Much to her chagrin, I have a salute to my faithful proofreader herein. Thanks again, my friend, for all your help.

Yes, as some have noted, the chapters are a little shorter, but they coming a lot more quickly. At least for now. So it's a trade-off.

So fasten your seatbelts, put up those tray tables, and make sure your seats are in their full upright and locked position, because it's time for…

CHUCK VERSUS THE BUY MORE BOMBER

Chapter 20

Second Home

Chuck ran into the hospital, pinballing off doctors, nurses, and patients as he charged through the halls toward the 'special section' of County General. He muttered hasty 'excuse me's and 'sorry's as he practically flattened the startled bystanders.

It had taken much longer than he would have liked to extract himself from Captain Anders, the LAPD's lead investigator for the Buy More bombings. As Chuck had fidgeted and obfuscated, Anders had grilled him about the two captured and one escaped terrorist at the Burbank Buy More. Chuck suspected she had delayed him in the hopes that Casey would eventually appear. It had finally taken the appearance of a 'senior FBI official' – actually the head of the NSA's West Coast field office – to extricate Chuck from Ander's clutches.

Chuck barreled through the set of doors into the waiting area for the operating room and was just about to push on through into the operating room itself when he was grabbed and jerked around by a vise-like grip on his arm.

"Whoa, Bartowski. Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Chuck glared at the offending hand and then up at John Casey. "Sarah…" was all he managed to choke out.

"Walker's in surgery," Casey said without relaxing his grip. "And they don't need you in there."

Chuck jerked his arm away from Casey – or rather, tried to. Casey's grip remained firm. Chuck continued to glare at him. Casey simply stood impassively.

Chuck blinked and his annoyed expression melted into one of confusion. "Casey?" he said, as if noticing the big man for the first time.

Casey eased Chuck over to one of the chairs in the waiting room. Casey had seen enough cases of shock to recognize it instantly. Hell. He was surprised the kid had made it this far without curling into a ball and sucking his thumb. Bartowski was proving much tougher than he ever would have guessed – not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

He felt for the kid. But, dammit, if he didn't stop sticking his nose in it, one of these days he was going to lose it – or some other part of his anatomy. In his long career, Casey had protected general's daughters, material witnesses, Afghani warlords and the occasional defector. But none of them had ever been as much trouble as this simple computer nerd from Southern California. Okay, maybe not so simple.

Bartowski really needed a good talking to. Or maybe a little smacking around. But looking into his saucer-like eyes, Casey knew neither would be terribly productive right now. Okay, maybe the smacking around would help his mood, but then he'd have to listen to Walker's endless bitching about proper care and feeding of the asset (and, ever since their first fight there in the Weinerlicious, there was a little, tiny part of him that was just a little scared of Walker) so that wasn't really a viable option right now.

Besides, another little voice deep inside said that he was worried about Walker, too. He tried to tell himself it was just because he didn't want the hassle of breaking in another partner, but he knew that wasn't entirely true.

Dammit! Walker and Bartowski were both getting to him. Much longer in this assignment and he was in imminent danger of developing lady feelings.

Casey sighed, looked down at Chuck, and tried to keep his voice as calm and level as possible. He partly succeeded. "Listen, Bartowski. I know you're worried about Walker. But she's going to be fine. Believe me, I've seen plenty of gunshot wounds and this was nothing. A flesh wound. Hell, she dinged her father worse than this."

Chuck looked up with wide eyes. "Really? She's really gonna be okay? Did you talk to the doctors?"

"Well, no," Casey admitted. "But trust me. I know." He ground his teeth. He hated this 'consoling' crap. That what the military had chaplains for, so officers like him wouldn't have to go through this. "Walker's tough. She'll be fine. Trust me."

Chuck brightened a little and nodded. "I do trust you, Casey. I was… I am… just so scared. There was so much blood."

