Ghosts that Haunt—18
The chaplain's lips twitched; Ellie looked horrified. "You are?" he asked Ellie, who told him her name and then said she was Mariah's friend. Weirdly, Mariah was comforted a little by Ellie's assertion. She hadn't had that many real friends in her life, but she clung to Ellie's claim, focused on it, because she didn't want to hear what the two men were about to tell her. She recognized the formation. After all, she had gone with her father to tell the wives and husbands of operatives killed in the line of duty that they had lost a spouse. Only John wasn't her husband yet, and she ached, realized Jane Casey was probably getting the same visit. The phone began to ring then, but she swallowed thickly.
Or Jane had just had it.
She chose not to answer the ringing phone. Her first priority was to get rid of the two uniforms in her apartment as quickly as possible. Only then could she deal with the cause of their visit.
The chaplain stepped forward and started to cup her elbow. Mariah wrenched away from him, furious that he dared to try and touch her. He held both his hands up, palms toward her, and indicated his surrender. Her chest hurt; it was painful to draw breath because her chest felt like it was collapsing, like it was being crushed. The lieutenant colonel talked softly to Ellie, but Mariah refused to listen to their conversation, refused to look, refused to see when Ellie realized why they were there.
"Perhaps you would like to sit," the chaplain said.
Mariah glared at him. "Perhaps you would like to leave," she bit out.
The phone still rang in the background, but Mariah didn't take the distraction it offered. It would simply be someone who had just found out calling to commiserate, and she couldn't take that, not at that moment. Nor did she particularly care that she had just been rude to a man who was only there to do his duty.
The notion of duty simply reminded her of John, but she still didn't waver. She was suddenly furious, coldly, darkly angry. She let that idea distract her a moment, since it always surprised her that anger wasn't a hot emotion for her, despite its depth and strength. What she grasped for, grappled with, was at whom that anger was directed: the men in front of her, John, or whoever was responsible for the news these two wanted to give her.
Ellie sniffed, and Mariah's eyes found her. She hated the pity she saw there, and for a split second, before she reminded herself it wasn't Ellie's fault, she wanted to blame the other woman. Mariah couldn't, though, decide what to blame her for: for being witness to this; for opening the door so Mariah had to face those two men, those two Marines, and their message; for getting to go home later to her living, breathing fiancé; or for pitying her. Intellectually, she was sorry for the thought, especially since she knew Ellie was a kind soul, but a part of Mariah resented the hell out of Ellie's perfect little life.
Only Ellie's life wasn't exactly perfect, she remembered. Ellie's parents had abandoned her to raise a brother not all that much younger than she, and what that brother had in his head meant she might one day get this kind of visit. Nearly everyone in Ellie's life, including Mariah, lied to her in one way or another, but so far the other woman remained unaware of the duplicity around her.
"Mariah," she said, "let's sit and let them say what they have to."
She started to refuse, but she couldn't be rude to Ellie the way she had been to the uniforms. The sooner they got this over, the sooner she could be alone again, could let the pain take over for a little while before she set about doing what needed doing. As a result, she steeled herself to do her own duty. She let Ellie steer her to the couch and seat her on the cushions. Ellie sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her.
"I—" the lieutenant colonel started and then stopped when Mariah gave him a cold, hard, narrow-eyed stare. He broke off, coughed, and said, "We received word that Major John Casey was killed in action this morning. I am sorry for your loss."
Oddly, Mariah found it a little easier to take the stark statement rather than the kinder, gentler version they normally gave family. It didn't keep her lungs from locking so that she couldn't draw air, and it didn't keep her from feeling so faint the room dimmed. The words were out there, and no matter how badly she wished it, they couldn't be taken back. She leaned into Ellie, who tightened her grip on her, and Mariah heard a quick sob escape her friend.
She held her own inside.
The senior officer started to tell her what had happened, but Mariah knew it for the lie it was and stopped him. He'd only managed to get out something about an IED and the Anwar Province before Mariah hissed, "I don't need to know the specifics." Someone from the NSA or, perhaps, Walker would tell her the truth. She wondered if John had been caught in one of the rocket attacks in Gaza or if he had been recognized, captured and killed. She closed her eyes, and she tried not to cry. It was easier if she couldn't see them. She wanted the uniforms out of her home before she grieved for John.
When she felt a little more in control, she pushed away from Ellie, sat up, gave the lieutenant colonel a frosty look. "Thank you for coming," she told him. Then, more sharply than she probably should have, she ordered, "Please leave."
The two officers looked at one another uneasily. Mariah could tell they didn't want to go. "Please leave," she repeated more forcefully. "You've discharged your duty, and I'd like to be alone now."
"Miss Adderly," the chaplain began, but Mariah shook her head.
