A/N: More of our Christmas confection. Sugar and spice...and lots of things nice.
A Year Without Christmas?
Chapter One: Foolproof
3:42 am Christmas Eve
Casey's alarm buzzed.
Hate this time of morning.
Morning. With a 'u'.
Hate this time of year.
His military training did what it always did: he was up and on his feet with no identifiable act of the will, without a moment of trying. He was just up. Marine.
Using the same two fingers, he wiped each of his eyes. His eyes felt like someone had smeared sandy mayo on them during the night. He smacked his lips, thirsty, cotton-mouthed. His feet ponderous, he plodded to the bathroom. Flicking on the light sent a shrill screech along the pathways of his nervous system.
Gawddamnit.
A glass stood at attention by the faucet. Grabbing it, Casey filled it with water and took a long drink, then repeated the actions. He returned the glass to its sentinel position.
He opened his mouth, staring at himself in the mirror, moving his jaw from side to side with his hand. His face felt unhinged. Hell, he felt unhinged. Thanks to Johnny Walker.
Unimpressed with his doughy morning-after face, he turned, started the shower, doffed his boxers and climbed inside. The water was lukewarm. Before it became hot, he let a little run into his mouth and onto his face. Despite two glasses of water, he felt all Sahara inside.
He plotted as he stood beneath the water, almost blister-hot. Hot water was a luxury a soldier enjoyed anytime he could. He got out more alive, and with disciplined efficiency he shaved, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. His movements were taut and economical. Done, he glanced into the mirror.
The-man-in-the-mirror still left him unimpressed. That guy was getting older. And aloner — even if there was no such word.
After donning his clothes, his green Buy More polo and khakis, a pair of dark shoes, he grabbed a large, black duffle from his closet and began to stuff it with gear he thought he might need, weapons. Some smaller items went into his pockets.
The mission mindset descended on him. The December air was cool, or so said the weather station when he flipped it on to get a quick sitrep, so he put on an old red-and-black plaid CPO jacket.
He walked back into the bathroom and looked into the mirror again (the only mirror in the apartment). A frown formed. I look like my dad. His dad had handed the CPO jacket down to Casey.
No use thinking about the old man. That ain't going to help.
He looked in the mirror again, a final check.
He grunted. He'd do.
It would be a long day. The Longest Day. He needed to be at the Buy More early, break into Castle, retrieve the gun, then some driving and arranging, then Walker, then Bartowski. Then Shaw.
Casey picked up the duffle and slung it over his shoulder. The duffle had belonged to his dad too. A merchant marine officer. At sea, always. Never home for Christmas. Just me and Mom, alone.
The thought of his mom made him smile tautly as he put the duffle in the rear of his Crown Victoria. Johnny-Boy, that's what she calls me. I need to call her. Don't know if I can...
He had sent her a card, bought at Large Mart, and sent it on time, so at least she would know he was thinking about her.
The Crown Vic rumbled to life as Casey turned the key. Casey really needed help. Other than Bartowski and Walker, the Crown Vic was Casey's only friend in the world.
And then he had a thought, like a jingling of bells. No, wait, there is another...
Good God, I hate to admit this to myself but…
But, even Santa needs a hand. A helpmost helper. An elf. My Hermey — a bearded Hermey, not a dentist Hermey.
Half-annoyed and half-pleased, Casey pulled out his phone and dialed Morgan Grimes's number.
Santa's Little Helper.
He heard Grimes's sleepy voice on the other end of the line. Casey grunted. "Wakey, wakey, numb-nuts. Christmas Eve morning. Time for the mice to scurry…"
"Huh?...Who...Casey?!"
Casey explained.
4:20 am
Getting into the Buy More was straightforward.
As an employee, and one who often came early to set up or check the BeastMaster Grill Christmas display, Fire on Ice (Casey's creation, his title), Casey had an access code.
Castle was another story altogether. He was locked out. But I have a key, sorta.
He keyed in the access code for the Buy More and he went in, holding the door for Grimes, who, while with Casey, was a somnambulist. "C'mon, Grimes, or I'll kick your ass 'til you're wide awake."
Grimes shambled forward, voodoo-animate. Casey shook his head. Some helper. My Hermey. Though he has the stop-motion walk down.
