Ghosts That Haunt

by Adderlygirl

AU / Sequel to Forging a Life. Casey is assigned a foreign female operative to pose as his girlfriend.

12. Chapter 12

This chapter probably warrants a reminder of the adults-only, please, warning.

Ghosts that Haunt—12

The flight was uncomfortable, crowded with people travelling home at the last minute for the holidays. His seat was in coach, and he was crammed into it with virtually no leg room for someone of average height, which he most certainly wasn't. He probably should have played the military card and got a seat in first class.

By the time they reached Los Angeles, he was stiff, tired, and had the headache from Hell. The child behind him had pretty much shrieked the entire way. He wore his sidearm, and several times he had been tempted to use it. He'd refrained, but it had been a close call. He simply hadn't been sure who he wanted to shoot—the kid or himself. While he waited for his bags at baggage claim, he debated renting a car, but then he decided he'd just take a cab. Once he snagged his bags, he changed his mind. He knew Riah might not be happy to see him, so having a way to escape appealed to him.

If it weren't for the possibility Riah would send him out of their apartment at gunpoint, he'd have called Bartowski and asked the kid to pick him up.

Then again, Chuck would tell Riah he was coming, and he might not get a chance to even leave the airport.

Casey parked outside the apartment complex in Echo Park. He sat and stared at the mostly dark building. There were lights on here and there, but most of the residents were either gone or in bed. He thought of the nights he'd spent in bed with Riah, her soft warmth cradled against him. He'd missed her, missed that, missed the sense of peace he'd generally felt as he held her while she slipped into sleep before he followed her.

As he sat there, he realized he was still pretty damned mad at her. She'd done nothing to try and reach him, not even after she'd found out she was pregnant. Maybe she'd thought better of how she felt for him, especially after she'd miscarried. She hadn't contacted him then, either. Admittedly, he'd disappeared on her. That tended to piss women off. To make matters worse, he'd left her pregnant and alone. She might not forgive him for that, and he debated checking into a hotel for the night. He could come see her in the morning, talk to her in the cold light of day—if he talked to her at all.

He'd never been this indecisive in his life. Give him a mission, and he could easily weigh his options and decide the course to take. Present him with a chance to get the only woman he wanted back, and he couldn't decide what to do. He gave a self-deprecating laugh. It was flight or fight, he realized, and he couldn't decide which to do. There were many reasons to leave, to not do this. He was closer to fifty than he liked to admit. Riah was just shy of thirty. He had graduated from high school before she was even a year old. He was too old for her, he told himself, but then another part of him remembered she hadn't seemed to care. What he did constantly put his life in danger, and she could be collateral damage. For that matter, she had been a target most of her life, and he didn't think he could take a third strike when it came to women he cared about.

Ultimately, he was who and what he was, and he was unwilling to change that, not even for Riah. Not, he thought, watching a light in an apartment window—Showalter, tax accountant—wink out, that she had given any indication she would ask that of him. Sooner or later he'd have to hang it up. They made FBI special agents retire at fifty-seven, but he didn't have an expiration date of which he was aware—then again, he was unlikely to voluntarily retire, was more likely to be retired by the enemy.

That would leave Riah alone and vulnerable. If they had children—and for a minute he paused, chased that thought, not completely sure how he felt about that possibility—it left her not only vulnerable but with responsibilities she shouldn't have to shoulder alone. Of course, that all assumed she said yes when he asked her—if he asked her. Expensive ring from Tiffany's and his mother's expectations notwithstanding, he wasn't all together certain he had the nerve to ask Riah if she wanted to marry him. He thought about that night in Chicago, the night he'd dropped one pretense for another. He'd wanted to take her to his hotel and make love to her, but he hadn't. He'd taken her home and left her there with her family.

And that, oddly, seemed the metaphor for their relationship. He wanted, but he chose not to follow through.

Then again, that was largely the story of his adult life.

Only Casey hadn't been able to leave it at that in Chicago. It had been one of the rare times in his life when he'd had a failure of will. He'd let Dietrich's words and the scotch send him back to her, and the following morning sanity had returned. He hadn't made love to her, not completely, but he'd set them on the path to what happened later. After they had become lovers, he'd been content to stall the relationship there, and she had seemed equally content with what they had. He had known—and if he hadn't, he should have—it couldn't continue like that, and when Beckman pulled him from Mission Moron, he should have personally spoken to Riah, should have explained, but he hadn't. If he'd acted on instinct, he wondered where they would be now.