"I have things to do," she bit out. "Please, just go."
Mariah was absolutely certain the two men would refuse to leave her, and she wondered what recourse she had when they did. With Ellie present, her options were limited, but she really did relish what she had told them when they first arrived. She'd really love to shoot them—if for no other reason than they were the ones to tell her John was dead.
Her heart crumpled at that, but then she jerked herself away from the dark edges closing in on her. Get them out, get Ellie out if she could, then find out what really happened. She had to hold it together long enough to find out what really happened. She focused on each breath, in and out, and held panic and grief at bay.
It was readily apparent, though, that they had no intention of leaving, and then it sank in that the chaplain looked seriously pissed off, really, seriously angry that she had ordered them to leave. She supposed she'd just offended him, but she didn't know a single clergyman who didn't understand anger in the face of news like that they had just delivered or who would show that irritation to a grieving family member. He looked too old to be inexperienced at this, and Mariah, for the first time since she had seen them at her door, considered whether he was actually what he claimed.
The very idea shook her.
She chased it, though. Ran the possibilities, and she did not like any of the conclusions she reached.
There was something decidedly not right in this. Of course, she told herself, she could have just had the misfortune to get assigned the one chaplain who was lousy at his job, but she really didn't think so when she stared at the lieutenant colonel and realized he wore a sidearm—definitely not normal protocol in this kind of situation. Something was very, very wrong here, and then she realized Beckman would have been the one who told her what had happened to John—if something had actually happened to him, that was. Beckman wouldn't have let the Marine Corps send someone. If she had sent a proxy, Mariah was certain it would have been Sarah Walker, perhaps Paul Patterson.
There was another knock on her door, and Mariah couldn't help wondering who this would be. She supposed it could be Walker or whomever General Beckman had sent to tell her. It was possible the Marines had simply sent someone of their own accord when they learned of John's death, but why they would have provided a story as patently false as the one these men had given her, she couldn't fathom, though she supposed Ellie's presence might have necessitated some misdirection.
Whoever knocked on her door could provide her assistance if there was another reason these two men were here and if what they had told her truly was a lie. Of course, they could, just as easily, be with the men in front of her, and Mariah began to worry about what would happen to Ellie if that were so.
The captain went to the door, and Mariah watched impassively, wondered if they knew who she was since they knew her real name, wondered if they knew what she was, and wondered if she could get to any of the weapons John kept stashed around the living room.
Her father came through the door first, and she pushed off the couch and launched herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezed her so tightly she couldn't catch her breath until he released her. The fact that he was even there made her second guess the thoughts she'd had before the door had been opened to him.
She broke then. The tears came, thicker than before, and she was only vaguely aware of other voices behind her. She clung to her father and poured her heart out into his shoulder. He tried to ease her away a couple of times, but she only hung on tighter. She heard him say something to someone else, but she didn't listen to what. Then her father began to walk her backwards. He eased her on her couch and sat beside her.
Ellie sat in John's nearby chair, her face pale. She presumed her father had introduced himself. He gave her that grave look she generally saw when he was worried about her, and she wanted desperately not to feel anything, not even guilt for worrying her father. The others seemed to be gone, though there was one uniform that came toward them. Mariah refused to look higher, see who it was. She felt the couch sag beside her. She tried to muster the strength to order this uniform out, too, but then she heard Paul Patterson's gruff voice say, "John would be seriously pissed off if he knew they had upset his pretty little girl so."
For some reason, that made her choke on a laugh and try and pull herself back together. "They said John. . . ." She couldn't finish it.
Her father shifted his grip on her. "Mariah, I'm sorry," he said, and she started to cry again, convinced it might, after all, be true. This time, it began to edge toward hysteria. She could feel it slipping away from her, so much so she could tell the others talked, but she couldn't make out the words. She buried her face against her father and bawled in a way she hadn't done since she was a small child. Then, she felt someone move her sleeve, felt a kind of pinch and then a pricking sensation. For once, she was glad to be sedated.
General Patterson took her hand as whatever Ellie had given her started to take effect and firmly said, "Mariah, you need to listen."
She tried hard to stop the crying, the sobs, but she couldn't quite make them go away.
"Sweetheart," her father said, "they were wrong."
She would have said she knew if she hadn't seen Ellie and was reminded there was an audience who couldn't know the truth. The cover story was that John was in Afghanistan. Mariah, though, had been well aware of his true assignment. "I know what must have happened," she choked out.
"No, honey, you don't," her father said. "Casey's on his way to Germany. He's injured, not dead."
The General squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Mariah. We tried to intercept them when we found out what happened. I tried to call you directly, but you weren't answering your phone."
She looked over at him and saw his open, honest expression, and she started to believe.
