For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Here's a couple things you might need to know or maybe you just forgot: Ellie confesses to Casey that she used to be a wild child. They linger in the laundromat long after their loads are finished.

Silence

Casey eyed the hole in his favorite black tee shirt critically as he pulled it from the dryer. It was jagged and ripped, from mid shoulder to halfway down his back. It still hurt to move, but Sarah had patched him back up. The stitches were good and tight, performed with near surgical precision. Not half bad for a CIA spook.

A stray thought entered his mind, however, as he felt the sting of pain rip through his backside again. He couldn't help but wonder what a certain doctor's bedside manner might be like. Shoving that thought aside, he tossed the ruined tee shirt in Downy's direction with a sigh. "Finally," he told her. "All yours."

Downy went to investigate the discarded garment, sniffing at it.

He couldn't help but smile a little as Downy set about settling in it after just a few moments. He glanced up when the door opened and Ellie breezed in. "Hey," he said, finishing folding one load and starting another in the dryer.

"Hey," she returned, taking up her normal spot beside him, filling the other two machines. She noticed that his movements seemed deliberate, carefully coordinated. Even after he sat down in one of the folding chairs, she could tell he wasn't leaned against the back, like he normally would.

He could feel her concern, even though she hadn't said anything. She hadn't done anything more than look at him, but he could tell that it was coming. The questions, the worries. He attempted to take control of the conversation. "How's the hospital?"

She shrugged. "It's all right," she said, adding detergent to each washer.

Normally, if he asked her a simple question like that, she'd respond with more of a soliloquy than a mere three words. "Just all right?"

"Mmhmm." She knew what he was trying to do. After all this time, she was starting to figure it out. While she wasn't sure what the picture on the puzzle was, she was starting to group together the pieces that were the same color. And she'd noticed how Casey could seemingly control the conversation by asking her basic, open-ended questions. When she didn't take the bait, she could almost hear the gears grinding in his head.

"I see..."

She closed the lids on her machines, leaning against one of them, folding her arms over her chest. "What did you do to your back?"

The lie came easily but it tasted bitter. "I pulled it. At the Buy More. Too many Beastmasters. Grilling season."

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "I was really starting to think that you were different, John, but you're the same as Chuck and Devon... even Morgan," Ellie said with a heavy sigh.

"W-what do you mean?" He'd never been one to play innocent. Following the fib with that maneuver seemed cheap but it had been the first thing to come to his mind.

"You all must think I'm so gullible, that I'm so incompetent that I can't see through the lies."

Casey stood, but it took concerted effort to keep the pain from crossing his features. "That is definitely not the case. I know that you're brilliant. Much smarter than I am..." Off her disbelieving look, he said, very quietly: "If I could tell you everything, I would."

She just looked up at him for a long moment. She wanted to be angry at him, to be frustrated, but she was desperate to know. "Your back... is it about protecting Chuck?" she asked, her voice just as soft as his had been. "I mean, you've taken a beating for my brother before... did you do it again?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't taste another lie, not without making himself sick.

But the silence spoke louder than any word ever could. She ran a hand over her face. While she appreciated the information, she wasn't sure what to do with it, or what it meant.

Casey cleared his throat. "It's not as bad as you think. But, the best thing you can do is not think about it."

She looked over at him. "What are you part of? The mafia or something?"

He smiled but shook his head.

She was inclined to believe him. After all, it wasn't silence that greeted her but a real answer. She took a slow breath. "Do you want me to take a look at your back?"

"I'm okay," he assured her. "But, if it gets worse, I'll keep you in mind, if that's all right."

She nodded.

Long after the clothes were folded and put away but shortly before she started preparing Sunday night dinner, Ellie ventured back to the laundry room with a can of cat food. She was distracted as she crossed the courtyard.

So there was something.

That was comforting to know, wasn't it?

She decided it wasn't, not without knowing more details. She wanted to honor Casey's request, not to ask anything, not to think about it, but in the silent moments in her afternoon, she kept thinking back to it. Back to the pain that he tried so hard to hide from her.

With a sigh, she let herself into the dim laundry room. "Dinner time, sweet girl," Ellie announced.

Downy, who had been in the window sill, watching the birds zoom and dive, jumped easily to the ground and joined her owner at her food bowl.

Ellie smiled a little as Downy began chowing down then set about checking the litter box. On her way over to that corner of the laundry room, however, she noticed the black something on the floor. Setting the empty tin on the table, she bent to pick it up. "What did you find, huh?" she asked, noting well that it was covered with fur.

As she stretched it out, she realized it was a tee shirt. Given the color, and the fact that Downy had been all over it, she could only assume that it was Casey's.

She smiled a little. "You finally managed it, didn't you, Downy? To steal one of your dad's shirts?" She eased it over her arm. She'd get it washed and get it back to him. Except, as she did so, she realized the back was torn. Frowning, she lifted it again, inspecting it.

She gasped when she saw the hole. Placing it on the table, she could see the extent of the damage. With minutely trembling fingers, she ran the tips along the now-fraying edges. No wonder his back hurt, if he'd been wearing this when it happened.

Desperately, she wanted to knock on his door and demand to see his wounds. If he hadn't been properly taken care of, he needed to be. And, given the various injured states she'd found him in before, she couldn't be certain that it wasn't on its way to infection.

But, he'd told her no. She couldn't mother him, not like she could Devon or Chuck or Morgan. She couldn't doctor him. He'd outright refused the last time.

She closed her eyes. Maybe he'd accept an invitation to dinner. Maybe she could convince him that someone-that she-needed to see his wounds.

She tossed the shirt back on the ground for Downy. If she was going to try, she needed to get back, to work on making the evening meal.

Stay tuned...