat, she scoffed. “Looks like everything I heard about the Marines was a lie after all. They really do run home when the going gets tough. Does Momma Beckman have a new assignment that won’t let your feelings get in the way, John?”
Casey’s reply was to walk over to the deep fryer and get the wieners out of the hot oil. “I’ve been goaded by a hell of a lot more than the CIA,” he said. “So bring it on, Walker.”
She pushed some hair back from her face, apparently deeming the insult route futile. “How can you do this, Casey?” she asked. “How can you just leave when Chuck needs you in his life right now?” As she stepped closer to the counter, Walker let out a sigh. “We both do.”
Casey hooked the wire Fri-olator basket on its hanger to let the batch of dogs drain. After cleaning up a splatter, he walked up to the counter that separated them, preparing to face off with her. “That kid doesn’t need me in his life. Hell, Walker. We both know I’m his worst nightmare.”
“That’s not true.” Sarah leaned forward and placed her hands on the stainless counter. “He trusts you. Despite everything that’s happened, I think ... well, he actually likes you. God help him,” she added under her breath.
“You gotta face facts, Walker. I requested a transfer. Beckman accepted it.” Even though it took playing a few aces in his back pocket to get her to agree, she finally did. Rule two, after the Cardinal Rule, was this: a good spy always kept some leverage stashed away. “In less than two weeks, I can say good-bye to all of this,” and he motioned cynically between the cash register and the condiment station. “And say hello to a cave in an undisclosed location. Deep cover, so no calls out. Heaven, right there.”
“You have a twisted view of heaven,” Sarah muttered, watching as Casey wiped his hands on a dishcloth and came back around the counter to the dining area. “But you still haven’t told me the reason. Why on earth would you do this? Especially now?”
“Why?” Casey snorted and shook his head. “Have you gotten a good look at me, Walker? This get-up?”
Her blue eyes subjected him to a perusal. “Hard to miss a man your size in lederhosen and suspenders, so yes. I could say you ... know how to fill out a bun, Casey.”
Casey leaned those buns against the counter in case she got any ideas to get another look. “Lederhosen so damn snug I need a fucking crow bar to get my boxers off at night.”
“And I understand sales of vegan, organic wieners are way up among the housewives within a twenty mile radius of this franchise,” Sarah said as she pretended to look around for the source of magnetism to bring the diners inside when they both knew it was south of Casey’s broad back. Obviously, she found the unwanted attention to his buns damned amusing if the way she cocked her brow was any indication. “Seems like I’ve seen crowds every day hungry for wiener. Management must be proud of you.”
“Meat lovers all the way, bitch,” Casey muttered back at her. “And look at these socks, for Christ sakes. They go up to my goddamn knees.”
“Mmm.” Sarah’s eyes wandered down and back up again. “I never knew you had such slender, shapely calves until we stuffed you in Bavarian britches. The green shirt and khakis would’ve been wasted on you.”
“Torture, Walker? If you wanted to see it, try waterboarding. I hear you spooks have the market cornered on that technique.”
Sarah lifted her eyes to really stare at him. Gone was her momentary jollity. Instead, the woman looked like a very pale, very serious operative. “I’m sorry this operation didn’t go the way you planned, Major.” She didn’t sound sorry. The bitch was trying to make a point about her team going pear-shaped, like he needed a lesson from the Spooks in White. “No one knew until we arrived on the scene that the roles would need to be ... unconventional.”
“Unconventional,” Casey repeated and he lobbed a glare that usually sent seasoned spies back a step. “I’m a Major in the US Marine Corps. I was flying fighter jets when you were worrying about boys seeing your training bra through your t-shirt. I’ve lead more missions than you’ve had one night stands, and knowing your CIA tactics, that’s saying something.”
Sarah’s face hardened and she sauntered in a few steps. He did have to begrudgingly admire her for that. “What happened to you after Halloween? You were going to stick it out, weren’t you? Chuck was happy, actually happy, with the way things were going between you. And you seemed to accept that your role here was to –“
“Wear skin-tight pants and cozy up to a man-boy-geek?”
There was no other way to put a happy-ass spin on that. As soon as it was confirmed that the mark had a taste for a different kind of wiener, well, the shit blew off the mission. By the time Casey reported for work on the second day at the Buy More, the green shirt was ripped from his back, he was stuffed in obscenely short pants and slapped with a curly-headed nerd of a boyfriend. Never in hell did he think he’d have one of those. It was all for the cover, of course, they told him. To stay close, to keep the kid safe.
And since he’d be busy playing patty-cake with the new Intersect, a completely helpless civilian needing round-the-clock babysitting, Walker was immediately designated the lead operative, which sat in his craw just as hard. When he thought the mission couldn’t get worse, now he was going to have a woman telling him what the hell to do. He would’ve gotten married if he wanted that kind of yoke around his neck. Poor slobs.
“Answer the question, Major,” Sarah ordered.
“Need to spell it out, Walker? Or weren’t you paying attention once Larkin breezed back into town?” When she didn’t blink, Casey rolled his eyes and picked up an empty ketchup bottle. Might as well be productive if he was going to have this talkfest. “We both know the kid seemed to get an appetite for hard salami.”
“You should’ve done something as soon as Lou moved in to your territory. Not like you, Major, to let a foreign operative take over your turf.”
“Hell, you saw the sandwich maker,” Casey argued. “Chuck has a weakness for brunettes, and this guy seemed to push every button –“
“Your buttons, Casey,” Sarah pointed out, handing him a half-empty ketchup bottle without looking at it. “You should’ve been pushing them, for God sakes. It’s what Chuck is begging for!”
Casey grabbed the bottle from her and began combining it with another half empty. Why the fuck couldn’t people just finish one first without starting a new one? “The kid doesn’t do big and scary, Walker. Why do I have to explain this to you? He needs cute, like that ... damn sandwich maker – that guy is flirty, smart –”
“As opposed to you being smart, funny – in your own way – and a challenge,” and Sarah leaned in close, this time speaking lower, “He’s Chuck Bartowski. He likes a challenge. And no matter how much you want to deny it, he likes you. I see the way he looks at you when you’re not even paying attention. You’re what he wants.”
Casey scowled down at her for a second. When he squirted the bottle, it made an unholy sound, which seemed fitting for that remark. “I don’t belong here. I belong out there.” He nodded towards the doorway to the dusky parking lot. “I take care of problems no one else wants to know about. I break things that need to be busted up. That’s my job, Walker. Handling the dangerous things so that these morons can go through life buying big screen TVs and hot dogs.”
“But you’ve never faced anything as dangerous as Chuck Bartowski, have you?” Sarah asked, resting a hip on the condiment station. “As dangerous as finding out you actually care what happens to him?”
“Are you smoking something other than Larkin’s cigar?” Casey growled, snatching a mustard bottle next. Some imbecile had let mustard ooze down the side of it, so he snatched a napkin out of the holder to wipe his hands. “That kid’s as dangerous as a three-legged kitten tied up in a gunny sack.”
Sarah handed him another napkin, but instead of backing off, she kept her gaze steady on his face. “Denial. How achingly typical of you. You won’t admit it, but that’s the reason, isn’t it?”
