Disclaimers: Standard stuff once again. I don't own anything.
A/N: As some of you have pointed out, the first chapter is similar to sdchuckfan's "Sarah vs. the Collapse," which I loved, a lot. Love all his stories. So, I present to you the next chapter of Salutations and Greetings.
Salutations and Greetings
Goodnight
"What do you think of him?" Casey questions, eyes cocked, ready for her answer.
"I don't know what to think. How is he an Agent, Casey? The Chuck I know can't even harm a fly."
"Well, the Chuck you know now can kill a full grown human being quite easily," Casey quips, earning him a hard glare.
Clearing his throat nervously, he begins, "Well….it all started when…"
***
Echo Park, California
Casa Bartowski
August 14, 2008
8:00 PM
Casey watched as Bartowski smacks the wall repeatedly, his knuckle splitting more and more at each contact. A crimson river of blood trickles down the wall, leaving streaks of ominous red. The last crack is the loudest yet; his hand stays there for a good three minutes before he withdraws it and walks into the house.
Switching cameras, he watches the interior as he walks straight past his sister Ellie and into his bedroom, blood freefalling from his fist. Switching cameras once again, he looks into the room, finding him in the connecting bathroom washing all the blood off his fingers. His eyes scan the small room, finding a pistol laying there right next to his right hand. Casey watches in wonder at what Bartowski can be doing with a gun.
Watching him walk out of the bathroom, he watches him grab his keys, stuff the gun into the back of his waistband and reach into his closet. Casey watches in interest as his asset looks for something in the closet, hopefully something that is not another gun. His hand finally stops moving, unhooking a key from the back of the closet and he hooks it onto his key chain. Moving out of the house and past a screaming Ellie and a concerned Devon, he makes his way outside into the cool night air.
He stops right where the blood is and takes a side glance at it, his head barely turning. His face grimaces, but he quickly schools it and continues his walk outside into the night. Quickly putting on a coat and pants, Casey moves to follow his asset, soon to be fish-fry if he isn't watched. Moving behind his asset, thirty yards as the usual, he watches his asset cross a couple streets and into the heart of the city. Turning the corner, he finds that it's a dead end, with no Bartowski in sight. Turning around, he finds a gun barrel pressed to the side of his temple, the cold steel chilling him to the bone.
Casey closes his eyes, ready for the bullet, metaphorical or real, whichever, that is going to take his life. The gun barrel is withdrawn from his forehead, and a raw voice answers him, far from the warm and inviting voice of Chuck Bartowski. This voice belonged to a ghost.
Voice raw and scratchy, he addressed the shaken Casey, "Casey, don't ever follow me like that again. Got it?"
All Casey can do is nod at the man before him, totally changed and dark in a span of two hours.
"What do you want Casey?"
"I'm just looking after you. With that wall meet fist charade, you've become a wild card."
Chuck can only scoff and shake his head as Casey laid the words on the table.
"I've always been a wild card. You just haven't seen me."
The words chill Casey to the bone, the voice cold and calculating, always knowing the thing to say.
Biting back, Casey retorts, "So, is this what you do after every girl leaves you? You punch walls and become a wild card?"
Apparently Casey knew how to say the wrong thing because in the next instant, he is flat on his stomach, Bartowski's knee impaled on his back, keeping him there. He can feel Bartowski's hand on his right cheek, keeping his face pinned to the ground.
"Casey, you're messing with the wrong person here. Don't think I don't know how to defend myself. Don't try to smart talk your way out of this."
Bartowski finally lets him up and he watches Bartowski exits the alley, continuing his walk in the night. Swiftly moving to catch up with him, Bartowski doesn't even acknowledge his existence, but Casey knows he knows he's there. Winding their way through the city, he stops at a car garage and extracts one of the keys off his key chain and inserts it into the garage lock.