He looked at his watch. It was early morning. He'd play it by ear, he thought, and as he stepped from the car, he realized it was Christmas day. His mother used to tell him Christmas was a time of miracles, and though he'd never really believed her, he thought he might just need one.

Casey took his bags from the trunk and made his way quietly into the courtyard and to their apartment. A light was on downstairs, and Casey set his bags by the door and looked between the slats of the open blinds covering the front windows. Riah was asleep on the couch, an open book in front of her. He let himself in quietly, set his suitcases in front of the bookcase just inside the door, and closed and locked the door before he reset the alarm system. He stood and watched her, worried that she hadn't even stirred when he entered. She remained sound asleep when he crept toward her, careful not to make a sound. Nothing had changed in the apartment since he left, he noted, except for the small Christmas tree with no presents beneath it.

She looked so very young asleep, and he felt very old as he looked down at her. Perhaps he should just take his things and go, he thought again, and then he thought of facing his mother or Emma and having to explain he hadn't had the nerve to go through with it after all. She moved, and he froze, irritated that he held his breath—as if that would make a difference to whether or not she woke. She rolled over to face the back of the couch, and Casey breathed shallowly until her breathing deepened once more. He picked up her book and slipped the bookmark inside before he closed it and set it on the coffee table. He toed his shoes off and reached to turn her lamp out. The only light came from the Christmas tree as he shed his jacket and his holster before he eased himself onto the couch behind her, molded his body to hers and breathed in the lavender scent of her shampoo.

It had been so long since he'd held her like this, and once he realized she wasn't going to wake, he enjoyed the feel of her. He let her warmth seep into him.

Then he wondered if she had taken the sleeping pills, worried that she had simply settled back into him and continued sleeping. He wasn't about to try waking her to find out, though.

He must have gone to sleep, Casey realized, when he felt her move against him and he surfaced slowly. He heard her breath catch, but he remained relaxed, hoped she'd settle into sleep again, give him more time to consider what he needed to say to her, but when she moved once more and he realized she was about to roll over, he decided it was time to man up and do what he'd come to do. He moved slightly, realized one of his arms had become pinned and gone to sleep.

She rolled over then, and even in the dim light from the Christmas tree, he could see her stormy expression. "Take a wrong turn?" she bit out.

He stopped the sigh. He'd known this wouldn't be easy, but he had hoped she would meet him half way. He suspected she was about to make him work very hard to regain her trust. Not that he could blame her, he acknowledged. "No."

For a split second he saw shocked surprise flicker across her face, and then the anger flooded in behind it. He couldn't exactly read her mind, but something in her expression told him she was trying to find the ugliest thing she could say to him. He was tired still, so he tried to head her off. "Whatever's going on in that head of yours, stop it. Hear me out."

"You have nothing to say I want to hear," she hissed at him, pushing at his chest and arms to get him to release her.

Casey tightened his grip, understood that if he released her he would lose his chance. He used his larger body to hold hers against the back of the couch, watched her face as he pushed her back into the cushions. She was too angry to panic over being confined, which might work in his favor. He watched, waited, wondered if she would realize he had her trapped and whether she would then go to pieces. As a result, he saw when it dawned on her to retaliate, and he trapped her leg with his before she could do so. "Humor me," he rasped.

"You aren't giving me a choice," she said bitterly.

"No, I'm not." She tensed, struggled a few moments, but he flexed muscle, kept her in place. Finally, he felt her relax, surrender. He knew it was only temporary, knew that if he didn't find a way to explain his actions to her he would lose her, and if he lost her, he wouldn't get another chance. He weighed several approaches as he studied her face in the faint glow from the Christmas tree, and for once he wasn't sure where he should start.

Perhaps that hesitation was why she ground out, "If you have nothing to say after all, then let me up," and began to push at him again to get him to release her.

He tightened his grip. "Riah—"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped, slapped the heels of her hands on his chest and shoved at him before he could go any further.

She was angrier than he thought based on that reaction and the probable bruises she'd just given him, and that would make his job even more difficult. He sighed and said the first thing he could think of: "I'm an ass, okay?"

"You defame four-legged beasts of burden." His jaw tightened at the venom in her voice. He'd seen her angry, but he'd never heard her like this before. She wasn't finished, either. "My mother was right, you know. Men are somewhere lower than pond scum on the evolutionary scale."