"Honey, you need to pack. We're going to take you to him," her father said.
She stared at him. "He's not dead?" she asked faintly.
He shook his head.
"How—how badly is he hurt?"
"Badly enough."
Mariah began to shake again, and she heard Ellie offer to pack for her. She looked at her friend and nodded. Her father offered to go upstairs and help. He gently released her, and Mariah nearly protested until she remembered Ellie had never been upstairs, didn't know where their room was, and then she remembered the things Ellie might find upstairs that would raise more questions than the woman probably already had.
General Patterson solemnly studied her, and Mariah read the clear concern on his face. "He was taken, badly beaten, Mariah, but he's alive. He's asked for you—insisted you be brought to him, in fact." There was a flash of grin, one that reshaped his face in ways that reminded her he was still a handsome man. "Threatened to come get you himself, if you want to know the truth, but the doctors convinced him that was not a good idea."
After he sobered again, he gave her a concerned stare. "They were here for you, Mariah, not to tell you John was dead." She felt herself pale. "Well, they were here to tell you that as well, so they could convince you to go with them without a struggle."
Mariah felt the shakes start again, let him pull her against him, and closed her eyes.
"John's furious," the General continued. "Fucked up his assignment—not John," he swiftly assured her when he read her horror that John might once more be in trouble with his boss because of her, "some cowboy, he claims, with a Canadian accent."
She really was going to faint, she thought. She could see the man clearly, could hear that western Canadian drawl as he said horrid, horrible, frightening things with an easy charm that made them uglier than they would otherwise have been. She remembered the way her flesh crawled when he touched her. Then, when the fury flooded in that he had hurt John, this time her anger burned hot, deep reds.
"I know him," she ground out. It wasn't completely true, but she knew who it must be.
"Whoever he was, he managed to escape," Paul told her, "which is why John told us to get here and get here right away."
"How long?" she asked.
"Not long," Paul assured her. "Your father was in Los Angeles when Casey called. V. H. was planning to come see you anyway."
The sedative kicked in, she supposed, since she didn't feel hurt to know her father had come to town and not told her. He was probably with Mona Ellerby when the call came. If he'd been with someone else, she didn't want to know. She refocused on John. "How badly is he really hurt?"
She felt the sigh escape Paul more than she heard it since the floating feeling sedatives often gave her washed through her. "Some broken bones, cuts, bruises," he admitted, "but he'll be fine."
Thankful, she nodded. "Are you going with me?"
He squeezed her again before he eased her away from him and gave her a gentle smile. "I don't think they'd let two Canadian spies near him otherwise." She made a sound that was more a sob than the laugh she had intended. "I'm so sorry they got here before we did, Mariah." She nodded. "They're in custody now. As for John, he'll heal, though he'll be a miserable bastard for you to deal with while he does."
Ellie and her father came back down, and she felt much calmer than she had. Her father carried a small suitcase, and General Patterson helped her stand. Ellie hugged her, said something about praying for John. Mariah hugged her back, whispered, "Thank you."
She never remembered the drive to the airport, nor did she really remember boarding her father's plane. She slept through the flight, woke briefly when they reached the east coast and refueled before slipping into sleep again. She was groggy and a little nauseous when they put down in Germany where a car from the base met them. Paul Patterson took charge at that point, and when they reached the hospital, he escorted Mariah straight to John's room.
Her hand shook as she reached for John's. His face was a complete mess, and his left leg and arm were encased in casts. Several fingers on his left hand were splinted. His chest was bruised above the bandages binding him, and she wanted to cry all over again. Paul told her to sit. She looked up at him as he sat a chair next to John's bed. She dropped into it and clung to John's right hand.
When she was alone with him, she whispered his name, smoothed her free hand over the one of his she held, and willed him to wake.
She lost track of how long she sat beside him, lost track of how many times the nurse came in to check on him, lost track of how many times the doctor suggested she leave him with them. Mariah knew he had always been there for her when she woke in the hospital, so she was determined to be there when he did. The nurse in charge came in and told her in no uncertain terms she would have to leave, but Mariah looked at the woman and quietly but firmly said, "I will not leave until he tells me to."
MPs came to escort her away. She looked at them, dared them to make her leave, but before they could do so, General Patterson called them off.
When she could stay awake no longer, she put her head down on his bed, closed her eyes, and slept.
-X-
When he woke, Casey ran the mental checklist. Couldn't move his left arm or leg, his broken fingers seemed to be splinted, and his chest was bound. He no longer hurt, at least, but that probably had more to do with the painkillers and sedatives they had given him when he was liberated from the room where Cowboy had kept him and the ones he'd been given at the hospital. He'd asked if they got him or Hamid. He took pleasure in seeing Hamid's body on their way out, but there was no sign of Cowboy.
