I'd like to thank anon4utu, who deemed this one-shot worthy of publication.
This story was written for timewalker05, a guy who initially tolerated my unsolicited editing of his writing, and then later decided that I might as well beta for him. Before I knew it, we were good friends, and I consider myself very fortunate to have met him. Thank you for being my friend, TW.
Traveled Down the Road and Back Again
Sarah fired her gun and two short pops rang out as the bullets burrowed into the thick metal wall. Just to the right of where she had aimed was an open doorway. She fired her gun intermittently, laying down cover for Casey, who was working his way toward the doorway, using the hanging slabs of frozen beef to hide his forward progress. He dodged between the hunks of frosted red flesh, held up by large metal hooks attached to an overhead conveyor belt. The meat locker was of ample size, located along the southern wall of the cinderblock warehouse owned by the Texas Beef Distribution Corporation.
The company was a front for a Fulcrum-operated weapons smuggling project. Weapons were acquired by a small network of arms dealers who bribed border crossing guards to get the merchandise into Texas. Fulcrum agents then collected the weapons under the guise of a legitimate organization, and, hidden in truckloads of shank beef, the guns and other paraphernalia were dispersed throughout the country. The Los Angeles warehouse was one of the larger centers of the illegal activity, and Beckman thought it would be a perfect opportunity for Team Bartowski to try out the new Intersect.
Gunfire erupted again, bullets flying into the freezer; at least four Fulcrum agents stood just beyond the open doorway. Casey glanced back at Sarah with frustration. Crouched low behind a stack of wooden boxes filled with automatic weapons, she shrugged her shoulders slightly. They were trapped. The meat locker had two large doors—one opened into the warehouse, where the agents had gathered, and the other opened into a small conduit walkway behind them. Directly across the walkway was a door leading to the outside, used to deliver the beef and weapons. Sarah and Casey had entered through that door, and then used a hand-held computer to break the code on the freezer door. They surprised the Fulcrum agents, who were inspecting the latest delivery. Sarah immediately dove to the left, and Casey went to the right as the agents retreated through the second doorway. Unfortunately, the door Casey and Sarah had used shut behind them, and it was now locked. Casey had slid across the floor to it and looked for an escape release handle. No luck. Apparently, Fulcrum wasn't worried about any of its agents accidentally freezing to death.
Sarah's headset crackled. "Chuck?" She listened for a moment. "No, we're pinned down in the freezer. The code worked, but now we're trapped."
Casey's voice came over the headset. "Chuck, stay in the car, we've got this handled." His comment was followed by a burst of static, and then silence.
"The freezer must be interfering with the radios," Sarah called out to Casey. Damn it, she thought. This mission was falling apart in a hurry. Fulcrum must have a delivery to make, or they would have simply shut the door and waited until she and Casey were dead. She sprayed the freezer entryway with bullets as Casey moved up behind the last shank of beef between him and door.
Casey stepped in front of the hanging beef and was about to rush out with a gun in each hand. Sarah readied herself to follow him. Suddenly, the back door was pulled open, and Chuck rushed inside, flattening himself against the wall. He had backed up against a protruding bright red knob. The conveyor belt along the ceiling of the freezer began to move; the frozen sides of beef swayed as they moved along at a fairly fast pace. The one behind Casey smacked against him and pushed him forward; Casey sprawled to the floor, and his guns skittered across the metal out into the warehouse.
Observing Casey's fall, two of the Fulcrum agents rushed inside, firing their weapons. As Casey picked himself up off the floor, a bullet grazed his ear and he spun around, right into another moving hunk of frozen flesh; he hit it dead on and collapsed in a heap.
The Fulcrum agents were dressed in the attire of the warehouse workers—white uniforms complete with booties over their shoes and hair nets. As they entered, Sarah stepped out from behind the boxes and fired her gun, hitting one of the agents square in the chest. The other agent turned toward Sarah and began firing his automatic weapon. He didn't see the side of beef bearing down on him until it was too late—the shank knocked into his head and he fell to the floor unconscious. Another shank came at Sarah, but she sidestepped it easily and hurried over to Casey.
Sarah and Chuck reached Casey at the same time. They each grabbed a foot and dragged him back to the now open back door. Reaching the door, Casey came to and jerked his feet from their hands. He rolled up to a standing position and accepted one of Sarah's guns. He glanced at the red knob, and then at Chuck, who gulped visibly. Sarah had entered the walkway and had opened the door to the outside. Casey shoved Chuck after her, and then walked backwards out of the freezer, ensuring that none of the remaining Fulcrum agents gave chase.