Shit.
They made their way to the Buy More break room. Casey moved aside the lockers that concealed one entrance to Castle. Grimes seemed more wakeful, although he yawned as Casey bent down to study the mechanism.
"How're we gonna get down there?"
Casey reached out and grabbed Grimes's arm, pulling him toward the Castle door. "I need your hand."
"My hand?" Grimes flowered into full wakefulness. "No, you can't cut off my hand. At least, not until I have a steady girlfriend…"
Casey dropped Grimes's hand like it was infectious.
"Shit, do you work up material that is simultaneously dumb and gross as hell?"
Grimes stared at Casey. "Sorry, I'm still waking up."
"Like that makes it better," Casey groused, then grunted.
He pointed at Grimes's hand. "It turns out, I can use your hand to get into Castle. Bartowski insisted that you be in the system, just in case…Ellie and Devon too. That was a long time ago, before you found out about Chuck, all of us, Castle. He wanted you to get down there in an emergency if you were in danger. Beckman hated the idea but Bartowski got mulish. — You should still be in the system." He stabbed his finger again at Grimes's hand but made no effort to touch it. "Put your hand on the screen, Hermey."
Grimes gave Casey a puzzled look, but pulled up the sleeve on his navy Buy More windbreaker and pressed his hand, palm-down, on the small screen.
A female voice, robotic yet seductive, spoke after a scan of Grimes's hand. "Morgan Grimes. Secondary authorization code: Speak, friend, and enter."
Casey grunted. "Gawddamnit! Bartowski would get cute! Do you have any idea about the password, the code?"
Grimes shook his head at Casey, his eyes were full of pity. But he spoke confidently as he did. "Friend."
The tumblers tumbled and the door opened. Casey looked at it, then at Grimes, then away in thought. "Some nerd code?"
"The ultimate nerd code. Tolkien."
Casey did not ask another question. He ducked through the door and Grimes followed. When the door closed, Casey stopped by a keypad, punching in numbers.
He turned off the Castle surveillance and then turned on the lights; he'd have to erase his electronic fingerprints before they left.
They went down the stairs, Casey leading the way.
"This place is too cool," Grimes gushed, still amazed that the place existed, that Chuck was a spy, Casey, and Sarah too. "You sure Shaw's not down here?" Grimes's gush petered out; he sounded worried.
"Yeah, I'm sure. The Bumble's still sleeping..."
"Wait," Grimes interjected, "Hermey...The Bumble...Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!" A consternated regard replaced his earlier pity. He looked at Casey's jacket. "So, are you Yukon Cornelius?"
"Hell, no, numb-nuts." Maybe.
Grimes's eyes came back on the relevant channel, his consternation waning. "How do you know Shaw...The Bumble...isn't here?"
"I put a tracker on his fancy-dan car weeks ago. Never liked not knowing where he was."
Grimes gave Casey a sharp look. "Why?"
"Because there's something wrong with that guy." Casey's voice sank to a growl. "Don't know what it is — but it's there.
"It's like this story I read once, about some rich Englishman who kept birds. One day, out somewhere, he saw a dead bird, stuffed, and he thought it was beautiful. So, he went home and had his servants kill all his birds and send them to a taxidermist."
Casey paused. "I don't know what it was, exactly, but there was something wrong with that Englishman. Shaw gives me the same creepy feel…"
Grimes was staring at Casey, open-mouthed. "You? Read? Birds?"
"Shut your candy-cane hole, Grimes. And, hell, I wasn't hatched. I may be a hard man...I am a hard man," Casey heard his own voice thicken, felt it, "but I care about...things. The rich guy in the story is fouled up," Casey paused, smiled darkly, "no pun intended, and Shaw's fouled up too. Something to do with his wife. Some pain, bad pain. He's...fixated...on his wedding band."
Grimes was now blinking at Casey, still stunned, but his mouth was closed. He shook himself a little. "Huh...Now that you mention it, the guy seems...off. Stiff as a board, particleboard."
Casey allowed himself an evil smirk. "Yeah, Shaw's the stick up his own ass."