“Pass me the onions.” When she did, Casey put the lid on them and began lining up the containers that would need to get stored in the refrigerator overnight. “Know what’s not a surprise? A woman reading too much into a situation. This is about me, Walker. Why don’t you get that? It’s simple. I requested a transfer. It was accepted.” He took one final look at the condiment station, picked up the plastic jugs, paused to squint at her. “I’m bugging out.”
“So that’s it – feelings get in the way, and you run?”
“The only feeling I have is the itch in my trigger finger,” Casey said, and he couldn’t help but just smirk at her, “which will be scratched when I get to my new assignment. Location is outside your paygrade, so don’t wait for a postcard.”
“Because you need more gunplay. You expect me to believe that?” Sarah just shook her head. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve been able to get in enough time with your favorite playthings in the past few weeks to make any neurotic soldier happy. Even a few kill shots. So that right there should’ve really brightened your day, Casey.”
“If you’re about done here, Walker,” Casey said, returning from the refrigerator, “I’ve got a grease vat to clean.”
“You owe me more than that, Agent,” Sarah demanded and put her hands on her hips. If she was trying to appear intimidating, the puckered green polo shirt and khakis really completed the look. Heh. “What the hell happened after Halloween?”
“That was Halloween. Turns out I do scary a hell of a lot better than family bonding crap.” Casey grunted, and picking up a mesh strainer, began to scoop up stray corndog dough out of the grease. Leaving them there until morning stunk the place up more than it already did. “Who knew, eh?”
“When did you decide?” Sarah asked.
Casey tossed the strainer in the sink behind the counter and angled back around, meeting her eyes squarely. “Thanksgiving.”
“Bryce,” she said.
“Irreparable harm, Walker,” Casey corrected through gritted teeth. “It didn’t sit so well with the geek when he found out I was the one that got to plug Bryce Larkin the night he blew up the original Intersect. I guess that was another bang-up job by the CIA analysts. Nice way to find out about the college crush and torrid little affair the new Intersect had on the slimy, little traitor.”
“As it ended up, or maybe you’ve chosen to forget, Bryce is not a traitor.” Sarah’s look finished the sentence: get off the Bryce excuse. “And it had to make you happy to know that Chuck still has a healthy dislike of his ex-best friend.”
Casey shrugged, because yeah, he had to respect the kid for that. Amused the piss out of him actually. “It’s done,” he said as he walked over to the door to flip the electronic LED sign to Closed. Two minutes early, so sue him. “First week of January, I get to leave this shithole behind. Too bad. I’ll miss the knickers and the yoga-pants wearing mamas sashaying through here.”
“You can’t do this. It puts Chuck in too much danger.”
“He’ll have you to protect him – and my replacement is being vetted as we speak.”
“We already know Fulcrum has infiltrated the agency. What if the new team member can’t be trusted?”
“Let Beckman do her job. She’ll pick the right man.”
“Chuck’s going to miss you,” Sarah argued.
“Bullshit,” Casey said, opening the cash register to start counting out the bills. “Keep in mind, Chuck doesn’t find out until it happens. Orders higher than yours, Walker. The bigwigs don’t want the news of my departure messing with the Intersect. With Fulcrum getting closer, the nerd needs –”
“You,” Sarah broke in adamantly. Instantly, she moved to stand directly in front of him, her expression absolutely grim. “You are what he needs.”
“To keep it between the lines, Walker,” Casey told her. “The kid gets jittery when things around him change.”
“If you know that, then why, John?” Sarah put her hand over the cash drawer to get him to look up. “Why the hell do you insist on doing this?”
“I’m not what that kid needs,” Casey told her, ignoring the discomfort that made him want to shove her out the door and lock up for the night in peace. Instead, he slid the ridiculous Alpine hat off his head and gave it a toss onto one of the tables. His hair was flattened down by the dreaded green and feathered piece of felt, so he took a second to drag his hand through the ends. “He needs a reality check. Chuck is still under the naïve impression that the less things change for him the more they’ll stay close to ‘normal’. The first order of business for my replacement – once he kisses up to the nerd, gets him cozy in the sack and compliant – is to teach him that his life is never going to be normal again.”
“Casey, how can you just stand there and say everything is going to be fine? Just last night, when you dropped him off, Chuck told you again he would’ve never made it out of the Buy More alive at Thanksgiving without you.” Sarah moved into his line of sight again. Her eyes dared him to look away. “Tommy, Fulcrum .... You were the one who saved him.”
“Bryce did.”
“You carried him out of harm’s way.”
“What can I say? The kid’s portable and doesn’t put up much of a fight. Pass me the coin bag.”
“What is it going to take to get you to stay? If you leave, he’s going to be ... heartbroken.”
Casey felt guilt slide a nice little dagger between his ribs. It did confirm Walker was listening in to their conversations when Chuck awkwardly tried to tell Casey how he felt, which only solidified Casey’s decision to vanish. He didn’t need that kind of surveillance up his ass. “He’ll be better off.” Without bothering to explain anymore, Casey slammed the cash drawer shut and held up a hand before she could get in another question. “If you’re done here, I have to finish this up so that I can –”
“Casey, listen to me –” she started, but a tapping on the glass made them glance over sharply at the door.
When Casey swung around, he could see Chuck standing on the other side of the large pane, motioning that the door was locked. As if Casey didn’t know he had just locked it when he flipped the sign for this very reason? The last thing he needed was for the Human Intersect to come bouncing in on a Christmas Eve Red Bull high and inadvertently get a piece of news that might leave a turd in his pumpkin pie.
Shooting a warning look at Walker to can the inquisition, Casey walked over to the Wienerlicious’ door and turned the deadbolt. Normally, being locked out would earn both of them a nerdy, suspicious side eye, but the kid was coming off a sixteen-hour shift and now freed for the holiday, so he was lighter in his Chuck’s than usual.
“So. Christmas Eve,” Chuck drawled. After a moment, he ambled in slowly, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Isn’t this where we forget the spy stuff and have a little – oh, I don’t know – fun?” He was looking point blank at Casey. “I mean, the mission was a success, right guys? Lon Kirk is on his way to jail, or wherever you kids put philanthropists to the Taiwanese nationals who smuggle counterfeit dollars out of the country, and my good buddy did not get blown to the sky by a GPS-guided bomb.”
“No, but my Porsche can now fit in a tin can,” Sarah noted dryly.
Casey choked on a snort and ended up covering it with a polite cough. Best damn part of the mission was taking out Walker’s beloved baby, and he was thankful he had stuck around long enough to see that spectacle at the marina.
“Um, about that.” Chuck smoothed a hand down his tie, something Casey had seen him do dozens of times when the kid was uncomfortable, and turned to his coworker. “Sarah, have I said how sorry I was about that?”
“No, but you will. Forty thousand times, at least, if we go by Blue Book value.”
“You do know that would take me years to pay back,” Chuck pointed out, slanting a look at Casey for support. Why the hell did he always do that?
“Leave your car out of this, Walker,” Casey grumbled at her. When Sarah strolled closer to the Intersect, Casey elbowed in between them. “German piece of shit anyway. We all know the kid had about fifteen seconds to make a decision. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the greater good.” And fuck, he had to bite down on his lip not to smirk at her since it was her precious car that bit it this time. “So what. Get over it.”
Sarah stood frozen in front of him, silently fuming, while Chuck backed up a few steps. “Again, sorry.” The kid mustered up a weak smile. “But ... what he said, Sarah.”