The remainder of their escape was uneventful, and they now stood before the monitor in Castle, averting their gaze from a very angry Beckman.
"Let me get this straight," Beckman said harshly. "You allowed a group of Fulcrum agents to escape. The cleaners report that the weapons are now missing and the warehouse has been abandoned. Our best lead for the Fulcrum weapons operation has been destroyed. And you were unable to find any opportunity to demonstrate the abilities of the new Intersect." She directed her glare at Casey. "Exactly what went wrong, Colonel Casey?"
Casey met her glare silently.
"Um, General? Actually, I sort of activated the conveyor belt, and, um. . ." Chuck began.
"That will be enough, Mr. Bartowski. Colonel Casey, are you letting Mr. Bartowski make excuses for your sloppiness now? I do believe I placed you in charge of this mission."
"Yes, ma'am," said Casey through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists.
"I suggest that you straighten your team out, Colonel," she said, peering over her glasses. The screen darkened.
Casey stared at Chuck for a moment, and then he abruptly left.
Chuck looked at Sarah. "I guess he's mad at me, again."
Sarah gave him a small smile. "Your intentions were noble, Chuck."
"Yeah, but my execution is lacking."
"He just needs some time to cool off." She hesitated. "I'm hoping that happens soon, because you'll have to spend the evening with him."
"What?"
"I'm meeting a potential recruit for the CIA. She's located nearby, and Beckman asked me to meet with her for an initial screening. And because the Fulcrum agents escaped today, you have to remain with either Casey or me for the next day or so." She started walking up the Castle steps and Chuck followed.
"I have to spend the night with him?"
Sarah chuckled softly. "I'll tell you what. The meeting should be wrapped up around midnight. I'll swing by and pick you up then."
Chuck looked at his watch. "But it's only eight o'clock! What I am gonna do for four hours?"
She entered the Orange Orange, stopped and turned to face him. She frowned slightly. "Chuck."
He held up his hands. "I know. I'm grateful you'll come for me at midnight." He turned to shut the freezer door. "If I'm still alive, that is," he muttered, following Sarah out to her Porsche.
They drove to the apartment complex, and Sarah walked Chuck to Casey's apartment. Casey opened the door. "Get in," he said shortly to Chuck.
Chuck gulped and stepped meekly inside, glancing back at Sarah, who gave him an encouraging smile. When he was out of sight, Sarah narrowed her eyes. "He's had a long day," she told Casey.
"And I haven't?"
"Just play nice, Casey." She turned and left.
Casey went inside. Chuck was looking at the shelf of books behind the surveillance monitors. He held one up. "Lord of the Rings?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Passes the time," Casey said, narrowing his eyes. "Now put it back." He reached up and pressed his palm against his right ear briefly. It was covered with a small bandage.
Chuck carefully returned the book and watched Casey. "Does it hurt much?"
"Not as much as the headache you're giving me," Casey replied.
Chuck took the hint, sat on the couch, and turned on the television. "All right! A Burn Notice marathon," he said.
Casey watched him for a moment, grunted, and then went out into the small dining alcove. He sat down at the table and opened a few small jars of paint. Half an hour later, he was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice Chuck standing at the entryway, staring at him.
"What are you doing, Casey?" Chuck asked quietly.
Startled, Casey looked up briefly and then returned to his task, scowling.
He looked different for a moment, thought Chuck. But how? It was his face. Casey seemed. . . not happy, exactly. Relaxed. Yeah, that was it. Relaxed. Against his better judgment, Chuck walked over to the table and sat opposite Casey. He glanced at the small CD player sitting on the table. He furrowed his brows, trying to recall the song that was playing. The chorus triggered his memory. Amarillo by Morning. A song by George Strait. Chuck remembered Ellie playing that song a few months ago. She had always enjoyed country music, and she particularly liked George Strait.
Casey picked up a magnifying glass to examine the tiny soldier he had been painting.
Chuck leaned forward, surveying the table full of soldiers, tanks, and other assorted military vehicles. An entire army in miniature. He took a deep breath, and then asked, "What is all this, Casey?"
Casey set the magnifying glass down and picked up a brush. "What does it look like, moron?"
Chuck folded his arms and refused to answer.
After a few moments, Casey stopped painting and looked up. He sighed heavily. "It's an army. For Flames of War."
"Flames of War?" Chuck raised his eyebrows and unfolded his arms.
