A/N: So listen.. SC here, and I am using this momentary moment to talk to you about reviews and how appreciated they are. We appreciate ya! That's really it. That's all I've got for you on this fine afternoon. I've cut David completely out of the editing process (MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) so he can't say anything. It's just me MUAHAHAHAHAAAAAnyway hope you enjoy this chapter.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck, we aren't making any money from writing this fic.
She knew why she'd been tagged to plant the bug. Chuck was...well, Chuck. And Casey was so obviously compromised by this situation—even if their superiors didn't know that. This was also her bread and butter, something she'd done countless times before.
It didn't change the fact that this whole situation felt...off. Ilsa felt off.
Once they had the bug planted, maybe they could figure out just how deep Casey's ex-lover was in this, whether she was really bad or some kind of foreign agent. Sarah knew from her own career as a secret agent that either was possible. Maybe—for Casey—they could get to the bottom of it.
And arrest a piece of shit criminal on U.S. soil at the same time. Maybe more than one.
They knew Victor Federov was one of the most powerful Russian oligarchs around, and that he was here for some reason. How much of that reason had to do with Ilsa Trinchina? Or was Ilsa using his high position in Russia's affairs to amass power for herself?
She hoped Casey was prepared for it to be the latter. Because that was how it was starting to look.
As she pushed her cart down the hallway, she had to stop short as she turned the corner. Chuck and Casey were standing there, gaping at her.
"Uh...hey," Casey muttered, affecting an innocent look that was almost worse than one of Chuck's.
"What are you two doing here?" she asked, standing up straight and putting a hand on her hip.
Casey looked contrite suddenly, almost embarrassed, and then he straightened his spine, lifting his chin. "I need to apologize, Agent Walker. Chuck here convinced me to—"
"To-to bring me. B-Because maybe I could flash—I could flash on some cool stuff and things or whatever," Chuck interrupted, turning to face her and putting his hand on his own hip. She wasn't falling for it for a second. She knew why they were here and she was annoyed he was trying to play this game with her.
She really didn't have the patience. "You volunteered to go on an all-night stake-out?" she asked in a droll voice.
"Yeah. Yeah. It really—It's not like me, is it? Not at all. But you guys get to—I mean have to do all this surveillance stuff and the stake-outs and lucky me, just..in my bed asleep. Seems kinda unfair. And besides I couldn't sleep. I couldn't… So I thought, hey, why don't I look at some surveillance monitors for a bit, and maybe it'll just...conk me right out?" He tilted his head to the side, pretending to fall asleep and then he grinned.
She supposed with Casey here he'd be less likely to get into trouble. And if they were just sitting in the monitor room… God, she really just didn't want to deal with this right now. So she sighed and shook her head, grabbing the cart again and turning it to go down the hall to the room.
"All right. This way."
Something fishy was going on with her companions. She could feel them exchanging looks as she took them to the room, gesturing for them to open it and go in. She followed after them and pushed the cart in with her, shutting the door behind her. "I've already hacked into the hotel's security feed." Chuck raised his eyebrows at her and grinned. "You two get cozy, I'm going to deliver this to the bridal suite." She grabbed the cover off of the dinner plate and flashed the inside of the dome at the two men.
"A bug," Casey grunted, nodding once in approval.
"With any luck, we'll get enough dirt on Victor Federov to arrest him on U.S. soil," she said with a bit of a smirk. "And we can maybe see whose side Ilsa Trinchina's really on."
"That-That'd be good," Chuck said. "We want to know that for sure. And that bug...will...definitely be the best way to do that."
Sarah narrowed her eyes at him as Casey gave him a flat look. "What are you two up to?" she asked, flicking her gaze between them.
"Up to? No, we—"
Casey interrupted Chuck this time. "We aren't up to anything, Walker. We're gonna sit right here and keep watch for ya. I want the truth about Ilsa more than anybody."
She had a job to do, so even though she wasn't convinced, she nodded once then backed out of the room with the cart again. "Have fun, boys…"
Chuck saluted her. "Don't wait up. We'll just be...looking at some monitors...talking about our favorite patriotic films…"
She shut the door behind her and shook her head, pushing the cart down the hallway towards the elevator. She was fifty-fifty on whether or not Chuck and Casey were actually going to stay in the room looking at the monitors. More like seventy-thirty, in favor of them having something up their sleeves. They had probably shown up to do some snooping of their own, and she thought Ilsa had a lot to do with it.
It smacked of Chuck's constant need to take care of other people's hearts. He was always watching, observing, and he always had to get involved when someone was hurting. He had to try to make things better. She wanted to be annoyed with him, but she just couldn't be. And she imagined Casey was moping about Ilsa after the other night, Chuck noticed, and he was convincing him to try to get to the bottom of it, to fix his heart or something. Casey was actually listening to him, which meant Chuck hadn't just gotten under her skin.
The thought made her smile a little.
But she hardened the look on her face as she stepped off of the elevator on the floor of the bridal suite and began pushing the cart into the correct hallway.