Casey couldn't say he was sorry the muscle was dead. He was just sorry he wasn't the one who got him that way.
He started to move his right hand, but something had it pinned. He pried open the eye not swollen shut. He smiled faintly when he saw Riah's hand in his. She had her head on the side of his mattress, and she was dead to the world.
At least she wasn't really dead, and for the first time since he'd come to, strapped to a chair inside that room, he relaxed a little. Patterson and V. H. had promised to bring her to him, and they had obviously delivered. He considered waking her, but he felt tiredness wash over him, so he just gave a slight squeeze of her fingers and went back to sleep.
It was evening when he woke again. This time, she wasn't holding his hand, and he felt a tightness in his chest. Uncomfortable from lying for several hours in the same position, he moved what he could. He pried his good eye open when she leaned over him and whispered his name. "Riah," he mumbled, hated that he didn't sound any stronger than he did, but then she leaned in and kissed him. He kissed back as much as he could, but there a stab of pain when he moved to do so. She began to cry, and choked out, "My turn." She pressed another soft kiss on his mouth. "It's my turn."
It took him a moment to process that through the fog of the drugs, and then he gave her a faint smile, glad she was there, more glad when she kissed him again. When he let her end the kiss, she laughed softly, one filled with obvious relief. "John," she breathed, "don't you ever scare me like that again!"
"I think we're even," he rumbled. Later, when he felt better, he'd tell her how much the idea that someone might take her, kill her while he was on the other side of the world had scared the hell out of him.
"Not nearly," she assured him. "John, they told me you were dead."
Dead? Who in hell told her that? He'd made the medic let him call Paul Patterson when he'd been unable to get Walker, and he'd been relieved V. H. was with Ellerby when he called her. Beckman had called to check on him while he was in transit. Not one of them would have told her he'd been killed. "Not quite," he told her in what sounded even to him as little more than a rumbling mumble, but then he slipped back into the comfortable dark.
The next time he fought his way back to consciousness, he was relieved to see she was really there, though for a moment he worried she might be a hallucination. The reminder of what she had believed in Ottawa didn't exactly reassure him, though he better understood what she had thought and felt. The drugs had given him some odd dreams, and he had been afraid she was one of them. He asked her quietly, "I didn't imagine you, did I?"
She smiled. "No." She laid a soft hand on his less damaged cheek, and he was relieved to feel the coolness of her fingers and palm—which felt surprisingly good against his skin. "I'm here."
He nodded and slipped away again.
Casey started staying awake for longer stretches each time he woke. She was there every time, and that reassured him. He was pretty sure there were guards on the door, and as long as they had been carefully chosen, she was safe if she was with him. He talked to her, but he couldn't always remember about what.
The one time he woke up and she wasn't there, he was about to press the call button and demand to know what had happened to her when General Beckman stepped into his line of sight. For the next hour and a half, he told her what had happened in Gaza, what happened when he was taken, and when he finished, she gave him her Queen Victoria look. "I think, perhaps, we should consider not only Miss Adderly's safety but the risk she brings to Mr. Bartowski if she remains in Los Angeles."
He heaved a sigh. They had had this conversation several times, and Casey was getting damned tired of it. By now, the General should have realized that having Riah with him was non-negotiable. "She stays, but ISI needs to find the asshole behind this."
Beckman's jaw flexed, and then she told him tightly, "Agreed, but I think we might have to join the search."
Casey wasn't flattered that her edict had anything to do with the damage done to him. He knew it had more to do with the potential threat to Chuck Bartowski and the actual Intersect. "Tell Walker to keep a closer eye on Bartowski," he said, "and get someone more competent than Kavanaugh in there with her."
One of Beckman's brows shot up. "Perhaps, Casey, you could remind me when I resigned and you assumed my command?"
He blamed the drugs for the amused snort that escaped him. The General was prickly at the best of times, but it wasn't the first time he'd told her what should be done—it was just one of those occasions when she chose to object to his presumption.
"Bartowski must be protected, and Mariah's presence has proven to be an effective diversion from his true function." Casey was about to object when she added, "The problem before us is how to protect the both of them."
"For the most part, Riah can take care of herself," he said, though if pressed he'd have to concede that she hadn't always managed it.
"Has she resigned from ISI yet?"
Casey shrugged and almost immediately regretted it. The last round of painkillers was beginning to wear off.
"I suppose we could look the other way for a while if she doesn't," Beckman told him, and Casey chose to read that as an order. "She can stay in place with the Intersect until such time as she does resign. The agreement merely stated she must do so before the wedding."
It wasn't difficult to hear the but in there. Casey waited.
"She's only to deal with Bartowski, Major," the General told him. "As long as she's part of this, the same protections we would provide to you and to Agent Walker will be extended to her, but I would appreciate it if we could minimize the distractions she has created."