Casey shook his head. How could this kid go from running into a burning building and tackling terrorists to flesh-colored jello? "Bartowski, you think a paper cut is grounds for a Purple Heart. Now, I said that Walker's going to be okay, or are you going to call me a liar?"

At that, surprisingly, Chuck smiled. "No, Casey, I would never call you a liar. Not to your face, anyway." There merest hint of a twinkle in his eye took away any sting from the veiled accusation. "How long has she been in surgery?"

Casey glanced down at his watch. "Hour. Hour and a half. What took you so long, anyway?"

"Your girlfriend, Anders," Chuck sighed. "I don't think she liked having the FBI crack her case. Of course, she could have just been pissed that you ran out on her."

Casey ignored that last crack and asked, "Did they catch al Fayed?"

Chuck shook his head. "No. They cordoned off the area and did a hard-target search, but no luck."

"A what?" Casey asked.

"A hard-target search. Isn't that what they called it on The Fugitive? You know," he switched into his best Tommy Lee Jones imitation, 'I want a search of every warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in the area.'"

Casey narrowed his eyes. "I've got no idea what the hell you're talking about."

Chuck shook his head. "You really need to get out more, Casey." He started to grin, but then glanced around at the drab, institutional surroundings and remembered where he was. The grin faded away. "Anyway, with Hassan and Ahmad in custody, do you think al Fayed will, I don't know, run and hide?"

It was Casey's turn to shake his head. "No. Not my read on this guy. He's had a setback, yeah, but he's not going to give up trying to hurt Finkelstein. He's had too much time thinking about nothing but revenge." He stopped and rubbed his chin. "In fact, my guess is he stops messing around with the stores and tries to hit Finkelstein directly." He narrowed his eyes and looked past Chuck, thinking.

Chuck waited, but when Casey didn't continue, he slumped in his chair and looked over at the door, willing the doctor to come and give them some good news.

After a long pause, Casey shook his head and sat down in a chair opposite Chuck, a frown of concentration on his face. After a few minutes, he looked up at Chuck. He almost smiled.

Despite his worry, the kid's eyes were drooping. Casey didn't condemn him for it. Bartowski had been operating on pure adrenaline for the last several hours, if not days. It was a wonder he could still function at all.

"Why don't you go home, Bartowski," Casey said. "I'll call you when there's any word."

Chuck shook himself awake and straightened in his chair. "I'm okay. I'll wait."

As if on cue, the doors opened and a woman in green scrubs and a loosened surgical mask stepped in. She glanced from Chuck to Casey and back again. "Which one of you is Agent Carmichael?"

Caught off guard by the question, Chuck hesitated a moment. Casey spoke up. "That's agent Carmichael. I'm Agent Casey. How's Agent Walker?"

"She's going to be fine," the surgeon said. "Amazingly, the bullet passed through without hitting any bone or lung tissue. It did nick the subclavian vein, which accounted for the blood loss. It's a good thing she was brought here right away. We repaired the vein and some minor tissue damage. Barring infection, she should make a complete recovery."

"Thank God," Chuck breathed. "Can we see her?"

"She's in recovery right now," the surgeon said. "She's still going to be under from the anesthetic…" She noted the familiar expression on Chuck and Casey's faces. She had seen it, unfortunately, too many times from family members of her patients. "…but I don't see why you can't peek in on her."

Chuck felt as if his entire body had turned to tapioca and he suddenly had trouble standing upright. "Thank you, doctor… um…"

"Poa," the surgeon said. "Doctor Lynn Poa."

Chuck took the surgeon's hand and grasped it tightly. "Thank you, Doctor Poa. Thank you."

"How long is she going to be out of action?" Casey asked, always the practical one.

"We need to keep her for a day or two for observation. Then she'll need bed rest and some physical therapy to regain complete use of the arm, but from what I saw of Agent Walker, she should have no trouble making a complete recovery. She's a remarkable woman."

"That she is," Chuck breathed. "Can we see her now?"

The doctor nodded. "I'll take you to her."

