heathenseyes

I've Always Been The One Left Behind(Please Don't Leave Me Too) - Chuck/Casey

2009-07-08T03:22:01Z

Disclaimer: I own nothing, all clips and the song belong to their creators, which as I pointed out earlier really ain't me.

All clips taken from season 1 and 2 of Chuck. Song is Please Don't Leave Me by Pink

Pairings: Chuck/Casey

Warnings: Well, if you've seen my stuff, you know there's going to be slash, so you've been warned. ;)

Summary: Chuck and Casey have always been the ones to be left behind, to be disgarded, and it's hurt every time. Now they're finding out that when one of them leaves the other, it hurts more than anything else has before. All that's left is for them to figure out where that realization is supposed to lead.

You Give Me Hell(But I Like It)

2009-07-06T02:11:30Z

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything(ie clips and song) belongs to their respective owners/creators.

Song: Gives You Hell - All American Rejects

All clips taken from seasons 1 & 2 of Chuck.

Vid by Heathenseyes

Pairings: Chuck/Casey

Summary: Casey's life used to be orderly...until Chuck showed up and things haven't been the same since. Only thing is, Casey doesn't really mind. At least most of the time. Such as when Chuck decides to flirt with people he really shouldn't be. Or when Chuck accuses Casey of not being able to feel anything. Or when Chuck doesn't exactly recognize the fact that Casey isn't as impervious to Chuck as he wishes.

Maybe This Time- A Chasey Vid

2009-04-12T14:51:39Z

Discaimer: I don't own any of it! I am merely playing in other peoples sandboxes.

All clips taken from season 1 & 2 of Chuck, song is Hole In My Heart(All The Way To China) by Cyndi Lauper

Warnings: Some slash-ah, hell, there's a lot of slashy bits, you don't like, you should turn away now.

Pairing: Chuck

Rating- PG13 for slashy hints

Summary: Lately, Chuck has been noticing that Sarah's not always there for him, though he loves her, he's started wondering whether he's in love of just infatuation. And then there's Casey and the big ball of emotions he invokes in Chuck everytime he's around. Chuck is pretty slow on the uptake and after figuring things out, all he has left to do is convince Casey.

Feedback is appreciated. Hope y'all enjoy!

Wrong Time, Wrong Place- Ain't That Always The Way? John/Matt

2009-04-08T19:15:48Z

This is my first offering for the LFoDH fandom. :)

Title: Wrong Time, Wrong Place. Ain't That Always The Way
Pairing: John/Matt
Summary: Matt finds that meeting John McClane could be life altering. In more ways that one.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
All clips taken from LFoDH, music is Fine Again by Seether.

Sorry. The link above isn't working right.

Link to Vid :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPA5lzlItWs

The Beginning Of An End- Chris/Ezra- 5/5 with Epilogue

2008-10-14T04:13:13Z

Title: The Beginning Of An End
Pairings: Chris/Ezra
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst is ahead. Consider yourself warned, there was a request for the fic to have no humor and this was the muses response because she loves to make people suffer and strangely enough that really applies to her visioning of poor Ezra. And sorry for any mistakes, they are all mine. If you point out the glaringly obvious ones I will fix them. Thanks. :)
Summary: There were five times that Ezra almost stopped himself only to find that he couldn't and one time that stopping never even crossed his mind.

~~--~~

Another month later, and Ezra knew without a single doubt that everything had been worth the cost.

The mole had been found.

And he no longer had a place to call home.

Ezra smiled, it wasn’t a gentle smile that bespoke of the guileless charm he turned upon everyone, it wasn’t the slight upturned corners of his mouth that marked his genuine amusement in something, and it wasn’t the slight grin that crossed his face when he looked upon the other men of the ATF team and he realized that they were the closest thing he’d had to a family in a long time. This smile wasn’t the slight twisting of his lips that marked the devilish smirk he used whenever Chris used to say something to the group, and Ezra knew the words had been meant for him and him alone.

It wasn’t any of those things because Ezra was watching his entire world fall apart. The only emotion he could feel was the painful acknowledgement that he had earned this betrayal by allowing himself to dream of a life filled with laughter, with love, with everything that he had never tried to imagine because the reality of his never having had it hurt too much when he’d allowed himself the luxury of dreaming. It lasted only a moment, there and gone, before anyone else but him knew of it’s existence.

The other men filed into the room, Chris and Vin the last to enter, and he marveled at the other men’s inability to realize that there was anything out of the ordinary. Even with a simple glance, Ezra could still discern the slight flush that tinged Chris’s face, the quick glances the two men shared.

Ezra also knew one other thing with implicit clarity. He’d been replaced.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d pushed Chris away, thrust him away really, set everything up so that it would look as though Ezra didn’t care for the man at all. It didn’t matter that it had all been a lie. What mattered was that Chris had believed in the lies he and Elizabeth had created, and they’d been able to draw out the mole before the man could destroy anymore lives.

Selling information. Ezra had his own list of informants, so he understood the reasons why. But all Ezra could focus on was that the man’s greed had caused Ezra to give up everything he had worked towards. In order to save the people he’d come to care for, Ezra had given them up.

Elizabeth entered the room a few steps behind Travis, and Ezra caught Chris’s lips thinning, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

Ezra kept watching Chris as Travis began to speak, introducing Elizabeth and telling the rest of the team the reasons behind Ezra’s mysterious actions over the past couple of months. Elizabeth remained silent. Ezra glanced over at her, and discovered her own gaze was directed towards Chris. That in itself he wasn’t too surprised over, Larabee was after all an incredibly handsome man, no, what
surprised Ezra was the animosity she directed towards the team’s silent leader. Seemed Lizzie kept up to date on her intel too.

The meeting seemed to pass by, almost too quickly, the discomfort between Chris and Vin seeming to increase as the minutes ticked by, and Ezra drank in every detail he could.

He’d have laughed if it all hadn’t hurt so much.

Orin smiled as he congratulated the team on Ezra’s abilities.

Chris paled while the words assaulted him, his eyes widened just so for a breadth of a moment, and then they shuttered, all emotion hidden away from the hazel orbs, but Ezra could still see the tightness in his shoulders. The tension that stubbornly clung to his lean frame.

Ezra let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been withholding as a fresh spasm of pain ripped through him. He quickly turned his eyes to Travis as he continued speaking, outlining the new mission the ATF team would undertake, and exactly why the preliminary silence was required. He kept his attention on the older man even though he felt Chris’s eyes fall upon him, burning through him with their intensity. He kept his gaze steadily away even though he could feel the pain radiating from the other man. He kept his eyes from the form he wanted so much to hold, from the anguish he wanted to sooth. He couldn’t look. He wouldn’t look.

He had known that Chris wouldn’t trust him.

After all, no one that had truly known him ever did. It had been too much to hope that Chris would have been different. And he couldn’t blame the other man. Not really. Not when Ezra had all but disappeared over the past couple of months, spending more and more time away from the ATF team and his lover.

A part of him railed against the injustice of it all, but he quickly repressed it.

That tended to be his luck.

Just when he was settling in, life tended to turn it’s dubious attention back upon him.

It didn’t matter if he still wished he had stopped everything right from the beginning, that he’d made sure Chris had known of the assignment, and known that the reason he‘d been withdrawn for the past month had been because of a job. That the woman he‘d had to keep company with was no more than a way to facilitate the creation of the new persona he'd needed, and that he‘d never done anything more with her than just hand holding and sharing her company. That she was another agent, just working the job with him, an old friend he‘d worked with before, and who had known the status quo before he‘d even been able open his mouth. Because as she had pointed out softly she‘d never seen him more relaxed, as though he was someone living now, not just slipping silently through life.

Just more regrets to add to his ever growing mound.

Orin drew his talk to a close, smiling still, he congratulated Ezra once again, and slipped out with a nod to the other men. Ezra felt Buck’s hand land soundly on his shoulder.

All was forgiven. He could see the relief in the eyes before him, the happiness that their fears had been unfounded, and the slight embaressment that their had ever been fears or mistrust in the first place. He watched all of those emotions reflect back from him in the gazes of his friends. Each and every one, but one. One gaze he couldn't meet. He wouldn't meet.

He managed to dredge up a smile. If it didn’t reach his eyes, he doubted any one would notice.

Chris spoke for the first time since Orin had walked in, adding his congratulations, and agreeing when Buck suggested the seven get together tonight and celebrate.

The tightness remained in Chris' frame as he extended an invitation to join them to Elizabeth, and her acceptance, though softened by the slight southern drawl Ezra knew she tended to display when truly angered, was just as controlled and lacking in emotion.

They stood, one man after another, each saying their goodbyes. Ezra was the first to walk out, never looking back, though he heard Chris call softly after him, Elizabeth less than a step behind him, a silent well of strength.

He would speak to the man tonight, he couldn’t now.

Not yet.

Not when he had placed all of his hopes of something more on the belief that Chris was different than the others, that the man had trusted him, that he was able to look beyond all of the rumors that had trailed Ezra from one organization to another, the whispers he been unable to banish no matter how well he did his job or how honest he tried to be.

After all, everyone knew that Ezra Standish was a great undercover man because he had no heart, because he had no morals, because he didn’t care for anyone but himself.

For the first time in years, Ezra wished all of those things were true. He kept up his calm façade until he reached his car and had driven back into the city. Three blocks away from the townhouse he owned, he had to pull over and cry, the tears falling as he cursed himself for being so foolish as to believe that things could have ever been different.

Elizabeth held him as he wept, and when the tears had dried, she asked him what his plan was.