As she turned the corner towards the bridal suite, she heard a voice behind her and turned to look. A man was pacing, talking into a walkie-talkie, and she recognized him from the party. He was the piece of shit who'd touched her ass. She knew it was him for sure when she cast her gaze down and spotted the bandaged thumb she'd broken in at least two places.
Shit, he'd absolutely recognize her after what she'd done to him. She turned back to the cart and started pushing it fast. "Hey!" Oh, God damn it… "This is a private floor."
Well, this was annoying. She had no choice but to just do this the messy way, then. She turned and gave him a fed up look.
"Oy…" He brought the walkie-talkie up to call for back-up and she sprang at him, ripping it away from him and breaking his other thumb. When he cried out in pain, she slammed her fist into his face and sent him to the floor. Then she spun, grabbed the metal cover with the bug and swung it around to knock him out cold. Easy.
Except now she had extra work to do. At least Casey was in the building now. That was one good thing about those two idiots invading her op. She brought her watch up to her mouth. "Casey, you're gonna have to deliver the package. I've got a body to take care of," she groused, looking down at the asshole sprawled on the gauche carpet. "Key's in the sugar," she said, slipping the key card between the sugar packets.
She grabbed the Russian goon's arm and turned his body around, starting to drag him down the hallway. Casey had yet to respond to her, though, and she let out a curse, pulling her watch back up. "Casey! Do you read me?"
There was a bit of a crackle, but then she heard, "Yeah, uhhhh...copy that, I'm...on my way…"
That was definitely Chuck pretending to be Casey. She couldn't just leave the guy here for someone to stumble onto him, but Chuck was potentially gonna do something rash. Stupid. Risky. Again. She needed to take care of this quick.
Damn it, Chuck.
}o{
Chuck stared at the screens, the room silent for a few minutes as they finally sat down and did exactly what they told Sarah they would do. He was tired...but this was important. Casey's happiness was on the line, here.
But also, it was kind of fun. He already saw a guy pick his nose and wipe the booger on the underside of the chair.
Only two or three minutes passed though before he actually saw what he'd been more or less looking for. He pointed to the monitor as he saw the head of brown hair and pretty face move into view on one of the feeds that overlooked the bar. "Um, Casey?"
"M'what? Did ya flash?" the NSA agent asked, turning to look at him.
"Look who's sitting at the bar on the night before her own wedding." Casey followed his gaze and looked at the screen. "Now, does that look like the face of a woman who's happy about getting married?" Chuck asked.
"She doesn't have to be happy about it if she's doing it to get in solid with a Russian oligarch, Chuck," he grumbled, staring at the video screen, his lips set in a grim line. "I'm not so sure this is a love match."
"That's what I'm sayin'! You don't know until you've hashed it out! I mean, she could easily be a double agent, right? Maybe she's playin' 'em! At the very least, you could get more than some flimsy excuse about her losing her memory or whatever." He put his hand on Casey's shoulder. "C'mon, buddy…" He watched then as Ilsa moved away from the bar and went to a settee by the fireplace, slowly taking a seat and sipping her drink. "She's alone. Nobody's with her. It's like she's waitin' for ya. Go now. It's your time, Casey."
But the NSA agent didn't budge. Chuck slowly turned to look at him, and with the unsure look on the older man's face, he was able to put the pieces together. "Waaait a second. You don't want to talk to her, do you? You're scared."
"Don't be an idiot," Casey growled, climbing to his feet and going to the door. But he stopped, his back to Chuck, just standing there.
"Caseyyyy…" He stood up and waited for Casey to turn to look at him again. "Look, man, say you don't go down there to talk to her. We sit here all night staring at these screens… Do you wanna spend the rest of your life wondering?"
"She's more than likely a criminal."
"Maybe. And I get that you're afraid of what you might find if you go and talk to her, Casey. I totally get that. You cared a lot about her, you thought she was dead, and then she shows up like this? It's fucked up. But you have to know. Because there's a chance she is really on the good side here. And wouldn't you wanna know that if she is? Either way, buddy...you need to know, don't you? I can see it in you."
Casey gave him a grossed out look. "You can't see shit. Stop it. Sit down and watch the monitors." But then he made a thoughtful face and ducked out of the room.
He'd only been gone for about a minute and a half when he saw Sarah step into view on one of the feeds. She halted, but he couldn't see her face from the angle. Was she in trouble? Somebody else was there… When she spun and wrecked the guy, even slamming the bugged cover into his face to knock him out, Chuck settled back into his chair with a wince. Yeah, he should've known she'd handle that.
But then her voice came over the comms. "Casey, you're gonna have to deliver the package. I've got a body to take care of." Oh. Shit, shit shit. Shit. Casey went downstairs to talk to Ilsa. Oh God what did he do now? "Key's in the sugar," she said.
"Deliver the package," he muttered to himself. The bug. She was going to the bridal suite to plant the bug. Okay. Okay, okay. He could do this… Right? Sure. Of course.
"Casey! Do you read me?"
Oh. He should...answer. Crap. He cleared his throat and leaned in, affecting his best grumbly Casey voice. "Yeah. Uuhhh...copy that. On my way."