***

Chuck hurried into the room ahead of the surgeon. Sarah lay in bed, surrounded by what seemed to Chuck an inordinate amount of machinery. Bags of fluid hung from a pole, trickling through clear tubing attached to the IV in her arm. She was pale and still; a tangle of wires stretched from under her hospital gown to the monitor above the bed. The waveform on the monitor indicated a strong and steady heartbeat. It seemed to Chuck that until he saw that heart rate monitor, his own heart hadn't been beating.

Chuck turned back to the surgeon. "You sure she's going to be okay? She doesn't need a transfusion, or anything? I'm not sure of her blood type, but if you need any of mine…"

"That's very generous of you… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Chu… Um… Carmichael. Agent Charles Carmichael."

Doctor Poa raised an eyebrow above her almond-shaped eyes. "Agent Carmichael? Doctor Jennings has told me about you." Chuck's eyes went wide, but Doctor Poa held up a hand. "It's fine. I won't say anything. I'm bound by my Agency confidentiality agreement. Anyway, we had enough plasma on hand to take care of Agent Walker's needs, but anytime you want to donate blood it would be greatly appreciated." Then she looked down at his hands. "You may want to wait until your own injuries are healed however."

Chuck narrowed his eyes and cocked his head a little to the side, before muttering a quiet, 'oh' and looking down at his hands. He looked back over at Sarah. "I'd forgotten all about these," he said, lifting his hands slightly.

There was the sound of a throat clearing from the doorway and both Chuck and Doctor Poa turned to see John Casey standing in the doorway. "Doctor, per Agency protocol we will need a complete write-up on Agent Walker and her short and long term prognosis. General Beckman has to decide whether to assign a replacement."

"Replacement!" Chuck burst out, startled. "Casey, they wouldn't really replace Sarah, would they?"

"Not my call," Casey said, frowning. "But this isn't the time to be discussing it, Agent Carmichael."

Doctor Poa looked from Chuck to Casey, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor and started edging toward the door. "I will get a report to General Beckman by tomorrow. I should have a better idea of her long-term prognosis and any complications from the injury by then." She glanced back over at Chuck. "She'll be out for another hour or two. I can have the staff contact you when she's awake…"

"I'll stay," Chuck said.

"That's really not protocol, Agent Carmichael," the doctor said. "We have security on this…"

"I'll stay," Chuck said again, more forcefully.

Doctor Poa started to protest, but glancing up, she saw the fierce determination in Chuck's eyes. It seemed incongruous on such a sweet, innocent face. But then, she thought, the scuttlebutt around the hospital and the local NSA field office was that this Agent Carmichael was anything but sweet and innocent. He was, by all accounts, one of the top agents in the LA area, if not the entire West Coast. Rumor had it he had single-handedly taken down a half-dozen terrorists. She relented. "Very well. I'll inform the nursing staff and see if I can't get you a more comfortable chair."

Chuck didn't even look at her. He was still staring at the still figure of Sarah Walker. "Thank you, Doctor."

Doctor Poa looked from Chuck to Casey and back at Chuck. With a barely visible shrug she hurried from the room.

Once she was gone, Casey walked over to stand beside Chuck. "Come on, Bartowski. There's nothing you can do here. Walker will be fine."

Chuck turned and looked at Casey, and the fierceness of his gaze actually made Casey take a step back. "I'm staying, Casey," he said. He turned back and looked at Sarah, and then said again, in a low but steely voice, "I'm staying."

Casey opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again and shrugged. "I guess you'll be as safe here as anywhere. I have to go report in to Beckman." He stepped over to the doorway and paused. He looked at his partner and at his… friend? Yes, friend. Not that he would ever admit that to the nerd.

He watched as Chuck took Sarah's hand in his and slid down into the chair next to her bedside. Gritting his teeth, Casey stepped out into the hallway and looked for something or someone to hit. Not seeing any likely candidates, he settled for growling, "Abdul al Fayed, you're a dead man."