That took him aback. Admittedly, Riah had more reason than most to dislike and distrust men, but he'd never before heard her say anything remotely that vicious or unfair. "Mariah—"

She cut him off. "I don't know why you're here, Major, but you're not welcome. What you did was worse than anything Gray Laurance or any other man ever did to me." She swallowed, floundered a second, then firmed her jaw and tore into him again. "You left me, and when I needed you, I didn't even know where you were. How dare you? And how dare you think you can just walk in here, say a few words you probably don't even mean, and I'll just forgive you!"

His own anger welled up, but Casey beat it down. No matter how much he disliked it, what she had just said was a pretty fair summary of what had happened. Where he took issue was her assertion that he didn't mean the apology he was trying to deliver or that he was in any way insincere. He held back, stopped himself from tearing into her for not having let him know she was pregnant and for not telling him she had miscarried. They could deal with his issues later. She obviously needed to have her say, needed to make her accusations, and he would simply have to let her vent her frustration and anger before they could move forward. If he fought back now, she would only retrench, hit back harder, and they wouldn't get anywhere. As a result, he made his voice as neutral as he could when he told her, "I deserved that."

"Yes," she ground out, "you do."

Her use of present tense didn't escape him, and as he opened his mouth to snap back that he wasn't the only one to blame, she seemed to retreat. The fight suddenly went out of her. It was as if she had said what she wanted, though he found it hard to believe she didn't have more accusations to throw at him. Then he noticed she looked like she was about to cry. He didn't think he could take it if she cried. The last several months might have been hard on her, but they hadn't been very easy for him, either. He watched her, watched the tiredness and the hopelessness take over, and he wanted to make it go away. He wasn't sure how, though, so he waited, and when he was certain she wouldn't say any more, he asked softly, "Are you ready to listen to me?"

She tensed again, but then screwed her eyes closed and said wearily, "Say what you have to say."

Casey felt alarmed by how defeated she sounded. He abandoned the explanation he had carefully planned during his flight and just started talking, said whatever popped into his head. "No excuses. I have no excuse at all." He shifted a little, freed a hand from behind her and cradled her face so he could lift it up where he could see her more clearly. He ran his thumb over her cheek lightly. "I don't do feelings, Riah," he said quietly. "Feelings get me in trouble every time. Feelings got me in trouble this time."

"How very circular of you."

That stung. Given the bitter vitriol in that, she wasn't ready to listen after all. He was trying to bare his soul in a way he'd never done for any woman, and she was flinging it right back at him. He gritted his teeth and tried to get his temper under control. If he couldn't, he might as well go straight to Washington and get on a plane to Gaza early. He watched her close her eyes again and listened to her breathe deeply. He thought about the night the PTSD overcame her. Casey knew she used breathing to control her emotions, so he rode it out, waited until he felt her body relax again. She opened her eyes slowly, sighed, and said, "I'll shut up and listen now."

He decided to change his approach, so he retreated a little. "You're the boss's daughter, Riah, and that means you were supposed to be off limits. You were supposed to be my cover, but then the lines started to blur." It was true, and she apparently understood because he felt her move her head a little as if she made a reluctant nod. Casey was encouraged by that. "At first, I just thought it was proximity," he explained. "We were both here, and with the cover, there couldn't be someone else. It didn't help that we were expected to be affectionate, to touch, to . . . ." He trailed off then, wondered how wise or foolish it might be to remind her of their prior intimacy. This, he thought, was why he had always avoided emotional entanglements. A minefield was easier to safely negotiate than picking his way through feelings—lady or otherwise.

While he tried to figure out what to say next, she looked at him and whispered, "To kiss."

Casey nodded, wished he had the nerve to do just that, kiss her. It had worked before, but even as he considered seeing if physical contact could say it for him, he knew he was going to have to give her the words.

He was desperately out of practice with giving a woman words.

"Maybe it was proximity at first," he said, "but after a while it was you. When you went to Chicago for your birthday, I missed you." He thought she blushed, but the light was too faint to really tell. Her face softened, and so did his voice. "I couldn't sleep without you here."

"I thought you were glad to see me go."

There was a little bit of a wobble in her voice, and he felt her hurt like a fist to the chest. He hadn't been very kind, but he hadn't understood what was really going on, what he was really feeling, when he had dumped her at LAX and left her without a word. It was time to tell her that. "I was—for about a day."

She snorted, and for some reason, the fist clenched in his chest loosened at her skepticism. "I would have thought you were glad to have the crazy person gone," she said acerbically.