He didn’t answer her, and when the silence spread between them, she simply nodded. A few minutes later, when he pulled into the driveway of his home, she stepped out of the car and made her way into the townhouse. Ezra watched the door close behind her before he threw the car into reverse and drove away, the tires of his car screaming as though they shared the pain he held.

--

What felt like hours later, and probably was given how stiff his muscles felt, Ezra smiled.

In the shadows, the briefest glimpse of something could be detected, but it was so quick, barely lasting even a sliver of a second, that had anyone seen it, they’d have simply assumed it more a trick of the eyes than anything more.

He was used to not existing, to being a ghost, being nothing more than a figment of someone’s imagination, just a slight remembrance, someone whose face was blurred and indistinct.

Ezra had never liked attention, even though more often then not, he was in the center of everything going on, with his hands in multiple projects. He was the face that everyone remembered, though they could not place just why, the helping hands needed only for a moment, the man who cracked a joke that everyone remembered, though they could not recall just who had told it to them.

He was nothing and everything, and he’d enjoyed it.

He’d never craved more, never allowed himself to want more.

Family, a house with a white picket fence, the American dream, those things had never been meant for him. His childhood had more than reassured that fact. A mother who’d taught him every con and game imaginable, who’d taught him the use of people, and just how to use them, wasn’t exactly the paragon of maternal instincts, but she’d done well by him in her own fashion. And he’d been grateful, she’d given him a singular talent that few others were ever able to achieve. The ability to fade away, leaving no trace of his existence.

The smile that, though it reflected in his eyes, was nothing more than an illusion of the most deft crafting. Just as almost everything else was about him. There was a reason that his superiors tended not to like him, that though his arrest records were higher than normal and most of the assignments given to him were carried out flawlessly, his fault was that at times he tended to be just a little too good at his job. And there was enough distrust in his chosen field that sometimes, being too good was a bad thing. He’d heard the rumors that followed him, the assumption that he was double dipping, though no evidence could be found. With his track record, he was more than fairly certain that no matter what, his superiors would never believe he was simply that good.

He’d never worked for a man or woman he didn’t, in some way, feel contempt of. He’d never been part of a team where he’d felt anything more than an outsider, until he’d been recruited by this small organization, just starting off, still new enough that it existed more in rumors than any actuality.

At the ripe old age of thirty-seven, Ezra Standish was a man set in his ways, and had long since come to the conclusion that there was nothing that could ever change what he was. And then he met Chris Larabee.

Of course, he’d done his homework before he’d agreed to the transfer. With his job, he’d sometimes made contacts whose names he’d kept for himself and out of the reports; in a game where information was everything, he liked to have his own unprejudiced source of data to rely upon. Before he’d walked into the ATF office, he’d known more on every man assembled on the fledgling team than he was certain they ever suspected anyone outside of those closest to them were aware of. Knowing those facts however, in this particular instance, had done nothing to prepare Ezra for the first moment his eyes fell upon the group’s leader.

Ezra had assumed it was a simple fascination. When his interest had not faded after the first few months, he’d grown worried, and only the slight thrill of Larabee’s company had kept him from enforcing the walls a life of jaded existence had helped create.

The day he’d discovered Chris was interested in him as well…Ezra had allowed himself to dream of a life where perhaps there was a place for him, where he wouldn’t have to hide who he was, where he could cease being the face that everyone remembered but at the same time didn’t. Even though their beginning hadn’t been the most gentle, and had been borne of anger not love, Ezra hadn’t been able to bring himself to really keep himself from or stop the dreaming.

Almost a year of secret meetings, of lingering touches, stolen moments, of passion, of love, and Ezra had stopped believing in dreams because the dreams had become reality.

And then reality had crumbled.

In the darkness outside of Chris’ cabin, he could almost once again pretend that he hadn’t seen anything. That the past couple of months hadn’t existed. That the lies had never been spoken. That the illusion had never been required. That a few days ago he hadn’t seen Chris seeking release in another man’s arms.

Almost. Almost. Almost.

Almost did not erase the pain that still lingered. Almost did not mean that he could not imagine in perfect clarity the flush of Chris’s skin as he slid in and out of Tanner, the noises he could imagine falling from the sharpshooter's lips, of the promises Ezra remembered once directed towards him and now said to another tumbling from the mouth of the man who he’d placed his future with once upon a time. Ezra should have assumed something like that would have happened. He could picture every detail perfectly. It would certainly make sense, explain the sudden unease that had unfurled between two men who had always seemed to share such a bond. Chris and Vin. It must have been natural for them to take their relationship a step futher. Far more natural than what Ezra had shared with Chris. Perhaps Chris had simply been bidding his time with Ezra. Perhaps every promise Chris had made him was just a lie. Perhaps...a great deal of things. Too many to count.

Almost. Almost was the cruelest dream of all. Almost meant that he’d been fool enough to believe that he could have something more than the nothing he had built his life around.

From the shadows, he watched as the others left the cabin, one by one they filed out, some simply nodding their goodbyes. Muffled by the distance, he could hear Buck call something to Chris, a short burst of laughter sounded as the only answer Ezra could discern, and then Vin, the man who Ezra had found himself too broken to hate, paused at the door, and frowned. Ezra focused, watching silently, waiting to see what would happen, and was rewarded with only more questions. Tanner’s shoulders stiffened, his mouth twisting more into something resembling a pained grimace, and a smile ghosted Ezra’s lips.

It seemed that he was not the only one who Chris made mad. Nice to know he had company in this sorry little club, even if it was the company of his rival.

He watched and waited until Tanner’s truck crested the hill, the headlights disappearing, and then he moved.

The time for stealth was over, though he remained still cloaked in shadows. In the surrounding dark he could move freely, and though his presence was already more than likely waited for, the darkness suited him. He’d spent a year dwelling in the sun, and now he was paying for that] folly.

At the door he paused, his eyes sweeping the woods again, assured that there was no trace of his presence. Nothing to mark that he had come, nothing to leave a hint that he had ever been here. The estimable Mister Tanner could, of course, assuredly find the tracks of his rented vehicle, find were he’d parked it some meters away, but he’d never be able to trace the vehicle’s rental back to him. He’d built a life around being invisible, and he was surprised at how easily he could slip back into it. His hand fell to the door, his fingers tightening in uncertainty.

But only for a moment.

Uncertainty no longer had a place in his life. Dreams were ashes, and life was for others than himself. Smiling ruefully at his state of mind, he almost laughed, and instead choked back a sob.

Damnit.

Slipping inside, his eyes adjusted slowly to the faint light above the stove. Overhead, he heard the soft sounds of Chris moving around his bedroom. It was hardly difficult to sneak up on the man unaware. Chris had a tendency to drink on the nights when he had the team over, he let down his guard, allowed them to glimpse the man he was, the man who Ezra had fallen in love with, and by dawn, when sobriety had once again found their leader, the walls would once again be in place, and it would be as though Chris had never been anything other than the man he showed to the world.

Oh, how Ezra had come to crave those moments, few as they were. When Chris would drop the defenses he’d created, when he would let through glimpses of that something more that Ezra had never even suspected existed.

Making his way up the stairs, it was almost too easy to avoid the spots that squeaked, the ones he normally trod upon to announce his presence on those nights when he and Chris would flee to this haven, and for a few precious hours pretend that the world outside no longer existed.

From outside of the bedroom door, he saw a faint light creep from within, its incandescence barely breaking the shadows that enveloped the hallway, and he stopped. Chris sat sprawled at the edge of the large bed. A whiskey bottle dangled loosely within his long-fingered grasp, perhaps an inch of the amber liquid still left within it’s glass confines.

Ezra stepped forwards, and stood unflinching when he heard the safety being removed from the gun in Chris’s other hand. Even drunk the man was frustratingly too on edge, almost as though the energy that fueled him could not be dampened no matter how hard he tried. For an instant, Ezra remembered another night. One much like this one, where their roles had been reversed and he wondered how things would have been if only he'd stopped things that night, pushed Chris away instead of deepening that kiss. Futile thoughts. But still enough to make the pain in his chest swell.

“You didn’t call,” the husky tone caressed Ezra, and suddenly, it seemed as though this had been perhaps not the brightest path he could have chosen. But it was too late to chose another, and by dawn it would not matter anyway.

“No.”

“You lied.”

“Yes.” No point in denying the truth, and Ezra was damned if he was going to explain himself.

Chris lunged off of the bed, the whiskey bottle flying from his hand in the haste of his movements, and Ezra was dimly aware of the glass shattering against the other wall as Chris slammed him into the door.

“GOD! DAMN! YOU!” Every word was punctuated with the sound of Ezra colliding with the door, again and again and again. “I. Warned. You.” Chris gritted out, and then the assault began.

It had been expected, Ezra wasn’t too shocked by the attack. His relationship with Chris had tended to exist upon emotions sometimes too potent to soften, and if Ezra was going through with his plans, he wanted something to remember.

Pain he would remember. Pain would keep him strong. Gentleness now would break him. Make him rethink everything, and he couldn’t afford it. Not now.

As though Chris had read Ezra’s mind, his hands loosened their hold, fingers drew away to ghost down Ezra’s jaw, and the lips that had crashed against Ezra’s demanding admittance- now begged.

Ezra whimpered.

He couldn’t stop the sound from escaping his lips or the breathy moan that followed it, as Chris seemed to drink the sounds from his mouth.

Ezra wasn’t aware of getting from the door to the bed, somehow completely bereft of clothing, but there he was, his knees hitting the edge of the matress. Not that he could complain. He’d missed this. He’d dreamt of it. This was why he hadn’t been able to speak to Elizabeth in the car after he’d cried, because he’d already known that whatever lay ahead, he wanted one more night.

