I would like to thank my beta reader, anon4utu. He helped me put the final polish on this little one-shot. And if you're looking for a terrific beta reader, forget it. He's all mine!
Fifty-Fifty
Sarah ran her hands over her face and then through her hair; she had never felt so damn tired. Stretching out her legs and crossing her ankles, she leaned back in the plastic chair and rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes. She could feel the dark threads of sleep pulling her toward oblivion; it was an illusion, however. As the darkness enshrouded her thoughts, the nightmarish vision returned again and again in stark detail; a beam of brightness that penetrated her mind like a dagger. Casey.
She opened her eyes and stared at the flickering florescent lights on the ceiling. Life Flight to the University hospital, four hours in surgery, two in recovery, and still no word on whether he would live or die. A fifty-fifty chance, the surgeon had said. Fifty-fifty. Doctor-speak for I have no clue. She had wanted to scream in his face, but instead, she nodded and thanked him for his efforts.
Her eyes flicked toward the waiting room entryway as Chuck entered, carrying two paper cups of hot coffee from the vending machine. His face was drawn and his worried eyes met hers as he sat beside her. She accepted the coffee with a small smile. He was still wearing his black ops outfit, and his face seemed impossibly pale in contrast. She imagined she must look the same, dressed in her own black fatigues. She leaned forward, blew across the top of the cup, and took a sip, wondering how a simple mission could have gone so horribly wrong.
***
"Let's roll," said Casey, holstering his gun and heading up the Castle steps into the Orange Orange. Sarah and Chuck followed close behind, blinking in the sunlight as they emerged from the yogurt shop into the parking lot. Sarah put on her sunglasses and climbed into the passenger seat of Casey's Suburban. Chuck slid into the backseat and Casey drove out of the parking lot with a screeching of tires on the blacktop.
A Fulcrum cell had been located in the downtown area; an abandoned office building on Fifth and Westerly. The intel was good, provided by a reliable street snitch to an NSA operative working undercover as a demolitions expert for hire. The Fulcrum cell was planning to incapacitate California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. The woman who would step in as temporary governor had long been rumored to be a supporter of Fulcrum, but there was no tangible proof. An NSA team was already en route; Beckman wanted Team Bartowski to question the Fulcrum operatives, and she wanted Chuck to view the building and any other materials. Perhaps something would trigger the Intersect, and a line of evidence could be established between Fulcrum and the government official.
When they arrived, Casey donned a headset and communicated with the NSA mission commander. He turned to Sarah. "They've got it wrapped up. Five Fulcrum agents on the third floor."
They exited the Suburban and walked toward the building. Casey nodded at an agent guarding the entrance and they made their way into what used to be the lobby of a four-story building; electrical wires dangled from the paneled ceiling, papers and trash littered the scuffed tile floor, and a bank of elevators stood along the western wall. Chuck walked around the edge of the room slowly, taking care to examine even the most mundane objects; yellowed papers tacked to a wall advertising a company picnic, a heap of broken wooden furniture in one corner, even the wires hanging down from the ceiling. He stopped abruptly, screwing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. Casey and Sarah watched him expectantly. He let out a terrific sneeze.
"Sorry," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "No flash, just dust bunnies."
Casey rolled his eyes and they headed into the stairwell, opening the door to the second floor. They stepped into an open area with two hallways branching off in opposite directions. Sarah took the hall to the right and Casey went left, checking every doorway as they searched. The halls were L-shaped; Sarah and Casey each rounded a corner and disappeared from view. All of the floors had already been searched by the NSA team, but Casey and Sarah insisted that they personally secure an area before Chuck was permitted to enter. They had learned from experience that the only way to ensure Chuck's safety was to do it themselves.
After acquiring the new Intersect, Chuck was more fully integrated into the team, but he was still considered an asset—someone who required protection, despite his newfound ability to defend himself. Although he complained about the constant surveillance and inconvenience, he was secretly glad that they didn't upgrade his status to superspy. The new abilities were fleeting and uncontrollable thus far. And he certainly didn't feel like storming any Fulcrum fortresses, no matter how much Kung fu he supposedly knew.
Chuck wandered over to the large windows on the opposite wall. Two of the five panels were broken; jagged edges of glass lined the frames. A strong breeze ruffled his hair as he stepped closer, peering out over the edge. Beneath the windows was an old employee parking lot with a pile of rotting lumber sprawled out over the cracked cement. As he turned from the window, Chuck heard a soft thump. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bank of elevators. He walked over to the second one and pressed his ear to the door.
There. He heard the soft thumping sound again. Just as was he about to yell for Casey and Sarah, the doors slid open and two Fulcrum agents rushed out, knocking him to the ground. As soon as he made contact with the floor, he felt that familiar tingle at the base of his neck. Unlike his usual flashes, he wasn't hit with a wave of nausea and dizziness; that would come later. Instead, his pupils dilated and he felt a cold, focused rush of imagery explode into his mind's eye so quickly that his conscious mind was unable to pick out the individual images.
Chuck rolled over twice, and while lying on his back, he kicked the knee of his closest assailant with all his strength. There was a loud popping sound and the man yelped with pain, dropped his gun, and stumbled backward against the wall. Chuck rolled in the opposite direction as the second man fired his gun. The bullet bored into the floor where Chuck had been lying seconds before. Chuck kicked out his foot to trip the shooter, but the man twisted away without falling. Chuck stood up and grabbed the man from behind, pressed his forearm against the man's throat, and clasped his hands together, squeezing as tightly as he could. The man flailed his arms wildly, and his fists connected a few times against Chuck's head, but Chuck maintained his grip. The first man realized that his partner was in serious trouble; he made a grab for his gun.
