A/N 1: O' gentle reader, I must apologize, as you are stuck with me pounding my meaty paws at the keyboard once more. Would that I had some better writer's tale to regale you with, but this will have to suffice. This story came about from an exchange I had with the inestimable WillieGarvin. He provided a prompt from the adventures of his namesake in the old time comics and stories about "Modesty Blaise".

A/N 2: If you haven't started reading WillieGarvin's master work "Chuck Vs. The New Day", you should. I mean, if you need an intro, he has one of the longest running fics on the Chuck FFN page. That, as well as the twenty million reviews, should tell you something. It currently has over 140 chapters, each hand rolled on the thighs of virgins, look at it like smoking a cigar. It's best enjoyed at the end of a long day with a glass of sherry or port, as you relax from the day's stresses.

"What Happened This Time?"

Chapter 10: Breakfast in Bed

Written By:

Markey DeSad

The General looked slightly annoyed, as she loomed large on the screen. "Colonel, before you begin your report..."

She flipped a red chip up in her hand like tossing a coin and caught it. "Am, I going to have to turn in my red chip and start over in a day or two with the damned silver one?"

Casey answered her question and pulled his bottle of Johnny Walker Black into view. He reached under the table, came back up with a tumbler with three fingers of whisky in it, and downed it in one gulp.

Beckman shrugged, tossed the red chip over her shoulder, opened her lower desk drawer, removed a bottle of brandy, removed the cork with her teeth, spat it out, and took a long pull straight from the bottle, then motioned for him to start.

"General, you're going to have to reach out to the Peruvian department of the interior about our mission last month with an apology. You remember the Argentine embassy sneak in Lima?"

Her voice was tired and exasperated, "I thought that one went off without a hitch, what happen this time, Colonel?"

"Well, you see everything went like clockwork and we got the data, I left for the Embassy to take care of the reports. Walker and Bartowski went back to their agency provided suite at Hotel Palacio."

By this time, Beckman was continuing to take pulls from the bottle. Upon hearing the name of the hotel, she spat out the brandy.

"Colonel, wasn't that building leveled during the huge earthquake two weeks ago?" She stared at him waiting for him to continue. She didn't want to hear this anymore than Casey wanted to relay it.

Casey's mind drifted back in his memory to two weeks ago, as he relayed his report to the General.

Casey wouldn't have believed it, if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Luckily, he'd been in the U.S. Embassy in Lima when the strongest earthquake in living memory had hit the small, but resilient nation of Peru.

His partners, Agents Walker and Bartowski, hadn't been so lucky. He'd been tasked with writing up the report about their successful infiltration of the Argentine Embassy and subsequent retrieval of financial records of several South American banks, who happened to handle the Ring's finances.

Meanwhile, Walker had bid him good night, after they'd met at the post mission rendezvous, where Bartowski had turned over the drive they'd cloned. Walker then grabbed Bartowski, with a "Let's go, Chuck!" and ducked back into the Ferrari the CIA had provided for the mission. The last thing he'd heard was Chuck yelping "Hi Yo!" as she'd pulled him into the super car. He remembered shuddering at the thought of what they might get up to in the luxury Hotel Palacio they were booked into, as he heard the roar of the engine, the squeal of the tires, as the Ferrari raced off into the night.

It was now twelve hours since he'd last seen his partners, the first responders had been and gone and the recovery teams were sifting through the wreckage of the collapsed Hotel Palacio, where he figured he'd lost his partners. However, he'd been in the command center for the recovery teams when he'd heard the call for a "Colonel Casey" to come and bring two pairs of fatigues "on the double". He had been guided into what looked to his mind to be a miracle.

Everything had collapsed around one particular room that had been on the twelfth floor, but was now on the ground floor. A bed with just a little bit of ceiling above it held up by four 'pillars' of debris.

There in the bed was his stunning blonde partner, leaning back on her elbows with a white silk sheet just covering her from her stomach down. He was looking for Chuck, when he saw a lump moving under the sheet between Walker's legs, whose movements coincided with Walker's moaning.

Casey's eyes widened, as he realized why all of the recovery workers around this section of the disaster site had stopped work and were intently watching the bed. He threw the duffle bag with the requested fatigues, turned around, bent over, retched and started walking back to the command post.

As he stalked away, he clearly heard Walker's strangled and breathless cry, "Hold on, Casey, Chuck's almost done with his breakfast. We'll be dressed soon and we can ride back with you to the Embassy."

When he'd reached the command post, he'd kept walking till he'd arrived at the Cadillac the motor pool had provided.

He needed to get back to his room in the basement and down the whole fifth of Johnny Walker Black he'd had the General send in the diplomatic pouch three days ago. He always had to be prepared for Charah's (the bearded troll's name for them) shenanigans.

He needed so desperately to forget what he'd seen. Damned lab geeks still hadn't perfected the brain bleach.

He still had nightmares about the time he'd seen his partners in what the General referred to as the "Chandelier Incident".

Sarah's screams of Chuck's name still haunted him at night, if he hadn't sufficiently self-medicated with Black Label.

He remembered when he'd loved his job. 'Traveling to foreign places, meeting exotic people, and killing them Those were the days,' thought Casey.

Now, he had to babysit and report on the escapades of two of the best and horniest spies he'd ever known.

'How the mighty had fallen' was his last thought, before drifting off into an alcohol induced stupor.

FIN

A/N 3: How is everyone finding this mini-series? Please leave a review and I will be sharing your reviews with myself, in this case. Thank you for your time and attention.

A/N 4: Don't worry O' gentle readers, there are more guest writer's who've sent in stories. We will return to the normally scheduled program again next week. Oh by the way, I am currently on a weekly posting schedule of Monday and Thursday.