A night that would be his. A night that he’d drive Tanner from Chris’s mind and reclaim the spot he’d earned through sweat and blood over a series of months, and lost in a matter of weeks.

Ezra stood there, just watching, as Chris moved down. He was mesmerized by the slight glimpse of Chris’s tongue as it snuck out and lapped away newly formed trails of sweat. The gentle nipping of teeth, as the mouth continued it’s trek, drew out shaking breaths, and Ezra ached for more.

He cried out when he finally felt Chris swallow him. His tongue tracing the vein beneath, teeth just barely scraping the sensitive skin, and Ezra hung suspended between pleasure and pain, his fingers threading through Chris’s hair and pulling him back, a line of semen and saliva trailing behind his mouth’s forced removal.

Ezra crashed to his knees, hands still tangled through the silky strands that were bordering on just too long, and kissed Chris, a faint trace of whiskey laying just beneath the slightly bitter taste of himself. Chris's hands latched onto Ezra, fingers digging in just ever so, as he pulled their bodies closer, and Ezra could feel the trembling that haunted the thin frame.

Ezra had done this. He’d brought Chris to this place, tainted him with the same weakness he’d inflicted upon himself, and now they were both paying.

When he finally pulled away, Chris’s hands kept him in place, unable to retreat or even put a few inches of distance between their bodies.

They remained that way, just watching for long moments, both lost too deeply in their own thoughts.

“You lied,” Chris said, the words held none of their earlier anger, and instead were tinged only with a mournful resignation that cut deeper than any caustic emotions ever could.

Mutely, Ezra nodded.

“You didn’t trust me,” Ezra said, and Chris flinched, his eyes darkening, lips thinning, though whether from acknowledgment or guilt he wasn’t certain. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

Chris’s grip loosened and Ezra stood, quickly stepping out of the range of the other man’s outstretched fingers. He saw fear flicker through the hazel depths and made a decision.

Holding out a hand, he stood there waiting. After a moment of hesitancy Chris took it, slowly rising to his feet. They paused again, as though both were trying to figure out what lay before them, and neither one able to divine a path ahead. Sighing softly, Ezra moved. His feet carefully treading around the broken shards of the whiskey bottle, Chris’s hand still firmly clutched in his as he led him onto the bed, slightly bemused that neither of them had yet to step on one of the small shards.

Pulling back the covers to crawl beneath, it took Chris only a moment to follow, and when he moved towards him Ezra shook his head.

He’d been a fool to think one night could ever be enough. He wasn’t willing to destroy the other man any more than he already had, and pursuing any more physical gratification would do just that. Instead, Ezra placed another gentle kiss upon those thin lips as his hands came to rest on Chris’s shoulders, and he pushed him backwards. Chris’s eyes remained locked with his as he allowed himself to be moved under Ezra's direction, no other sound in the room but their mingled breathing, and the slight whisper of skin upon the cotton sheets.

The trust shone softly in Chris' eyes, and Ezra couldn't bring himself to say aloud that the time for that had already passed.

When Chris was fully reclined, Ezra lay down, pulling up the blankets, his body curling around the other man, and if Chris’s arm tightened around his middle just a bit too painfully he didn’t remark upon it. For hours they laid there.

When sunlight just began creeping over the horizon, its faint light brushing past the blinds, Chris finally broke the silence.

“We can work past this.”

Ezra remained silent, his arm tightening around Chris the only response.

A few minutes later, he felt Chris’s breathing even out, waited still longer, just laying there in the other man’s arms.

By the time he extricated himself from the tight embrace the sun had risen high enough that its light fell upon the bed, bathing Chris in a glow. Ezra dressed quickly, his movements silent, and his eyes remaining upon the sleeping figure. When he finally stood, shoes in one hand, he stepped forwards, the fingers from his other hand hovering just over Chris, close enough he could feel the other man’s body heat, but not close enough to touch.

He paused then. Moving moments later, his hand rising far enough that it could cup the jaw, his thumb running lazy arches back and forth as it traced the ridges of a cheek bone.

Finally he drew back. On quiet feet he carefully picked his way towards the door, and stopped.

It’d be so simple to stop, to undress and crawl back beneath the covers. Chris had been right. They could perhaps work past the entire episode. Only Ezra wasn’t certain about the next time. Or the time after that. And then that left the matter of Tanner. Vin was pretty much an innocent bystander. And for all the love he still possessed for Chris, he could admit that even he was aware of the close bond the two shared. Staying meant that he’d keep the remainders of a love built upon an unsteady foundation, ready to topple at the slightest of transgressions and destroy another relationship, perhaps permanently, while undermining the team’s already fragile infrastructure. Ezra wasn’t willing to hurt any of the others anymore.

Not even for his own happiness. Turning, he slipped past the open door, not even sparing a single glance back.

~-~
Epilogue
~-~

Five months later, Ezra Standish had found a new home, and a new wardrobe due to the loss of weight he’d undergone over the past few months. He smiled more often than he once had, and Elizabeth had stopped pointing out that the expression never reached his eyes about three weeks ago.

Passing by a couple of their team members, it was more by chance than intent, Ezra picked up snippets of their conversation and stopped in his tracks. Elizabeth’s hand tightened around his arm, and he allowed her to steer him away.

Shock wore away slowly and a few minutes later, mask back in place, he was ready for the meeting they had scheduled in a few short minutes.

He ignored the worried looks, and when his boss asked if the two were ready for their next assignment, he felt her stir beside him, and he spoke up before she could.

The man didn’t hesitate to send them on their way, and Ezra was grateful that he had finally found a boss who didn’t care about Ezra enough to worry over his rumored conflicting loyalties so long as he got the job done. With barely a nod, the two left. They were silent as they filed out, and the silence spun out between them even more on the drive to the airport.

Once they’d boarded the plane, Ezra Standish and Elizabeth Hollings ceased to exist, and Ezra had never felt more free.

He knew that she would have called a halt to the mission, would have asked for another agent to replace him, and he couldn’t have allowed her to. For once, Ezra hadn’t even considered stopping.

Four months later, when their cover had been blown, when Ezra saw a shooter aim for his partner, he didn’t hesitate in pushing her aside, nor did he cry out as the slug tore through his chest.

Dimly he heard the returning fire, and then silence. Elizabeth’s voice tried to break through the haze that was falling over him, but he couldn’t make out her words.

Instead he heard that snippet of overheard gossip. Nothing that mattered to his new team, but had meant everything to Ezra. It had been just office gossip. Word had filtered through that an ATF team in Colorado had fallen under some heat after the team’s leader had started shacking up with one of the people under his command. One of the male people under his command.

Ezra had gotten his wish. Chris had moved on. Elizabeth’s words became more frantic, though distant, and he tried to raise the strength to reassure her only to find himself unable to do so.

As his life slipped away, Ezra held onto the memory of Chris’s arm wrapped tightly around him, and then there was nothing.

~~--~~

To Be Continued? Who knows. Certainly not me. *whistles innocently*

The Beginning Of An End- Chris/Ezra- 4/5

2008-10-13T13:50:23Z

A Drabble Here, A Drabble There- Shawn/Lassiter

2008-10-13T02:43:25Z

Okay, I am jumping on the bandwagon it seems, because who can pass up writing drabbles on such a slashy couple?

Fandom: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG to R
Warnings: None really. Well, slash, but I think that's pretty obvious. Oh! Unbetaed! All mistakes are mine. Sorry. :)
Hope y'all enjoy!

LOL.

The Rules:
1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble/ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.

~~--~~

I Hate Everything About You- Three Days Grace

Lassiter hates Shawn Spencer.

He hates the flailing and the phony smiles.

He abhors the loud shirts that belong on someone younger, the pants the hug Shawn's hips and snuggly fits to his ass so well that Lassiter doesn’t have to even wonder whether Shawn prefers briefs or boxers.

He hates the way Shawn floats through life like there’s no tomorrow.

He hates the fact that he no longer refers to Shawn as Spencer in his mind; it’s always Shawn first and foremost. The Spencer part is simply a last moment revision that he always just barely remembers to make each and every time that he says the other man’s name.

He hates that Shawn doesn’t throw himself at Lassiter as often as he once did while in the throes of ‘psychic’ visions.

He hates the fact that he misses Shawn at all.

He hates the way that every time he walks through the grocery store now he stops in the produce isle and looks at the pineapples and thinks about Shawn each and every time- it’s reached the point now that Lassiter doesn’t even want to go inside the local market anymore, instead he’s contemplating ordering his groceries through one of those delivery services. Only…

…If he does, he has a feeling that he would just order one of the damned things instead. And Lassiter doesn’t even like pineapple. Not really. Or at least he didn’t used too. These days he seems too.

Shawn has insinuated himself into every portion of Lassiter’s life and as every day passes, Lassiter can’t stop himself from glancing at the entrance of the hall and expecting Shawn to breeze through it every time Carlton looks up.

And the times Shawn does stroll into Lassiter‘s territory…it’s like Lassiter’s world stops.

No.

That’s not it.

It’s like everything starts.

Like everything is new and shiny and beautiful and Lassiter doesn‘t want it to ever stop.

And Lassiter hates it.

He hates what he views as a weakness, these feelings for a man whose sole purpose in life is to invent new ways to annoy him.

But he loves it too.

~~--~~

The Middle- Jimmy Eat World

Shawn loves life. He loves the way the ladies hair a couple of stools away seems to have a life of it’s own as it rises off the top of her head in really huge waves in a style that must have cost a lot of money.

He loves the way that the bartender keeps smiling at him.

He loves the fruity little drink that he discovered about thirty minutes, of which he’s had a few because while he can’t really taste the alcohol, wow can he feel it.