Biting back that Riah hadn't deliberately caused the distractions Beckman referenced wasn't easy, but he did since she had just, essentially, given him what he wanted.
"Now," she said briskly without the stern tone, "when do the two of you plan to get married?"
He steeled himself. "The Fourth."
Beckman frowned. "Given your condition, Major, less than a month seems unreasonable."
"Of July," he corrected.
Like every other woman they had told, she looked incredulous. "You can't be serious!"
Wearily, he ran through their reasons yet again. When she asked, he told her they would marry in Los Angeles, but the rest of the details hadn't been nailed down yet. They discussed his leave options for a honeymoon, and Casey agreed to her terms. A week was long enough, he supposed, and it wasn't like they would be allowed to leave their—his—assignment long if Bartowski was still alive and still the Intersect.
"She shouldn't have to quit," he added. It was still a sore point for him.
Beckman crossed her arms. "If it weren't for her father's and the Canadian government's objections, we'd hire her. You and she work well together, and sometimes there are benefits in our line of work to spouses as partners." Beckman dropped her arms. "We'll see in five years, Casey."
A lot could happen in five years, he knew. Because he was normally a worst-case-scenario planner, he didn't like any of those possibilities.
Yet another doctor and nurse entered, and Beckman told him to get well and took her leave.
He thought he heard Riah in the hallway, but when he turned to see, he saw General Beckman steer her away from his door as Paul Patterson entered. He presumed General Patterson had kept Riah away while his boss debriefed him, and he was glad she hadn't been left alone and vulnerable. He wondered, though, what his boss might be about to tell his fiancée. As a result, he was not the most cooperative patient.
When he was told they would transfer him home in two days, Casey was only slightly mollified. They gave him more painkillers and left.
Paul Patterson, he noticed, made himself comfortable. "You could at least have had the decency to remain unconscious a while longer."
"Why's that?" Casey asked.
"I might just convince your pretty little girl to run away with me if you gave me a little more time," Paul told him. If Casey hadn't caught the amused gleam and heard the teasing note in the man's voice, he might have lost his calm.
"Did you take a good look at her left hand?"
"When you finally got your head out of your ass and got to the point," Paul told him with a broad grin, "you certainly went all out. Bet you even went on your knees."
Casey had seen his face in a mirror, so he doubted the heat washing up under his skin was discernible from the bruises that marred him.
Paul snorted. Skepticism, Casey thought. "From your expression, you obviously did."
His eyes heavy, Casey nodded. "She's never running away with you."
This time the snort was obviously laughter. "You've well and truly hooked her," Paul agreed, "though I can't imagine why any woman would choose surly and anally retentive over charming."
"Who says you're charming?" Casey retorted, though he knew the other man obviously was when it came to the opposite sex. He ignored the surly and anally retentive charges.
"More women than you might think," Paul asserted with a broad grin. "Your pretty little girl, though, seems to see right through it. Maybe that's why she picked you."
Casey frowned, wondered what that meant. He didn't have to wonder long.
"Your little Mariah prefers blunt honesty, much like you, to so much bullshit."
She did, Casey thought, and he smiled as he started to drift. He didn't go to sleep, but he did close his eyes, listened for her return. It took Paul's soft, "Your pretty little girl is back," for him to open his eyes again and realize he hadn't heard her enter his room.
There was a smile on Riah's face when he rolled his head toward her. She leaned down and kissed him, which was the reason his whispered, "You nearly took my head off the one time I called you baby, but you let him call you that?" wasn't cranky.
She grinned. "He's far more charming than you are."
That made Paul Patterson laugh, but Casey scowled and bit out, "I can be charming."
She took his hand. "You charmed me into marrying you."
Casey had a feeling she was simply telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. He'd never been accused of being charming, after all.
"And while you're stuck in bed, out of action, I'll see if I can change her mind about that," the General promised.
"He won't," she said softly and gently squeezed his hand when Casey let out a sleepy growl. "You, John. Only you."
When General Patterson finally left, Casey tugged her hand. Riah simply cocked her head, so he pulled again. When she realized what he wanted, she said, "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," he told her. Frankly, Casey didn't care if she did. He wanted her beside him. He figured he had enough painkillers in him to minimize any hurt having her in the bed with him might create.
She sat gingerly on the side of his bed then lay on her side next to him. She leaned her cheek against the ball of his bare shoulder, and Casey felt himself relax. He'd missed her, and while he wasn't up to more than this, he felt better knowing she was there, really there.
"General Beckman said they'll send you back to the States soon," she told him.