She didn't say anything else so he figured he'd done a pretty good John Casey impersonation, and he quickly spun to see if he could find a black vest somewhere in here.
He found enough to at least pass for a waiter, and he sprinted out of the surveillance room, dashing to the elevator and stepping inside, still buttoning the vest over his Nerd Herd shirt. This would have to do.
And anyway, chances were nobody would see him.
He hurried out of the elevator and slipped down the hallway, finding Sarah's cart and thumbing through the sugar packets. He found the key right where she'd said it would be and stood to his full height, making his way towards the bridal suite. But then he stopped. The bug. That was the whole point of this. Deliver the package…
He hastened back to the cart and pushed it to the bridal suite, taking a deep breath and gently knocking on the door. He muffled his voice and pulled an accent out of his ass. "Bonsoiiirrrr huuudehhhh hoousekeepiiiinggg…"
Nobody answered and as he unlocked the door and opened it, he made a face at himself. What in the ever-loving…?
He quickly pulled the cart in and shut the door behind him. He knew he had to make this quick. Think like Sarah, think like Sarah, think like Sarah. Sarah had, like, a good amount of years under her belt doing this sort of thing. Thinking like her was impossible. Think like James Bond? No. Just don't be a freaking jack-ass? That was a good one.
And then he pulled the cover off of the dish and accidentally made it clang loudly. He held onto it to make the loud bonggggggg stop and winced. He'd failed already as far as not being a jack-ass was concerned.
He spun to face the rest of the room. Lamp? Too conspicuous. They always did lamps in movies. No. Other lamp? Nah. Same situation. But then he spotted a wall sconce nearby. That felt more inconspicuous and he needed to get this done quick. Chuck started working on attaching it on the metal part of the sconce under the light, but then pulled his hand back and made a face. "Putting it on the front? What am I, stupid?" he breathed. Reaching behind to stick it in a less visible spot on the back. He turned his face to make it easier to lean in and attach the bug, but that was when he spotted a very suspicious looking briefcase sitting on the desk across the room. "Well, hello…"
Chuck knew he had to get out of here but there could be something incredibly important he'd be missing if he didn't at least check it out. He raced over to the briefcase, setting the bug down on the desk and opening it.
There were papers inside, a computer disc… He thumbed through the papers and saw a picture of Ilsa on one of them.
The flash came upon him before he was ready for it.
Oh. Oh, no. Oh, he'd sent Casey downstairs to get some bad news. Very bad news. His ex-girlfriend was no photographic journalist. She had a history, a record. And none of it was government sanctioned. "Shit," he gasped out. "Casey, your girlfriend is a bad, bad lady. Oh, no…"
He heard a thump against the bridal suite's door then and heard what had to be Ilsa outside saying something about how the keys to hotel rooms never work. Chuck shut the briefcase and dove under the bed just as the door began to open, wincing, turning his face to watch as a pair of heels and shapely legs stepped inside.
"I'm so glad you let me explain things to you," she was saying. "It was so hard, not knowing where you went...and now, now that I'm close to getting everything I've ever dreamed of...to find you again…"
Chuck heard the unmistakable sounds of heavy making out as the pair of heels and the shined black shoes moved together. A jacket fell to the floor and he recognized it, as well as the next voice he heard, a deep, grumbling voice, uttering a particularly wanton, "Ilsa…"
God, he was growling as they fell onto the bed.
"I missed you," she whimpered, and the bed began to shift and bulge above him.
This was the worst possible thing he could ever imagine happening. He wanted to die. Could he slit his own throat with the room key in his pocket? Was that possible? Second base was happening on the bed above him by the sound of things and he never in his life could've imagined spying might be this horrific. What if he started vomiting? Would he make one of those bad reality TV shows like the "Worst Criminals Ever"? Except it'd be "Worst Spies Ever".
And when his cellphone started ringing in his pocket, he was sure he really was the worst. spy. ever.
He scrambled for his phone, seeing it was Sarah calling, and turned it off entirely. But the bed had stopped moving above him, the room went silent.
"Bartowski," Casey gasped out. And a hand swung down to land on the floor beside the bed, followed by an enraged, red Casey face. "The hell are you doing here?"
"Listen, I-I'm really sorry. I know this is very awkward. I'm on the verge of barfing, if I'm being fully honest with you. But Ilsa is exactly what we thought she is. She's a very, very bad girl." He tried whispering the last part.
Casey's face went blank. Chuck didn't see where he'd gotten the gun, but it was in his hand as he swung back up. There was a cocking sound then.
"Drop the gun, Sugar Bear," Chuck heard Ilsa say.
Shit.
"Mind tellin' me what a nice girl like you is doin' with a gun, Ilsa?" Casey asked.
"Same thing as you."
Chuck rolled out from under the bed and crawled up to his feet. "I tried to warn ya. She's not a photo journalist at all."
"Who do you work for?" Casey asked.
"Why don't you ask your friend?" she said, not pulling her eyes from Casey. "He's already seen my files."