One of Casey's hands smoothed her hair back from her face. He had felt exactly that, he reflected, but it hadn't taken long for that to change to something he should have been more familiar with—loneliness, a desire to see her, to talk to her. He had missed her, and he never missed anyone other than family. "That was the first clue. I worried about you. I worried that you weren't sleeping, that you weren't taking care of yourself. I worried that Laurance would turn up and you'd decide you wanted him after all. Then I talked to Emma, and I worried that you wanted MacKenzie."

Riah shifted, pulled back slightly, and frowned at him. He wished her expression was easier to read because he still wasn't exactly sure what was between her and her stepfather despite her denial of interest in the other man. "So you came to Chicago to make sure I was sleeping and that I wasn't about to elope with my stepfather?"

He gritted his teeth at her skeptical deadpan. That came uncomfortably close to why he had done it. Unfortunately, he was going to have to confess his reasons. "I went to Chicago because I wanted to see you." He cupped her cheek, could tell he needed to explain why. "I took you on a date because I wanted, just once, to pretend it was all real, that you cared about me, that I wasn't just a piece of equipment, part of the job. Half way through dinner, I knew it was a mistake."

Well, those words were a mistake, he thought when she recoiled and went rigid in his arms. He'd been doing relatively well until then. He caressed the cheek his hand cradled and confessed, "I didn't want to take you home again. I wanted to take you back to my hotel and make love to you."

"Why didn't you?" she whispered, and he wondered why he hadn't, because from the note in her voice, she would have said yes. She had said yes, essentially, when he made his way back to her stepfather's house. She had let him kiss her, touch her, had let him undress her and taste her, and she had been more than willing to let him fully love her. He had no doubts that she would have, but he had been the one who stopped, who drew the line.

"Because it wasn't right," he told her softly. If she took offense at that, he would have to find a way to explain that he hadn't thought through what might happen. He hadn't been prepared for her capitulation, and it would simply open the closet for the other skeleton if he had to admit he'd been afraid he would make her pregnant, that he didn't want to face her father if he did so. Casey wanted matters settled between them before they talked about her miscarriage, wanted her to know how he felt about her before they had to deal with hurt and betrayal and whatever else she felt in the wake of that—whatever else he felt as well.

He felt her relax further into him. For the first time since she woke, he thought he might succeed. As he watched her in the darkened room, he decided to fully disclose to her how he felt. Casey started again, this time with one of his personal nightmares. "The night we arrested Laurance," he told her and heard her suck in a ragged breath and go stiff at the memory, "I thought Kellett was going to kill you."

"Me, too," she said with a shiver.

He folded her closer, felt her sink into him. He circled back, though, rather than go further down that very dark memory. "When you came home from Chicago, you were distant, and it made me crazy." It had, too. He had thought things had changed when he returned to Los Angeles, but when she came back and didn't even look at him, he thought she'd changed her mind, that she didn't like him let alone want him. "I didn't know what to think," he confessed. "Then V. H. told me you asked to be recalled."

"You were angry," she said.

That, he thought, was putting it mildly. He'd been furious. He agreed with her, careful not to sound accusatory. "That night, I couldn't do it anymore," he said. "I couldn't . . . I just gave in. I needed you."

When he thought back to that night, he wondered if he'd set out to seduce her because he needed her or because he had wanted her to see she needed him.

Riah once more looked like she was going to cry, and when she squeezed her eyes closed, he kissed her forehead and then touched his lips softly to hers. He wanted to do as he had done that night, show her he still wanted her, but he wasn't sure she still wanted him. Besides, they still had things to say to one another before he clouded the issue with sex. He knew he couldn't avoid it any longer, so he got down to business, told her what he'd said to her on that one too-brief phone call and in the e-mail she'd never answered. "I left you a note. I asked Beckman to explain why I was gone. I don't know what happened to the note or why she didn't tell you." He kissed her once more, gathered his courage and said what he hadn't in either of those messages: "I've never felt like this for anyone, only for you."

They stared at one another, and he held his breath. She hadn't given him much hope so far that she still felt anything positive for him, and he was suddenly afraid. Riah looked hurt, though, and he wished she would just say something, anything, that might give him a clue what she was thinking. Until he knew whether she wanted him or wanted him to go, he couldn't formulate an argument to win her over—if he had to win her over, and the longer the silence stretched, the more he figured he did. Desperate, he breathed, "Riah, please forgive me."