His fingers threaded through hers. "You're coming with me." He had insisted on that when the doctor told him he'd be discharged. Beckman had reluctantly agreed. It was going to be tricky getting Riah on a military transport, especially when family members weren't usually allowed on this kind of flight. He'd be with other soldiers on their way home.
She rubbed her cheek against his skin, turned and kissed his shoulder. Casey wondered when he'd feel up to having her kiss more than his mouth or his shoulder.
"They sent someone to tell me you were dead."
Her quiet statement made him stiffen. He chased that thought, considered, and concluded he'd been right about Cowboy's motives. They had wanted her alone and vulnerable. If she'd checked, Beckman would have told her he'd disappeared. Riah would have believed what whoever had been sent told her, and she might have trusted them.
"Ellie was there when they came," she continued, told him they had worn Marine uniforms and that one had masqueraded as a chaplain. It was bad enough they had approached her with the right kind of subterfuge, he fumed, but they had impersonated officers as well, and that was a crime he had never been able to tolerate. Then, he wondered if they hadn't actually been what they presented themselves as and if the military had become infested with Fulcrum as well. "It nearly killed me, John," she added quietly. "I've never been so happy to see my dad and Paul as I was when they came to tell me it was a lie."
He questioned her, made her tell him again about the chaplain and lieutenant colonel. Casey would have been furious if it hadn't been for the drugs lending him borrowed calm. He couldn't place the men she described, though, but he hoped Beckman had or would ask her to see if she could identify them. He lifted her hand, kissed it.
"It pissed me off," she confessed as she moved a little closer to him and tilted her face to his, "especially since I explicitly told you not to get killed before you left."
"Didn't get killed," he said sleepily, appreciated that she made the joke even though he wanted her to take all threats seriously. Cowboy, whoever he really was, had managed to get away, and that meant there was a still a very serious threat that needed to be dealt with. It irritated Casey that it would have to wait until he was better.
Riah smiled against his skin. "Good thing, too," she told him.
He was about to go to sleep again, and no matter how hard he fought it, he knew he wasn't going to win. "Don't go anywhere," he mumbled.
Her "I won't" was the last thing he heard before he succumbed.
The sound of some nurse demanding to know what Riah thought she was doing yanked Casey awake. Nurse Ratched's voice could peel paint. Casey hurt again, but that wasn't why he snarled, "Shut the hell up and go away," at the woman.
He added a glare when it looked like she wasn't going to do as he told her, and she huffed, snapped that she'd fetch the doctor, who would deal with them, and turned on her heel with the precision of an about-face on the parade ground. Her shoes slapped the polished floor angrily as she stalked away.
Casey slowly raised the hand he still held and kissed Riah's fingers. "How much longer before I get to leave?" he asked wearily.
To his satisfaction, she shifted on the mattress beside him and slowly lifted to kiss him, really kiss him, he noted. The pissy nurse, of course, chose the moment Riah's mouth connected with Casey's to return, doctor in tow. The doctor cut off the nurse's order for Riah to get off Casey's bed by saying, "Obviously someone is feeling better."
Stowing his usual irritation at cheerful doctor-chat, Casey focused on Riah as, red-faced, she slipped off the bed and moved out of their way. Casey would have preferred that she stay where she was and the other two left, but he supposed he'd have to submit if he wanted out of there—and he definitely wanted out of there.
They didn't make her leave the room, he noticed. She stayed, took the seat General Patterson had occupied earlier, and watched as the doctor examined Casey. When the man finished, he said, "Well, Major Casey, I think it's a good thing you're getting well enough for me to kick you out in another day. Lieutenant Wilcox here may stroke out otherwise. Your fiancée, she tells me, is belligerent, recalcitrant, rude, and uncooperative." The doctor's lips twitched as Casey's scowl deepened, though he was amused by what the man said. Riah must have given the lieutenant hell, and he intended to ask how when she was back where she had been before they were rudely interrupted. "Funny, but that's how I've generally heard you described," the doctor continued, looking over the tops of his glasses at Casey. "You're obviously both well-suited."
Before either Casey or Riah could take offense, the doctor moved on to Casey's condition. Six broken ribs, one of which had punctured a lung, the broken arm and fingers, the broken leg, and the bruises and lacerations were enumerated, and Casey waited for the man to finish the inventory of which he was already well aware, including the blood loss and concussion.
The doctor went on to say that Casey wasn't as badly damaged as they had initially thought, but he still needed to take the time to heal properly. Then the doctor sent Casey's blood pressure shooting up: "I've taken a good look at you, Major, and while you're in excellent condition for a man your age who does what you do, you're not a kid anymore, and you may find you don't bounce back quite as fast this time."
