Fic: Not Dead Yet -- Chuck
Title: Not Dead Yet
Fandom: Chuck
Rating: PG (minor violence)
Characters: Chuck, Casey. Could be pre-slash if you squint.
Length: 2606
Spoilers: Chuck vs. The Tic Tac (3.10)
A/N: bluesbones wrote a short AU episode tag to Chuck vs. the Tic Tac (3.10) wherein Casey tells Chuck that he expects the CIA to send someone to tie off the loose end he's become. My muse wanted more, so with bluesbones' kind permission, this takes her story line further. Check out her original story at fanfiction.net: Johnny Boy.
Also available at AO3!
Casey should have known Chuck wouldn't leave it alone.
All he wanted was a few minutes of peace before the end. He could have run, could have probably kept the farce going for days, but the end, the quiet dark, wasn't something he feared. All these years, all the fighting to stay alive, that had been so that he could be useful. Now his usefulness had ended, and the inevitable lured him.
Casey reached for his calm center as he tended the bansai. Breathing slowly, deeply, Casey strove for that place of Zen. He stretched his awareness outward, feeling his surroundings. Yes. There it was. There was someone in his empty apartment. He couldn't have said what gave it away, but they were here. They would be ending him soon.
Casey was ready. If he couldn't go out fighting for what he believed in, at least he'd go out centered.
Casey could feel the assassin getting closer. A whisper of sound, a near-silent breath, a current in the air. His unconscious mind sensed the movement.
“Casey!” Chuck shouted and banged on his door. “Casey! C'mon. Open up!”
“Bartowski,” Casey growled under his breath. That damned kid couldn't even let him die in peace! The barely-there presence faded back into the dark corners of the apartment.
Casey crossed to the door and yanked it open, his samadhi blown to hell. “What?!”
Chuck barreled in, already talking. Did he think Casey cared about the state of the apartment? About adjusting to civilian life? They'd had this conversation. He knew Casey was a marked man. Then Chuck started in about Kathleen. About Casey's - no, Alex Coburn's - daughter. What good did it do to think about that, when the opportunity to reconnect would never come?
Casey tried again to impress upon Chuck that he was resigned to what was coming, to redirect Chuck to another train of thought. “I made my decision between love and love of country years ago. It was the right decision for me. Now you have to make a decision whether it's the right one for you.” Casey knew just how to refocus Chuck onto his own problems, “Walker is a good woman. It's still not too late.”
That was the best he could do. He hoped Chuck got it. He hoped Chuck would stop trying to be the super spy and start living again. For the last three years Casey watched as Chuck forced himself into a mold he was never meant to fit. Casey was a spy because he was born to serve. Chuck yearned to do good in the world. Why he thought being a spy would accomplish good was something Casey shied from thinking about. Chuck had two examples of “spy,” Walker and Casey himself (three counting Larkin, but Casey preferred not to). Casey knew that Chuck considered him a role model, and regretted it. Nobody should want to be like John Casey. Even John Casey didn't want to be like John Casey anymore.
Chuck finally seemed to get that Casey needed to be alone. After a weak smile, he left. He'd probably come back, though. The kid was persistent that way.
Time to get this over with, before Chuck came back. “He's gone. You can come out.”
Nothing, but Casey knew the assassin was still there. He had enough of this sneaky shit.
“I know you're there. I was doing wet work before you were born. Come out and face me like an American.”
The tiny squeak of soft soles on bare wood came from the next room.
“Don't make me come in there after you.” Casey couldn't help but wonder what kind of idiots the CIA was hiring these days.
Casey saw the silencer first as the agent came cautiously around the corner, just like the rule book said to do. He snorted to himself. Good thing he wasn't trying to get out of this. You'd think the Company would send someone who understood who they were up against. If Casey wanted, that baby agent would be dead and Casey would be out of there faster than a Warner Brothers cartoon rabbit. But Casey had no desire to kill. Not someone who worked for his country, doing the job Casey had done for so long.
“Just get in here.”
The agent who came around the corner was younger than Casey imagined. Christ, he looked like he was still in high school.
“What? Is this some sort of fraternity hazing? What the hell are they doing sending a kid like you?”
The agent stared wide-eyed at Casey and gripped his Glock in two shaking hands. It was bad enough dealing with that eternal teenager Bartowski for all these years. Now he has to train his own assassin?
Casey slowly spread his hands out to the side, making it obvious he was unarmed. “Tell them to take the bansai.”
