DISCLAIMER: I don't own Chuck.


"Daddy?" The light tugging on his sleeve roused him from his sleep. Chuck groaned. He had the mother of all headaches. The surface underneath him was soft and warm. It smelt like home.

Tugging turned into pulling. "Geddup Daddy!"

The round face of his four year old swam into focus. The living room couch had never been more comfortable, he thought, taking note of where he lay. He summarized it was night time, from the unlit room, and the dark world that lay outside of the bay window.

"Whasisit, Sam?" A memory flashed through his head. He had just put Sam and the twins to bed. Well, he had when this happened the first time. He had to keep reminding himself that he wasn't living in reality.

Clearing his head of such confusing thoughts, he brought his attention back to Sam. "Shouldn't you be in bed, rug rat?"

"You're not ansuring door, Daddy." Sam pointed a stubby finger in the direction of the front hall. "When's mummy home?" Chuck looked at his watch. He was at a loss as to who would be at the door at 11:00pm.

"You know your Mom had to work late tonight," he answered, running his hand through her rumpled blond hair. Heaving a sigh, he stood from the couch.

There was a loud thumping on the front door.

"Bartowski! Open up!" Chuck faltered in his tracks.

"Casey?"

"No its Old Saint Nick! Now open the damn door so I can spread some-"

Chuck clasped his hands over his daughter's ears, who had been trailing behind him.

"Hey! Okay Saint Nick! A little one is about!"

Once confident Casey wouldn't explode with more profanity, he unlocked the door. Colonel John Casey stood before him, travel bag in hand, a scowl etched on his face; Chuck had often speculated that he had spent so much of his life scowling, his face was permanently stuck that way, and Casey didn't even know.

"Miss me?" He punched Chuck in the shoulder.

"Not as much as I thought I would," Chuck grumbled, rubbing his wound.

Casey grinned, much to his shock, and then moved past him into the house.

"Of course you can come in, Casey, even though it's the middle of the night, and I haven't seen you in like two years," Chuck mumbled swinging the door closed behind him.

A black overcoat was flung at him, obscuring his vision. After wrestling it off his face, he hung it on the coat hook by the door. Turning back to Casey, he watched the larger man's eyes dart around the hall, and the connecting rooms.

"Walker not home?" he grunted. He set his travel bag down.

"She's working late… How.. how could you tell?" His question hung in the air, unanswered. Casey had left for the living room. Chuck followed, dragging Sam with him, who was clutching to his pant leg.

He had already made himself comfortable, settling into an arm chair; but his eyes gave away his uneasiness, examining every nook and cranny of the spacious room. Chuck took a seat opposite him on the couch. Sam climbed up after him

"Sooo-" Casey's gaze snapped to Chuck.

"You gonna introduce me to your gremlin?" he interrupted.

"Hmm? You know Sam."

"Yeah, but by the looks of it, she doesn't remember me." He gestured to her. It was then that Chuck realized Sam had jammed herself in-between the back of the sofa and himself, eyeing Casey with wary stare. Chuck reached behind his back, extricated her, and relocated her to his lap.

"Sammy, say hello to John Casey. Uncle Casey to you." Casey grunted. Chuck couldn't identify which grunt it was. "Last time he saw you, you were two." His Sam was usually a precocious, talkative little four year old; but perhaps she found something intimidating about Casey, he thought, as she turned away from Casey and latched on to Chuck's t-shirt, burying her head into his chest.

"Guess she's not in a chatty mood," he shrugged. Casey grunted in response.

"If Walker had been home, a gun would have greeted me at the door," he said after a few silent minutes had passed. Chuck pondered that. Sarah would've answered the door at the first knock, and she would've been a lot angrier than Chuck was about having her sleep disturbed. She also had the tendency to bring her gun with her when someone was at the door that they weren't expecting. He decided Casey was right.

"So Casey, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Casey analyzed him, and at the same time, glared at him. "At eleven o'clock at night?" Chuck often wondered how one person could express anger in so many ways.

"I need… I came to ask-" Casey put his head in his hand. "I came to ask a favour." To say Chuck was surprised would be an understatement. He had never seen Casey stumble with his words. And his tone of voice disturbed him. It was the tone of uncertainty. It's didn't suit John Casey. "God, I'm gonna need a drink. You got any grown up drinks, Bartowski, or just Walker juice and apple juice?" Chuck sent Casey a murderous glare.

"It's called breast milk, and yes, there's scotch in that hutch." He indicated towards a hutch in the far corner. Casey grunted and lumbered across the room. He sat down a few minutes later with a full bottle of scotch and two glasses. After he filled both glasses, he handed one to Chuck.

"Oh you're so thoughtful, but I don't like to drink in front of my kids."

"Kid's asleep, Chuck." Indeed she was, he thought, surprised to find Sam fast asleep, still clinging to his shirt.

"Ah well, no harm done" Chuck said, accepting the drink from him. After taking a long sip of his own scotch, Casey stayed silent. "So what favour did you need your old pal Chuck to do at eleven o'clock at night? Seriously, I wanna go to bed."