Casey entered the room with his gun drawn and saw one of the Fulcrum agents ready to shoot Chuck from behind. Because the agent was positioned between Chuck and himself, Casey aimed low so as not to accidentally hit Chuck; he fired bullets into the agent's legs. The agent collapsed against Chuck, and all three men fell forward against the wall. The movement jarred Chuck's grip on his assailant, and the man slipped from his grasp. Casey rushed into the tangle of bodies and grabbed Chuck's attacker. The two men locked arms and struggled for control. Casey used his body weight to fling the attacker in a circular motion, intending to gain some distance to fire his gun. The attacker held on, however, and in turn, he flung Casey toward the broken windows. Casey broke free and was unable to stop himself as he slammed against the lower edge of the window frame. He fell backward out the window.
Sarah had arrived seconds behind Casey and she shot the attacker twice in the chest. He fell to the floor. The wounded agent tossed his gun at her and raised his hands. He sat against the wall, breathing heavily. Chuck struggled to his feet and ran over to the window; the military combat training had already dissipated.
"Casey!" he yelled. Casey was lying on his back on top of the lumber pile. He wasn't moving.
NSA agents flooded the room, and Sarah and Chuck pushed past them to get to the stairway.
"Get an ambulance," Sarah ordered, jerking open the door to the stairs.
Chuck and Sarah raced outside and climbed onto the pile of wood. Sarah reached Casey first; she knelt carefully beside him. "Stay back, Chuck," she said. She felt Casey's neck for a pulse; it was there, barely. He opened his eyes slightly and looked at her.
Chuck ignored Sarah's words and scrambled up to them. "Oh God," he said, the color draining from his face.
Casey appeared to be uninjured with one exception: approximately four inches of a jagged two-by-two piece of wood protruded from a bloody wound in his torso. It was as if he had landed in one of those dug-out bear traps—the ones lined with spear tips.
Casey's eyes turned to Chuck. "That bad, huh?" he managed to say in a gravelly voice. Blood trickled from a corner of his mouth.
"Stay quiet, Casey, save your strength," said Sarah. She stroked his forehead gently.
Chuck kneeled beside her, and he picked up Casey's hand. "We're right here with you, buddy," he said, swallowing hard.
Casey's eyes closed as he lost consciousness.
***
Chuck drank the last of his bitter coffee, and he tossed the cup into the waste can. Sarah had closed her eyes again, but he knew she wasn't sleeping. He walked over to the magazine rack, glancing with disinterest at the titles. He sighed and looked at the only other occupant in the waiting room—an old man lying across four of the chairs; a blue jacket was stuffed under his head and he snored quietly. A phone rang at the nurse's station out in the hall.
Operation Bartowski had almost ended a few weeks ago—no more missions, no more surveillance, and no more Casey. Although Chuck had been relieved to finally be done with the Intersect, he was surprised at how much he had come to rely on the big guy's presence. Despite the constant barrage of snide comments and bad jokes, Casey was always there to catch him when he fell. Literally. Chuck smiled, recalling how Casey had managed to grab him after Mr. Colt dropped him off the roof of a building. Too bad he wasn't able to return the favor. His smile faded.
Chuck remembered the day he and Casey had quit the Buy More. Although he had realized that he would probably never see Casey again, he had been reassured when Casey had unexpectedly given him his phone number. Even without the missions, Casey was still there. He didn't realize until that moment just how much he cared about Casey. How much he cared about his friend. And now, imagining his life without Casey was. . . impossible.
He blinked rapidly, holding back the flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He turned as Sarah stood up suddenly, walking toward the hallway. The surgeon had returned. Chuck followed Sarah out into the hall, and he took a deep breath as the surgeon began speaking. Sarah grabbed Chuck's hand and squeezed it tightly.
"Okay, I've got some news. We had to remove his spleen, and we repaired several major blood vessels. We also removed two of his ribs; they were crushed beyond repair. Our primary concern was blood loss and his low blood pressure, but he seems to be holding his own after multiple transfusions." The surgeon paused. "He's not of the woods yet. Even with our strongest antibiotics, he may develop a severe infection. We'll be monitoring him closely for that."
Sarah spoke quietly. "Is he breathing on his own?"
"Yes, that's the good news. We were able to take him off the ventilator a short while ago. I'll have a nurse take you in, but you can only stay for a few minutes. He's conscious, but the pain medication will make him very sleepy. The best course of action at this point is for him to get as much rest as possible."
Sarah nodded and Chuck shook the doctor's hand before he left. A nurse approached and led them down the hall and through a set of double doors into the surgical intensive care unit. She pointed out Casey's room and walked ahead to the nurse's station. Chuck and Sarah entered the room.
They approached the bed quietly, and Sarah picked up Casey's hand and held it. Casey's eyelids fluttered open. He gripped her hand and smiled. "Hey," he said weakly.
"Hey back," said Sarah, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Doc says you're gonna be okay, Casey. You had us worried for a while," said Chuck, his voice cracking.
Casey narrowed his eyes. "Keep those lady feelings to yourself, Bartowski."
Chuck laughed a little and nodded his head.
"How do you feel?" asked Sarah.
Casey sighed. "Tired, mostly. I'm glad you're here." He flicked his eyes toward Chuck. "Both of you," he added.
Casey drifted back into a drugged sleep, and Chuck and Sarah met the nurse back out in the hall.
"You can go home for a while now. I have your numbers and I'll call if there's any change," she said.
Sarah looked back through Casey's door. "Actually, I think I'll stay for a while. I'll be in the waiting room if he wakes again."
Chuck nodded in agreement. "Me, too."
They returned to the waiting room and sat down. Sarah leaned against Chuck, placing her head on his shoulder. He wrapped a protective arm around her and drew her close, listening as her breathing became deep and regular. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
The End