Grimes laughed but seemed afraid to laugh too loud. "So, Casey, tell me again why we need to be down here — if we're trying to get Chuck and Sarah back together?"
Casey knew Bartowski had told Grimes a lot about what had happened since Bryce sent the Intersect, but he was sure he had not told Grimes the truth about the Red Test. Maybe he'd never even mentioned it. Casey would not tell it.
"Let's just say there's something down here I need to help me convince Walker to get her shit together, realize where her heart's at, instead of denying it and trying to convince herself it's with Shaw."
"Why's she with him? The Bumble? Doesn't she get the creepy vibes?"
Casey could not believe he was standing in Castle, talking about Walker's ladyfeelings with Grimes.
Strange times make strange out-of-bed-early-fellows.
"I dunno. She did at first, I think; hell, she was slower to accept him than I was — but then things between her and Bartowski got so screwed up. She's been...off ever since. She's confused, mistaking her rebound from Chuck for attraction to Shaw. But it's still Bartowski that's moving her, has been from the beginning. Don't think it will ever stop. He's her...mover. To him or away from him, he's causing the movement."
Grimes shook his head, but not in disagreement. He was looking at Casey as if he didn't know him. "That's...insightful, dude."
"Christ, doofus, I see things. I know shit. Not Tolkien-shit, I reckon, still... — Stay here for a minute."
Jesus, the blind leading the blind.
Casey stalked toward the armory. Once inside, he examined each handgun. For a moment, he thought he had guessed wrong, that the one he was after wasn't there, then he found it shoved back in a drawer. Bartowski had wrapped it again in the napkin Walker had it under when she gave it to him. Casey picked it up carefully with the napkin and put it in a plastic bag he had folded in his back pocket. He had banked on Chuck wanting to get rid of it, get it away from himself. He had not banked on Bartowski gift-wrapping it.
Casey was counting on Walker recognizing the gun, the very gun. Casey could do it, identify the token and not just the type. He thought Walker could too. And then there was the napkin.
The napkin.
Bartowski must have gone back inside and gotten it. Proof of how rattled he had been. That night had played havoc with the kid, even though the kid had not executed Perry. Instead, Casey's shot ricocheted Bartowski into two different falsities, two different refusals of the truth: letting Shaw and Beckman believe he had done it, and begging Sarah to believe he had not, all-the-while refusing to explain. It had driven him toward an attempt to be the spy Shaw wanted to make him.
Casey could now see that project was doomed. Fucking hopeless. Bartowski might spy, but Bartowski would never be Shaw's sort of spy. Emotionally absent, rigid, duty-bound, blind to pain, his own or others. The kind of spy Casey had been, Walker was reputed to be, until Bartowski.
Proof of that was current: Casey standing in the Castle armory after breaking in, trying to help his friends find their way back to each other. With the aid of Grimes. Grimes. If someone had told me this two years ago, I'd have shot him between the eyes and quicklimed his body.
The truth was that Casey was a better spy for knowing Bartowski — because he was a better man for knowing Bartowski. Just as Walker was a better spy, a better woman for knowing Bartowski. And she would give it all up rather than trust Chuck about the mole. Shaw and the Red Test had done a number on her. Hell, she didn't even see Bartowski pull the trigger.
Casey walked back into the central chamber of Castle. Grimes was standing where Casey left him, humming.
"What's that song, don't know it?" Casey asked.
Grimes looked embarrassed. "It's called Particle Man. Our chat about The Bumble made me remember it."
"Well, stop it. Got some tricky computer work to do." Casey went to a terminal and began to work.
"How can you use the computers? Didn't they kick you out?"
Casey shot Grimes a Death Star-blast of a look. "Not as incompetent as they think. Never said I couldn't use one. I'm not Bartowski, but I know my way around this computing system. I can get in. I made sure."
And so he could. It took a minute, but Casey had hidden a backdoor long ago, back when the system first went up. You can't be too paranoid.
He got in and found the program for Team B's phones. Casey was carrying his personal phone, and he had given Grimes a burner. He shut off Shaw's phone, Walker's and Bartowski's. Then he erased evidence of that and of his entering Castle, powering up the system. The erasures might not have been perfect, but they would do for now. He was already kicked out, as Grimes said, so what did it matter? No one would pursue criminal charges since that would require admitting the existence of Castle.