She continued to study him while he waited as patiently as he could manage. Truthfully, he was surprised he hadn't dissolved into babble, anything to get her to tell him what she thought, what she felt. She had an odd expression on her face, and he tried to judge whether or not she would do as he asked and forgive him. He knew she had reason not to, but he hoped she would. He just wished she would give him something he could work with. Her expression went sad again, and he urged, "Say something."

Her breathing accelerated, and she tensed in his arms once more. "This isn't real," she said, and he could hear panic in her voice. "I'm imagining this. I drank too much at Ellie's this evening. You aren't here, and you didn't say those things—"

He stopped her as he'd done once before, with his mouth. He wasn't sure she realized it, but her flood of words gave him hope. If she was afraid, she felt something. He just hoped it was what he wanted her to feel, that she loved him just as he loved her. He nudged her mouth open, deepened the kiss, tried to put what he felt into it. When it was necessary to come up for air, he told her, "I am here, and I did say that." She shivered against him, and he kissed her below her ear in the spot he knew made her a complete puddle, and then he plunged off the cliff, whispered fervently in her ear, "I love you, Riah, and if you don't love me back, tell me now."

What he said hung there between them, and just as Casey was about to release her, let go of her, leave her, she said faintly, "I've imagined you before."

God might have been laughing when he stood in Tiffany's holding an engagement ring she might refuse, but apparently He was willing to throw Casey a bone. He just hoped the Almighty wasn't tossing him a lifeline only to send him beneath the water for the third time. If she thought she was imagining this, then it was just possible she returned his feelings. He took her mouth again, once more put what he felt into his exploration of her mouth before admitting, "Ariel told me."

For some reason, he was amused by her obvious shock and her breathless, "Okay. Now I'm sure you're an hallucination."

It wasn't funny, especially, that she thought she had made him up, but it did a lot to encourage him. "Riah," he plunged on, picking up with the reference she had made to her last hospitalization, "when that moron shot you, it scared twenty years off my life. When I got to you, you were nearly gone."

She stared up at him; her eyes widened in surprise. "You weren't there," she breathed. "You weren't there.

"I was," he assured her. "Your father, probably because he thought he could play Cupid afterward, asked me to perform an independent evaluation of a training exercise. He never told me you were going to be there. When Faraday shot you, when I reached you, I thought it was too late, that you were going to die." He dropped a kiss on her mouth, as much to reassure himself as to reassure her. "That evening in the hospital was the longest night of my life, Riah. The next few days weren't very easy, either. When you finally woke . . . ." He swallowed thickly and searched for something to prove to her he had, indeed, been there. "You said, 'This is starting to be a habit.'"

Her hand rose to his cheek, and he pressed into her palm. "I don't remember that."

"You were pretty doped up," he admitted, remembered the odd things she had said to him. It had taken him a while to understand she didn't believe she was really talking to him. "I stayed until Beckman sent two MPs after me to see I made my flight to Kabul. My bosses weren't too happy about your father demanding I finish the debriefing for the exercise just to keep me there with you a little longer, and they were even more unhappy about my delayed arrival." He'd been chewed on for a very long time, and for a moment, he had thought they would bust him back to captain—or lower.

"Is that where you've been?" He knew she hadn't asked, and in his first angry moments after he realized that, he had assumed it meant she didn't care. When he had had time to reflect, he had understood she hadn't asked because she had known she wouldn't be told. She had, after all, learned very young the concept that if you needed to know, someone would tell you. Asking didn't mean you were given answers.

He told her, "More recently Iraq, and most recently with your mother in Baghdad."

"And she's still alive?"

Casey grinned at her incredulous tone. He nodded and added, "I think I could come to like her. I think we've at least buried the hatchet."

"And not in each other?" she asked, sounding for all the world like a woman hearing someone assert that Hell had actually frozen over.

He snorted before he confirmed, "No, not in each other."

Riah shifted against him again and looked up at him. He wished he had the nerve to turn on a light so he could more clearly watch her expression. He was worried that she still hadn't said anything about what she felt or didn't feel for him. On the one hand, she hadn't said she didn't love him. On the other, she hadn't confessed that she did, and he wished she would do one or the other. She ran her hand over his cheek again, ghosted her thumb over his lower lip in a gesture he was quite familiar with since it frequently preceded her initiating sex, and asked softly, "How long are you here?"

