A/N So in this one Chuck didn't have to drug Casey, but between the bullet wound and the transfusion he's still in pretty bad shape. Casey's pleasure at being funny is a tip of the hat to Zettel, for whom even Casey's interior monologs consisted of grunts.
"We've got a man down!"
"Doctor faces, everybody."
"If I leave he'll die."
"He's in more than enough jeopardy."
Casey felt real good, as the room slowly blurred into view. That's how he knew he hadn't been tranqed, he never felt good about that. 'Good' being a relative term, of course. Having Chuck Bartowski's mug in your face only counted as good if you were a relative.
Heh. I can so be funny.
Sarah's face was there, too, always there with Chuck. Next to him. What was it with those two? The ridiculous courtship dance that everyone but them knew they were doing had changed, and he hadn't figured out how just yet.
Chuck waved as Casey's eyes fluttered open. "Hey, Casey." He snapped his fingers in Casey's face.
"Hey, Chuckie," said the big guy in response, his voice woozy and shrill. He smiled at them. He wanted to break those fingers. There was a bit of a disconnect.
"That's not normal," said Sarah.
The smile went away, as more of John Casey came back online. "I feel like Death," he growled, looking ready to puke.
"That's normal," said Chuck.
Grunt. His leg hurt, his hand hurt. Looking down, he saw bandages on both. "What happened?"
"You did," said Sarah. She and Chuck stood up, which was good, since it got Chuck out of his face.
His brains were still a little bit behind. "I did what?" He saw a table, chairs. Just like the ones they had in–Oh, no. He looked up.
General Beckman looked down at him, them, with as genial an expression as he'd, they'd, ever seen on her face. "Good work, Colonel Casey. Oh, you do look like roadkill, don't you? Anyway. The premier made a full recovery, owing largely to you."
"Don't mention it," said Casey. His good red American blood, put inside some stinking commie despot. "Please."
"This was an off-the-books mission, she said so herself," said Chuck. No one would go talking about this to anyone.
"Exactly," said Beckman, in that same genial tone. "Your mission, your methods. And your firing squads, had you failed." She took a nice, deep breath. "Which you didn't do. Although I do not endorse your methods, particularly the inclusion of a civilian doctor, you enabled Premier Goya to make his announcement. Costa Gravas will have its first democratic election, and it wouldn't have happened without your extraordinary sacrifices, some more extraordinary than others."
"I'll tell Devon you said thanks. It was his idea, after all."
"You'd better not," said Beckman, suddenly less genial. "The premier wanted to thank you personally, Colonel Casey, but you passed out from blood loss before he could do so."
"So this will have to do," finished Sarah, coming around with a large wooden box that she handed off to Casey.
Attached to the box was an envelope, unsealed, because what good would that do? Casey opened it and pulled out a sheet of Premier Goya's personal stationery. A note, written by hand, with surprisingly good penmanship. My good friend Colonel John Casey, the people of Costa Gravas and I are in your debt. Truly you are a man of honor, and more. With my life literally in your hands and my death in your heart, you still gave freely of yourself that I might live. I will never forget that the blood of an American patriot flows through my veins. Truly you are the Angel of Life.
Casey's lip curled at all the florid romanticism. Duty, that's all it was. He had orders to make sure the Premier lived, so the Premier lived. You'd think a soldier would understand that.
Then he saw the box. At the top it said La Republica de Costa Gravas, the old name of the country before it fell to Goya and his goons, and they changed the name to the People's Republic. This was an antique, the old president's personal cigar box, probably a trophy in Goya's own office.
He lifted the lid, inhaled the scent of fine tobacco. They didn't make these beauties for export. "Pre-revolutionary Costa Gravan Double Coronas," he said in awe, and pleasure. The gold standard of cigars. Maybe that stinking commie despot–former stinking commie despot–wasn't so bad after all.
"I must say, Colonel, that his note was remarkably…complimentary," said Beckman, who'd received a copy of the note long ago. "Despite your history, you seem to have won him over."
"Because of it, I'd say, General," said Casey, around an unlit cigar. He took it out of his mouth, regretfully. "You learn a lot about a guy when you're trying to kill him. I probably know more about him than his wife does."
"That's disturbing," muttered Chuck.
Beckman either didn't hear his remark or was actively ignoring it. "And you built your play on that. Excellent."
Costa Gravan Double Coronas make excellent pointers. "Actually, General, it was Chuck's idea."
Beckman looked at Chuck curiously. "Agent Bartowski?"
"Yes, General," said Chuck, stepping forward. "At first, I thought the name 'Angel of Death' was a bit silly–" the two officers in the room glared at him "–right, moving on, anyway, having met the man I came to see that it was really a gesture of respect in a very romantic, Costa Gravan sort of way. So I had Casey put together a note, which Devon passed to the Premier." He put the note itself on the screen, in a little window.
Excellency. You know me as El Angel de la Muerte, but my name is Col. John Casey, USMC. I've been tasked with your death, and so far I've come close, but no cigar. My only failure. Until and unless my orders are rescinded, no one can be allowed to kill you but me, my professional pride demands it.
As Doctor Woodcombe here can tell you, your little heart problem yesterday wasn't natural. One of your men is a traitor and a poisoner, and poison is no way for a soldier to die. Doctor Woodcombe knows my plan. If you wish my help let him know, and he will take appropriate steps. If not, I'll see you in Hell.
"Hey, Casey," said Chuck, "I just realized. 'Close but no cigar', and here Goya gave you a whole box of–right, anyway, General, the plan worked very well, except that Artman put his toxin in all the cigars, not just the one he took downstairs."