And the Buy More ain't gonna fire me, not when I'm moving BeastMasters like the Heat Miser. He looked up for a minute, staring into the distance, wondering about wearing a flame-orange wig to help boost sales even more.
Refocused, Casey turned to Grimes. "Get up the stairs and open the door."
Grimes did. Casey hit enter one final time and the lights went out, but he could see by the light of the open door. He took the stairs three at a time, went past Grimes. "Shut the door. We're just getting started."
They locked the Buy More and got back in the Crown Vic. "Settle back," Casey told Grimes as he steered the Crown Vic toward I-15N, "we've got a drive ahead of us." Grimes nodded, clicked his seatbelt and crossed his arms, sinking down into the seat.
"So, Grimes, let me ask you a question about Bartowski, you and Bartowski."
Morgan did not look at him but he nodded.
As Casey asked, he checked his watch. 4:55 am. Doing fine.
Casey was proud of Vic — his car.
They'd gotten to their destination and back in record time. Unfortunately, errands at the destination had been trickier, time-consuming. Still, he and Grimes were rolling back into Burbank before 9 am. 8:57 am, to be exact. Things were set. Now the hard part started.
Convincing Walker.
Convincing Bartowski.
Stalling Shaw.
Nothing to do but get to it. Time's a-wastin'.
They stopped the car in the parking lot beneath Walker's building, parking well away from her Porsche. Casey grabbed the black duffle from the back seat and pulled out a red tackle box, meant for fishing gear but which contained his private stash of spyware odds and ends. He selected a tracer and two bugs and handed the first to Grimes.
"Put this beneath Walker's bumper."
Grimes's eyes became the size of serving plates.
"No, her Porsche's bumper."
Grimes whistled out a relieved breath.
Casey handed him the second two. "Put one of these in her car. Don't get fancy, just shove it under the driver's seat."
"But how?"
Casey shut the box and rooted around in the duffle. He came out with a black device. It had one red button on it. Idiot-proof.
"Just aim this at Walker's car. Stand right beside it. It will override the electronic lock." He grabbed Grimes's arm, careful not to touch his hand. "And do it again when you shut the door, so it's locked when she comes out. With any luck, she'll be too distracted to pay attention to anything but going."
Casey took a deep breath before continuing. Can't believe I'm doing this. He handed Grimes Vic's keys. "Go back to your place and wake Bartowski. Tell him what I told you. Make sure you get the other bug into Bartowski's clothes, shirt pocket, if possible. Be creative. I'm...counting on you, Grimes."
Grimes looked at the three small gadgets. "It's like I'm a spy too."
Casey shrugged. "It's like an initiation...a trial by fire. Get it right, Grimes."
Grimes saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain."
Casey inhaled, rolled his eyes. This could all go so wrong. "Okay. Go." He checked his tracker on Shaw's car. It was still at Shaw's place.
Grimes got out and, a moment later, Casey did too. Grimes headed for Walker's car. Casey headed for the elevator.
The loose part of his plan was that he could not be sure of the whereabouts of the principals. He pushed the elevator button and the doors opened. He got on.
Walker had made some kind of commitment to Shaw in DC. Casey did not know if it was personal or professional or both. If it was personal, Walker might be with Shaw, at his apartment. That her car was here was a good sign, but it was possible that she had left it and ridden with Shaw. Casey did not know.
He hoped, for a lot of reasons, she was here, in her apartment, and not there. If she was there, it would complicate the plan. Maybe too much. Maybe doom it.
The elevator stopped and he walked to Walker's door. He heard music inside. Good. He sighed in relief. He listened for a second. He could hear the music clearly. Piano music. Casey was not a radio listener, but he knew the song.
Adele, Someone Like You.
He stood and listened a moment longer. He remembered Bartowski giving Walker the CD in Castle a few weeks ago. Walker had started to return it, but she didn't. She kept it. Now she was listening to it.
That for me, it isn't over. Adele's voice.
He felt his heart quiver. Walker was not only home, but she was also...mourning. Just like her to do it alone, not to let Bartowski or anyone — Shaw — know how much she was hurting.