“Huh?” The young agent looked baffled.
“The cleanup crew. They'll take my car, make it look like I ran. If you leave the bansai, no-one will believe it. Take it, and you might be able to convince people I was trying to disappear.”
“Uh...” The agent stared. This was obviously not going the way he'd expected.
“Fer crissakes, junior, tell me this isn't your red test! You want to leave doubt, make the target's friends unsure of what really happened. I've lived here for three years, and the neighbors are nosy. Someone will notice I'm gone. Unless you want to involve the LEOs, take the bansai.”
Casey was losing patience. This was not what he wanted. Why couldn't the idiot just pull the trigger? It would be so easy to disarm the agent, so easy to kill him. Inside Casey, something angry was beating against the bars of its cage, howling to be let out and create havoc.
Casey took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. “Do it,” He growled.
“But … you ...”
“Don't question your orders. Don't ever question orders. Take the damn shot!” Casey faced his killer and looked him in the eye, daring him to do his duty.
The agent swallowed visibly and raised the gun he'd foolishly let drop. Casey watched him pull in the regulation breath, watched his finger tighten on the trigger. Casey's focus narrowed to the muzzle of the gun, waiting for the bullet with his name. That's the only excuse he had for not seeing Chuck step from the shadows and club the other man over the ear with the butt of a gun.
The agent collapsed. Instantly, Chuck moved the man to the rescue position, checked his pulse and breathing, then wrapped duct tape around his wrists and ankles. Lastly, he put a cloth sack over his head, effectively blindfolding him. Casey frowned, wondering when Chuck had gotten so efficient. Was there a flash for this situation?
Casey shook himself from his stupor. “Bartowski!” he barked. Then he realized Chuck still had a gun. He didn't approach, since the way his day was going, Chuck Bartowski, super-spy wannabe, might accidentally shoot him. While Casey had been prepared for hours to be dead, he didn't want Chuck to be the one to pull the trigger.
“Shut up, Casey. I'm rescuing you.”
“Did I ask to be rescued?”
“I don't care. You ... you're depressed. You just lost everything, and you're not thinking clearly.”
“I'm not depressed. Approaching homicidal, but not depressed.”
“I. Don't. Care. You're falling and it's my turn to catch.”
“What the hell are you up to, Bartowski?”
“You were there when I told Shaw that there was almost nothing I won't do for my family and friends. You know this is true. You've seen it. Casey, you're my friend. Why do you think I'd do anything different with you?”
“I'm not your friend, Bartowski. I'm not anyone's friend. I'm not anyone's partner or brother or husband or father. I didn't ask you to stick your neck out for me. I don't want it. Go away now. Baby CIA here didn't see you. You're not involved yet. Stay that way.”
“You know I can't do that.”
Casey reached down and grabbed the silenced Glock out of the agent's limp hand and pointed it Chuck. “Two years ago I had orders to terminate the Intersect. I was willing to kill you then. What makes you think I'll hesitate now?”
Casey watched Chuck's reaction. He expected surprise, anger, disappointment, and hoped his confession would make Chuck leave. Instead the younger man nodded slightly.
“I figured. But you didn't kill me. And you won't now, because for one you're not under orders and secondly you know they still need the Intersect, and you're still a patriot.” Chuck looked away, then back, hesitating before continuing “There's a third thing, too. You've spent the last three years protecting me. I'm pretty sure you couldn't kill me now even if you were under orders.”
Casey winced inside. When had the nerd gotten so good at reading people? At reading Casey?
He growled and lowered the gun. “You still need to leave.”
“No, Casey, you need to leave. Go. Run. You're the best. If you don't want to be found, they'll never find you.”
“Sure they will.”
“No, they won't. Not if you go off the grid. You didn't kill anyone. You didn't give the Laudanol to the Ring. They won't make you a priority. You'll be small potatoes, not worth the effort."
“Don't you get it, Bartowski? I don't want to run. I'm done, and I'll take it like a man.”
“No! Don't say that! How can you say that?”
Casey felt the anger drain away, leaving him nothing but tired. He knew he was revealing too much, but he said it anyway. “For twenty years I've followed orders. I gave everything to my country, and never regretted it. America had my all. I blew it. I committed treason. Now she doesn't want me anymore. I have nothing. I am nothing. I'm over.”
“You are not nothing! You think I don't know what it's like to have your life thrown into a blender? Look at what happened to me. Everything went completely nuts, and the only thing that kept me going was my friends and family. You kept me going. Now it's my turn.