He really loves the way Gus is trying to pry the current glass out of his hands

He loves the way Juliet is blushing on just about every patch of skin visible and, Shawn’s certain, in more than a few places that the little dress does cover because Shawn has just outed his two friends' feelings for each other.

Shawn loves everything.

The only thing he doesn’t love is the fact that Lassiter doesn’t love everything.

That instead of being able to relax and enjoy himself, Lassiter just seems to be growing more and more churlish.

Shawn makes the decision before he'd even realized he had been contemplating a problem and moves.

Gus stumbles back as the glass suddenly comes loose from Shawn’s hand the instant that Shawn moves forwards. And Shawn discovers he loves one more than all the rest.

He loves the feeling of Lassiter’s lips and the way the older man’s arms tighten around his waist instead of pushing him away.

~~--~~

Do You Know What I’m Seeing- Panic At The Disco

Juliet watches them. That’s what she does for a living. She watches people, she gathers information, she figures out things.

And she feels a little stupid that she hasn’t figured this out sooner.

She wonders how long this has been going on, how long all of that aggression has just been a cover for something more.

God.

She really should have seen through it all, and she can’t bring herself to be mad at all the little flirty actions that have been directed towards her over the past year and a half because seeing Shawn’s arms wrapped around Carlton, seeing one of the taller man’s hands tangled in Shawn’s hair, seeing the other hand softly caressing a stubbled cheek bone…

It all seems right.

And Juliet O’Hara doesn’t understand how she never saw that Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter were in love before.

Smiling, she backs out of the room, softly closing the door behind her so as not to disturb them and then turns, warding off the janitor who needs to grab a broom some minutes later while she patiently waits for them to resurface.

~~--~~

Upside Down- Jack Johnson

A beautiful summer day. A breeze coming in from the sea, just strong enough that Shawn can taste the saltiness of the sea on it’s fleeting caress. Sun streaming in through the large windows.

Life. Is. Perfect.

Nothing can possibly drag his day down. Not even Lassiter breathing down his neck as he tried to disconcert him. Because such a tactic is so not going to work. Hell, Shawn practically invented that.

Lassiter jostling him doesn’t phase him.

Nor does the loud cheering when Lassy wins one of the rounds of the game they are playing.

Or the way Lassiter’s hand seems to linger on Shawn’s arm when he wins a round.

Or the way that his leg is resting against Shawn’s from hip to knee and Lassiter seems to be in no rush to move it away since they’ve been sitting that way for the past couple of hours….

Shawn’s eyes grew wide as several things start to click and he almost smacks himself.

Almost. Instead he loses the current round so badly that Lassiter should have been able to see that Shawn threw the game, and when he doesn't Shawn realizes that their relationship has changed so much in the last two years, he has to wonder just how far the boundries have moved. When Lassiter turns to rib him about the win, Shawn moves forwards, diving in for a kiss instead because testing boundries is what Shawn is all about.

And he had thought the day couldn’t get better. He’d been soooo wrong.

The Eighth of November- Big & Rich

Shawn is silent. Every one that knows him realizes how odd this is, how un-Shawnlike the behavior is.

Henry constant watches him and lately he’s taken to watching his soon more closely than he ever has before.

Gus stays over more nights than not, ignoring Shawn’s quiet protests that he’s fine and nothing is wrong.

Juliet stops by the office, dangles new cases before him like shiny toys and he tries to muster the strength to show the enthusiasm he had towards everything just a few weeks ago.

Only he can’t. Not anymore.

Soon he stops going out of his apartment except for when Henry or Gus drag him outside and after another couple of weeks he stops even going out then.

After a while, life has completely lost it’s attraction because the one person Shawn wants to see more than life itself has yet to make an appearance and when Henry calls in the big guns and calls Shawn’s mother, not even her gently prodding brings forth any thing more than the mournful eyes he’s been directing towards everyone.

After two more nights, Shawn finally breaks. He doesn’t know what causes it, he doesn’t remember dragging himself out of bed, getting dressed or leaving his apartment, but suddenly he’s in the cab, and then he’s at Lassiter’s door.

He starts knocking before he even realizes that he was contemplating it. When Lassiter greets him at the door after several moments, bags under his eyes, stubble covering his jaw, clothes rumbled, and more than a faint aroma of booze hanging around him, Shawn knows in an instant that he hasn’t been the only one hurting.

When the door closes behind him a moment later, Shawn thinks for the first time in a month that things might just be okay now.

~~--~~

Stuck In The Middle With You- Steve Miller Band

It’s a party.

There’s loud music and obnoxious people, half a dozen health code violations, enough to make him not want to touch anything and he’s still trying to figure out why he’s there.

All he wants to do is go home, crawl into bed, and pretend that he’d never agreed to something this ludicrous.

He’s even halfway through the door when laughter reaches his ears and Lassiter stops.

He turns back and Shawn is on the floor. Children litter the floor around him, almost completely covering the younger man's body, more children than Carlton can even really count. There are enough kids that Carlton can't help but wince. He'd have been up and running for the door by now, but Shawn is still just laying there. He's spread out on the floor and laughing as the children throw themselves at him.

That was why he came. Lassiter would undergo all sorts of embarrassments, brave through any kind of challenge, he’d undergo anything really, just to hear that laugh.

~~--~~

Little Red Riding Hood- Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs

It’s indecent. Completely and utterly, Lassiter could even think of about seven charges just off the top of the head that he would be able to level against the pseudo psychic right at that moment.

And he would arrest Spencer. Right then and there. Only there was a very insistent voice in his head pointing out that if he were to bring out the handcuffs right at that moment, Shawn wouldn’t be headed towards a jail cell.

No.

The younger man would be writhing in Carlton’s bed, calling out his name, begging, pleading--

Oh. Shit.

Carlton turned away, mortified not only that he could feel his body beginning to flush but because he knows the blood isn’t just rushing beneath his skin, its rushing in a very concentrated manner towards a very specific part of his body, and the last thing Lassiter ever wanted to have happen was for every one at Vick’s pool party know that he’d gotten an erection while surrounded by over thirty of his collegues.

No.

That wasn't entirely it.

He ditn’t want everyone know that he'd gotten an erection from fantasizing about Shawn.

Lassiter hurried away, never even sparing a glance backwards, completely missing the smile that tugged at the corners of a certain physic’s lips as he watched the detective flee into the house clutching at a beach towel and completely unaware of how Shawn didn’t even pause for a moment before he smiled at Gus and disappeared after him.

~~--~~

I Can’t Decide- The Scissor Sisters

All Lassiter wanted to do is wrap his hands around Shawn’s throat and squeeze. It’s even one of his most beloved daydreams, and since Vick had warned him rather sternly a couple of weeks ago that she wanted him to be much less handsy with a particular person, he’d had to resort to buying small pineapple collectibles and taking out all of his aggression towards the unassuming little pieces of ceramic on the shooting range instead.

The sound of the splintering shards was pleasant. Even peaceful in a sort of way and Lassiter was just beginning to reign in his temper when the bane of his existence flounced into the small room.

Gritting his teeth, he was just about to fire off another shot when Spencer’s scream of horror bypassed the ear guards and penetrated right into the center of his eardrum, bouncing around for good effect before finally dissipating.

Rushing forward, Shawn grabbed the last figurine, clutching it close to his chest, and something broke inside of Lassiter.

Carefully placing the gun onto the table before him, because the last thing Lassiter wanted to have happen was have his own gun misfire and injure someone(even Spencer), and then he very calmly vaulted over the table.

A short pursuit ensued, one consisting of Shawn clutching at the figurine, screaming that he wouldn’t allow Lassiter to murder any more pineapples and Lassiter yelling that he was going to kill the other man instead of the stupid figurines.

Shawn would have made it to the door and outside first, but Lassiter was quicker than anyone really ever gave him credit for.

When he slammed the man into the door, a part of him smirked at the wide-eyed look Shawn directed at him, a look that he’d never had directed at him, a look that Lassiter was pretty certain he had never before seen directed towards anything other than pineapples and O’Hara.

And they stayed that way. Lassiter couldn’t move because the anger had bled away into something different. Those eyes. It was the eyes. And the way that Shawn’s breath was coming out in ragged little gasps. And the way that Lassiter could feel the smaller man trembling against him- though Lassiter wasn’t exactly certain just when he had moved in close enough to feel the movement.

One breath. It seemed like everything had changed between one breath and the next. Lassiter’s world was being spun away out of his control with every moment that was passing. And he wasn’t about to complain.

Shawn squeaked when Lassiter crashed his lips against the other man’s, and he would have smirked when he heard the pineapple salt-shaker crash to the floor…if he hadn’t been too busy kissing Spencer to even notice.

~~--~~

Erase- Mika

He wasn’t answering the phone. He refused too. It wasn’t going to happen because answering the phone meant that Shawn was giving in and Shawn didn’t give in.

Even when he wanted too.

Which he didn’t. Want to that was.

Because he hadn’t been wrong. He’d been right. It didn’t matter how many times Carlton called or how many times he pounded at the door yelling for Shawn to open the damn door. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that Lassiter was safe.

And Lassiter wouldn’t be safe if Shawn was anywhere near him. Shawn attracted trouble. He lived on it. He thrived in chaos.

But not Lassy. No. Lassy needed his perfectly ordered life with his five year plan and respectable little life. He didn’t need Shawn to throw it out of whack anymore than he already had.

Shawn was right. Ending the relationship was the right thing to do. Lassiter could have everything he’d wanted; the wife, the dog, the white picket fence, and all that it entailed.