Oh. So...he hadn't been as slick as he'd thought he'd been with that. Woops.
"Uh. Yes. Yeah. Yep. I did get a little peeksy into her...so-called files. She is definitely not whoever she tried to tell you she is."
"You lied to me. Photo journalist my ass."
"Says the energy consultant. At least mine was a real job."
"Energy consultant? Oh, Casey…" He couldn't help but scoff and chuckle, but he stopped himself when he felt more than saw Casey's body tense. Maybe now wasn't the time.
"What about the bomb in Grozny? And that 'I never forgot your face' garbage the other night? You think I'm some kind of idiot? That I don't know something else is going on here?"
"And you were still willing to hop into bed with me, weren't you?"
He snarled at her, leaning in even closer. "Maybe I was. Nobody's perfect."
There was a really unsettling amount of sexual tension between them, like a rubber band that was about to snap, and Chuck had been in situations where a gun was pointed at his head that were preferable to this situation. He needed somebody to swoop in and rescue him.
There was a sudden knock on the door. "Ilsa? Ilsa, are you in there?"
"It's Victor. Hide."
This was not the savior he was looking for. Why did his brain have to open its dumb mouth?
Chuck dove under the bed again, not needing to be told twice.
"You have to trust me," Chuck heard her say, and then Casey quickly joined him under the bed, gun in hand.
"Illssaaaaa…"
Chuck and Casey craned their necks to watch as Victor walked in.
"Illllsaaaaaaa!" He was definitely drunk.
"Victor, what are you doing here? I'm very tired. Please…"
"No, no. That's all you ever have for me, Ilsa. That's all you ever say. I never ask for anything, Ilsa. All I ask is hic that you don't embarrass me in front of my family, my friends."
"I don't embarrass you, Victor. Now go back downstairs so I can sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow."
"Yes, we do! That's just it! We-We're getting married tomorrow!" The feet came closer to the bed. God, he was really drunk. "You get the Federov name, the title, the power of being a Federov. And in return, you are strengthening the family. But what-what do I get? What is Victor supposed to get out of this whole thing?" he half-whined.
Chuck peeked at Casey who had a look of disgust on his face. Chuck really felt that. This guy was pitiful.
"I feel used, Ilsa! You are using me for your status, my-my father is...the family...they're using me too. I demand something for myself!"
"Will you shut up and get out of here? I need sleep," Ilsa snapped.
"What do I get? What do I…" Chuck watched Victor's feet fly out from under him as he staggered towards the bed and then there was a fwoomf as the bed shifted above them, his legs hanging limp up by Chuck and Casey's heads.
He exchanged a look with Casey. The big guy looked downright pissed off.
Suddenly Ilsa planted her palms on the floor and her head swung down to look at them. "You guys need to get the hell out of here before he wakes up." They both crawled out from under the bed. "If Victor sees you, my whole op is ruined."
"Huh? Op?" Casey asked. "You think I'm gonna fall for that line? This ain't no op."
She looked at him, and then glared at Chuck. "You think if I was with the French secret service that I'd keep that on my desk in a conspicuous briefcase? You're both idiots. I don't care if you believe me, but you have to go." She hurried to the door and opened it, looking both ways down the hallway.
When they came up behind her, she turned and pressed herself against Casey. "I don't know who you are, or what you're doing here, Sugar Bear...But I meant everything I said to you. Don't give up on me. On this."
What the hell? Who was this crazy woman, Chuck thought to himself? He'd flashed on her. He'd done his research. She wasn't even slightly telling the truth about the French secret service. Granted, she also didn't know about the Intersect, or that it was stuck in Chuck's brain. She had no idea what he'd just accessed.
And she was lying to Casey's face. What was worse...Casey looked pretty damn reluctant about leaving.
"Casey, c'mon. We gotta go."
And he dragged the NSA agent out of the room and down the hallway. The elevator door opened when they got to it and Sarah rushed out. Chuck caught her by her arms and forced her gently back into the elevator with them. "What the—?" she muttered, giving him a look. "Okay, what in the hell is going on?"
The elevator doors shut and Chuck shook his head. "We're retreating so we can live to fight another day."
"What's that even mean? And what were you two really up to tonight? I'm not a dumbass."
"Nobody said you're a dumbass," Casey growled. "This jackass over here made me do something stupid."
"But Casey, you got answers!"
"Tell me what in the hell you're talking about!" Sarah snapped.
The elevator doors opened and they all stepped out of it. She grabbed Chuck's arm and yanked him the opposite direction of the lobby doors where he'd meant to go. "C'mon. This way. We're leaving through the back just in case. I don't know what you guys just did."
"Well, I thought Casey should-should talk to Ilsa."
"You what?!" she snapped again, sending him a look.
"And he did. Right? Right, Casey? And uh, also, I planted the bug like you said to."
"I thought that was you," she said through a clenched jaw, still dragging him after her by his arm. They burst out of a side door that cleaning staff probably used and were in an underground parking garage.
Maybe he'd failed at the Casey impersonation, too, then. Damn.