“You do have friends. You have me and Sarah, at least. You saw what we did for you just now. How can you say we're not your friends? Even Ellie and Awesome - heck, even Morgan - would help, if they thought for a second that you needed it.”
“Chuck ...” Casey began warningly,
“Don't worry, I won't tell them. Just ... just don't say we're not your friends. Don't say that what we feel for you doesn't matter. And, don't take away our friend - that's you, by the way - because you're too scared to learn how to live without someone giving you orders.”
“Scared?” Casey narrowed his eyes. He was never scared.
“Yeah, scared. You know, cowardly? Yellow? Lily-livered? Chicken? Buk. Buk.”
Casey growled.
“OK. Too much. But my point stands. If you won't do this for yourself, do it for the people who care if you live or die.”
“If I run, you'll probably never see me again.”
“That's better than knowing you just gave up.”
“They might still get me.”
“And they might not. I like the odds.” Chuck finally put his gun on the table. He dug into his pocket and thrust what he pulled out at Casey.
“What did you do? Rob the Buy More?” Casey stared at the roll of bills Chuck was offering.
“It's not as much as it looks. About $3000, all 20s.”
“What? Every time you went to the ATM, you got a little extra?”
“Well, yeah. I figured it might come in useful if I ever had to run. Remember back when they wanted to put me into protective custody? After that, I wanted to be ready, just in case it happened again. One or two 20s a week. It adds up. Right now, I guess you need it more than I do.
“I can't take this.”
“Do you have to argue with everything? Just take it.” Chuck grabbed Casey's hand and jammed the money into it, closing it into a fist around the roll. “I bet you have a cache somewhere. This should help you get to it. Consider it pay back for everything you've done for me.”
“I won't be able to get it back to you.”
“I don't really care. Just make me one promise.”
Chuck's torrent of words stopped. He was silent so long Casey had to prompt him. “A promise?”
“I know you think you've got nothing to live for right now. I get that. Give yourself a chance to show yourself you're wrong. One year. 12 months. Promise me.”
Casey had let himself become too willing to be swayed by those pleading eyes, that little crease between his brows, that catch in his voice. This was the same voice that pleaded for Ellie when she was poisoned by the midget gymnast looking for nuclear codes. The same voice that pleaded for Morgan and Anna when they were on the yacht with the Chinese gangsters. Now it was pleading for Casey. He'd knuckled under each and every time. He found himself doing it again.
“Fine, Bartowski," he grumbled. "I promise.”
“I mean it. Go underground. Stay hidden. No fair dangling yourself out in public where the government can find you. You know how to disappear. I'll bet you have five different identities all ready to go, one of them your bosses don't even know about.”
“Two.” Casey admitted grudgingly.
“Mm-hmm.” Chuck nodded, smiling slightly. “It figures. You always were an overachiever.”
Casey found himself smirking along with Chuck. Huh. An hour ago he thought he'd never find anything funny again. Now the nerd had him laughing, at himself, no less. Maybe Chuck was right. Maybe he could find a future.
“Twelve months, Bartowski. One year. If you're wrong, I'm going to come back just so I can kill my own self right in front of you.”
Casey watched Chuck swallow nervously. He'd never be a good spy if he didn't get rid of that squeamish streak.
“Deal,” Chuck said.
Casey nodded. He jammed the money into his own pocket and took both guns. He allowed himself an internal chuckle when Chuck backed away a step, apparently on instinct, but Casey only checked that the safeties were on, and then concealed both weapons on his person. He reached for the bansai on the table, softly touching one tiny branch, then looked down at the unconscious agent on the floor.
“Let him loose before you leave. Take the tape with you. Don't worry about fingerprints - you're a known visitor.”
Casey was almost at the door before Chuck called out, “Casey!”
“What? You wanted me to go.”
“Just like ... sure, I guess you would, just like that. How about a goodbye.” Chuck walked toward him with his hand out.
Casey looked at Chuck's hand, then up at his face. He left Chuck hanging for a long moment. Just when Chuck was about to retreat, Casey reached out and grasped Chuck's hand. With a jerk, he pulled Chuck in and wrapped his other arm around him in a brief hug. “Goodbye, Bartowski. And … thanks.”
Chuck stared open-mouthed when Casey pushed him back. “You … you … hugged me!”
Casey scowled. “Tell anyone and you're a dead man,” he said, then turned and walked out the door, shutting it, and his past, behind him.