Shawn listened to the phone ringing and ignored the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

Candy Shop- 50 Cent

Lassiter couldn’t breathe. The air was trapped in his lungs, beating against the walls so painfully that all he wanted to do was just damned well breathe out, and he couldn’t. Breathing would be bad. If he let any air escape he knew it would be the end of everything, he’s loose the last little bit of control he possessed and he wasn’t about to let that happen

He’d always been in control of everything. It was who he was, his control was what he’d built his life around, the only that had ever mattered because if he always remained in control than he would never let anything get close enough to really hurt him.

Little spots began dancing in front of his eyes and still he didn’t let the breath out.

Hands ghosted down his sides, a sly smirk spreading across lips that remained just out of reach, and still Lassiter didn’t breath out.

Passing out was beginning to be a real possibility and he still refused to let go of that one breath.

The lips moved, traveling down his body, and suddenly the choice was completely taken out of his hands when a moist mouth covered his erection, lips sliding up and down, tongue tracing the vein from head to base on every pass.

Lassiter finally breathed out. “Shawn,” he gasped out, his back arching off of the bed, and allowed himself to lose control for the first time in his life.

~~--~~

The Beginning Of An End- Chris/Ezra- 3/5

2008-10-12T18:11:05Z

Three months later and Ezra had come to the conclusion that he and Chris would never regain the equilibrium they had lost. At the rate they were going, in another seven or ten years the other man would perhaps finally direct a sentence consisting of more than one syllable towards him.

And recent events were just making everything worse. Every time he started to think he was getting a handle in his emotions they would slither back through his grasp. Every time he though he could look at Chris and not remember the way his name had sounded falling from those lips, every time he believed he could look into those eyes and not see a glimpse of the same hunger staring back at him from hazel eyes, he'd been wrong. Each and every time. It was tearing him apart. Made worse by the fact that the incident remained unspoken of, treated as though it had never even happened. Ezra thought that was perhaps the worst part, not being able to speak of it. Letting it remain like some spector over his thoughts and actions, a ghost that he could not banish.

When Maude swept into his life again one sunny day a couple of weeks ago, he'd never been happier to see any one in his life, and when she swept back out of his life less than two days later, he found himself mired in a depression deeper than he one he had submerged himself in the weeks following his monumental fuck-up.

Maude had always warned him against falling in love.

Love made a person weak, made them doubt their own abilities, and, as she had pointed out just that morning, in his line of job that would get either himself or those around him killed. He hadn't been able to refute her words, hadn't even been able to gather up the energy to tell her that she'd assumed incorrectly.

Hell, he hadn't even been able to hide the anguish he was carrying around.

Out of all the people he had ever meet, only Maude could read his little tales, and he'd had to bustle her out of the office less than five minutes after her arrival because she'd been able to read him so easily.

The last thing he'd wanted was a confrontation between his mother and boss, which was what would have occured if Chris had stepped into the office while she'd been there. While the team remained ignorant of the curt words and uncomfortable silence that tended to fall between Ezra and Chris, Ezra knew with unerring certainty that Maude wouldn't have missed the signs.

Ezra would have to have been a much better conman to have been able to fool her. And while a few months ago, he might have been able too divert her attention from his current problem, he wasn't able to now. Not when he still hadn’t regained enough of his calm facade even weeks after the fact. And especially not when even his repeated assurances that everything was well couldn’t drive away the grim line her mouth or smoothed away the angry tick above her right eye.

God. Damn.

The last thing he had wanted to do was to have had an argument with her right before she danced right out of his life again.

The only person in his life who would have understood what he was going through and she was too close to him to listen.

Just his luck he supposed.

Though her advice would have been welcome. After all she’d been in the same position as him about thirty years ago. And the fact that she hadn’t allowed herself to fall in love since Harold’s death all those years ago…well, that didn’t bode particularly well for him.

Nonetheless he was going to remain positive.

Positive that he was screwed.

Damn!

Too much thinking, he hadn’t drunk enough yet to banish his thoughts.

His thoughts. The memory of calloused hands stroking him after the passion had subsided, of a voice softly crooning his name while they had both regained their breath….

Damn, damn, damn.

This current obsession was in no manner healthy. It didn’t exactly take a genius to figure that out and Ezra found he was unable to move past that night because of the simple fact that Chris wouldn’t allow him. The growled orders, the barely there touches when by chance they happened to touch each other, the simple fact that Ezra had never before been ordered to perform so many manual and mundane tasks within such a short period since his academy days…and all the more frustrating was that Chris was coddling him.

The damned man wouldn’t speak to him, but he was sure as hell keeping him from just about any assignment that Ezra would have been able to undertake.

He couldn’t figure it out. The man seemed to hate him, and yet it was as though he couldn’t stop caring, and it was tearing Ezra apart. Bit by bit.

The door of the townhouse opened softly, barely eliciting enough sound to have drawn his attention had he not been such a paranoid bastard. Standing, he crouched, slinking towards the living room, remaining hidden by the gathering shadows. Drawing his gun, he pointed the barrel towards the door, kneeling and then took aim, a play of light from a passing car highlighted the short cut blond hair, illuminating the strands color to a honeyed gold as it raced from the house and Ezra cursed.

Chris closed the door behind him, catching himself just as Ezra re-engaged the safety. Hiding the gun in the waist band of his pants, he leaned against the wall, a slight smile ghosting the corners of his lips.

“I never imagined you breaking into my house, Mr. Larabee. Are we trying another midnight tryst?” The words were out of his mouth before his brain had filtered out the thought.

The room was silent enough he could hear the teeth grinding against each other and there was just enough light from the living room that Ezra could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, he would have liked if those were the only details his eyes could have discerned, but he couldn’t keep himself from drinking in all of the details. This was the closest he had been to Chris since that night, and he’d never realized how much he had missed the other man’s presence until he was once again standing so close to him.

He could still smell the smoke from Inez’s Bar, the stagnant odor just barely laid over the spicy scent he’d come to associate with the other man, a hint of whiskey, and he had grip the table to his right just so that he didn’t cross the final couple of feet separating them and taste those lips.

Oh. He had it bad.

Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

Certainly bad enough that his thoughts were becoming a broken record.

Perhaps he should not have imbibed quite so much. Granted he hadn’t been expecting any unexpected company, but that was the thing with Chris Larabee.

The man seldom did what Ezra expected of him, that night should have more than proved that.

The last Ezra had known, Chris had at best reluctantly been tolerable of his presence, had he known the man was going to accost him after Ezra getting injured due to his own inability to be a team player…he’d have certainly planned everything better. Having reopened seventeen stitches and losing the company of the single man he’d ever worked for who Ezra respected had not been in his plans. Ever. Having a sweaty passion filled night had certainly been among his fantasies, but he’d never thought there was a possibility that anything would have ever happened. And now it had and Ezra couldn’t let go of it. Perhaps it was time to leave. New horizons and new distractions.

Yes. Most definitely time to cut and run.

Chris stepped forwards, moving away from the door, making his way towards Ezra, and in the faded light, Ezra could see the concern swimming in those hazel depths.

An irrational anger simmered with Ezra at the sight. How dare the man worry over him now? After he’d avoided his company for the last twelve weeks, fours days, fourteen hours, and roughly twenty-five minutes?

God.

He was counting the minutes.

How sad and incredibly maudlin.

“Ezra we were worried about you, you didn’t show up at Inez’s.”

Ezra snorted. “I am sorry, Mr. Larabee, I hardly thought my presence was required for such a celebration since after all I was relegated to the position of a babysitter.” Ezra didn’t feel the need to point out that the safe-cracker’s daughter had been a lovely little girl who’d won over a hundred dollars from him playing poker or the fact that he’d given the girl his address and contact information should her mother and herself run amiss of trouble again. He didn’t feel the need of enlightening Chris because of the simple fact that he’d been relegated to the side lines with barely a by-your-leave.

An action which had forced the other members of their little rag tag group to step into his shoes and play undercover agent. Chris had actually been the one to infiltrate the group of robbers, seeking a way to bring the men to justice for the murder of the woman’s husband as well as a string of robberies that traced from Canada and across the country.

“After all,” Ezra drew the words out, forcing his body to relax into a more languid pose, “it seems that I am hardly needed for anything more than fetching coffee and running errands. It’s quite interesting that I haven’t been assigned a single undercover assignment in-” Ezra’s eyes widened, and he randomly began mouthing numbers, “oh, dear, me. I seem to not be able to recall the last time I was allowed to perform my actual job, Mr. Larabee. I wonder why that could be?”

“Ezra--”

“No!” The shout startled Ezra as much as it had Chris and he sighed.

Too soon to be properly drunk and too inebriated to play games with a level head.

If this was love, Ezra would sooner someone shot him than have to suffer through. “I apologize, Mister Larabee, if you would perhaps see yourself out, I believe it would be best if I dragged myself to bed.” And tomorrow he would formally request a transfer. Better to be miserable away than so close to the object of his desire and unable to touch. Ezra was a man of strength and flexibility, but he didn’t possess quite that large of a masochistic streak.

A hand stopped his progress, the grip tightening ever so much as Ezra tried to draw away. The anger that had been fading surged forth again. It was irrational, and couldn’t even be really directed towards Chris.

Not entirely.

The man probably was confused.

All evidence pointed towards Chris being more attracted to ladies than to men, having lost control and rutted against Ezra till he’d lost himself had probably scared the hell out of him.

But that didn’t change the fact that Ezra felt he was losing himself bit by bit as well.

A verbal umbrage was set to fly, words molded to carry the most injury readied for use, and before they could be set loose, Chris’ mouth melded itself against his.

The kiss was unlike their first. The lips moved gently against Ezra’s, barely a whisper of a touch

This couldn’t lead anywhere even remotely healthy.

He should have the strength to stop it.