The blonde mumbled something. If it sounded anything at all like ‘Great. Now the boyfriends stick together,’ Casey figured it was a slam at him considering what she had just learned from the higher ups. Deeming Chuck’s penance over, however, she rubbed a hand over the back of her neck and surveyed them intently with pursed lips. Casey didn’t like that look.
“Chuck, when we were in the breakroom earlier,” Sarah said, “you mentioned that you needed to ask Casey something. Time is running out, so you might as well do it now.”
Chuck shot Sarah a betrayed look. Sarah caught the expression and merely inclined her head at him.
“Fine, okay. Um, listen, Casey,” the kid began to stammer, using the fingers of one hand to pull on his own thumb, “you see, there’s this thing we need to talk about.”
“Thing?” Sensing this could drag out, Casey swiped a napkin container from one of the tables to refill it. “What thing, Bartowski?”
Chuck abruptly stopped pulling on his finger and instead began idly moving a salt shaker over the table top. “Well, a family thing. A Christmas thing, actually.”
“I don’t do Christmas,” Casey replied, stuffing a stack inside the napkin dispenser. They never fit correctly – must’ve been made in China – so it did take some jamming to get them in the slot. “Pass me the empty sugar packet dispenser.”
Chuck blinked. “Wait. Did you just say you don’t do Christmas?” He only seemed fazed for a few seconds, though, before the blank look was replaced by his wide-eyed curiosity every time he thought he found out something real about his handler/fake boyfriend. “No, no, no, Mr. Superspy. I don’t believe it for a minute. Underneath that crusty and frankly, well, terrifying exterior, I suspect there’s a guy who can let go and enjoy at least one day of the year. Without, you know, being a badass?”
“No,” Casey said. Not looking up, he began to shove the metal lid on the gloppy cornbread mixture behind the counter. Otherwise, it attracted flies.
“No? What do you mean no?”
“Does no mean something else in nerd?”
“But how can you say no to Christmas at the Bartowski’s?”
“Just did,” Casey replied briskly. He tossed the gooey tongs in a sink and turned the faucet on. “Walker, if you’re just going to stand there staring, get a lid on the sauerkraut, will you?”
“Hang on.” Chuck stepped up to the stainless steel counter and put his hands up. “Ellie invited you to dinner,” he said. “And, I know things have been a bit awkward lately, but – aren’t you supposed to be my boyfriend in this scenario? So wouldn’t that mean by default – for the cover – you’ll be spending Christmas with me?”
“Nope.” Casey wiped up a spill with a dishrag. When he noticed the nerd gaping, he gave the kid a shrug. “Don’t you two have a Buy More party to go to?”
“Really? “ Chuck shuffled forward, flicking his eyes pleadingly to Sarah, so obviously they had discussed this. “Just like that?”
“It works for me.” Casey didn’t bother looking over at the blonde, but no doubt her body tensed the way it did when she prepared to reprimand him for a lousy cover job. Well, suck it, Walker. Casey didn’t ask for a nerdy, too-tall boyfriend for Christmas or any other time.
Chuck, on the other hand, still had his jaw hanging open. “Can you tell me what you have against PJs by the fire, a Twilight Zone marathon, and prime rib with Ellie’s horseradish stilton sauce?” he asked. “Morgan invites himself just for that!”
“Morgan?” Casey stopped working to cross his arms in front of his chest. “Thanks for confirming that I don’t want to be there.”
“Come on, big guy, I thought I just heard you say you don’t do Christmas. Seriously? How bad could it have been at the Casey house?”
“Christmas at the Caseys included a clay pigeon contest, my Aunt Nellie insisting we stop and get a bucket of the Colonel’s finest, and my dad lining up all of us cousins by age out behind the barn.”
“Uh, I’m almost afraid to ask, but why?”
“To take turns shooting each other through our winter coats with our new BB guns to see who would cry first.”
“Oh, my God,” Chuck managed, physically cringing. “That’s horrible. I’m – I don’t know what to say.”
“Say?” The sympathetic look on the nerd’s face made Casey’s spine stiffen. “Is there something wrong with that? Hell, maybe we wouldn’t have the pussification of America if more families lined up their kids to shoot them with BB guns on Christmas. How else are they supposed to toughen up the little cry asses?”
Chuck wrinkled his nose at the thought. “With less shooting?”
Casey grunted. Conversation over. That right there was why he couldn’t talk common sense to the kid.
Sarah had witnessed enough of the Intersect trying to hook up for a date that should’ve been a sure thing, so she pushed her hip off the table and moseyed over to Casey. “Major, your cover boyfriend has just invited you over for Christmas, and I think it would be wise of you to accept the invitation.”
“Not happening.”
“But why not?” Chuck asked. “What am I supposed to tell Ellie?”
“Tell her I’m Jewish.”
“Considering our fake relationship, don’t you think that would’ve come up by now?”
“Is she anti-Semitic?”
Chuck gave him an offended look. “Of course not.”
“Then it wouldn’t have come up,” Casey answered with a nod. “We done here?”
Sarah gave one of those assessing looks, one that said they would discuss later and yet again the tone of voice to use with a boyfriend. “Casey, you should go. Chuck’s right. It would be good for the cover.”
“I’m telling you one more time,” Casey shot back. “I don’t do Christmas.” After putting away the frozen fries, he walked in front of Chuck to wipe off a dirty table. “You could get the broom if you have nothing better to do.”
A silence fell over Casey’s soon to be ex-asset, so numbing and brittle that Casey just kept cleaning and ignoring him. He could count with a stopwatch the seconds that would pass before Chuck would just have to speak, so why not let the little geek sit there and suffer for a few moments while Christmas without Casey rattled in his brain?
“Well, what do you know?” Chuck finally asked, sarcasm dripping. “Look, at that, Major.” He pretended to browse the menu board behind the counter, and then felt bold enough to add an equally acerbic salute in Casey’s direction. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a new special on the menu? A ‘Bah Humbug’ Corndog. What comes on that one, anyway? Oh, let me guess: arsenic and rotten cranberries?”
Casey made a mental note to cuff the little smart ass the next time Walker turned her back. “It comes with my foot up your ass. Wanna taste?”
Chuck’s dark eyes coursed over Casey’s stance, up to his face before he looked down, his lashes sweeping his cheeks. At least the nerd had enough sense of survival skills to know he needed to back up another step. And close his trap.
It bothered Casey just a tiny bit that he actually looked hurt. Look at him. The kid had a patent on the kicked puppy-dog eyes, and motherfuck, he knew how to use them. Idiotic long lashes that belonged on a girl anyway.
“I give up, Sarah,” Chuck said, sitting down, dejected, on the edge of one of the tables. “Just tell me the excuse I can give Ellie, okay? Because, honestly, I’m kind of running out of them.”
“Excuses are your boyfriend’s forte.” Sarah failed to hide her contempt behind her steady regard of him. “Maybe we should let Casey suggest what you should tell Ellie.”
“Just tell her the truth,” Casey said. “You always say you’re sick of lying to her.”
“The truth?” Chuck’s brows knit together. “And what would that be?”
“Listening to your family unwrap gifts and drink eggnog makes me want to hurl.” Casey emphasized it with a nod. “There. The truth.”
Chuck flinched at that and looked down at his shoes. In that second Casey saw the evidence to the direct hit to the Intersect’s family, the proof in the rigidity of every muscle in that lean, long body. Sitting there on the table, his legs dangled almost to the floor, and he reminded Casey even more of an innocent kid caught up in something he’d never survive, rather than a young man with a fighting chance.
