Reveille, Reveille [3/6], [T] Casey, Chuck - Spoilers: all seasons
Title: Reveille, Reveille
Rating: T
Characters: John Casey, Chuck Bartowski
Warnings: Spoilers
Spoilers: all seasons
Genres: Gen, Friendship, Fluff, Humor
Chapters: 3/6
Completed: No
Word count: 1759
Disclaimer: I wish, but no. ;_;
Notes: Credit to Lu for demanding Chuck fic of any kind and then flailing all over it.
Summary: Five times Casey woke Chuck up and one time he let him sleep.
1 2 3 4 5 6
3.
It was a Monday morning and the store was closed for a full inventory. In most retail stores that would mean the employees were all there extra early, but this was the Buy More. Big Mike left last night in his fishing gear and put Grimes in charge (Probably because he was the assistant manager, but, Casey still can't quite believe that was a good idea.)
Grimes had given Big Mike half an hour to forget something and come back, then set the grapevine to work notifying everyone that they'd start at noon sharp.
Casey figured that gave him until two o'clock to get in, do some maintenance on the secret hatch down into Castle-which had been sticking lately-get his own inventory done and printed and on Big Mike's desk, and have plenty of time to be gone before any of his coworkers even showed up.
What he didn't expect was to find Bartowski curled up on the couch in the home theater display room.
One shoe was off, the other hung precariously from Chuck's toes. His tie was loose enough not to strangle him, but had gotten twisted around to his back. His shirt was half-untucked and there was a line of drool down the couch to a puddle that was soaking a dark spot into a disturbingly large section of carpet directly below his face.
The eviscerated remains of a pizza and an entire case of Mountain Dew lay scattered about like it had been the scene of a battle-which wasn't that far off the mark if the gaming console, headset, and epilepsy-seizure inducing looped-scene on the TV were any indication.
Casey shut the TV off, kicked aside some of the aluminium corpses, and then bent down until his mouth was right next to Chuck's ear.
"ON YOUR FEET, RECRUIT! THIS AIN'T SUMMER CAMP AND I AIN'T NO COUNSELOR!"
He jerked back with a grin that was very nearly wiped off of his face by the right hook Chuck launched after rolling over with a yelp.
A look of surprised respect dragged the corners of his mouth down in an appraising frown, but he cleared it away before those big, brown, puppy eyes blinked open and stared in panic, trying to figure out what was going on.
Chuck pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around, as if trying to locate whoever had screamed in his ear.
"Casey?" he finally said. "What..." He frowned and squinted at the daylight coming through the front doors of the store and then checked his watch. "What time is it- Oh wow, really? Already?" He moved the watch away from and back toward his face as if that could change the numbers displayed.
Then he looked around in panic again. "Crap! The store! Oh Big Mike is gonna... kill... me?"
His brow furrowed in confusion as he realized they were the only two people present.
"Um," he said, and checked his watch. Again. "Did I miss something? Daylight Savings Time, or..."
"Obviously," Casey grunted, bending down to move the coffee table so he could get to the access to Castle. "Short version: Store's closed for inventory, Big Mike's out of town. Grimes is in charge. Everyone will be here this afternoon-or later-to do their inventory, and I need to fix this door so we're not trapped inside if there's a foothold situation in Castle."
"Oh. Okay," Chuck said, sinking back to the couch. He wiped a hand over his face and then dug a cheese ball out of his half-unbuttoned shirt with a grimace.
Casey just knelt and activated the mechanism to open the door.
Until he realized Chuck was staring at him.
"What?" he asked.
"Huh?" Chuck said intelligently. Casey rolled his eyes.
He was once again struck by the thought that they were so lucky that this genius was the one holding all of their county's secrets in his head. They could only be luckier if it had been Grimes instead.
"Oh. Sorry. I wasn't..." Chuck waved a hand. "Just thinking. Sorry."
Casey grunted as he took a socket wrench from his tool bag and started on the bolts holding the door in place.
Which, apparently in Chuckland, was an invitation to keep talking.
"I mean, really? Morgan? Don't get me wrong, the guy's my best friend but..." His face screwed up and he shook his head slowly. "Not the guy I'd think of first when it comes to counting large numbers of things and keeping track of them, you know?"
Casey grunted again, but this time in agreement. He swapped the wrench for a screwdriver and kept going.
"Not that I'd want to be put in charge instead." He huffed a laugh and gave Casey a crooked grin. "Can you imagine being put in charge of these people and expected to do something like an inventory? No wonder Big Mike ran for the hills. Or, well, lake, as the case may be."