"I'll take it from here," Casey growled, grabbing Chuck by his collar and moving him out of the way. "Chuck flashed on Ilsa's briefcase in the bridal suite. She's a criminal. That's that."
"She said she was on an op, though," Chuck said.
"An op? As in she's working for some foreign intelligence agency? Like she's undercover?" Sarah asked, leading them to her car.
"What I flashed on made me think she isn't," Chuck said, looking at Casey out of the corner of his eye. The guy was glum. And he felt horrible. Legitimately. No matter how many times John Casey called him a moron, he didn't deserve this.
Sarah just nodded quietly and told them to get in. She drove them around to the side parking lot on the opposite end of the hotel and they both got out and went back to Casey's van.
The NSA agent just held up a hand and said, "No." Chuck shut his mouth before he could ask if the other man was all right, if he needed to talk. And they were silent the rest of the way home.
}o{
He hadn't slept a single damn wink when the knock sounded on his front door.
It wasn't just thoughts of Ilsa that kept him awake, it was everything else that went with it. He was torn about whether or not she was actually a criminal, a bad person. He didn't know if she was really making a power play, or if it was an op.
And then he did know. He did know because everything pointed to Ilsa Trinchina being a liar. A compulsive liar. Sure, he'd lied too. He'd kept the reality of his work from her. And he knew she hadn't been a photo journalist—he'd known it then, hadn't he? But they'd kept the game going because it had felt really, really good, enjoying one another, being together.
It hadn't been long, but...well, it was long enough. And the shock of losing her had been so sudden, her loss so unfair and wrong, that maybe it had lodged her under his skin in a way it wouldn't have had they just said their goodbyes and walked away from one another.
But she was alive. Marrying Victor Federov, a very powerful Russian oligarch, amassing wealth and power while strengthening the family. She'd said it was an op last night but the chances of that being true were dwindling in his mind, and in his heart.
So he'd sat in his favorite chair just waiting for the morning. He hated the Buy More, but if he spent the day trying to move product, that was at least something he could keep his mind situated on. And in the meantime, maybe they'd figure out some way of getting to the bottom of this and busting Federov the way they'd planned to in the beginning. There was a good chance Ilsa would get caught up in it, too...and that she'd deserve it. Damn it.
Casey ambled over to his door and opened it to see Agent Walker standing there. Her mouth was pressed into a hard line and she tried to smile just a little bit, but he just opened his door wider to let her in.
"Chuck awake yet?" she asked.
He gestured to the monitors and she moved over to glance at them. He slowly followed after her and looked to see Chuck sprawled out over his bed, on his stomach, the sheets all twisted around his legs. Poor kid never slept well, and he wondered if that was the Intersect or if it was stress, or anxiety, or who even knew what? But he tossed and turned every night.
"He always look like that when he sleeps?" she asked.
"You tell me. You're his girlfriend." He let out a quiet snicker, looking at her face for any sort of reaction. He'd take anything he could get at this point.
But she didn't bite this morning.
Actually, she had a deeper frown on her face than he'd seen in a while. And he'd seen the CIA agent frown quite a bit. "What?" he asked. Get to the point, he wanted to add. No tiptoeing. "What is it, Walker?" he asked again when she didn't speak up right away.
"After I left you two at your van, I couldn't stop thinking about-about what you guys told me in the elevator. What she said, I mean, when she was trying to get you to leave before Federov woke up."
"About being a government operative, and how she didn't want us ruining her op?" he asked. He felt a spark of hope in his chest. Maybe he hadn't been stupidly close to having sex with a criminal power-grabbing liar. He felt foolish and...well, there was a lot of guilt there too. Because even though he'd known there was a good chance she was holding the reins with this entire enterprise, he'd been so ready to jump into bed with her again. Ravage one another like old times. He'd missed it. He'd missed her. And in spite of everything, he'd wanted it again. Maybe she wasn't bad. Maybe she was good…
"I took it upon myself to do some deep diving last night and into this morning. I called around, got into contact with some of our people in the intelligence agencies around the world. Interpol, French secret service, MI-6, et cetera… I even spoke to an old teammate who works for ESISC."
Casey felt himself perk up a little bit, and he moved closer. "You did?"
"Yeah. I didn't want to run it through Beckman, just in case you...Well, I'm not sure you want your past with Ilsa to be something your boss knows about. So I decided I'd handle it myself rather than let some NSA jerks do it." He grunted in amusement at her and got a tiny smirk back.
"I think we all know the answer to that, though…" He paused. "Don't we?" Walker didn't say anything. "She lied, didn't she?"
His partner bit her lip, looking extremely contrite, not bothering to hide any of it from him. "Casey, I-I'm sorry. There is no op. At least, not a government sanctioned one. She isn't working for anyone, at least none of the good guys like us. She's working for herself. Like we suspected. The op is a lie. She was just trying to get rid of you."
Without realizing he was doing it, Casey let his head hang. It was like a sock to his gut. With a bazooka.
He nodded and lifted his head again. "Figured that was the case. S'what I get for trustin' women."