Casey immediately looked away. It was too dangerous to think of him as any other thing than an asset with a target on his head. His future was already signed in ink.
“Well, that’s just fine, then. I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, Casey.” He gave one more hang-dog look and rubbed his arms. “Do you have to keep it so cold in here?”
“Want me to turn up the heat? Waste taxpayer dollars?”
“Or Wienerlicious LLC Dollars?”
“Nope.”
“You mean ..?” Chuck scanned the restaurant and paled. “This is a front? How long do you guys plan on, uh, being here?”
Nine days and twelve hours, sport.
“That depends on a lot of factors, Chuck,” Walker explained, speaking up. “Our scientists, Beckman and Graham’s risk assessment ... and our ability to keep this operation under wraps. Without letting any threats inside our circle.”
Casey ignored the jab. Leave it to Walker to come up with the pansy, soothing answer. You, kid. It depends on when you manage to get yourself killed.
“Still, it’s freezing in here,” Chuck pointed out. “Can’t we just bump up the heat a little? Even Southern Cali can have a cold snap this time of year.”
“Put on a coat,” Casey told him. “I’m hot.”
Chuck bit down on his bottom lip and turned bright red. He muttered something that sounded like ‘Thanks for the reminder, US Government,’ but it could’ve been an aural illusion. And Christ, Chuck did not just look Casey up and down when he thought his cover boyfriend was busy scraping out the pickle vat, did he? Sometimes, he forgot how gay the kid really was.
Fuck, these pants are way too snug on the ass.
“Now, can we nudge up the thermostat just a little? I like my Red Bull chilled but this is ridiculous.”
“Told you. Not wasting taxpayer funds.” Casey walked over to recount the cash from the cash drawer. The money brought in by the Wienerlicious front didn’t begin to cover the cost of the operation, but it was something else the NSA agent took seriously. “If you two insist on hanging around yacking my ear off, you should at least –”
Another knock at the door made all three of them turn. Bartowski nearly fell off the table, he spun so fast, but the kid had been shot at a few times in the past few weeks, so Casey chalked it up to nerves. His own hand reached behind his back, up and under the white fitted shirt to the SIG tucked safely away, and he kept it there when he saw he didn’t recognize the two men standing outside the window.
“Expecting visitors, Casey?” Next to Casey, Sarah had discreetly reached ar0und and under her green shirt for her gun, her arm tense as she prepared to aim if necessary.
“Nah. Let’s find out what we have here.” Automatically, each spy stepped in front of the Intersect and closer to the door.
When there wasn’t the immediate blast of a weapon, Casey exchanged a hard glace with Sarah and narrowed his eyes at the two. Scruffy blue jeans, windbreaker jackets and khakis. They both needed haircuts. Worse, one was holding a large can labeled the ‘One Acre Fund.’
Casey strode right up to the glass. “What do you want?” he growled loud enough for them to hear through the thick pane.
“Um, hi there.” The two men shared an uncomfortable look. “We’re collecting donations to start an urban garden for the hungry. A few of the businesses in the plaza are all pitching in with–”
“Ah, Christ,” Casey said tersely. Thankfully, the government had the foresight to install steel blinds over the large expanse of glass, and while he stared into the startled men’s faces, the blinds unfurled to the floor with a satisfying clang, blocking out the little panhandlers. “No thanks. Now scatter before I scatter you.”
When Casey turned back to the dining room, he was greeted by two gaping looks. Chuck’s brows were up to his hairline. “That was kind of rude, don’t you think?” he asked.
“What’s rude, Intersect, is that people aren’t willing to get off their asses and get jobs, so they decide to suck off the government’s teat. And when that dries up, they expect us hardworking guys to foot the bill.”
For some reason, Chuck buried his forehead in his hands. Sarah was shaking her head at him as if they would need to talk about this later. “You know,” the kid said, “maybe it is best that you don’t come over for Christmas. I’ll be right back.”
Chuck unbolted the deadlock, pushed the door open, and disappeared. The two spies could hear him speaking to the men, followed by the clang of coins hitting the bottom of that can. After a minute or so, the Intersect waltzed back in with one hand behind his back. He walked right up to Casey and stopped in front of him, looking skittish, but that wasn’t new.
“I guess you won’t see me tomorrow – so here.” Chuck held out a snowflake-decorated box with a red bow wrapped around it. He must’ve left it outside on one of the benches. “It’s not much ... but ....” The kid mustered up a smile, and the tension lines in his forehead and cheeks smoothed out ever so slightly.
That was the look he had given the damn sandwich maker. Why was he trying to butter him up with a cute smile?
He did not just think that.
“What’s that?” Casey asked, flashing a look down at it suspiciously.
Chuck noted the reaction and rolled his eyes. “A gift.” He flicked a look at Sarah again, who was watching the proceedings very carefully. “I’ll wait and give you your present tomorrow, Sarah, if you’re willing to come over. Um, are you in?”
“Of course,” she assured him. “I’ll be there.”
“But, I guess I have to give you your present now,” and when Chuck turned to his fake boyfriend, he still had that brave yet sad smile pointed at Casey, “since it seems I’m not going to see you.” Another tentative step brought him right up to Casey, and now the agent got a whiff of the kid’s clean skin, a little aftershave and soap. When Casey didn’t automatically put a palm out, Chuck tried to stuff the gift in Casey’s hand. “Here.”
“No – take it back,” Casey said. This whole exchange made the spy uncomfortable enough to want to attack the filthy beverage station next. “You forgot, kid. I will see you tomorrow.”
“You ... will?” Chuck’s smile went crooked and real. Unbelievable. This kid really was almost too good to live. That was reason enough to have to get out of here.
Casey gave him look: get real. “Yeah. You think just because the calendar says December 25th, that we get a day off? You think Fulcrum‘s taking a day off? The scumbags that will do anything to get a hold of that thing trapped in that head of yours?”
“What?” Chuck took his eyes off Casey long enough to send an imploring look to Sarah and nearly dropped the white-papered gift. “You mean I have to work tomorrow? I mean, spy work?”
“Hell, yes, you do. Flash reports. Physical training. You’ll be at my place at five –“
“But – but that’s Ellie’s dinner – “ and Chuck hedged. “Unless ... you want to come?”
“Nah. Make it six, then. Bring a plate of leftovers.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“But if you’re late –“
“You’ll dock my pay?”
They both know the government hadn’t anteed up for the kid’s services, so the cynicism earned Chuck a firm shoulder bump as his handler stalked up to him. Sometimes he had to show the kid who was in charge. “I’ll make an excuse to come and get you,” he told the baffled Intersect. “Keep with your social customs, if you must, but get that noggin in order by evening.” His eyes traveled down the kid’s body and back up. Casey grunted in a way that managed to perfectly convey the fact Chuck wasn’t getting out of there tomorrow night anytime soon, either.
“I don’t believe this,” Chuck said.
“Spindly arms, too. By the time we’re heading into the New Year, I want you to be able to at least punch yourself out of a paper bag, Bartowski.”
Chuck shot him a dirty look. “Merry Christmas to you, too, John.” Tucking the gift under his arm, he looked over at Sarah and nodded. “The Buy More Christmas, er, holiday party is starting, Sarah. And I really want to go check on Morgan ... after the run-in with the stockroom ladder?”