To push the other man away.

To throw him out of his house and find another agency or team to work with, one who would have less hesitancy in using his abilities and wouldn’t care enough about him to let their mistrust of his loyalties color their use of him.

He should have been so many things and in the end, he only knew that while he should have been strong enough to stop, he wasn’t.

Instead he deepened the kiss and pulled the other man with him. This time, there would be no walls. There would be no harsh words. There would be nothing but what they were willing to give. And Ezra would hope like hell that in the morning he’d still have the strength to stop this thing between them before it destroyed them both.

The Beginning Of An End- Chris/Ezra- 2/5

2008-10-12T05:46:00Z

The air left his lungs in a painful gasp and Ezra couldn't stop the slight wince as his back once again collided forcefully with the wall behind him. The knuckles of the hands gripping his shirt had tightened so much that the skin was stretched painfully over the cartilage, the tanned flesh had bled to white, and Ezra was slightly surprised that he couldn't hear the joints popping from the force the man was exerting.

It had been a mistake, an incredibly painful one at that.

Ezra had worked so long on his own that trusting the other men he was now working with was a difficult thing, and given the reception he had been greeted with when he had straggled into the ATF office sometime around two in the morning, the lack of trust was not one-sided. He should have just gone home and damned well forgotten about his cell phone. How the hell was he supposed to have known that Larabee would be at the office still filling out reports? It seemed that at times, Lady Fate had a particularly nasty sense of humor when it came to his life.

Chris gripped his lapels again and shook him. The words gritted out through clenched teeth were clear enough, and the threat pretty implicit. Ezra hadn't waited for the call; he'd gone ahead in without back-up and had gotten injured for his rashness. What Ezra was having trouble figuring out was whether or not Larabee was more upset that Ezra had gotten injured or that he had gone against direct orders. He simply couldn't tell and his drug addled mind was struggling as it was just to decipher the taller man's ragged words.

Chris shook him once more, and Ezra could feel his breath on the hollow of his neck. The wound on his shoulder ached, dimly in comparison to the pain convulsing in his back from hours of waiting in the emergency room and then a repeated introduction to the thick walls of the team's office. Some days it just didn't pay to be a good guy.

And this seemed to be one of them.

He was tired. He was cranky. And Chris' close proximity was not helping matters at all. Not when Ezra had been without a companion for nearly seven months since he had come to Colorado. And not when Ezra was fairly more than certain that he'd repeated the greatest mistake in his life and fallen in love with another strictly hetero-sexual man.

Fate was laughing at him. Loudly and cruelly it seemed. Ezra didn't remember doing it, but suddenly Chris's fingers were pried away from his clothing, and he watched in a daze as the taller man stumbled back.

Blinking in surprise, he regarded his outstretched hands with a degree of amazement, trying to figure out just how he'd managed to push his illustrious leader away so easily. Looking up, Ezra had just opened his mouth to apologize when Chris was before him again, only this time his hands were tangled in the loose curls hanging around Ezra's face, and his tongue was invading Ezra's mouth, stealing his breath.

It wasn't a gentle kiss by any means. Ezra tasted blood from a small cut on the inside of his lip where the flesh had become trapped between his teeth and Chris's when the blond had smashed their mouths together, and he couldn't stop the moan that filtered past his lips and into Chris' as the other man's hands began to wander.

The tormenting mouth moved, teeth nipping roughly against Ezra's jaw and neck, the tongue flicking out here and there to sooth away some of the pain, but not enough.

Ezra was suspended between pain and pleasure, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, words tumbling out of his mouth as he tried to reason with the man pinning him to the wall and found that instead of reasons, why this current plan of action was such a bad course to follow he was instead softly chanting Chris' name over and over. To his ears, it almost sounded like a prayer.

Thick fingers flicked open the top of the jeans, lowered the zipper with an impatient tug, and Ezra gasped as the cold air hit his erection. He couldn't stifle the pained sound that erupted from his throat when Chris touched him, the callused fingers rubbing painfully over already overly sensitized skin, and the fingers closed over him painfully, as though to punish him rather than bring any sense of pleasure.

Ezra tossed his head back and forth, unable to stop the sounds coming out of his mouth, wanting nothing more than to escape the assault, and yet he couldn't.

His entire world was beginning to revolve around Chris.

He felt his heart beating in tandem with the wild pulse that the other man inflicted upon him, and his hearing filtered down to the labored breaths puffing against his ear, the sound of Chris' mouth still working against the raw skin of his neck, the sound of Ezra's name falling from those lips in harsh pants.

Ezra wanted to stop, but even more than the fear he felt at losing the control he had prized for most of his life, he wanted to feel everything that Chris was making him experience. He wanted the pain and the anguish at knowing that there was no possible way this could end with anything more than heartache, he wanted to soak in the anger roiling off of Larabee in waves so thick he could feel almost nothing but the umbrage of the other man's emotions.

A rough thumb flitted over the head of his erection, spreading the warm fluid leaking from him, and Ezra bucked, grinding himself against Chris, choking on his name as he sought to deepen the contact. Chris's free hand tugged at Ezra's shirt, the sound of the material ripping sounding distant when compared to their mingling breaths, and bit down on the newly exposed shoulder. Ezra cried out, not even aware of the words falling from his tongue, and the grip tightened, pulling painfully once more, and the world exploded.

Ezra came back to himself, blinking away the sudden lethargy that had fallen over him, and feeling every ache in his body as they all hammered away for his attention.

Chris' hand had loosened it's grip, but the fingers still stroked Ezra with a tenderness that was almost more painful than the rough movements only moments earlier. Against him, he could feel Chris shuddering, his breath still ragged and uneven, his face turned in to rest against the hollow of Ezra's neck.

"Chris," Ezra started and he could feel the instant that things shifted.

The moment had been lost and when Larabee pulled away, looking at him with a blank expression, Ezra would have almost believed it had all just been some twisted fantasy if it weren't for the air-conditioned air that still caressed his exposed flesh.

Chris moved away, backing up a single step, and Ezra searched for something to say, something to drive away the act they had just committed only to find his mind blank, his emotions tumultuously churning at the weakness he'd just displayed. Wound or no wound, drugged or not drugged, he was pretty certain he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life. He'd lost the friendship of a man he'd come to respect all for a moment of weakness.

"Don't," Chris gritted out the word, his hands clenching, eyes focused on a patch of the wall to the left of Ezra’s shoulder, "ever go against my orders again. Don‘t ever lie to me. Don‘t ever betray me." With that Chris turned and walked out.

Ezra slid to the ground, his knees giving way to the weakness spreading through him, a trickle of warmth on the back of his shoulder alerting him that some of the stitches from his wound must have torn, and he found himself unable to move. He sat there, breathing painfully for several moments before he even realized he was crying.

Link to previous chapter:

http://heathenseyes.livejournal.com/4727.html#cutid1

The Beginning Of An End- Chris/Ezra- 1/5

2008-10-12T03:30:51Z

Fandom:Magnificent Seven
Title: The Beginning Of An End
Pairings: Chris/Ezra
Rating: Pg-13 to begin and will head into NC-17 land by chapter two.
Warnings: Angst is ahead. Consider yourself warned, there was a request for the fic to have no humor and this was the muses response because she loves to make people suffer and strangely enough that really applies to her visioning of poor Ezra. And sorry for any mistakes, they are all mine. If you point out the glaringly obvious ones I will fix them. Thanks. :)
Summary: There were five times that Ezra almost stopped himself only to find that he couldn't and one time that stopping never even crossed his mind.

Ezra stared at the phone as though he were taking it apart component by component in his mind and reasoning out just how it worked.

At fifteen, he was shorter than others in his class, slender where others were bulky, and moved with an innate grace brought about by years of careful tutelage from his mother about how to make one‘s presence known without being ostentatious about it.

And he’d learned his lessons well. He had been placed under her, what he would dubiously term, care since the age of five, and she’d taken great pains to instill within him the knowledge that he was nothing more than a tool to her. A dear tool for which she would care greatly, but a tool none the less.

When he had passed the age of thirteen he’d been relegated from the position of tool to student, and he could freely admit that he had cared for the woman more than she was probably comfortable with. Granted, he was fairly certain that the affection was returned since she had as yet to exchange him for a newer model.

For this reason, he was perhaps facing his current quandary.

If he continued on with this plan, he would be flying against the life he’d been taught since the day she had removed him from that wretched foster home. Ezra would be turning his back upon the woman who had cared for him to the best of her capabilities, he would be betraying the woman who he thought of his mother in every way but blood.

Ezra was fifteen, standing on the brink of falling from childhood into adulthood, and found himself unable to make the first decision that he had ever truly had to care about making. Until now, every step, every plan, every path he’d taken was done so under the watchful eye of Maude Standish. She’d controlled his life so expertly that he’d never even thought of the fact that he was not the master of his own destiny, and even now, when faced with the knowledge, he couldn’t bring himself to really care. She had sheltered and cared for him. She’d even taught him a trade should he choose to continue on the path she’d set before him.

If. If. If.

Ezra continued his silent contemplation.

It wasn’t that he felt guilty.

Maude never chose to target those who couldn’t afford not to lose anywhere from a few to several thousand. And in her defense, she also normally chose those who would provide a challenge.

There wasn’t a point in the game if it weren’t for enjoyment. One lesson out of the hundreds she’d ingrained into him. He should always enjoy what he did, if he didn’t, he’d grow bored. Growing bored would lead to either becoming sloppy or to taking unnecessary risks.

And on a level he did enjoy the life he led.

The things they did.

A part of him accepted it.

Relished it.