"Umm…Thanks." Sarah tilted her head and pointed to herself.
He grunted. "You're not a woman, you're my partner."
"Oh, great. Double thanks."
The amusement on her face made him smile a bit, begrudgingly. He felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him though...and he was still falling. This was crap. Bullshit. He was pissed. And he wanted to hang onto the pissed reaction, because he was too terrified of the ache in his chest.
"Casey, I-I'm really, really sorry. Sometimes people are just…"
"People are assholes," he grumbled. "They're lyin' cheatin' assholes. They're bad. They suck. And yet you and I are out here bustin' our asses to protect them, save them, make it so they can keep livin' their sorry little corrupted, broken lives. An' then what do we get for it? Nothin'. Nada." He grabbed the mug of coffee that'd been sitting there for hours and took a long sip of the dark brew. It was cold and he winced.
Sarah sighed and moved to perch on the edge of his desk, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips. Then she turned slowly and looked down at the monitor as Chuck shifted a little before turning onto his back and blinking a few times, sending an angry look at his alarmclock before reaching over and smacking it hard, rolling onto his side and then just staring at the wall tiredly.
"There are bad ones," she said quietly. "Liars, cheaters, frauds, con artists…" She seemed to get a look on her face then, but it was gone just as quickly, almost like she was in pain for a split second. "People who maybe don't deserve everything that we do. Hell, you and I could probably be tossed into the bad guy pot for things we've done or have allowed to happen. But then...Then there are people like him…" She tossed her thumb towards the screen where Chuck was sitting now, just staring off to the side glumly, deep in thought about something or other. "People like Chuck are out there, too, Casey. And for my money, if there's even one Chuck Bartowski in a pot full of...well, shit...it's worth doing what we're doing to keep that pot safe. Don't you think?"
Casey stared at her, at the way she was staring at Chuck. He wasn't an idiot. He knew. He'd seen it at the start, and he'd seen it grow. And he trusted her. But he'd still seen it. Just like he was seeing it now.
The kid she was making eyes at without even realizing she was doing it probably...that kid was Piranha. The Piranha. It was a name that had been passed around in the halls of Langley a little under ten years ago, just for a few years, and then it had disappeared. But what Chuck told him that day...it really could've bit the guy in the ass. Hard. Telling an NSA agent you were a criminal hacker. Sure, he never caused deaths or defrauded the government or anything like that. But he was still a criminal hacker. And he'd told Casey...he'd done it to help him. That freaking nerd was the real deal, wasn't he? He wasn't the ideal human by any means, definitely not even close to perfect. But Agent Walker was right. Sarah was right. He was worth protecting. He was worth this work they were doing. He stuck his neck out for people in a way Casey'd only seen in punchy hero movies, not for the fame and glory, not for money. But just 'cause...he was good. 'Cause he wanted to help.
"Rather toss him in a bunker and be done with it. That'll protect him." He sucked a bit of air in through his teeth. And when Sarah sent him a flat look, he felt a bit of a guilty look settle itself on his face. He tried to grump it away. "I was kidding. You're right. I'm just...pissed off. I was ready to believe 'er. Serves me right."
Sarah shook her head. "It doesn't serve you right, Casey. Everything in this life tells us not to trust people."
"Yeah, and when I did trust someone, look what happened."
She shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you just trusted the wrong person. I don't think that's on you, Casey. But we have to figure something out now."
"I need time to digest, Walker. Then we can figure something out. For now, I've got a shift at the Buy More to get ready for." He sneered. Not at her, specifically. But just in general.
She nodded and moved to leave, but then she stopped and put a hand on his shoulder. "We can find a way to do this so that it's as painless as possible."
"For who? Me or her?"
"Both. Whatever is easiest for you so that it doesn't feel so shitty."
"I'm fine," he grunted. "We'll talk about it later. Ain't like we got any evidence anyway."
Sarah seemed like she was going to say something else, but she stopped herself and nodded, moving towards the door.
"Hey. Walker." She stopped and turned back, hand on the doorknob. He straightened up and stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe. "Thanks for lookin' out. I've been...a bit of a dick. An asshole. You still made those calls to get the real story. You did that for me so, uh...I guess thanks." He rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. Maybe a bit of self-reflection was necessary…
She just smiled at him. "You're my partner. And a good one. Whether you're kind of a jerk sometimes or not." She paused. "Get used to it, though. I don't know how much longer this one is gonna go, and I'm gonna be here watching out for your ass for the duration of it."
Sarah Walker was gone then, and he smiled, snorting to himself and moving to get ready for work.
By the time he got to the Buy More and was surrounded by the usual duldrum, though, the reality of Walker's discovery settled over him. He had a headache and a...something else ache. And he sought out the peace and solitude of the home theater room. He just wished he was allowed to sneak in some night and install a lock. Then again, it would be abused by the absolute idiot-sticks who worked at this damn shithole of a store.