He turns it and a click is heard, signaling it unlock. Stooping over, he reaches for the door handle and pulls it up, revealing a white Ducati 1198 motorcycle. Casey stares at the beauty and slender Italian bike, sleek and smooth. Bartowski stands up and admires it for a second, then walks over and begins to drag his hand all over it, getting use to the feel and checking for problems.
Finding none, he hops on, pulling on a helmet and tossing Casey another. Looking down at the helmet, he figures out what is going to happen.
"No way, I am not riding on the back."
"Either that or you walk home Casey. Which one will it be Casey? Remember Casey, I'm a wild card now, you should always keep an eye on me," he says, mocking Casey's words from earlier.
Grunting in defeat, he puts on the helmet and hops onto the back, and slowly, with disgust, puts his arms around Bartowski's stomach. Bartowski guns out of the parking lot, finding his way home in a couple of minutes. Finally, the ride is over and Casey can get away from Bartowski and his hellhound riding. Jumping off, Casey makes his retreat into the apartment to get away from Bartowski for a couple more hours.
His laugh sardonic, he chuckles and talks into the night air, "Goodnight, wherever you are."
Whipping off the gloves, he looks into the night and straight at the moon and sighs. He makes his retreat to Casa Bartowski, shutting the Morgan Door with a click. Sighing, he falls onto the bed and looks to his left, finding something very familiar. It's his guitar.
Casey returns to his computer screen to watch, a TV dinner in hand with fork in mouth. He watches as Bartowski picks up the acoustic guitar and begins to play.
His fingers move lithely over the strings, creating a perfect harmony of sound that elicits a euphoria he hasn't felt in so long. He takes refuge in the sounds and he soon drifts off to his own guitar playing.
Casey finds himself in tears at the end, his asset lost in the night without anybody there for him. With his one constant gone, who knows what would happen to the kid. Until then, Casey would watch over Chuck, making sure he is safe.
***
Echo Park, California
Casa de Casey
August 15, 2008
9:00 AM
Putting on the disgusting green uniform, he walks into the living room to find Bartowski already waiting with Beckman on screen. The two are conversing and Casey manages to catch, "Agent Bartowski," which immediately brings him to attention. Bartowski and Beckman notice Casey standing off to the side listening to the conversation. The two stop chatting, allowing Casey to jump in.
Without a misstep they continue, "With the departure of Agent Walker, we will begin training Mr. Bartowski. He will be put into the CIA payroll and employed under the CIA. Take the next two months to train him Major Casey, no missions in between unless it requires your expertise. If no other questions, then you're dismissed."
When no questions are had, she disconnects the link and smiles, finally having her weapon in play. Casey turns to Bartowski, finding that he was already gone. He walks outside and watches Bartowski hop onto his bike and speed off towards the Buy More, leaving Casey in the dust.
Sighing, he walks into the kitchen and takes out the keys to his Ford Vic. Walking out to the car, he swings the door open, takes a seat and puts the key in the ignition. The sound of the car engine puts him as ease as he pulls out of the driveway and into LA rush hour.
Los Angeles, California
Fulcrum Warehouse
October 17, 2008
10:00 PM
"Are you sure you're ready for this?"
"Why wouldn't I be Casey?" he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
'Cocky as ever,' Casey thinks.
This new Bartowski is confident, smooth, and nonchalant, the picture of a perfect agent. He watches as Bartowski exits the vehicle and moves into the building he is so supposed to be infiltrating. Watching from his lapel cam, he watches him stealthily put away two guards with hand to hand combat. He continues his way through the building, stealing information while taking out enemy personnel all over the building.
Finally appearing in the night, he runs over to the car and hops in and they fly off. Finally a safe distance away, Bartowski turns to Casey.
"Am I ready?"
"Yeah, you are."
The rest of the ride is in silence, both the men acknowledging the other's silence. When they step outside and into the apartment complex, Bartowski turns to Casey once more.
"Goodnight, Casey."
No answer comes back, so Bartowski leaves.
Finally able to look up, he stares straight at the moon and says, "Goodnight, Chuck."