Casey mumbled something indistinct. If he hadn't seen the larger man's lips move, he would have dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him. "I'm sorry, didn't catch that."

He took a deep breath and appeared to be fighting with his… feelings? Chuck wanted to laugh at the thought, but he decided it would be best for both of them if he didn't disturb Casey's contemplative state. Casey clasped his hands, seeming to have made up his mind.

"Will you be my best man?"

The scotch halfway down his throat came spluttering back up, as Chuck choked out a response. "wha-what?"

Casey growled. "Don't make me say it again Bartowski, or the offer is rescinded."

"But- but last time I saw you and Verbanski , you were both very clear that you never wanted to get married! What's the big change?"

"I proposed on the runway in Siberia. Right before we left for L.A. We just got in about two hours ago. Then I came here."

"Couldn't this have waited until the morning? And where is your lovely fiancé, by the way?"

Casey chuckled. "I came here to win a bet with Gertrude. She doesn't want a wedding, but um, I'm one for tradition. Anyway, we made a deal. If I could work up the nerve, as she put it, to ask you to be my best man, then we can have a wedding. She was convinced I couldn't do it. Showed her." Casey was all out grinning now. "Came here straight from the airport. I thought the sooner, the better. Gertrude went to Alex and the Knome's." He sat back in the armchair and crossed his legs. "Hey you got any of those mini pizzas? The ones that go in the microwave?" By the time Chuck had collected his thoughts enough to respond, Casey was halfway to the kitchen

"Um, yeah actually… they're.. they're in the freezer."

He heard the suctioning sound of the freezer door being opened. "FOUND 'EM" Then he heard the whoosh of the door being closed.

Chuck carefully moved Sam to the couch, and made for the kitchen. Casey had helped himself to a beer from the fridge and was collecting cutlery. The room seemed inordinately bright.

"Hey you want one?"

"Um. No thanks." Chuck sat himself at the breakfast counter, and gawked at the cheerful, lady-feelings feeling Casey.

"Suit yourself." He took a swig of his beer

Beep. For some reason, Casey ignored the microwave.

"I'd be honoured John." Chuck started. "I'd be-" Casey silenced him by hold up his hand.

"That's all I need to hear. No more mushy gushy."

Beep. Casey continued to act like he hadn't heard the microwave.

"So you didn't answer my question. Why are you guys suddenly wanting to get married?"

Casey took a few minutes to answer. "I know it sounds dumb… but I want Johnny to be able to call Gertrude Grandma…" He muttered sheepishly.

"No, that's really sweet…" Chuck lost his train of thought.

The lights suddenly felt much too bright and the room was very warm.

Beep.

"Casey, your pizza is done."

Casey didn't respond, he seemed to be stunned. The panic was rising in Chuck as Casey started to fade from sight, as the bright white lights started to sear his eyeballs.

Beep.

Chuck tried to blink out the light, but his eyes suddenly felt incredibly heavy, and as soon as he closed them, he couldn't open them again.

"Chuck?" He knew that voice. It was her voice.

"Chuck, c'mon open your eyes!" The sadness in her voice struck him like a stake to the heart. What could he do to help her? She wanted him to open his eyes. How hard could it be.

Beep. Beep.

It was a lot harder than he expected.

It was astounding how much effort it took to move such tiny body parts. He felt like he had been struggling for hours. Just when he was about to give up, light broke through the darkness and the blurry face of his favorite person hovered over him.

He knew he had returned to reality, and as happy as he was in the dream world, he was happier here, sharing a future with his wife. With Sarah.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sarah's warm hands cradle his face, and he feels tiny splashes of teardrops on his cheeks. He wants to tell her not to cry, not to worry about him, that he'd be fine. That they'd be fine. His throat feels so dry though, like he'd fallen asleep in a dessert.

"Wa-" He rasps. She understands, and sticks a straw in his mouth. Chuck relishes in the ice cool liquid on his tongue. But he only needs a few sips, just enough to talk.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It comes out as a whisper, but he knows she can hear him. "Sarah... Don't cry." For some reason, she does the opposite of what he asked. Sarah tears start streaming rapidly down her face and she lowers her head on to his chest. Chuck feels the hospital gown he's in get soaked.

"Nothing could take me away from you," He whispers into her ear.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep.

Beep.


He turned down a corridor. It was empty. He glances over his shoulder, assuring himself he's not being followed. His fingers fumble with his phone, dialing the phone number he was forced to memorize.

It rings once. Twice.

"Radner Security."

"Chuck Bartowski is awake."

"… Since vhen?"

"Well I've been watching like you asked, mostly cleaning outside of his room. I think his wife was getting annoyed with me 'cause-"

"Idiot! Answer da damn question."

"He- he just woke up, Mr. Hauf. I don't think the nurses even know yet."

"… Fine. Continvue to keep vatch. I'll be in touch." The line went dead.


Author's Note:

Casey loves mini pizzas.