Fandom: Chuck
Rating: PG (minor violence)
Characters: Chuck, Casey. Could be pre-slash if you squint.
Length: 2606
Spoilers: Chuck vs. The Tic Tac (3.10)
A/N: bluesbones wrote a short AU episode tag to Chuck vs. the Tic Tac (3.10) wherein Casey tells Chuck that he expects the CIA to send someone to tie off the loose end he's become. My muse wanted more, so with bluesbones' kind permission, this takes her story line further. Check out her original story at fanfiction.net: Johnny Boy.
Also available at AO3!
Casey should have known Chuck wouldn't leave it alone.
All he wanted was a few minutes of peace before the end. He could have run, could have probably kept the farce going for days, but the end, the quiet dark, wasn't something he feared. All these years, all the fighting to stay alive, that had been so that he could be useful. Now his usefulness had ended, and the inevitable lured him.
Casey reached for his calm center as he tended the bansai. Breathing slowly, deeply, Casey strove for that place of Zen. He stretched his awareness outward, feeling his surroundings. Yes. There it was. There was someone in his empty apartment. He couldn't have said what gave it away, but they were here. They would be ending him soon.
Casey was ready. If he couldn't go out fighting for what he believed in, at least he'd go out centered.
Casey could feel the assassin getting closer. A whisper of sound, a near-silent breath, a current in the air. His unconscious mind sensed the movement.
“Casey!” Chuck shouted and banged on his door. “Casey! C'mon. Open up!”
“Bartowski,” Casey growled under his breath. That damned kid couldn't even let him die in peace! The barely-there presence faded back into the dark corners of the apartment.
Casey crossed to the door and yanked it open, his samadhi blown to hell. “What?!”
Chuck barreled in, already talking. Did he think Casey cared about the state of the apartment? About adjusting to civilian life? They'd had this conversation. He knew Casey was a marked man. Then Chuck started in about Kathleen. About Casey's - no, Alex Coburn's - daughter. What good did it do to think about that, when the opportunity to reconnect would never come?
Casey tried again to impress upon Chuck that he was resigned to what was coming, to redirect Chuck to another train of thought. “I made my decision between love and love of country years ago. It was the right decision for me. Now you have to make a decision whether it's the right one for you.” Casey knew just how to refocus Chuck onto his own problems, “Walker is a good woman. It's still not too late.”
That was the best he could do. He hoped Chuck got it. He hoped Chuck would stop trying to be the super spy and start living again. For the last three years Casey watched as Chuck forced himself into a mold he was never meant to fit. Casey was a spy because he was born to serve. Chuck yearned to do good in the world. Why he thought being a spy would accomplish good was something Casey shied from thinking about. Chuck had two examples of “spy,” Walker and Casey himself (three counting Larkin, but Casey preferred not to). Casey knew that Chuck considered him a role model, and regretted it. Nobody should want to be like John Casey. Even John Casey didn't want to be like John Casey anymore.
Chuck finally seemed to get that Casey needed to be alone. After a weak smile, he left. He'd probably come back, though. The kid was persistent that way.
Time to get this over with, before Chuck came back. “He's gone. You can come out.”
Nothing, but Casey knew the assassin was still there. He had enough of this sneaky shit.
“I know you're there. I was doing wet work before you were born. Come out and face me like an American.”
The tiny squeak of soft soles on bare wood came from the next room.
“Don't make me come in there after you.” Casey couldn't help but wonder what kind of idiots the CIA was hiring these days.
Casey saw the silencer first as the agent came cautiously around the corner, just like the rule book said to do. He snorted to himself. Good thing he wasn't trying to get out of this. You'd think the Company would send someone who understood who they were up against. If Casey wanted, that baby agent would be dead and Casey would be out of there faster than a Warner Brothers cartoon rabbit. But Casey had no desire to kill. Not someone who worked for his country, doing the job Casey had done for so long.
“Just get in here.”
The agent who came around the corner was younger than Casey imagined. Christ, he looked like he was still in high school.
“What? Is this some sort of fraternity hazing? What the hell are they doing sending a kid like you?”
The agent stared wide-eyed at Casey and gripped his Glock in two shaking hands. It was bad enough dealing with that eternal teenager Bartowski for all these years. Now he has to train his own assassin?
Casey slowly spread his hands out to the side, making it obvious he was unarmed. “Tell them to take the bansai.”
“Huh?” The young agent looked baffled.