“What happened to the Moron? Lemme guess, he tried to hump the thing.”
The dirty look broadened to a scowl. “You wouldn’t care, anyway. Ready, Sarah?” Chuck tilted his head. “Oh, but you may want to stay clear of the eggnog. Jeff’s special brew.”
Sarah checked her watch. The annual Buy Moronian bash was unavoidable, unless your name was John Casey, so the agent who would be free after closing his store couldn’t help but briefly smirk at her. “Give us a minute?” she asked the kid. There was really no point in playing dumb here, as if it wasn’t about the Intersect, so she added, “You should know, Chuck. With the blinds down, the glass is soundproof.”
Chuck exchanged a long-suffering look between his handlers. “I guess that’s my cue. I’ll wait outside, then.” Giving the NSA agent a final once-over with those dark brown eyes, he pasted on a strained, fake smile. “Good night, Casey. Oh,” he remembered, shoulders sagging, “and Merry Christmas.”
As soon as the door closed, Sarah strode up to Casey, making him look down at her. She met and held his gaze, now beyond disgusted with him. “This isn’t over. You still have time to change your mind.”
“Accept it, Walker,” Casey said. Approaching the table near the back facing the door, he sat down in front of his laptop again. “I’m out of here.”
“Don’t you think his life has been screwed up enough in the past three months without losing the only boyfriend he’s had in five years?”
“Fake boyfriend,” Casey said, surprised to hear sulkiness in his tone.
Sarah’s eyes narrowed, but Casey didn’t look away from the screen. “Not to him, you aren’t.”
“He’s afraid of me. And for my part, I see nothing wrong with that. Means the kid has a healthy respect for things that can kill him.”
“He’s frustrated!”
“Why?”
“Because he’s the most likable man on the planet,” Sarah said, “but for some ungodly reason, he can’t get the agent assigned to him to see any appeal. You know, to actually like him!”
“I don’t have to like him. I have to keep him alive. And by this time next week, it will be had to.”
“But in reality, secretly, you do ... like him.”
“Like hell I do,” Casey said, his fingers closing briefly over his knee cap. He spared a glimpse at the thick blinds where the kid was waiting on the other side. “Better get over to your party.”
“All right,” Sarah said, looking distinctly unhappy about the prospect as she tucked her S&W back in her pants. “I was beginning to think you were a different man than the one in your dossier. Guess I was wrong.” After a moment, she squeezed past him, deliberately knocking the table. “I better get back to my asset, but good luck.”
-x-
Casey frowned down at his laptop and punched a few keys, for now saving the hopeless file. Maybe he could splash a bit of fucking sunshine on it in the morning. As it stood now, the way it read, he and Walker looked like a bunch of newbie FBI agents who couldn’t find their asses with both hands wrapped around them backwards and their heads firmly up them. If it weren’t for trusting Chuck’s instincts, the entire op would’ve gone up in flames. Instead of just Walker’s car.
“Hey, if it makes you feel better, it was for the mission, CIA,” he said to himself, failing to withhold a smile even though Sarah and the kid left over an hour ago. The parking lot explosion was the only redeeming aspect of the mission. The look on her face was almost worth wearing painted-on pants and having a nerdy, cute boyfriend.
Fuck – what? If there was any more proof needed that he had to sever himself from this toxic situation.....
At least he wouldn’t have to lie to the blonde another day about his departure. It had been a long few days, long enough that the simple act of sitting on the information made him feel like he was doing something wrong. He already had one person in his life he had to lie to on a daily basis.
You’ll live, Bartowski. Everything’s going to be fine. The government will take care of you.
In theory, the swap out of handlers would leave Chuck in the capable hands of a man who had the know-how to please the Intersect. It left nothing else in the way. Casey got off scot-free to find comfort in other places, familiar places, like the constant weight of a gun in his hand.
His decision, to leave now, to vanish, like the ghost he’s always been, was not a mistake. Honestly, leaving was the thing he did best, and the killing was merely the act that happened first, the catalyst that hastened his departure.
Outside in the rain, he heard a man and a woman walking along the storefronts. They sounded drunk, maybe with mulled wine or Christmas glee, two things that they should know made you weak. Things that could get you killed. That’s why Casey stayed away from them. There was the sound of a car door opening and closing. Then nothing.
Casey leaned back in his chair and glanced at the stack of latest Intersect flash files from the analysts. Chuck’s homework for tomorrow, so he grabbed his briefcase from behind the counter and scooped up the papers.
Before he could go get his laptop off the table, the cash register beeped. Beckman incoming. “Never let it be said the NSA sleeps at Christmas,” he mumbled. Crossing behind the counter, he pressed the activation keystrokes and assumed his rigid posture, face implacable. He kept his thumb tucked in his waistband, hand gripping his other wrist.
“General,” Casey said, giving a nod to her video image on the small pop-up screen. By all appearances, she was in her home office. There was no sign of a flag behind her desk and she was in a simple light blue top instead of her starchy, navy jacket strewn with brass stars and medals.
Beckman still managed to look as unapproachable as ever. “Major.” The redhead looked displeased, but Casey rarely had seen her otherwise. As usual, she wasted no time getting to the point of her call. “Graham has informed Agent Walker that I’ve accepted your request for a transfer.”
Casey kept his neutral expression up, but inwardly, he groaned. Way to go, bureaucrats. Nothing like getting timely Intel around here. “Understood,” he said, remaining stoic. “Agent Walker informed me this evening that she’s been briefed on the imminent change in our – her – team here in Burbank.”
“Good,” Beckman replied, folding her hands on the desk. That would be the end of it. “I also wanted to apprise you, Major, on the vetting process of your replacement. The agency analysts and psychologists have completed their examination of the top three candidates, and tonight I down-selected the new member of Team Intersect.”
“Who is it?” Casey asked.
“I’m afraid in your new standing as an outbound member, protocol dictates that I cannot reveal that information to anyone else.” General Beckman pushed a glossy folder off to the side, giving it a tell-tale scan right before her eyes cut to her agent. “Even you, Casey.”
“I understand protocol, General.” Casey kept his voice even, though he felt something oily and distant begin to grow through his middle. The finality was crawling in. It didn’t stop the company answer from falling off his lips like water. “The fewer people who know the team and its objectives, the safer the Intersect will be. And all of our secrets.”
Beckman was frowning as she examined him, taking in the suspenders, white shirt and the top of his lederhosen, before shifting her focus back up to his face. “But I can tell you our psychologists are in full agreement that he is the perfect specimen to keep the Human Intersect in check. Compliant, if you will.”
For some reason, Casey hated the sound of that. “Let me guess. Leanly built brunette, short, flirty, and is into pastrami on rye. “ Wants to spread mustard on a nerd.
“I suppose that’s a reference to the unfortunate situation with Lou, the deli owner.” On the screen, the general paused. “However, we were ... quite surprised by the results of the analytics.”
“You’ve been running tests on the kid’s brain?”
“The Intersect’s brain. The data we assimilated from the scans indicate that the most appropriate match to synthesize with the subject was ... “ – and she debated for a moment while her curious scrutiny swept over him – “well, like you.”
“Me? I don’t get it,” Casey said.