A shitload of regrets. I get it, Walker.
Casey got out his phone and took a quick photograph of Walker's door.
He knocked. He heard the music die. A moment later, Walker opened the door. She was dressed, looking like herself, except for the red-eye liner. Her face was otherwise a mask. Casey's was too — by the time Walker focused on him. She blinked, trying to make sure her eyes did not betray her, but betrayed herself in doing so.
"Walker..." Casey let a note of urgency sneak into her name.
She noticed. "Casey. What are you doing here?"
"Need to talk to you," Casey answered, pushing past her, giving her no time to answer. She stood aside to let him in.
"What is it?"
"I need to talk to you about Bartowski."
"He and I...Ch—...We've...He and I have said...all we have to say to each other. If you're here to plead his case…"
"Not exactly," Casey said as he turned to face her, hoping to manage the next few minutes deftly. "The kid's in trouble, Walker. And, just so you know, you are wrong about him."
She frowned, pain behind it even as she tried to hide it. Casey reached into the waistband of his pants. He took the gun out, still wrapped in plastic. Walker's eyes focused on the napkin. She recognized it. Casey knew she would. He held the plastic bag and its contents out to her.
"Look inside."
She turned greenish, repelled. "Don't want to...touch that, Casey." Walker's tone started angry, pleading. It ended repentant.
"C'mon, Walker. You recognize that napkin, don't you?"
She nodded once. She reached into the bag and pulled the gun out, still wrapped in the napkin. "How'd you get this?"
Casey cleared his throat. He needed to be convincing. "The kid told me about it...The Red Test. He didn't kill the mole, Sarah. The gun proves it. He shoved it in a drawer of the Castle Armory. When he told me he had, I saw that the kid didn't think it through...I don't know what happened, but he did not shoot that guy, Perry?..." Walker nodded at the name. "The gun has not been fired, Sarah."
She jerked her eyes from the gun to Casey. "What?" Casey had never seen so much self-reproach interpenetrated by so much hope.
"The clip. It's full. I was careful not to touch the gun. You haven't. You can have it tested. Someone else shot the mole. It wasn't the kid." Casey needed to shake, rattle her before he put her into motion. He needed to be sure she went alone, without Shaw, and Casey needed her to be...receptive...when she found Bartowski.
Sarah held the gun by the napkin, ejecting the clip. It took a minute, the operation made clumsy by the napkin. She looked at the clip. It was full, as Casey knew it would be. She stared at it.
She wobbled.
Casey stepped to her, to steady her, but she put her hand on his arm, using him to stay upright but keeping him at a distance. "What's this mean, Casey? How?"
"Gotta talk to the kid, to Chuck, Sarah. I believe him." Casey's use of their first names registered on her and she gave him a look.
"What's happened to Chuck?"
Casey breathed easier. The way she said Bartowski's name, that was the way she'd been saying it until...well, until recently. She went on. "You mentioned trouble?"
"Yeah, the kid showed up on my doorstep this morning while it was still dark out. He got a call. I suspect it was from a Ring agent. The person — a man — told him to meet him alone, or else you would...not live to see Christmas."
"Me? Why would he listen? I can take care of myself."
Casey shook his head. "He knows that, but when has that ever kept him in the car, ever stopped him when he thought you were in danger? Ever?"
Sarah slumped. "Never. But why aren't you with him?"
"One, I'm not an agent anymore. Two, he insisted I find you, make sure you are okay; he didn't trust anyone else."
Her eyes narrowed. "But you broke into Castle..."
Casey shrugged. "Yeah, because I realized that the kid's story had a problem. But I did that before he got the call and talked to me."
"Why come to you? Why not call me?"
"Your phone's not working."
Walker rushed across the room to her bedside, her purse.
She looked at her phone. Pushed buttons. It was blank, dead, bricked. Casey exhaled silently. He'd banked on Walker not using her phone that morning. She was a late riser. Not today, so much, but she'd had other things on her mind. Adele.
She was a mess, like the kid. Casey knew his plan did not need to be foolproof. It needed to be fool-in-love-proof.
"You call him, Casey." Walker's voice was wavering, her look growing panicky.
Casey dialed and handed Walker the phone.