Los Angeles, California
Casa de Chuck
February 14, 2009
9:00 PM
"That's the night the kid lost himself to Charles Carmichael, smooth and emotionless Carmichael."
Tears find their way to her eyes and they crash to the floor, gravity pulling them to the ground. Standing up, she turns around, only stopping when she hears Casey's voice.
"Walker, help him out. The longer he goes, the more Chuck Bartowski will be gone. Don't let it happen. I'm begging you Walker, help him."
All she can do is nod her head and run off to the bathroom for a second time, her heart going out towards Chuck Bartowski. Finally feeling decent, she makes her way down the hall again and towards his room, only to hear soft sounds coming through the doorway. The sounds of guitar playing come through, the sound causing her to lean against the wall and forget what she is there for. She soon slips further down the wall until she is finally in a sitting position and she falls asleep outside his room, her head lolling against the wall.
The door opens, revealing a Chuck and he looks to his right, finding Sarah Walker sitting there asleep. Sighing, he looks down at her, painful memories of that night replaying in his mind. He winces as they replay in his mind, but he manages to break out of it and come to his senses.
Sighing once more, he leans over and picks her up and moves into his room. Gently lowering her down onto his bed, he ghosts a kiss over her forehead. She lets out a sigh in her sleep and a peaceful smile finds its way to her face.
Her face is so peaceful, so unsullied and serene. Looking at her face, he can still see her beauty after all that time.
Moving his way to the door, he whispers, "Goodnight, Sarah."
He exits the room, leaving her in the darkness of the bedroom.
***
When she comes to, she finds herself in a bed, his bed. She looks over to her right and sees a guitar and a page with notes written all over it. Picking up the piece of paper, she reads the title, "Harder Than You Know," by Escape the Fate. Reading over the lyrics, she begins to cry and at the bottom, she sees a note left for her.
"You know where I am if you want to talk."
Quickly sitting up, she exits the room to go find her things and realizes that she has no way to get there. Casey looks up from his spot on the couch and notices her distress. Reaching into his pocket he tosses her the keys and says, "Save him, Walker."
She nods and runs out the door. Yanking open the door, she puts the key into the ignition and flies out of the parking lot and drives towards the beach.
***
The Beach
Their Spot
February 14, 2009
11:00 PM
She walks barefoot over the beach, the sand cold beneath her feet. She shivers at the cold air and she spots a lone figure down at the shoreline, legs crossed staring out into the surf. Forgetting the cold, she runs over and stops directly behind him and he gives no indication that he knows she's there. Instead of waiting for an answer, she sits down far enough that there can be contact, which she hoped for. They sit together and look out into the surf, neither wanting to start the conversation.
Sighing, he finally gives in, and he asks the simple questions, "Why?"
She looks over him, and looking into his eyes, she sees the unbridled want to know the answer to the question. She stays silent which causes him to turn his head back to watch the surf.
She can't take the silence between them anymore and asks back, "Why?"
"You didn't answer mine, so why should I answer yours?"
The voice is cold and calculating, far from the warmth and cheeriness she is use to hearing.
She looks down once again and she cannot articulate any words to say. He grunts angrily and stands up, walking off towards the parking lot, leaving her alone on the beach. Stopping a few feet away, he says over his shoulder, "Not much of a talk. Granted, you were never good with words."
He continues his brisk walk to his bike and she hears him gun the motorcycle. It zooms out of the parking lot and she is left alone, her thoughts swirling in her head.
Pulling out her phone, she dials a number into her phone.
"I'd like to be reassigned."
***
When she gets home, it is well past 1:00 AM and she walks down the hall, finding the door to his room open. She sees his guitar lying there on his chair and she sees a lump on his bed. Reaching inside, she closes the door and it closes with a click.
Leaning against the door, she whispers, "Goodnight, Chuck."
A/N: So there's the second chapter. Hope you enjoyed. R&R. Goodnight.