Casey grunted. "I'm surprised a geek like you hasn't already heard of it. But maybe it hasn't hit your radar because it doesn't involve a computer screen or an X-Box controller."
"Hey," Chuck said. "I have other pursuits besides video gaming."
Casey stared at him. "Like what?"
Chuck searched his mind frantically. There must be something. Anything! "Um. . . I like music."
"Everybody likes music," said Casey with a smirk.
"And apparently you're a George Strait fan," countered Chuck. "Funny, so is my sister."
Casey's face darkened and he leaned forward, placing his hands on the table.
Crap! I should be apologizing to him and instead I'm just getting him angry, Chuck thought. Casey might not be the easiest guy to get along with, and he was always making snide comments, but when push came to shove, Casey was always there to catch him when he fell. Sometimes literally, Chuck thought, remembering how Mr. Colt had dropped him from a rooftop. If Casey hadn't been there. . . .
Chuck swallowed hard. "Casey, I'm sorry."
Casey's expression shifted from anger to confusion. "Huh?"
"I know I screwed up the mission today. Again. And you got blamed for it. Again."
Casey leaned back and eyed Chuck for a moment. He shook his head slightly and then picked up another soldier and handed it to Chuck. "It's a 1/100 scale miniature, perfect in every detail. Flames of War is a game based on World War II. Axis and Allies. It's a game of military strategy."
"Like Risk?" asked Chuck, examining the soldier and then picking up one of the tanks.
"Sort of," said Casey. "I paint the figures and then build and assemble my own army. I find it helps to focus my thoughts."
Chuck nodded appreciatively. "This is pretty cool, Casey." His eyes lit up. "Say Casey, why don't we play?"
Casey blinked at him. "Play?"
"You mean you haven't played yet?"
"I'm on a mission. Even if I knew someone who would want to play, I could hardly trust them."
"You haven't played," Chuck said softly. It dawned on him then, that Casey didn't have anyone, really. If Chuck wanted to play a game, any of several friends would be available, with Morgan heading the list. This is how I can make it up to him, he thought. Finally, he had found some common ground with Casey.
"Let's play, Casey! We still have at least two hours to kill." Chuck smiled. "Or," he said, "we could just talk."
Casey didn't hesitate. "I guess we could split this army in half. I've got the rule book around here somewhere," he said, standing to rummage through some drawers.
***
As Sarah approached Casey's door, she could hear them arguing loudly, and she groaned inwardly. Couldn't those two get along for even a few hours? She typed in the code and entered Casey's apartment. She stood in the living room, shocked by the commotion coming from the dining room. Casey was yelling. And Chuck was shouting back at him. What the hell? Chuck rarely raised his voice to Casey, much less shouted at him. She walked quickly into the dining room.
"My platoon is not pinned down," yelled Casey.
"You received five hits. You are pinned down," yelled Chuck, waving his arms about.
"Hello?" asked Sarah loudly.
Both men turned to look at her. Chuck gave her a sheepish grin. "Oh, hi Sarah, did your meeting get over early?" he asked.
"Chuck, it's one-thirty."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," said Sarah, eyeing the table full of toy soldiers, an open bottle of wine, and two nearly-empty glasses.
Casey approached Sarah and took her elbow, leading her into the living room. "Look, Walker, I opened a bottle of port, and the kid got a little loopy. He might as well stay here until he crashes. He can sleep on the couch."
Sarah furrowed her brows and started to speak, but then Chuck came out of the dining room. "Um, Chuck?" she said. "You'll stay here tonight, okay? It's almost morning anyhow."
"Sure. I'll walk you out." Chuck followed Sarah outside.
"Look, Sarah, I know this must seem strange."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Well, I found a way to make it up to Casey. You know, for wrecking the mission."
"You didn't wreck the mission, Chuck."
Chuck put his hands on her shoulders and met her eyes. "I need to do this for him. Tomorrow I'll be the moron again, and he'll be Colonel Cranky. But tonight. . . tonight we're just guys hanging out." He slid his hands down her arms and took hold of her hands.
Sarah squeezed his hands in return and smiled. "You are something else, Chuck," she said, shaking her head.
Casey called out from the apartment. "I am not pinned down."
Chuck's eyes lit up and he grinned broadly. "Bye!" He ran back inside.
Sarah stood by Casey's open window for a moment, listening to Chuck and Casey banter back and forth.
"Boys," she muttered under her breath. She turned and walked out to the Porsche.
The End