“The cleanup crew. They'll take my car, make it look like I ran. If you leave the bansai, no-one will believe it. Take it, and you might be able to convince people I was trying to disappear.”
“Uh...” The agent stared. This was obviously not going the way he'd expected.
“Fer crissakes, junior, tell me this isn't your red test! You want to leave doubt, make the target's friends unsure of what really happened. I've lived here for three years, and the neighbors are nosy. Someone will notice I'm gone. Unless you want to involve the LEOs, take the bansai.”
Casey was losing patience. This was not what he wanted. Why couldn't the idiot just pull the trigger? It would be so easy to disarm the agent, so easy to kill him. Inside Casey, something angry was beating against the bars of its cage, howling to be let out and create havoc.
Casey took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. “Do it,” He growled.
“But … you ...”
“Don't question your orders. Don't ever question orders. Take the damn shot!” Casey faced his killer and looked him in the eye, daring him to do his duty.
The agent swallowed visibly and raised the gun he'd foolishly let drop. Casey watched him pull in the regulation breath, watched his finger tighten on the trigger. Casey's focus narrowed to the muzzle of the gun, waiting for the bullet with his name. That's the only excuse he had for not seeing Chuck step from the shadows and club the other man over the ear with the butt of a gun.
The agent collapsed. Instantly, Chuck moved the man to the rescue position, checked his pulse and breathing, then wrapped duct tape around his wrists and ankles. Lastly, he put a cloth sack over his head, effectively blindfolding him. Casey frowned, wondering when Chuck had gotten so efficient. Was there a flash for this situation?
Casey shook himself from his stupor. “Bartowski!” he barked. Then he realized Chuck still had a gun. He didn't approach, since the way his day was going, Chuck Bartowski, super-spy wannabe, might accidentally shoot him. While Casey had been prepared for hours to be dead, he didn't want Chuck to be the one to pull the trigger.
“Shut up, Casey. I'm rescuing you.”
“Did I ask to be rescued?”
“I don't care. You ... you're depressed. You just lost everything, and you're not thinking clearly.”
“I'm not depressed. Approaching homicidal, but not depressed.”
“I. Don't. Care. You're falling and it's my turn to catch.”
“What the hell are you up to, Bartowski?”
“You were there when I told Shaw that there was almost nothing I won't do for my family and friends. You know this is true. You've seen it. Casey, you're my friend. Why do you think I'd do anything different with you?”
“I'm not your friend, Bartowski. I'm not anyone's friend. I'm not anyone's partner or brother or husband or father. I didn't ask you to stick your neck out for me. I don't want it. Go away now. Baby CIA here didn't see you. You're not involved yet. Stay that way.”
“You know I can't do that.”
Casey reached down and grabbed the silenced Glock out of the agent's limp hand and pointed it Chuck. “Two years ago I had orders to terminate the Intersect. I was willing to kill you then. What makes you think I'll hesitate now?”
Casey watched Chuck's reaction. He expected surprise, anger, disappointment, and hoped his confession would make Chuck leave. Instead the younger man nodded slightly.
“I figured. But you didn't kill me. And you won't now, because for one you're not under orders and secondly you know they still need the Intersect, and you're still a patriot.” Chuck looked away, then back, hesitating before continuing “There's a third thing, too. You've spent the last three years protecting me. I'm pretty sure you couldn't kill me now even if you were under orders.”
Casey winced inside. When had the nerd gotten so good at reading people? At reading Casey?
He growled and lowered the gun. “You still need to leave.”
“No, Casey, you need to leave. Go. Run. You're the best. If you don't want to be found, they'll never find you.”
“Sure they will.”
“No, they won't. Not if you go off the grid. You didn't kill anyone. You didn't give the Laudanol to the Ring. They won't make you a priority. You'll be small potatoes, not worth the effort."
“Don't you get it, Bartowski? I don't want to run. I'm done, and I'll take it like a man.”
“No! Don't say that! How can you say that?”
Casey felt the anger drain away, leaving him nothing but tired. He knew he was revealing too much, but he said it anyway. “For twenty years I've followed orders. I gave everything to my country, and never regretted it. America had my all. I blew it. I committed treason. Now she doesn't want me anymore. I have nothing. I am nothing. I'm over.”
“You are not nothing! You think I don't know what it's like to have your life thrown into a blender? Look at what happened to me. Everything went completely nuts, and the only thing that kept me going was my friends and family. You kept me going. Now it's my turn.