He brought Casablanca with him because… Well, because it was one of his favorites. And when he met a woman named Ilsa, it had done something to his insides. Now that she was revealed to be a criminal mastermind of sorts, a puppeteer putting on a show with a powerful oligarch and his men… Well, it fit, didn't it? No, it didn't fit. The movie had no similarities to his situation... But damn beautiful women named Ilsa, anyway.
Peace and quiet. That was all he needed. Just some peace, and some quiet.
"Hey. Casey. We need to talk."
Fuck.
Without opening his eyes, still massaging the bridge of his nose, he calmly asked, "Is it related to last night?"
"Um. Yes. Well? Yes. Yep."
"Then I don't wanna talk about it."
"Listen. Casey—"
"No, you listen." He sat up and climbed to his feet, cutting it off before it even started. He couldn't deal with another heart to heart. Walker did him a solid last night and again this morning. She didn't pull punches, she just gave it to him straight. And he couldn't deal with one of Chuck's Feelings Sessions right now. Never, really, but especially not right now. "Whatever you thought existed between me and Ilsa, you were wrong, all right? That person has gone back to being dead to me."
He was done with the "Go after her" bullshit Chuck fed to him, even if he took half the blame for eating it up as eagerly as he had. He'd wanted her. He'd wanted her to be on the up and up. But Chuck was wincing, pulling his lips back between his teeth.
"You have something to say, Chuck?"
"Yeah, just that there's a dead lady waiting to see you."
"Huh?" There were footsteps behind him, and he spun to look. Oh. Shit. Damn. Oh, God damn.
Ilsa walked in, purse over her shoulder, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She didn't look contrite. She didn't look like a camper approaching an angry bear who'd broken into their encampment. She had her spine straight, all confidence. And he felt a tug in his chest. Why'd she have to be so confident and hot in her badness? This was a bad person. Bad. Bad.
He spun back to look at Chuck who thankfully didn't reveal anything on his face like he normally would have, and then he gave him a subtle get lost look. Chuck cleared his throat and slid out of the room, for once doing it in silence.
Casey turned to Ilsa and straightened to his full height, pulling his shoulders back.
"You always talked to me about this movie when we were together," she said, smiling at him. "I thought it was annoying at first, but then...it got pretty cute. Even if she does break his heart at the end."
"He breaks his own heart," Casey said a bit defensively. "But it-it's a lot more complicated than that." He shook his head, getting to what he really wanted to know. "How'd you find me, Ilsa?"
She smiled a little, still brimming with confidence, and she pulled the bug out of her purse. "Your friend left this under the bed. Just...on the floor. It's very lucky I looked under there when I did, or we'd all be in some trouble if one of Victor's boys found it. He's not much of a spy, your friend."
Casey took the bug from her as she offered it, stepping in close to him, meeting his gaze steadily. He hated that her close proximity was making him remember those nights long ago, when it was just them, together, no holds barred. Those were such good nights. He couldn't remember better nights. Fuck this. "So what do you want?" he demanded, keeping an impenetrable mask on.
"I didn't want to leave things the way we left them last night." She looked at the screen, watched what was happening for a few seconds.
"With your soon-to-be husband, drunk, Russian crime boss whining about not getting enough out of your big time business transaction of a wedding? Get used to it; he's only gonna get worse with old age." He smirked with a quiet grunt. "Well. Older age."
"That's what I made him think. It's what I made all of them think, John. I can call you that, can't I? John? It's what I called you then." He didn't respond, so she just shook her head and took a deep breath. He watched something come over her face, resolve...resolve about what, he knew he was about to find out. And he braced himself for it. "We've been investigating Victor Federov since the Paris commuter train bombings back in '02. My agency has tried everything to take him to trial, but his organization is airtight, totally legit from the outside. The only way we could take him down was…"
"By pretending you would marry him to strengthen the Federovs in return for a seat at the table? Access to his holdings? His businesses? And every single privilege the Federovs enjoy? It's all pretend to do what exactly? What's your goal, if you're an agent like you say." He grinned. "I bet you aren't even French."
"John...Please. Be reasonable. Why would I lie—?"
"Because you've been lying this whole time. About everything. To me, probably to Federov, to everyone. It's what you do, Ilsa."
"It was for my job."
"Come on, toots. Drop the bullshit. You think I don't have contacts of my own in these agencies you work for? We both know this is all an act, so stop embarrassing yourself. I make one call and you, Victor, and half the Grand Saville are packed on a plane and shipped off to the nearest detention center of my choice." He gave her a satisfied smirk, even if he didn't feel it.
"You're not going to do that." She looked at him through her eyelashes, almost looking like the Ilsa he'd fallen for in that hotel room the first time they slept together.
"Really? Why is that?" he asked sarcastically.
"You feel it, too, John. Sugar Bear." She slowly laid her hands on his chest, almost tentatively, like she wasn't sure how he'd react. He let her, because damn, it felt good to be touched like this again. He cursed himself for it. "This whole thing…" She sighed, smiling a little. "It's true. I did set all of this up. I'm on my way to the top, and with a union like this one—a Trinchina daughter marrying Victor Federov—I'll be the head of the most influential oligarch in Europe, let alone in Russia. And the best part is...I hold the reins. I am in control. I am writing my own story, John. Finally. And it's by my rules." She slid her hands up to his shoulders and sidled up to him, her front pressed against his. "I'm finally free."