It was all Casey could do not to demand a weapon so he could shoot the prick. He'd show him bounce back. The bastard was probably a good ten years younger than Casey, and if the doctor had sustained the damage Casey had, he felt certain the other man would take a hell of a lot longer than he would to heal. He was unquestionably in better shape than the other man was, and Casey wondered what made him think he could tell him he was old and out of shape. The doctor looked over his shoulder at Riah, which was all that stopped Casey from telling him so.
"I've been told you'll accompany him home?" the other man asked. Riah nodded. "I'll have a list of instructions drawn up for you." She nodded once more.
When they were gone, Casey had several choice words about the moron. He only stopped when he noticed Riah was biting her lip and trying hard not to laugh. He cut the rant short when he realized he had taken offense over something that was likely true whether he wanted to admit it or not. He sighed, beckoned to her with his good hand, and coaxed her to return to where she had been before they were interrupted.
"I'll give you my house keys," he told her. "Stay there until they let me out of the other hospital."
"I thought I'd find a hotel closer to where you'll be," she told him.
He shook his head. She'd be safe at his Maryland house. He'd call in a few favors, make sure someone kept an eye on her and the house until he could do it himself. "They shouldn't keep me more than a day," he told her. "There's no sense spending the money when you don't need to."
Riah leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'd rather be with you." He could probably arrange that, he realized. He'd talk to Beckman.
In the end, he went home on a more private flight arranged by Beckman rather than the military transport. Casey, though, had the first taste of what convalescence would be like when he realized crutches or a cane were not going to be manageable when his broken arm was on the same side as his broken leg. At least they had put a walking cast on him, and he'd been right about them keeping him only one night.
He had to check back a couple of days later, so he and Riah stayed at his house until the doctors released him. He and Riah argued over whether to spend his leave in Laurel or return to Los Angeles. Since he wasn't due back on the job immediately, Riah tried to convince him to stay in Maryland. He wanted to return to Los Angeles, and the glare Riah finally locked on him told him she knew damned well that if they returned to L.A., he'd be back on the job long before he was supposed to be.
They spent the first week of his leave in Laurel. He suspected Riah only agreed to return to L.A. after that week because he was making her crazy.
Casey had never dealt with boredom well. He admitted it. And he was bored. One of the few things he could think of that would hold his attention was a little beyond him in his condition. At least in L.A., he could monitor the asset from a chair, the couch, or bed.
Riah finally agreed—after she threatened to suffocate him in his sleep.
Admittedly, he had driven her to it.
It started with his realization that he needed any two of his limbs to do anything he wanted to do. He couldn't run with a broken leg. He couldn't lift weights with a broken arm. He couldn't go up and down stairs without help—doctor's orders, Riah reminded him when he'd tried. He could shoot with one hand, but he couldn't clean the weapons one-handed.
It ended with his refusal to do his physical therapy.
She had a tongue on her nearly as vicious as her mother's, he soon realized, and his temper ratcheted up proportionally. It wasn't until he told her not to tell him what to do that she had set her jaw, narrowed her eyes at him, and reminded him, "Why not? You think you can tell me."
"Since when do you take orders?" he'd snapped right back at her.
Her brows shot up. "Since when do you get to issue them?"
"Forgotten already who's in charge?" he asked in a low, menacing tone.
If he'd thought she'd buckle then, he was wrong. He also discovered she had a menacing tone of her own. "Think a diamond and platinum shackle equals servitude, Major?"
That hit its mark, and her underlying implication of what that ring meant ignited white-hot anger. "Want your freedom?"
The second that escaped his gritted teeth, he regretted it, but he wasn't about to take it back. She opened her mouth then shut it again, and Casey hoped she wasn't just looking for a nastier way to say yes.
"Want yours?" she finally ground out.
"Depends," he ground right back.
She waited, her face tight with anger. He mentally stepped back a second, had nearly regrouped when she stepped closer, met his eyes and said, "Keep this up, and you'll get it—whether you want it or not." Her eyes narrowed, and she told him, "Think carefully, John, because I've had about enough of this. You hurt—been there. You don't want to take the drugs—fine. But if you don't quit ordering me around like I'm a fucking lance corporal whose punishment duty is to be at your beck and call, I will take my pillow and suffocate you in your goddamn sleep!"
From the look of her, she meant it. Casey wisely shut up, and he was on his best behavior for the rest of the day and evening.
They flew back to California, but Riah's default was still pissed off. Their détente over his bossing her around had been short-lived. For the most part, she did what he needed without complaint, and Casey hated to admit that it was only when he got unreasonable that she got mad. The problem was, he was used to giving orders and mostly used to having them obeyed. She expected him to ask.