Casey stopped for a moment of pure revulsion to wash through him, then shook it off and kept working.
"You know who would have been good for this job? Emmett. Well, he would have been a pain in the ass to work for, actually, but he probably would have had it done faster and more correctly than anyone else here in the store. Well, besides you, but," Chuck's face screwed up again, "somehow I think there would be more casualties if you were in charge. No offense."
"None taken," Casey said honestly. It was true at least. Back to the wrench.
"Yeah," Chuck said thoughtfully. "I wonder how he's doing in Alaska..."
Casey paused at that, a teeny, tiny nugget of guilt lodged deep in the back of his mind wiggling like a loose tooth. He firmly stomped it back into place and slammed the door shut again, returning to his bolts.
Chuck laughed. "Probably terrifying the polar bears into submission with threats of no ice machine in the break room if they don't sell enough portable heaters, right? Ah, Emmett." His tone was the fond one of a person who no longer had to work with an asshole and could be forgiving of their faults for that one reason.
Casey shook his head with a grunt and kept working.
The silence stretched for a few blessed minutes and Casey got the door off the hinges. He flipped it over and bent down to look at the electronic unit on the underside of the door, running a few quick diagnostic tests. It checked out fine which meant that the problem was elsewhere. Maybe in the hydraulics...
"I thought we had people who do this kind of thing," Chuck said.
"We do. But I had the time this morning and I do have hobbies besides shooting things on the range- Shut up, Bartowski," he added without even looking away to see that the kid's mouth was open and ready to comment on that.
"I was- I was just going to say that I didn't expect-"
Casey pulled back out of the hole and glared. "I said shut up."
Chuck's mouth snapped closed.
Casey wiped some grease off of his hands and went digging into his tool bag for a hex wrench in the proper size.
"As I was saying, I have hobbies besides marksmanship and I like to make sure the equipment I'm depending on is in proper working order. Besides, it'll save the agency money-and with the way we keep having to buy you suits for undercover work, we need all the help we can get in that area," he added with a sneer and a disdainful look Chuck's way.
"Okay, that was so not my fault. Sarah was the one that threw the wine at me!"
"Yeah, because you missed the fact that Mazlov's men were armed to the fucking teeth and we needed a distraction so I could plant the C-4 and create our actual distraction get all of us out of there."
Chuck's mouth opened and his finger raised in protest, then shut again.
"Okay, but the time before that-"
Casey sighed and looked heavenward for strength.
"Bartowski," he snapped.
Chuck froze, mouth in a pucker making him look ridiculous. More so than usual.
"Why are you here? Don't you have an apartment to sleep in with all kinds of big shiny geeky toys?"
Chuck coughed and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Weeeeeell..."
"Just spit it out. Did you sister boot your ass out for being too noisy while she and Woodcomb are trying to sleep?"
Chuck laughed awkwardly and twirled a finger. "Uh, flip that last part of the scenario and make it a self-imposed exile and you've got it."
Casey stopped and made a face of disgust.
"Yeah," Chuck said. "Tell me about it. Not to mention awkward-"
Casey held up a hand. "Stop talking. For the love of- Just stop. And go home. By now, I'm sure they're off at work and you can sleep in your own bed in peace and quiet." He growled that last word in case it wasn't clear what exactly he was hoping to get from this deal.
"But..." Chuck looked around. "What time are we doing-"
The hand came up again. "If you go home right now and leave me alone, I'll make sure yours gets done." Then he frowned. "What do you even have to inventory anyway?"
"Customer computers. Repair parts. Tools. Expendables like canned air and solder-"
"Do your fellow Nerd Herders know where everything is?"
Chuck opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Tilted his head. "You know..."
Casey sighed. "Never mind. I'll figure it out myself. Just... Go." He made a shooing motion with his hand.
"I should clean up-" Chuck started, herding cans formerly filled with Mountain Dew together.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Casey said and stood up. He went to where Chuck was staring up at him in alarm, grabbed the younger man by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and began frog-marching him to the door, ignoring the yelps and protests. He gave him a shove out onto the sales floor and then stepped back and shut the door, getting his final word in in the form of a glare.
Chuck rubbed at his neck, but turned and headed toward the front of the store, glancing over his shoulder every few moments until he disappeared.
Only when he was gone did Casey relax his vigil and return to the disassembled access to finish his task in peace and blessed fucking quiet.
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