"By marrying Victor Federov?" he asked, clenching his jaw. It was true. All of it was true. And he was angry, hurt...guilty. Guilty because she was touching him in that way that used to drive him crazy...and it was still driving him crazy. What in the hell was wrong with him?
"I told you, it's my own rules. He doesn't get to touch me. It's all business, Sugar Bear. Unlike...with you." He snarled, trying to pull away, but she held fast. "No, please. Listen. This is why I really came. I didn't really think I could lie to you and get away with it. Not this time. I want to be honest with you." She pleaded with her eyes. "This...between us...it was always real. True. None of that was ever a lie. I wanted you. And I still—I still do. Meeting you again, here…" He swallowed thickly. "It really put a...wrench in my plans in some ways. I was so ready to just go through with all of this, take everything, live the rest of my life on top of the world. But you're here and I don't—I don't want that without you there. Beside me."
This time he did push her hands off of him. Hearing her say those things while she was touching him like that, the tender way she was stroking his shoulders and arms, and the unshed tears lining her gorgeous eyes. She wasn't lying this time. He could see it and feel it.
"This is real, Sugar Bear. We're real. This. Us...I will give you everything you could ever want. You can have me, all the Cuban cigars you could ask for…" She let out a bit of a wet giggle, and he remembered that night after a particularly passionate roll in the sheets, when he'd told her he could really go for a Cuban cigar right about then. She'd laughed, apologized for not being able to provide one for him.
She could now. She could get him anything he wanted.
"And be your kept man while you marry a Russian crime boss?" he snapped. "I'm no mistress."
"It's just a document, John. You'd be mine. I'd be yours. We could have the world. We can have what we had before. What we found in that hotel room. We could have it forever. Just come with me. Sugar Bear…" She cupped his face, letting a tear shed finally.
She was serious. She was a criminal. But he could see the woman he'd loved for the first time since...well. Since before all of this. Since his life got flipped on its head. The Ilsa he'd known then was still here. Or maybe this Ilsa had been there back then and he hadn't known her well enough.
If she thought he'd ever abandon his duty, General Beckman, this mission, his partner, but especially that damn kid out there who'd been given a shit hand and was trying to not only live with it but use it to help others to the best of his ability… Ilsa Trinchina didn't know him at all. And he'd definitely never known her.
"We can just...disappear." She sniffed a bit, looking embarrassed and shy suddenly after putting herself out there like this. "We can go now. If you want."
"You mean...skipping this wedding? Skipping out on all that power?" he asked, smirking. "Seriously? For me?"
She paused for a long time, swallowed hard, and nodded. "You really...fucked things up for me, John."
He frowned. Wow. His hands fell to her waist and he let himself feel her for just a moment longer. He did want this. He wanted her. He really hated himself for it so much it was tearing him up on the inside.
"Maybe I did… But I won't let you do the same to me," he said quietly. "You know this isn't how I operate, Ilsa. I'd never do what you want me to do. Not for anything. Not for anybody."
Maybe she didn't know that wasn't how he operated. It didn't matter. She knew now.
He could see her heart breaking, and she slowly lowered her arms to her side, before she reached up on second thought to wipe at her cheeks quickly, composing herself and frowning. She cast her gaze to the side to stare at the movie again. "So. Is this your revenge?"
"No. I can't leave this place."
"The...Buy More?"
"Sure. The Buy More." Something inside of him smiled a little but it was snuffed out. This was rough, and it sucked that it was so rough considering who she was and what she was planning to do.
"You are...going to arrest me…?" It seemed like less of a question.
Casey slowly shook his head. "For what?" he asked. "I don't have anything."
"I still don't even know who you work for, either. I don't know how you managed to get me to spill the beans, as you Americans would say...and I still know nothing about you."
"I'm good at what I do." He shrugged.
Ilsa backed away with a nod. "Well. Have a good life then. John."
Casey didn't respond, just watching her duck her head and leave the room in a rush. He stared after her through the window as she moved through the store towards the exit, so graceful and lithe and gorgeous. Still the one woman he'd been with who had legitimately been able to make him catch fire when they were together. She moved like she thought there was a catch, like someone would pop out to arrest her after all. But she finally drifted out of sight, and out of the store.
They still had no plan. They weren't likely to have one because he meant to leave work early, bury himself in alcohol, and hopefully just...forget her. Some other schmucks could take care of this. He just wanted to be drunk.
Chuck came back in with a, "Hey, are you—?"
But he just held up a hand and shoved past him, walking right out of the store.
A/N: Hi, me again. David and I are both on the same page about the entire honey pot concept not existing in this rewrite and we're serious about it. It took a lot of phone calls and miserable wracking of our brains, but we found out how to do it and we're pretty proud of what we did together here. Can't wait for y'all to see how it all pans out. Thanks for reading, and please, please review. It means a lot to us!
-SC and DC