Apparently, his expression became confused enough to make her hesitate before biting back the tiniest of a smile. The general then gained composure and motioned a hand towards the file. “Tall, well-built, above average intelligence, a ... dominant personality,” she explained. “But of course, with one difference. A sexual orientation that suits the Intersect’s.”
Yeah, can’t forget that detail, since the poor, giant idiot would be wearing constricting knickers, serving up wieners to the public during the day and to the Human Intersect at night. In no time, most likely, the kid would be coming off a five-year drought, so playing hard to get probably wouldn’t be an issue. Hell, the agency’s Casey-look-alike would be inviting him for sleepovers within a week.
“Is something wrong, Major?”
When Casey’s eyes snapped back to the screen, he saw that she had arched a brow at him. Quickly, he shook his head and lifted his chin. “No, General. Is that it for this evening?”
“Yes – oh, wait. No. There’s one other thing I wanted to share with you.”
“Yes, general?”
She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in front of her. He swore her face softened. “I’m afraid I have bad news, John.”
Shit. Whenever she used his first name, there was no other kind of news. Casey, to his credit, didn’t flinch or break eye contact. Instead, he waited.
“Colonel Robert Murley was killed yesterday,” the general said. “He was leading a combat reconnaissance patrol through the Gowardesh Valley. His team engaged a force of twenty insurgents occupying fighting positions. He called in close air support, but I’m afraid another hundred insurgents ambushed them as his squad conducted battle.”
Casey remained still, his arms enduringly unbent at his sides now. Out of sight, his hands bunched up into fists.
“Murley displayed extraordinary valor by drawing fire away from his squad, killing insurgents in the process. His ... actions cost him his life, but you’ll take solace in the fact he saved the lives of seven members of his team. He’ll be awarded the Medal of Honor.”
Casey felt something rise in his stomach. He pushed it back.
“I know that you fought side by side in Iraq. I realize he was a mentor to you, Casey, and you should know, he respected you as deeply. The Colonel was pleased to see his brightest pupil suceed so well in the agency.” Beckman let out a sigh. “He will be missed.”
Casey nodded slowly. “Yes, Ma’am,” he answered. “Will there be a family memorial service?”
“Not in this case. As you know, Robert Murley dedicated his life to our country. He never married, and as I understand it, hadn’t spoken to his family in years. I believe there will be a simple interment ceremony at Arlington in a few weeks. You’ll be back home by then, John. It would be good to have one person in attendance besides the honor guard. I’ll make sure we forward you the arrangements.”
“Yes.” Good, she had assured him, so he needed to repeat it to believe. It will be good.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Beckman paused as her finger hovered over the keyboard. “Merry Christmas, Casey.”
The screen cut off.
Casey waited until the light flickered to black, and he counted to ten. The sting and shock of it reverberated around the cold, dim diner. Something shuddered up from his gut, a primal violent urge to punch his fist through a table.
Just like that. He was gone.
Shaking his head, he backed away from the cash register. His jaw tightened, visible evidence that he had let this get to him, when nothing should get behind the wall he had put up around himself all these years. It made him weak, susceptible.
Well, to hell with being weak. It was not allowed. It was a soldier’s prerogative to die with honor.
Seeing his reflection in the monitor, he squared his shoulders, not even grimacing any longer, and went back to stuffing away the laptop. That report wasn’t going to write itself, but he’d have most of December 25th to work on it. Alone.
He was not a bastard. Not a selfish bastard. He was soldier.
-x-
Even as Casey had his hand on the door handle, out of habit, his eyes skimmed over the diner one more time. When he saw it, he thought about just leaving it there, but after a moment of hesitation, Casey set his briefcase on the table and strode over to the long stainless steel counter where guests put fixings on their dogs.
“Thought I told Walker to put that away,” he mumbled to himself. A Costco-sized glass jar of horseradish sauce sat right there on the condiment station. Half gone, which meant it needed to go in the walk-in refrigeration or the sauce would be ranker than it already was when he opened the store a day and a half from now. “Thanks a lot, CIA.”
Tucking it under his arm, Casey crossed the room to the back of the store, turned to the right, and stopped in front of the refrigerator’s large steel door.
A grey face stared back at him through the tiny window pane of the refrigerated room.
“Son of a –“ Casey jolted. He managed to hang onto the horseradish jar, but only just by a hairsbreadth. The shock of finding out he wasn’t alone sent adrenaline tearing through his bloodstream. A millisecond later, his spy training kicked in. Casey hunched down low, ducked to the side of the doorway. One hand set the jar down while the other reached behind him, palmed the grip of his SIG and leveled it at the door.
God damnit. How long had someone been in there? Did the intruder hear them talking about the Intersect? How could they not? Which meant the mission was now utterly fucked and compromised beyond repair. Great.
Casey did a quick scan of the narrow hallway, over to the right and across the pantry shelves. There was nowhere to hide and it was empty, as had been the dining room. His mind automatically and rapidly recalled every detail of the walk-in refrigerator. Eight by ten, no other window, no other way in or out. Wide, stacked metal shelves lined each wall and no one could fit behind them. The perpetrator could be working alone, or there could be a few men laying low in there.
Either way, they were sitting ducks. A position Casey would take to his full advantage.
Glancing back at the door, Casey blocked out the sound of his heart throbbing through his shirt and listened. Not a sound came from the cooler, save for the hum of the cooling unit. Staying low with his back to the wall, Casey eased a hand on the doorknob and slowly, very slowly, twisted it. At the count of three under his breath, he shoved it open about a foot, slid the horseradish jar across the checkered linoleum floor, and slammed it shut.
Then he waited for the gunfire to start.
That didn’t happen. Casey heard the jar rattle across the floor and hit one of the metals shelves. There was no sound of glass shattering, only silence after that.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t dealing with complete idiots.
Slinking up the wall, Casey tightened the grip on his SIG, inched forward to the door. Time to teach the goon what happens to bad boys who listen in where they shouldn’t, and Casey was more than happy to administer that lesson.
The NSA agent took a breath, waited one long, humming eternity – swung the door open, and leveled his SIG dead ahead into the dark.
He got off six shots before he realized no one was returning any gunfire. What the fuck?
Skulking over to the light switch, Casey re-aimed his gun on the ready and flipped it on.
An unholy mess of pickles, horseradish, ketchup, and mustard leaked out of dozens of jars and bottles onto the floor. The cardboard boxes holding hotdogs looked like piñatas after a ten-year-old’s birthday party.
“Who’s in here?” Casey growled, edging forward in his shooting stance.
The smashed row of sauerkraut jars wasn’t talking. His arm swung left, to right, back to the center ... before he finally just lowered the gun to his side. Casey stared hard at every corner and shelf of the refrigerated storage room. It was cool, it was lit like a hospital with harsh, white fluorescent lights, and it was empty.
Still, he had to straighten and look around again, feeling cold sweat on the back of his neck. He saw something, he was positive. A minute ago, there had been a face staring at him on the other side of the glass. It had happened so fast he barely could remember anything else about it ... accept that it was grey. Everything was grey.
What the hell was he thinking? There was no one here.
Casey rolled his eyes at himself, shoved his gun in the back of his pants, and took a second to rub his eyelids. This is what happened when he broke down and had a corndog with spicy mango and habanero pepper sauce. “Fuck California and their queer ass sauces.” he grumbled, grabbing the dustpan and mop. What was wrong with good old Heinz ketchup?