"Two days." She still hadn't said what he wanted to hear, but Casey decided he'd just have to wait. He felt a more pressing need from her, and he was willing, for the moment, to take a physical if not an emotional desire for him. He ran a finger along her jaw, and he decided to tell her why, knew full well Beckman would have his head if she ever found out he'd told Riah where he was going. He refused to start over, if that's what they were doing, without honesty between them. "We've got two days, and then I have to report back to D.C. They're sending me to Gaza before New Year's. After that, I'll request I be reassigned here—but only if you want me." He held his breath, hoped like hell this wasn't where she told him she didn't want him after all.

He sagged, relieved, when she breathed, "I want you."

It would do for a start, he thought, taking her mouth hungrily. She tore at the buttons on his shirt, and he stripped her t-shirt and flannel pants from her before she could get his own shirt off him. God, he had missed her. He had missed the way she felt, the way she touched him. He had missed the slide of her skin against his, the taste of her. He missed the sounds she made as he touched her and the intricate battle to touch one another with hands and mouth. He nearly fell off the couch when she fumbled at his belt and he tried to make enough room to let her work. He pushed her hands away and stood long enough to get rid of the rest of his clothes before he rejoined her, rolled her beneath him and reclaimed her mouth.

Riah's hands roamed over his body, and he wondered vaguely if he should stop her before he was useless to her. For his part, he ran his mouth, his tongue over her exposed skin, found her nipple and felt a primitive pride at the keening, wanting moan that escaped her as she arched up into him. He had missed that sound, missed the way her body reacted to stimuli, and it felt so very, very good to stimulate her. She dragged his mouth back to hers, plundered it and ran her hands over his own body impatiently. She was ready for him, he was more than ready for her, and when he entered her, her hips rose to meet him. It was hard and fast and hungry, and it wasn't long before Riah flew apart and took him with her.

Casey came around enough to realize he had to be crushing her into the sofa cushions. He murmured something even he wasn't sure of and rolled off her so that his back was against the sofa's before he pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth again, more gently this time, and Riah's answering kiss was sleepy. "I like the way you apologize," she murmured, stroking a hand up his chest. "You don't happen to have anything else you need to confess?"

A grunt of a laugh escaped him. He sincerely hoped her comment meant she was going to forgive him after all. "I could probably come up with something," he admitted, pressed a kiss against her forehead as tiredness washed over him, "but I think I need a little sleep first."

He felt her mouth curve against his shoulder. "There are two perfectly good beds upstairs."

"Later," he said softly, completely aware that there were two beds upstairs but unwilling to say he was afraid she might change her mind if he had to let her go long enough to go to either of them. That, and several days with little sleep were finally catching up to him.

Casey woke up disoriented, but it didn't take him long to realize where he was. He had a moment where he regretted not moving Riah upstairs as his muscles protested when he moved to ease his cramped position. There was faint light coming in the window, and he gently rolled Riah enough away that he could easily reach her mouth. He kissed her softly, and she moved against him as she began to wake. There it was, he thought as he nipped his way down her throat, that hungry little moan she often made as he made love to her. Her hands began to run over his shoulders, and he started to kiss his way up the other side of her neck. She grabbed him, pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him absolutely senseless. Her naked body wrapped around his had only a little to do with that, but he certainly wasn't going to complain.

She started pushing and pulling at him. Casey knew it was in his best interest to cooperate, so he let her roll him on his back and helped her seat herself over him. He clung to her hips as she rode him, and he helped her maintain the rhythm until her muscles spasmed around him and led to his own set of spasms. Riah collapsed on top of him and made that contented little purr he had missed so much. She stretched out along him and dropped off to sleep again. Casey kissed the top of her head, thought about moving her, and then decided to just leave her as she was. There was a blanket near their feet that had covered them when he woke, and he worked it up to where he could get a hold of it and cover them again before he dropped off himself.

The next time he woke, it was because he heard the Moron and the Bearded Troll outside the open window. Bartowski and Grimes were going on about turkey, the amount of leftovers probable from the size of the turkey and the number of guests Ellie had invited, and what the possible number of sandwich combinations were from the condiments and other options available in Ellie's fridge. On the one hand, Casey was irritated to be awakened by this conversation. On the other, he had a moment of fondness due mainly to being home and due in part to having Riah naked and draped over him.

She moved restlessly, shifted her weight on him and crooked a leg so that her foot ran up his shin. He ran a hand along her spine, stroked over her skin, and when she made a faint sound, he asked, "You 'wake?"