"A damn shame," muttered Casey. All that fine tobacco, wasted.
"Yeah," said Chuck. "Even with Goya switching out that cigar for a fresh one, he still got the poison."
"And believe me, I'd be very upset with you," said Beckman, "If I officially knew anything about this mission at all. Best-laid plans and all that, and this was far from the best laid. On the other hand, you have managed to accidentally sniff out another Ring cell and survived the experience, a little worse for the wear. We have all systems looking for Artman now. Good work, team."
Devon sat upstairs in the Orange Orange, pondering imponderables in the way that only very tired people do. An Orange Orange above a spy base. Double oranges for people who lead double lives. He had to admit, it was pretty cool, on the surface. Black tie dinners, embassy extractions. Killer stuff. The real killer stuff, not so much.
"Hey, Devon," said Chuck, coming out of the freezer.
"Hey, Chuck," said Devon, getting up. "Things go all right in, uh…" he gestured at the freezer "…headquarters?"
"Well enough," said Chuck, with a sigh. "Old mission completed, no new missions on the horizon, if that's what you're wondering."
"Nope," said Devon, shaking his head. "Not interested in missions, my espionage itch has been scratched. I've got a real life, bro. Wife, home, job. If this life starts taking away from that one, then this life's got to go. Just not how I want to live." He checked his watch. "I gotta go, gotta return that gear to the hospital before I go home, scratch some of those itches…"
"I didn't hear that," said Chuck, as Sarah also emerged from the freezer.
"Yeah, I know, la la la," said Devon with a grin. "You two take care of each other."
"That's what we do," said Sarah, as he left, and Chuck locked the door behind him. "He would have made an awesome spy."
"He doesn't think so," said Chuck, which pretty much settled the matter. "Now Ellie, on the other hand…"
"Definite interrogator potential," said Sarah, remembering those few moments under Ellie's sharp gaze and sharper words unhappily.
Chuck recognized those tones of dread. "You too?"
"Jeff and Lester were spreading rumors." She slashed the air with her hand. "I panicked." She stared at her hand, breathing heavily. "I never panic."
"My sister believed something they said?" Whoever said 'consider the idea. not the source' never met those two.
"Me and my marks, while you were in Prague."
"Ah." Her parading around in a white bikini, with at least one other man, supposedly behind his back. Definitely actionable intel.
"Ellie was curious."
Chuck understood her panic. When Ellie got 'curious' about things like that, her claws came out. "I'll bet she was. I saw you two going over the charm bracelet."
Sarah held out her hand, although he didn't ask her to. He looked at the charms. "I should explain about Sam," she said.
He heard the hesitation in her voice. "No need, not to me," he said, putting his hand over the charms. "That sort of thing is need-to-know." He released her wrist entirely. "Besides, it's not like I didn't have to deal with a question-and-answer session of my own."
"Devon?" asked Sarah, lowering her arm. He knew about them. What sort of questions could he have?
Chuck nodded. "We don't look 'together' enough to suit him."
"Oh." Sarah thought about all the different faces of their relationship, and who they faced. "That's a good thing, right?"
"It would be, if he was, say, General Beckman," agreed Chuck with a shrug. "But he's not. He needed…clarification."
"So you–" air quotes "–clarified us for him?"
"I did." He reached up to touch her air-quoting fingers. "Hope you don't mind."
She drew her fingertips down the length of his fingers, across his palm, and down. "Why would I mind?"
"Hey, honey," said Ellie, "Where are you?"
"At the hospital now," said Devon. "Been at the consulate all night, really touch and go with the Premier, but he's tough. Not stupid, though, Climbed out of bed, made his announcement, and started packing up to go home right after. I didn't stick around for that."
"That's great," said Ellie. "Hurry home, I have a surprise for you."
"I believe I owe you a dance," said Devon, before remembering all the boxes in the living room. Anyway, he owed her more than a dance, and there were no boxes in the bedroom. "Let me just drop this off and I am all yours. I love you, babe."
"I love you too, honey."
Devon walked through the corridors of his hospital, happy to be back where he belonged, and swung into the dispensary at top speed. "Anybody home?"
"I'm right here," said someone in the back, with a soft British accent. He stepped out of the racks into the light, and Devon saw his bruised eye.
"Ouch," said Devon, a doctor to his core. "That looks like it hurts."
The man pulled a syringe from his pocket, loaded with something green. "You have no idea."
Chuck opened the door, expecting to see and seeing Sarah waiting there on the other side. "Hi, Sarah," he said with some surprise. Their covers didn't need much maintaining at the moment, and their real life was being filtered mostly through work. "You motivated to gorge yourself on processed food and play video games, or is there–?"
"It's Devon," said Sarah quietly. She stepped closer. "Something's happened."
"What?" asked Chuck.
"We don't know."
"And they called you? Why didn't they call me?"
Sarah put her hand on his chest, felt the pounding of his heart. "This is why." Fear and anger, to the Dark Side they led, and she'd given her word to several people that she wouldn't allow the Intersect to go to any dark sides.
Chuck put his hand over hers. "God."
"Hey guys," said Ellie, and Sarah turned, drawing Chuck's hand with her. Ellie smiled at the partial embrace. "Have you seen my husband?"
A/N2 I suppose they wanted us to think that Devon might have been killed, rather than kidnapped, but I never thought that. Probably a result of watching these first several episodes of S3 on Hulu. I tried to maintain that ambiguity, while still addressing the many pacing and setting errors that plagued these episodes. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.