She held it to her ear. Casey could see she was holding her breath. After a moment, she handed Casey the phone. "Nothing. Not even his voicemail."
"Huh. Maybe his phone...you know, like yours..."
Panic grew on Walker's face, past the point of being masked at all.
"Why would he believe them, Casey?"
Casey called up the photograph of her door. "Bartowski's phone was working this morning when he came to my place. He forwarded me this photo. Wanted me to look into it. Don't think it will tell us anything..."
She looked at the phone in Casey's hand, the displayed photo. He could see her wobbling internally now. "The man sent this to Chuck?" The relevant question finally formed in Sarah's eyes, then on her lips. "They have Chuck's number? Our phones...Casey, how could you let him go?!"
Casey shrugged. "I couldn't stop him — and he wouldn't wait. And he's an agent now. He took his sister's car." Casey had to hope Walker would believe that without contacting Ellie. Luckily for the plan, Walker's estrangement from Chuck was also an estrangement from his sister. "I was stuck, Sarah. You know what he's like where you are concerned…And he's got all this training, the Intersect..."
For a moment, Walker seemed poised in indecision, lost, all of it had hit her so fast, as Casey planned for it to do. And then, she decided. "Yes, but Chuck's not a spy." Bingo, Walker. Never was, never will be. You need to understand that. You haven't changed him, lured him to the dark side. "Can you get to Shaw, Beckman, tell them where I've gone? We may need backup. Chuck…Chuck..."
She grabbed her bag and reached into it, pulled out her gun, checked it, and put it back. She ran her hand down her leg, checking her knives. "Where did they tell him to meet them?"
Casey smiled internally but kept his face grave. He told her where Chuck had gone. When the meet was to take place. Open panic claimed her whole face.
"No?!"
"Yes, it's a bad sign, I know. He hasn't been gone long..."
Walker turned and almost ran to the door. Hook, line, and sinker.
As she pulled it open, she looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for showing me the gun, Casey. Don't be long. Nothing can happen to him. Lock up for me. — We will talk when I get back."
Casey nodded. "Just find Chuck, Sarah, come back with Chuck."
The door closed. Casey's shoulders loosened.
Casey reached in his other pocket and took out his tracking device. He put in the code for the tracker on Walker's car. He stood for a tense couple of minutes, watching the blip. It was stationary.
If Grimes screwed that up, damn reject from the Island of Misfit Toys, I'll…
The blip moved. Walker was underway. Casey blew out a breath and sat down, resting the tracker on his leg. He sat back, relaxed a little. His hangover was lifting. Or maybe that was his heart.
Morgan would call when he got back from his errand with Chuck. The blip kept moving. It headed north. He put in the number for the bug in her car. At first, there was just a buzz, then he heard Sarah crying, heard her whisper Chuck's name. He frowned at himself.
One piece of the puzzle in play. Casey looked around the green apartment. He put the tracking device back in his pocket, stood, and walked to the CD player. The Adele CD was open on top of it. Casey picked it up. 21. Odd name for a record. He opened the jewel case and a small piece of notebook paper fell out, drifted like a snowflake to the floor. Casey bent and picked it up. The note was in Bartowski's handwriting.
For Sarah, sorry about everything.
— Always, Chuck
Bartowski had put a small check by Someone Like You. Casey felt his eyes grow moist.
Returning the paper inside, he closed the case. He hated fooling Walker like this, but it was an attempt to deceive her into the truth, to fool her into her heart's desire. If it didn't work...Well, Casey would face the music, though the thought of facing Walker's peculiar music made him a smidgen fearful. Oh, well...
Next, the Bumble. Shaw.
He had a few minutes before Morgan would arrive, assuming the bearded Hermey was on schedule. If it all worked, Bartowski would be behind Sarah by only by a few minutes. Casey brushed the front of his CPO jacket. It was about all he had left of his dad.
Casey took out his phone and dialed his mom.
Maybe this time of year is not...so bad.
"Mom? Hey! It's Johnny-Boy. Merry Christmas!"
A/N: Thoughts? Tune in next time (a week or so) for Chapter Two, "The Abominable Snowmonster of the North". Really enjoying this Casey. Hope you are too.