There was always a sense of accomplishment when he looked into the eyes of a mark and felt that tingle of victory creeping along his spine as he read every thought flickering through their head. That part of him lived for those moments.

And now it was warring that other part of him. The bit that was always looking and observing. That watched in silence at the fallout from their little cons. The people who lost jobs, who lost homes, who’d lost the security they’d once had because they’d inadvertently helped them.

It wasn’t until a year ago that Ezra had even become aware of them. Those little, mindlessly-oblivious accessories to their plans who never even suspected a thing. The person who let slip those little details that Maude or Ezra would pick up and store away for later use. The maid who would leave the door unlocked at just the right time because they were just going to the store. The security guard who was working two jobs, and would sometimes fall asleep for just a few moments.

At fourteen reality crashed in upon him and he learned that life wasn’t the game that Maude had taught him it was. Not that he’d been living a sheltered life. Maude had made sure of that, she’d striven to erase every bit of innocence out of him, claiming that ignorance would only make him useless. Instead, it was more as though he’d been removed from it. He’d been taught to view life almost more as though he were some spectator at some intriguing game rather than a fellow participant. And now, knowing that every little thing he did hurt some one else…it made him begin to doubt himself.

Right and wrong didn’t really enter into the equation.

Right and wrong was purely a matter of point of view and he looked at life with enough of a spectrum of color that he could quite easily bend morality to fit whatever need he had if all he wanted to do was sooth a troubled conscience.

He was capable of…many things. And that was perhaps the crux of the matter.

He could do anything, be anything, and yet, it didn’t matter. He was everything and he was nothing. He didn’t feel guilty about the people he left broken by his antics and a part of him worried about this lack of conscience.

This decision, this contemplated betrayal, was all because he wanted to care. He wanted to stop living apart from everything, apart from life. He wanted to make all those stupid little mistakes. He wanted to care. He wanted to think of life as something more than just a game.

And that would mean turning in Maude.

Of course, he’d be turning himself in too. The proof he could give was enough to buy him leniency and he was young enough that it would be expunged from his record.

All he had to do was pick up the phone. Such a simple act and yet he’d sat here for over three hours just staring, his hands remaining immobile in his lap, fingers twitching- the only outward sign of his discomfort.

Another hour passed before he picked up the phone. Maude was another state away. He wondered what she would do when the police came in, he wondered if she’d ever forgive him, he wondered if he’d ever be able to care.

Once the ringing stopped, and was replaced by a voice on the other side, he almost stopped. Hints of indecision crawled back through him, stilling his voice. It was only when the voice asked again if any one was there and he heard the sound of the receiver being pulled away that he cried out.

There had to be something more.

The moment passed and he used the tricks he’d learned, threading just enough guilt and worry into his voice to sound believable and when he hung up he waited for the police to arrive.

Not Just An Asset- Chuck/Casey

2008-10-11T21:49:18Z

This season is made of slash! Who didn't watch it and see all the potential there? LOL. Hope y'all enjoy. By the way, same disclaimer applies, I don't own any of it.

Summary: The kill order has been rescinded, but Casey knows that when the time may come again, he still won't be able to carry out his duty, and he's not the only one struggling with surprising revelations.

Misery's Companions- Magnificent Seven

2008-08-31T19:08:19Z

Misery's Companions
Pairings: Chris/Ezra-ish
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slight hints of slash
Summary: Chris and Ezra have always known their greatest weaknesses, and were comfortable in that knowledge, until they meet eachother and joined forces to save an indian village. Now, after a year of working to protect the town of Four Corners, they have found that their greatest weaknesses are now eachother, and neither one is quite willing to admit to just how their lives have changed.
There may be a fanfic about the vid at some point. Don't know yet. Hope y'all like. Let me know. :)

Needy Noises

2008-08-20T23:09:27Z

Title: Needy Noises
Pairings: Jack Carter/ Nathan Stark
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None. Though, this is slash. So, I suppose there is one. And this is unbeta'ed. so there's another...whoops.
Summary: Jack really should have thought twice about his plan of action....
Disclaimer: I don't own! Wish I did, because last night's epi would have gone in a completely different direction.

“So, you think that I should…move beyond this?” Nathan asked, rolling the words around his tongue, drawing out the syllables, and making the Carter revise just how bright of an idea it was to have bothered the scientist given everything that had happened.

On a normal day, Jack wouldn’t have really thought twice about annoying Starke. In fact, he’d have relished the idea of provoking the other man into some sort of rant, one possibly involving an irritated glare to be brought into play.

But that was on a normal day. Which wasn’t today by any stretch of the imagination, and that was definitely saying something since normal for Eureka could in no way be considered mundane by any kind of standard. Today was special, it was it’s own little turning point in the future of a town filled with geniuses. Today, Allison had turned down Nathan’s proposal of marriage, and up until about four hours ago, Carter would have had to give the guy props because while slightly more surly than usual, Starke hadn’t really been much different thank normal .

That was of course, until about five o’clock rolled around, and Starke had declared that he was heading home. Odd behavior sure, since according to Fargo, Nathan spent more time sleeping in his office than he ever had in his own home; odd, but not that odd.

The worrying part of it all, the part that should have perhaps made Carter to pause in his plan formulation when Allison told him all of this an hour ago, was that when a project on Level 4 had gotten out of hand an hour after he had left Global Dynamics, Starke hadn’t responded to any of the calls from either a frantic Fargo or a worried Allison.

Carter still wasn’t certain why Allison had requested that he go and retrieve Starke. Especially when Henry had arrived at GD and told them all he could fix the problem. Jack had been all ready to walk out and go home when Allison had stopped him. Allison wanted him to check on Starke. To make sure that he was okay, and when she’d put her hand on Jack’s arm, told him she was worried about Nathan, and for Carter to just do this one favor for her, Jack hadn’t been able to tell her no.

Granted, at the moment, he was really wishing he’d said no, or at least made Jo go and drag Nathan out of his house, especially when the man in question was leaning in closer, completely ignoring the idea of personal space, and kept talking in a ludicrously husky voice.

A tone of voice which was not causing Carter’s mouth to suddenly dry up or making his knees feel as though all bone and cartilage suddenly had the consistency of Jell-O.

“Yeah,” Carter grimaced when he noticed his own voice had lowered itself, now mirroring Nathan’s deeper tone, and he cleared his throat. “You know, compromise, make nice with people, stop scaring the poor minions when they have questions for you,” Jack licked his lips, and fought the urge to take a step back, “put aside your difficulty with Allison and come in. They’re,” he put special emphasis on they’re, desperately wondering just how worried the others would really be if they saw Stark’s behavior now, “worried about you.”

Carter almost groaned when he saw a ghost of that damned smirk dancing along Nathan’s lips. “Are you worried about me?”

“I think I should put you in bed,” Jack said, his eyes widening as the words left his mouth. He had not meant that! He could feel the blush warming his cheeks and ears, creeping down the back of his neck, and he was pretty certain that there probably wasn’t an inch of his body that wasn’t turning a certain shade of red at the moment.

“Carter, I never knew,” Nathan said, smirking now unabashedly.

“Jesus, Nathan!’ Carter snapped, putting his hands on Nathan’s shoulders with the full intent of pushing him away only to find they apparently had minds of their own, and instead settled quite comfortably on Stark’s bare chest.

When Stark had answered the door a few short minutes ago, Carter should have told him he’d wait while he got dressed, he should have hustled him out of the house and into GD. He should not have accepted Nathan’s invitation to come inside, and he sure a heck shouldn’t have tried to reason with the man. Especially when Jack was rapidly losing the ability to remember anything other than the way Nathan smelled as he loomed slightly over him. Carter licked his lips again and drew back his hands, back-peddling until his back hit the wall and he discovered that there was no where to go. He was now trapped between a wall, the counter, and a rapidly approaching man who was, for lack of a better description, smoldering.

“You know why Allie said no?” Nathan asked, his hands planting themselves firmly on either side of Jack’s head. Carter shook his head. He’d assumed there had been reasons. Allison always had reasons. She was a reasons kind of gal. He just hadn’t thought to ask any of them. And now, he was paying for his lack of foresight. Nathan leaned in till only a couple of inches separated them, and growled. Jack felt all the blood drain and head southward at the sound. “Because,” from their proximity, Jack could practically hear the words rumble inside of Nathan as they sought freedom, “I said your name.”

Jack blinked. And then he blinked again. Replaying what Nathan had just said over and over again in his mind because the man couldn’t have just said that.

Jack opened his mouth to possibly say something witty and probably more than a little asinine, because uncomfortable situations always make him a little more puckish than normal, however, the words remained unspoken as he felt Nathan’s tongue pass between his lips and then decide to explore it’s new environment.

Jack was about 40 percent sure that the whimper he heard wasn’t his own, of course, since it sure as hell wasn’t Nathan who‘d made the noise, that really only left one other alternative, only Jack knew he didn’t make needy little noises.

Nathan pulled him back from the wall, just enough to allow his hands the ability to strip off Jack’s shirt, peeling the layers of clothing away until his hands could roam across bared skin. Nathan broke the kiss, his mouth falling to Jack’s neck, alternating the use of teeth with his tongue that drove out just about any possibility of higher brain functions for Carter.

And about the last coherent thought he had before his brain was shut down by his body, was the Jack Carter didn’t make needy little noises for anyone…except for one Nathan Stark.

Mishaps and Mayhem- A Magnificent Seven Vid

2008-07-22T22:21:28Z

Disclaimer: I don't own it!!!

