Warnings: Not much. Talks of blood and violence, I think. Set between 1x10 and 1x11.
Notes: First Chuck fic, not to mention my first try at Casey. Comments would make my day.
Blood Stains
"You'll be a lover to my bed
And a gun to my head"
"Ava Adore", Smashing Pumpkins
You don't ever get people who faint when they see blood. The way you see it, it runs through the veins of all of us, it's natural, and it is still natural when it's out of our bodies. You find it funny that people run from it like it could kill them when it is the very thing that keeps them alive.
You joined the armed forces, but don't believe in following orders blindly, or that there is a better race, a better type of blood. No blood is different than any other; blood alone can't make you stronger than the rest of the world. Blood is what you fight to get, blood is what you're after. Blood spilled on the floor is what you do for a living. And, as for the "following orders" policy, contrary to what all of us seem to think, is not something that works for you. You may not work with people you trust, but you work for people you have trust in. You don't ask them what you're killing this or that man for – "don't ask don't tell" is one policy you can do with -, because that's what you were trained to do. And the only reason you agreed to be trained was because you made sure you knew where you would be walking before you jumped in with both feet.
When you were being trained, you were told you were "fit for the job". Whatever that meant and means still, you're not sure. The one thing you do know about this job is that you didn't have to – shouldn't, really – enjoy it. When they say that it's not good to "allow it to get to you", you know they mean it both ways: if you can't finish the job, can't live with yourself, then you're not the right person for it. Just as they mean you shouldn't let it get to your head. And you know that, when they tell you that, they mean the ugly side of "don't allow it to get to you": they're scared you may be too fit for the job. You're allowed to be a killer, but can't be a butcher. If that happens, you become cocky, and if you're cocky, you become careless. And you know that, once you get careless, it is just a matter of very little time until you get killed.
What you do isn't messy – at least, not the way you do it -, but about cleaning messes. Something goes south, they need to have a matter – or a person – taken care of, and NSA calls you. And if there is a mess, some blood stain on your shirt, you wash it off. It's odd to you that people think blood can't be just washed off that easily – it barely takes a minute of your time, and it's done.
Sure you don't enjoy your job like a teacher giving lessons does, but if there is one part of it that you really love, it is that you don't have to pretend. You're thankful you don't have to be doing that a lot, you don't think you could – in a way, you feel free. While people think that what you do is messy and what Sarah and other CIA agents do is fine, you think it is the other way around: by pretending, you make a mess of your life. Take the case of Walker and Chuck: what they did was pretend to pretend, and now Sarah has to decide between moving on and leaving everything behind, and Chuck…the boy's going to be crushed if the girl chooses Larkin over him (again).
You wonder if the boy will need some comfort after that. And it surprises you to find out that you might actually not be totally averse to the idea.