"Do I have to be?" she mumbled, and he laughed.

"Not especially," he conceded, "but I think I'd like to trade the couch for the bed now." A few hours on his back without good support and the added weight of Riah meant his back was killing him.

She stretched, and her body rubbed against him as she yawned. "Not sure I want to move."

Someone pounded on the door, and Riah moaned. Casey was disgustingly pleased to note it was a moan of frustration. He heard Chuck's voice on the other side of the door and whispered, "Ignore him."

Riah squinted at the clock and started to slide off of him. For his part, Casey tried to impede her by rolling her toward the back of the sofa, but she simply climbed over him. "I'm late," she mumbled, stood, and searched the room. He watched her look at where their scattered clothes had landed the night before, and he watched, amused, when she finally picked up the black shirt he'd been wearing and shrugged it on, buttoned it as she walked toward the door. She looked like she had spent the night doing exactly what they had done, he noted with a pleased grin. Her hair was tousled and tangled, and when she looked over her shoulder at him as she reached his luggage, her mouth was swollen. Part of him wondered what would happen when she opened that door.

To his satisfaction, the sight of her in nothing but Casey's shirt killed whatever Chuck Bartowski had been about to say. The younger man's eyes darted over to where Casey lay on the couch. When it was apparent she intended to answer the door, Casey made sure he was covered. No need to offend Bartowski's sensibilities when she pulled open the door.

There was something oddly gratifying about the way Chuck said, "You're back!" when he saw Casey. The kid grinned at Riah. "He's back!"

She nodded and waved a hand at the room in general. Chuck stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. Casey sat up as Chuck entered, and he could tell Bartowski wanted to ask where he'd been and what he'd been doing. Apparently he'd learned a thing or two while Casey had been gone since Bartowski didn't ask. What he said was, "Mariah said they called you back."

He nodded at the kid. "I didn't have a chance to say good bye, Chuck." There was an edge of sarcasm behind his words not least because Casey had enjoyed having a naked Riah in his arms and now she stood by the door dressed in his shirt while he remained alone on the couch. It seemed grossly unfair in Casey's book. As far as he was concerned, Chuck belonged on the other side of the door and Riah belonged right where she had been before Bartowski knocked.

"So you got to come home for the holidays?" Chuck asked.

Casey nodded once more. "I'm only here a couple of days."

Chuck's face fell at those words. "You're not coming back."

"Not just yet, Bartowski." Casey scratched absently at his chest. "I have to go back overseas for a while."

The kid gave him that incandescent smile of his and said, "So you are coming back, then?"

Casey looked at Riah. She had schooled her features so that her face was an empty blank. He hated that look. He told Chuck, watching Riah as he spoke, "If Beckman lets me." Riah, he realized still hadn't said how she felt about him and his reappearance. It occurred to him then that she might just like the sex and not him. "If Riah lets me." The facade cracked, and she gave Casey a smile every bit as sunny as Chuck's. She still had not said the words, but Casey thought he might get them out of her yet.

Chuck seemed to remember what he had come over for then. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, turning to Riah. "Ellie said to tell you that we're pushing dinner back to five so that Sarah can get back from visiting her dad—of course, Ellie doesn't know that's what she's going to do because, well, that would be a little too hard to explain—" and Casey's lips twitched. Bartowski had never mastered the short answer. As Riah looked across at him, Casey could tell she was thinking much the same thing. He tuned in to the rest of Chuck's response to hear, ". . . and, well, she said to tell you that she won't need you until about one this afternoon."

For Casey, that was good news. He had Riah to himself for a few more hours.

For her part, Riah gave Chuck a gentle smile. "Tell her I'll be there."

Chuck pursed his lips before jabbing a finger in an awkward point at Casey. He waited to see where Bartowski would go next. "Maybe you . . . and Casey . . . would . . . like to . . . would rather . . . ."

"Tell Ellie I'll come help with dinner," Riah said firmly.

"Right. I'll just, um, leave you two."

He waited until Riah had let Chuck out and closed the door behind him before he told her, "Casey would like to—would rather several things." He shoved the blanket aside and crossed the room to where she still stood beside the door. He had her against the door and used one hand to undo the buttons on his shirt. Riah clung to him, mouth, hands, arms, and when he shoved the shirt off her, she wound herself around him once more. Casey lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he fixed his mouth to hers and started up the stairs.