Bartowski met them at the airport with Riah's car. Casey wondered how in hell he was supposed to ride in that, though he acknowledged the larger SUV that had taken them to the airport hadn't been much better. Riah had tersely ordered Chuck to put their bags in the back while she opened both passenger doors on her Subaru, removed the headrest on the front seat she pulled all the way forward and then lowered the back so that it lay flat with the backseat. She gave Casey a grumpy look before she told him, "Get in, shut up, and let's go home."
He did as he was told, and had to admit being able to stretch his leg out was considerably more comfortable than riding in the Vic or riding in the SUV would have been. He would rather, though, that she was in the backseat with him instead of Bartowski.
Then, he entered another level of hell.
Well, he'd already been there, but somehow, this was worse.
It began with having Ellie Bartowski fuss over him. That was when he realized Riah hadn't fussed. Not once. He didn't mind that she didn't fuss since he hated having a woman—or anyone else, for that matter—flutter around him. If he hadn't already known that about himself, having Ellie fret and worry over him, plump cushions and fluff pillows, would have convinced him. Even when he was younger, he had preferred to be left alone when he was sick to having someone constantly ask if he needed anything, constantly asking how he was, constantly hovering over him as though he'd die any minute if she gave him a moment's peace.
Now he tried to decide if it was just that Riah understood or if she was getting revenge for that week in Maryland where he had been the world's worst patient.
The worst level of hell, though, came at night when Riah came to bed. She dressed for sleep, and it wasn't in any of the silky nightgowns in her drawer or even in those soft camisoles and boxer shorts. She came to bed in long cotton pants and loose t-shirts. She kissed him, they talked softly, and then she rolled over and went to sleep.
After a couple of weeks of this, he was frustrated as hell. He had snapped a time or two that he wasn't an invalid. Riah had given him a puzzled look each time, and he couldn't believe she was that dense. Trying to sleep next to her without her touching him was driving him insane, but no matter how hard he tried to get her to understand what he wanted, he got that blank look. It was making him stark, staring mad. He snapped at Walker when she came to see him, he was downright cruel to Bartowski when Ellie made him come over and keep an eye on him when her shift changed to nights, and he'd even called Ellie an unfeeling bitch when she told him he needed to do his physical therapy.
He sent her two dozen yellow roses and a bottle of her favorite wine to apologize.
Then, he realized he should apologize to Riah as well.
She'd been juggling him, the Buy More, and Bartowski a couple of times while she tried to reign in wedding plans that kept spiraling out of control every time she talked to her mother.
Casey spent several hours listening to her breathe in her sleep and thinking about why Riah hadn't done much more than kiss him since he was released from the hospital. He lay awake beside her and wondered how he could convince her he wasn't too fragile to fuck. Somewhere around three a.m., he finally figured it out: He'd never come right out and asked her to take him for a ride.
He'd change that.
First thing after Riah left for the Buy More, he called Bartowski. He told the kid he needed his help, told Bartowski to tell Milbarge he had an onsite install. When the kid got there, he handed him a list. After reading it, Bartowski gave him a look of complete disbelief, one tinged with a hint of horror. "You're kidding, right?" he demanded.
Casey fired up the death glare.
"I'm supposed to be at work!" was Chuck's next defense.
He didn't bother dignifying that with an answer. Bartowski missed so much work for Intersect jobs it was a miracle he was still employed by Buy More. Actually, it wasn't. Bartowski's job was carefully protected by the U.S. government.
"Agent Provocateur?" Bartowski squeaked. "I am so not doing that one. Ask Sarah."
Casey had decided Riah should expand her lingerie horizons. He'd noted exactly what he wanted for her from their website as well as her size on the list. Bartowski was a deep, dark red at the thought. It would do the kid good, he decided, expand the kid's horizons, too, and mainly because he felt mean, he added, despite knowing Bartowski and Walker were in one of their periodic off-again stages, "I'll spring for you to get something for Walker—assuming you know her size and can get her to wear it for you."
"Okay, Casey," the kid said between clenched teeth. "I'll do this—not the lingerie, but the rest—because apparently one of those broken fingers is your dialing finger."
It was time to stop being a prick, Casey decided. He'd consider it practice for when night came and he had to persuade Riah he wouldn't break anything else if she bounced on him. He sighed. "I'll make some calls, Bartowski, but I'm sticking you with the restaurant order and getting the champagne."
"No," Bartowski said, "I'll do this."
"Even the underwear?" Casey's brows shot up.
"Even that," the kid said through gritted teeth.
Casey entertained himself thinking of the spectacle Bartowski would inevitably make of himself buying Riah's lingerie. For a moment, he longed for a camera on Bartowski. He considered hacking the store's surveillance system, though there was an outside chance the cameras were wired to a network through which he would be unable to access them.
He forgot about that, though, when he opened his mail after the kid was gone.
Riah was not going to need to worry about Fulcrum or anyone else after her because
Casey was going to murder her.