At least the government had sprung for fancy digs at Echo Park, and hey, there was Pepto in the medicine cabinet. A slug of that and a good night’a sleep, and he’d be in tiptop shape to crank the kid’s ass tomorrow.
-x-
Another flash through the windshield heralded the sudden breaking of the storm. The thundering rain pelted down on the roof of his car, heavy thick drops, almost icy, and unheard of Los Angeles. Casey figured the little local pussies had emptied out the grocery stores like the coming Armageddon and were holed up in their homes sipping eggnog and wondering if they’d see their first snowflake in forty years. Wanna see snow, princesses? Come up to the Midwest. I’ll show you snow.
As Casey pulled in at the apartment, he saw the tiny shoe box of a Nerd Herder car wasn’t in its usual space next to the spot where Casey would wedge in his Crown Vic. He figured all of the nerds, geeks, and low-lifes were having just a gas celebrating the holiday despite their pathetic existences. If Morgan was there – and Casey was sure that he was if free food was provided – the kid would want to hang around for a while, and Casey had to smile at the thought of Walker pressing nerd flesh all night on the dancefloor down aisle 2.
He parked as close as he could to the line on the left. After Walker had to watch her precious Porsche go up in a violent puff of smoke, he was sure the bitch would hug the line and force Chuck to door-ding his car when the gangly kid unfolded his limbs from the front seat of the Yaris.
Door ding, bitch? Maybe he’d stop over at the CIA lot where they towed the last smoldering vestiges of her car, take a few pictures, and text them over to her while she was unwrapping gifts with the Bartowski/Woodcomb clan.
God, there were a few perks of this job he was going to miss.
Rolling the car keys around in his pocket as he walked past the courtyard fountain, Casey couldn’t help but give a fleeting look over at the window of Casa Bartowski. The curtains were open a few inches and Casey pulled up short at the sight of Devon and Ellie cuddled together on the cushy sofa, both wearing ridiculous red felt Santa hats. He should’ve felt a bit like a perv for steering closer to the window, but it was still his job to know everything going on with the kid.
They looked comfortable. In love, even.
Casey nearly blinked at himself. What the hell was that all about? God help them.
The rain had picked up, the cold, pellet kind that slithered like dead fingers down his neck. Casey pulled the collar of his jacket closer and stalked over to his own apartment, reached down in his pocket for the key –
A face appeared on the doorknocker at eye level to him. Grey, murky. In pain. The torn flap of skin around what used to be a mouth-opening said, “John Casey.”
It took a moment to register what he was staring at. “Christ.” Casey sucked in a breath and stepped backwards. He wasn’t going to just let it go this time. His fist flew up and he pounded away at the door knocker.
Damn. Hitting only the solid oak, the zing of pain rattled down his arm. It hurt like hell. Casey rubbed at his eyes before they sprung wide again, searched the door wildly up and down.
The face, steaked with black, dried blood, was gone.
“Not real,” he ground out. “Just shows what this damn place is doing to me.” It solidified why he had to get out of Burbank. Now being stuck with the Intersect was playing craps with his mind and his vision. He was always dead straight 20/20 before he met Chuck Bartowski. Especially straight.
Pissed at himself for the new layer of sweat, slick and unwelcome under his shirt, Casey checked out the courtyard one more time for interlopers. Seeing nothing, the NSA agent rolled his eyes at himself and scooped some dripping hair off his face. He fetched the house key from his pocket and slammed it in the lock, cursed the mangos and habaneros again. If the sauce could do that to someone with his head right as it was, he vowed to serve them up to Jeff and Lester the next time they greased the inside of the Weiner store. The mingling of drugs, booze and just plain idiocy with that concoction would be fun to watch.
-x-
When Casey got out of the shower and trudged into the bedroom, stark naked and rubbing a towel over his hair, there was a man sitting in the chair in the corner.
At least, he seemed to be sitting, but maybe the stranger was just crouched there. Could it really be called sitting, only because the first thing Casey noticed was that he could see right through the figure to the chair behind him.
“Hello, John,” the man said. His features were difficult to discern. Especially with the face partially blown off, something Casey had personally witnessed more times than he could count. Shreds of dead skin flapped at the side of the cheek, more hanging from the column of his neck. Throw in the grey color and streaks, and it was hard to say what he was looking at.
“Oh hell, no,” Casey said. The overwhelming flood of anxiety, the closest thing he had before crossing over to terror – which he refused to do – sent goosebumps rippling down his arms. The air in the room crackled as if sparks of electricity pulsed to every corner. As Casey automatically brought the towel down to his waist to cover himself, the feeling of doubt and the very improbability of this night closed in on him next. Staring it down, he said, “This is not happening.”
“Yeah, that’s right. How could I forget? Having someone in your room when you didn’t expect them probably puts even you on edge.” The opaque thing paused while one of its eyes moved lower, assessing him. It would’ve been both eyes, except one was missing and the empty socket jiggled with the reflexive muscle movement but no sight. “Especially since I seemed to have caught you when you’re most vulnerable. Every soldier’s nightmare, right?”
The spirit waited for an answer while Casey, water trickling down his chest and legs, tied the towel low on his hips. With the white terry cloth in place, he straightened his upper body and rose to his full height. The worst move he could make was to show fear. It didn’t stop his muscles from tensing, and there was no hiding that fact since nearly every inch of pale skin from his lean, long calves to his beefy shoulders was out in the open.
For a full half minute, Casey faced off with the thing, not saying a word. He refused to acknowledge that it had spoken. Acknowledging it would mean that this was real, that there was an apparition in his bedroom. And there sure as hell wasn’t.
“Still a man of few words, Johnnie? You want your gun, I suppose.” Next to the chair was a small table. The visitor casually reached over, picked up Casey’s holster where he had left it before stripping down to get in the shower, and tossed the leather gun holster at him. “Here. Catch.”
Casey didn’t miss a beat. When the smooth, solid weight of the holster hit, the agent slipped out the SIG, simply twisted on the silencer, leveled off his aim – and unloaded an entire magazine into the bloody, ravaged apparition that sat in the corner. The shots whizzed like puffs of air, pounding into the back of the chair. It splintered and exploded in a cloud of fabric and stuffing.
The visitor stood up, picked up a bullet that was partially lodged in the wall, and tossed it around in his hand. The one that wasn’t half-severed and dangling from his wrist bone. “Still have the anger issues, too, eh?”
Casey gradually lowered the gun, his eyes narrowed at the man. The first few seconds or so, he tried to both process and make sense of the scene in front of him. Part of him said to pick up and go sleep in the Weiner store tonight, while the other part wanted to find another magazine and see if that smiling fucker could do that little trick again.
“What do you want?” Casey said, finally giving in to talking to the specter.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked. “Or can’t you recognize me like this? I have to admit” – and he chuckled darkly, “I have seen better days.”
That voice. Though the bandage held the jaw in place stiffly, causing the words to grind out behind its remaining bloodied teeth, something rang familiar, something Casey hadn’t heard in years. A hint of a mint julep, Southern nonchalance yet with commanding authority, recognition solidified by the way the man tacked on a low laugh. Murley always saw the humor where there was none.
It couldn’t be. He was ... dead.
“You look good, Johnnie-boy.”
“You’ve looked better,” Casey growled back at him, setting the gun on the nightstand.
The man, the thing on the other side of the room, snorted at him with disdain. “Always were the master of understatement, too.”