“You do have friends. You have me and Sarah, at least. You saw what we did for you just now. How can you say we're not your friends? Even Ellie and Awesome - heck, even Morgan - would help, if they thought for a second that you needed it.”
“Chuck ...” Casey began warningly,
“Don't worry, I won't tell them. Just ... just don't say we're not your friends. Don't say that what we feel for you doesn't matter. And, don't take away our friend - that's you, by the way - because you're too scared to learn how to live without someone giving you orders.”
“Scared?” Casey narrowed his eyes. He was never scared.
“Yeah, scared. You know, cowardly? Yellow? Lily-livered? Chicken? Buk. Buk.”
Casey growled.
“OK. Too much. But my point stands. If you won't do this for yourself, do it for the people who care if you live or die.”
“If I run, you'll probably never see me again.”
“That's better than knowing you just gave up.”
“They might still get me.”
“And they might not. I like the odds.” Chuck finally put his gun on the table. He dug into his pocket and thrust what he pulled out at Casey.
“What did you do? Rob the Buy More?” Casey stared at the roll of bills Chuck was offering.
“It's not as much as it looks. About $3000, all 20s.”
“What? Every time you went to the ATM, you got a little extra?”
“Well, yeah. I figured it might come in useful if I ever had to run. Remember back when they wanted to put me into protective custody? After that, I wanted to be ready, just in case it happened again. One or two 20s a week. It adds up. Right now, I guess you need it more than I do.
“I can't take this.”
“Do you have to argue with everything? Just take it.” Chuck grabbed Casey's hand and jammed the money into it, closing it into a fist around the roll. “I bet you have a cache somewhere. This should help you get to it. Consider it pay back for everything you've done for me.”
“I won't be able to get it back to you.”
“I don't really care. Just make me one promise.”
Chuck's torrent of words stopped. He was silent so long Casey had to prompt him. “A promise?”
“I know you think you've got nothing to live for right now. I get that. Give yourself a chance to show yourself you're wrong. One year. 12 months. Promise me.”
Casey had let himself become too willing to be swayed by those pleading eyes, that little crease between his brows, that catch in his voice. This was the same voice that pleaded for Ellie when she was poisoned by the midget gymnast looking for nuclear codes. The same voice that pleaded for Morgan and Anna when they were on the yacht with the Chinese gangsters. Now it was pleading for Casey. He'd knuckled under each and every time. He found himself doing it again.
“Fine, Bartowski," he grumbled. "I promise.”
“I mean it. Go underground. Stay hidden. No fair dangling yourself out in public where the government can find you. You know how to disappear. I'll bet you have five different identities all ready to go, one of them your bosses don't even know about.”
“Two.” Casey admitted grudgingly.
“Mm-hmm.” Chuck nodded, smiling slightly. “It figures. You always were an overachiever.”
Casey found himself smirking along with Chuck. Huh. An hour ago he thought he'd never find anything funny again. Now the nerd had him laughing, at himself, no less. Maybe Chuck was right. Maybe he could find a future.
“Twelve months, Bartowski. One year. If you're wrong, I'm going to come back just so I can kill my own self right in front of you.”
Casey watched Chuck swallow nervously. He'd never be a good spy if he didn't get rid of that squeamish streak.
“Deal,” Chuck said.
Casey nodded. He jammed the money into his own pocket and took both guns. He allowed himself an internal chuckle when Chuck backed away a step, apparently on instinct, but Casey only checked that the safeties were on, and then concealed both weapons on his person. He reached for the bansai on the table, softly touching one tiny branch, then looked down at the unconscious agent on the floor.
“Let him loose before you leave. Take the tape with you. Don't worry about fingerprints - you're a known visitor.”
Casey was almost at the door before Chuck called out, “Casey!”
“What? You wanted me to go.”
“Just like ... sure, I guess you would, just like that. How about a goodbye.” Chuck walked toward him with his hand out.
Casey looked at Chuck's hand, then up at his face. He left Chuck hanging for a long moment. Just when Chuck was about to retreat, Casey reached out and grasped Chuck's hand. With a jerk, he pulled Chuck in and wrapped his other arm around him in a brief hug. “Goodbye, Bartowski. And … thanks.”
Chuck stared open-mouthed when Casey pushed him back. “You … you … hugged me!”
Casey scowled. “Tell anyone and you're a dead man,” he said, then turned and walked out the door, shutting it, and his past, behind him.