Chuck didn't know what evil fate had decided that the perfect way to end an otherwise great Christmas party was to have him and Casey draw the short straws when it was time to decide who was staying to clean up, but he was guessing Atropos. Sure, that would mean the night was going to end in death, but that sounded just about right considering that it was their first time together without any witnesses around since he'd blown up Casey's beloved car.
But the other man seemed more distracted than angry as he tossed empty bags of chips into the trash. It even took him a full three seconds, counting by mississippis, to draw his gun when a display alarm clock some customer had messed with earlier that day suddenly started beeping. It was enough to make Chuck worried.
"Something, uh, something wrong, Casey?" he asked, hoping that the question wouldn't end with him being punched in the face when Casey remembered he was there. "I mean, other than the... car... thing."
Even that reminder wasn't enough to make Casey slam him into the wall and breath heavily into his face as he growled out some very convincing threat. Chuck knew something was wrong with him now.
Oh, wait, now he was being slammed into the wall. That was good. Chuck had been starting to go from just worried to really concerned. But instead of a threat, what Casey growled was, "You really think my jaw was chiseled by Michelangelo, Bartowski?"
"Um... um... oh God," was all that Chuck could manage to get out in response.
Luckily, Casey didn't even seem to be listening to him, his eyes focused on nothing as he muttered to himself, "Why am I even asking? Of course you did."
"I didn't mean anything by it. Just... just, the statuesqueness, and the, the truth serum, and..." Chuck didn't know whether he was digging himself into a deeper hole or not. He also didn't know why Casey was bringing this up now, weeks after the incident.
"Shut up and listen to me, Bartowski," Casey said, his eyes snapping up to meet his. "After we get done here, I'm going to take you home, sit you down, and then..." Wait a minute, Chuck thought, was Casey hitting on him instead of getting ready to really hit him for maybe not having entirely normal straight thoughts about him? "...I'm going to print out some paperwork and you're going to sign up to join the NSA."
"What? Are we having the same conversation here?" Chuck babbled out, his hopes dashed before he could even figure out whether he actually had any hopes or not. "I didn't want to be part of the CIA, so why do you think--"
"You're going to sign up tonight," Casey repeated, cutting him off. "Before anything can happen. I'll ask to train you myself; General Beckman's seen enough of you to know you'll annoy away anyone else anyway."
"Wait, wait, 'before anything can happen'? What do you think is going to happen?" Chuck asked, focusing on what he knew, after weeks of hanging around spies, must be the most important part of the conversation.
Too bad Casey continued to ignore him. "You do this, Bartowski, and I'll forget you murdered my car. I'll forgive you for screaming in my ear every time you 'fragged' somebody at two in the morning." He shifted suddenly, sliding his knee between Chuck's leg until his crotch was pressed against his thigh. The contact might be more interesting, Chuck reflected in the one small part of his mind that didn't shut down immediately, if it didn't make him think about the fact that he was absolutely sure Casey wouldn't think twice about kneeing him in the groin if he did anything to upset him. "And, there won't be any worries about compromising the mission on my end anymore. Believe me, you're more likely to get anywhere with me than you are with Walker. As soon as the papers are signed."
"Guh," was the only thing Chuck could think to say.
"And I know you'd be interested in that. You don't say things like that about another man's jaw if you aren't, even with truth serum. You trust me, right Bar-- Chuck?"
"Now that I know you won't actually shoot me," Chuck said automatically, and wondered why the words made Casey flinch just the tiniest bit, the movement so slight that he'd never have noticed it if they weren't pressed together so closely.
"...Right. Than trust me when I say this is the best thing to do." As abruptly as he'd grabbed Chuck he let him go again, absently glancing over at the room where they'd been briefed about so many missions as he said, and Chuck almost thought he was talking to himself this time, "This is the right thing to do."
As Casey went back to cleaning like nothing had happened, Chuck slumped against the wall, slowly realizing that with an offer like that on the table he didn't really think he'd be able to turn it down once the pen was in his hand.