Now, that was the truth. The apparition who called himself Murley held no resemblance to the soldier Casey remembered. For one, there were less bullet holes. His skin hung shredded and drooping like fluttering cloth. Fractured bones stuck out of his chest and his jawbone was visible as well. A make-shift bandage made out of a ragged shirt sleeve had been slapped around his head to hold the bottom half of his jaw and essentially his head in place. His sand-colored camo shirt was also hanging from his body, tattered, but the BDU fatigue pants and heavy black boots looked mostly intact.
That wasn’t the strangest sight. It was the steel chains wrapped around his neck, another around his chest, the final two attached at his biceps. Each held a gun in the last soldered link.
“Noticed ‘em, didn’t you? The weapons chained to my body. Some of your favorites, too. A sniper rifle, grenade launcher, submachine gun.” The apparition lifted one arm, rattled it, making a grating, ringing sound. “Made it myself. Took years. Link by link ... bloody inch by inch, I did it. Every last yoke is mine.”
“I’m sorry you died,” Casey said gruffly. Even if he was hallucinating, it seemed like the right thing to say.
The small green eye met his full on, and Casey saw both the cleverness and humor that lurked in their faded depths evaporate “Oh, you’ll be sorry, Johnnie. Sorry in ways you can’t fathom.”
“What the fuck did you mean?” Casey asked. This situation wasn’t even remotely funny anymore. Did someone put the nerds up to this? Hocus pocus with a streaming video, projected from a hidden source to beam over the wall? See if they could make the big, scary boyfriend of their leader crap his lederhosen?
As he opened a dresser drawer to take out his pajamas – it was the normal thing to do, he supposed, and at the moment he needed normal – he told himself he had to keep his imagination at bay. There was this thing called logic. His motion-sensor security system would’ve activated, raining down sulfuric acid on any unwelcome guest at the doorway. So there was no physical way that someone could be in his apartment with him.
“That whole belief about judgment? The day of reckoning?” The apparition gave a short, humorless laugh at the idea of it. “Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Johnnie. It’s true.”
Casey’s eyes drifted over the visitor as he recalled what Beckman had told him earlier in the evening. “You died with valor. You’re a hero,” he said. “You saved lives up to the very end. Your judgment day is nothing to fear.”
“Empty valor has nothing to do with it!” Murley immediately croaked back at him. The whipsaw change in the thing’s demeanor sent Casey back a step before he could stop himself. “My judgment is about my treatment of humanity, my charity, my love for others, that’s a man’s measure, you fucking fool!”
“You saved the others,” Casey argued, tossing the pajamas on the bed. “You proved your treatment of humanity in your last hour. You’re a goddamn hero.”
“Yeah, and I felt nothing. I did what I did for a living. Killing people is fun. So I saved a few men in the process.” There was a moment’s silence while the apparition struggled to control himself. Casey noticed the fingers of the one blotched hand form a fist. “Twelve others died the day before. I didn’t shed a tear because I didn’t allow myself to feel. Feel the loss, the pain, the emotion.”
“You did the right thing. You were the one who taught me it was my duty not to feel. Ever. We had a job to do.”
“It looks like we were wrong, Johnnie-boy.” Murley shook his head slowly, still gazing across the room with desperate loathing. “My job was to be human. I should welcome fear and pain when men and women die, soldiers die.” He rose and stood by the side of the bed now, every aspect of him ragged, the remaining shards of lips cracked and peeling. “I felt nothing,” he said. “I let myself feel nothing.”
“Because you were a strong man,” Casey told him.
“Because I was a hollow man, you asshole!” The scraps of skin hanging from Murley’s jaw made it impossible to scowl, but Casey guessed that’s what he meant to do. “We made a mistake when we told ourselves it was okay to detach from all others.”
“We did what we had to do.” Casey, realizing he was foolish for displaying modesty to a man who wasn’t here – this isn’t happening – dropped the towel and hastily slid on his pajama pants. “A marine on duty has no family. No friends.”
“Bullshit!” Murley went on staring at him. “That’s why we fight, you pompous prick. A soldier who sacrifices his own soul forgets why he’s out there in the first place. What is worth the fight. I forgot that, Johnnie. You forgot it, too.”
Humbug. “I didn’t forget.” Casey slammed his arms through the sleeves of his sleep shirt and shrugged it over his head. “I chose to leave it behind.”
“That’s why I’m here, Major, so get that look off your face and listen up.”
He still had it. That commanding tone had Casey’s spine straightening. Hell, he had to stop himself from standing at rigid attention.
“Why the hell should I?”
Murley approached him and bent his head in, so the blood-soaked hair swung down over his forehead. His words were very low, almost a whisper. “You can avoid my fate. You will be visited by three spirits tonight. You must listen to them or be cursed to carry these chains of your own that are much longer than my chains.”
“This is horseshit,” Casey growled. But hearing the threat of unwanted visitors, ridiculous as it was, he instinctively reached down on his nightstand for his SIG, palming it at his side. “You’re not real. Get out.”
There was a choked sound from the thing. “Stubborn asshole – just as always. Stay there with your gun in your fist if it makes you feel secure, Johnnie. But I’m afraid my time is up. Expect the first visitor at the stroke of midnight.”
“How cliché,” Casey sneered. “I’ll be ready for anything that walks through that door.”
“Make it one, then, you obstinate jackass,” Murley replied. He neither moved nor looked around, but the deathly silence of the bedroom shrouded Casey in a sudden chill. Maybe he left a window open. “I would say be ready for it, but this is the one time you can’t be.”
Murley dipped his chin once at Casey, not in half-salute, but something Casey recognized as pity. He walked over to the doorway, but when he almost reached the hallway, he ... disappeared.
That was when Casey felt another bolt of cold down his backbone. How?
With his mind churning, Casey rubbed his eyes and mumbled to himself. Sleep. That’s what he needed. But before he climbed into bed, the agent slowly sauntered over to the center of the room where the mysterious thing had stood. He then approached the chair with some hesitation, but he sensed he was alone again, and the chair, while still ragged with bullet holes, had lost a good deal of its menace without the supposed interloper bleeding on it.
Was there blood? He checked the scraps of upholstery and stuffing, but there was no sign of crimson paste. “Nothing but a bad dream,” Casey muttered. He was tired of his brain playing tricks on him and wanted to go on to more interesting matters, such as getting some shut-eye.
Grunting once at his own stupidity, Casey pulled the blankets back and climbed into bed. Only pussies believed in ghosts. Hell, Bartowski probably did. Stayed up late at night watching Ghost Hunters with the moron and slept with their pillows touching so that the boogie man wouldn’t get them.
When Casey felt his heart slow to the rhythm of the steady rain, he slid deeper into the pillows and settled in.
The alarm clock next to his head blinked and made an odd clicking sound. When he glanced over at it, he saw it flashed one o’clock.
He closed his eyes, aware that he still had the SIG in his hand.
He listened.
There was the far off barking of a dog down the street left in the rain, a cry of a baby from somewhere ... and then a soft scrape that didn’t come from the hallway itself but ... it was more of just the heady sense that someone had taken a step onto the stairs. A scent of burning wax filtered through the cool bedroom air.
And Casey sat up, gun cradled, waiting to shoot the first thing that came through that door tonight.
-x- End Chapter One All We Leave Behind Us –x-