Summary: None of them could ever say that life was boring since they'd formed their team, not with all the bumps and bruises anyway. :)

Note: I was thinking that the other two vids I did for the Mag7 were perhaps a little angsty, so I made a far less angsty one. Mostly teamcentric, but it does lean towards Ezra and Buck. LOL

Gambling Is Never A Good Idea(2/3)

2008-07-20T15:43:39Z

Title: Gambling Is Never A Good Idea(part 2/3)

Parings: Ezra/Vin

Warnings: Slash obviously

Spoilers: None really

Summary: Ezra realizes that he's gambled with the only thing that was ever his, his heart. Unwililng to accept the fact that his heart was already lost, his does what he's always done, he moves onto the next con. Now it's up to him to realize whether he's strong enough to take a chance and Vin if he's willing to fight for the errant conman.

Disclaimer: I don't own, but I wish I did own Michael Biehn. *drool*

Hope y'all enjoy!!!!!!!!

~~Before~~

Ezra laid the cards before him, flipping over the last in each line as he settled himself in for a game of solitaire. It was a creative man who could cheat himself at such a game, and Ezra took a certain amount of pride in the fact that he was just that kind of man.

Despite certain unfounded assumptions of his erstwhile companions, Ezra did not need to cheat others at any game of cards as he’d rarely found another player worthy of his abilities.

Unless it was mother and then he’d pull every cheat, trick, and slight of hand he know of. But she was a very special woman, not at all like the people he often found himself playing against under usual circumstances. Against a regular person, Ezra had long ago found that all he needed was to play the fool. Look simple and allow the other players to draw their own conclusions. No tricks or slight of hand required for him to rather easily win a tidy sum of money.

A firm hand settled onto his left shoulder, the fingers stressing slightly as the grip tightened, and he could feel the warmth of the body behind him as his visitor leaned down, inching closer to his relaxed form till he felt the press of another body against his back.

Leather. Vin always smelled of leather and sweat. It was a rather distinctive smell, one that Ezra would perhaps have found repugnant on any other man. Yet on Vin, when the two scents mingled with the hint of earth and of crushed herbs that announced his presence, all Ezra could do was sit back and just breathe deeply.

It was a heady aroma. One that made the gambler feel safe. He felt a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Trust Vin to take something as unattractive as bodily odor and turn it into something that was nearly intoxicating.

Dear Lord. Look at that odious jacket the tracker wore. On any other man it would have merely been a fashion faux pas. On Vin it just made him look rugged and rather delectable.

Good enough to eat.

“Evenin’, Ezra,’ Vin said softly, his breath stirring the small hairs on the back of the other man’s neck.

Ezra stifled a groan, shifting slightly as he felt Tanner stand and draw away.

Damn the man. And damn his own traitorous body.

Becoming visibly excited was not exactly a state Ezra desired to be in when surrounded not only by his friends, but also a good amount of the town. However it seemed lately that all the good Mister Tanner needed to do was simply touch him and he found himself craving the confounding man. Hell, most of the time, Vin needn’t even touch him; a simple look was enough, the reflection of desire shinning in those blue orbs….

Vin sat across the table from him, a small smile playing at one corner of his mouth, the end tugging upwards, and Ezra cursed softly.

Damned man knew just what effect he had on him.

Two months he’d been…bed partners with Vin. Two months starting from one particularly interesting night when he had suggested to the tracker that they could perhaps assist one another in relieving certain tensions. Two months of more passion and stolen moments than Ezra could ever recall having ever had with another man. Or woman, come to think of it. Oh, how wrong he had been in assuming Vin‘s easy nature extended to all portions of his personality. Not that he was willing to show just how much he had miscalculated the effect that Vin’s presence would have on him.

Shifting again, he slipped a hand beneath the table and tugged at the suddenly tighter confines of his trousers.

“Good evening, Mister Tanner,’ Ezra drawled, flicking his gaze to meet Vin’s for a moment briefly before it flickered over to the saloon doors where Chris and Buck were entering. Smiling, he nodded to the other two and when he looked back at his table companion, he found that Vin had moved into the chair beside him, ostentatiously making room for their friends.

Ezra had a feeling that reason behind the move was no where near so innocent. For such a quiet and seemingly introverted man, Tanner had a remarkably impish streak in his manner that usually had Ezra either prepared to kill the man or kiss him.

Well, this was suddenly promising to become an interesting game of solitaire.

Chris and Buck came to sit with them, Buck talking animatedly about the day’s earlier events involving one of the cattle ranchers. Ezra ignored the talk. Little incursions such as they’d experienced earlier were hardly rare, and as Ezra had been there, while Chris and Vin had not, he hardly needed to listen to Buck retelling their earlier exploits. And it was also an event he’d sooner forget, a flying piece of masonry had come just a little too close to comfort to being embedded in his right eye as a result of their adversaries very poor marksmanship. Not that he was complaining the men weren’t able to shoot with any degree of success. He wasn’t. Indeed, he’d much rather go up against a rowdy cowhand than a trained marksman any day.

Besides, he was most assuredly more interested in what was happening beneath the table.

Vin’s hand had fallen onto Ezra’s lap, the movement hidden by the table cloth that covered the stained wood. It had been Inez’s idea to put them on the tables, she‘d said it would give the place a more relaxed feel, and at the moment it was the perfect thing to give Vin the opportunity to play innocent. Based on what his hand was currently engaged in, Ezra could attest to the fact that the other man was in no way innocent.

The tracker had leaned back in his chair slightly, his arms fallen to his sides. To the casual observer, it appeared that Mister Tanner was simply sitting in a comfortable pose.

To the casual observer.

Ezra slouched slightly in his chair. Dropping into what he supposed looked like a more relaxed pose, when in all actuality he was allowing Tanner easier access to continue his hidden caresses.

This was insanity. Sitting here, surrounded by a bunch of men whose attentions were barely engaged in various games or discussions, a simple step away from a possible discovery that could lead to at best a painful stoning and at worst…Ezra didn’t like to think of the at worst part, he’d witnessed it once, back in the first year he’d been on his own. He still dreamed of those broken bodies- of the things he’d seen those supposedly civilized people do to their own.

Unsettlingly, Ezra found himself incapable of caring. All he wanted was for Vin to keep going, for the fingers to apply just a little more pressure--

“Hey, Ez, you okay there, partner?” Ezra snapped himself out of the stupor he’d found himself trapped within, his startled gaze meeting the worried stares of both Chris and Buck-and Vin’s barely concealed amusement.

Bastard.

“Yes, thank you, Mister Wilmington,” Ezra straightened in his chair, feeling a flush tinge his cheeks, and a sick feeling twisting in his stomach. Dear God. He’d practically allowed Vin to manhandle him in front of a room full of people and, in truth, he’d have allowed him anything.

Ezra started shaking as he realized just how deep in this he was. He’d gotten sloppy. Somehow, somewhere he’d allowed a certain lower extremity to take over the thinking responsibilities for his entire person; something like that never yielded any kind of profits outside of eternal slumber.

Feeling his stomach twist even more he hurriedly stood, ignoring the now questioning look he could feel being directed at him from three separate sets of eyes.

“I am sorry gentlemen, but I find myself suddenly feeling a little worse for the wear. I shall see you all tomorrow.“ Tipping his hat he spun and walked away, only dimly hearing the good nights and well wishes his friends called out. Though he was all too aware of one set of blue eyes. Even as the distance between them lengthened, Ezra could feel the worry that had replaced the laughing teasing only moments earlier, and Ezra’s hands balled into fists as he resisted the urge to turn around and reassure them that all well.

His tryst with Mister Tanner was nothing more than a mutually beneficial situation. One which they had both promised was nothing more than the pleasurable sharing of the occasional hour or two. Only, the gambler was beginning to realize he’d made a grievous error. He’d come to crave the hidden touches and stolen moments more than he even craved the thrill of a con well played.

He’d finally earned his mistaken tag of a gambler. Only instead of cards he’d gambled with his heart and he was not prepared to lose it.

Not yet. Not ever.

He wouldn’t become one of those men who were strung up because their chosen nocturnal activities were considered taboo.

He hurried to his room, turning the lock as soon as the door had clicked shut and gathered his belongings.

He wasn’t a coward by any means. He was not running. He was simply choosing to curtail this rather uncharacteristically gallant behavior he had found himself engaged in. The idea that he was also leaving behind a man who he was rapidly categorizing as his lover rather than just another bed partner was ruthlessly squashed.

That Tanner always seemed so at ease…as though he didn’t truly care one way or another was not even a flicker of concern in his mind either. It was fortuitous that the tracker remained distant, that Vin remained true to the agreement they had originally made. And he was not upset by any means at this continued impartial behavior--

Damn.

Ezra refused to act like some foolish love struck adolescent. It had been a mutually beneficial agreement. It was his own fault that he‘d allowed himself to feel more.

In the end, he made his decision as he sat at his desk, pen poised. But the words would not flow. He found that when he’d tried to find the words to tell his friends about his imminent departure he was unable to articulate any feasible reasons for his hurried departure.

Half an hour later the sun had long since set and the town had settled down. Since Vin was slated to take the first shift at the jail to guard the jail‘s latest inmates. Ezra knew he would have enough time to make a clean escape.

Not that he was escaping. Admitting to escaping would be to admit that he was running. And Ezra Standish did not run; he gracefully bowed out before his welcome became worn out.

Oh, how his mother would be laughing. She’d always warned her baby boy that one day he would meet someone that would make him a fool. He should have known better than to ignore her. After all, she’d spoken from experience; the same thing had happened to her many years ago in the form of his dearly departed and much missed father.

~-~

Chris laughed at Buck’s antics, the corners of his eyes crinkling as the chortle worked its way out. It was good to hear Chris laugh like that. Catching Buck’s eyes, Vin nodded minutely. It had only been a bare three weeks since Chris’s wrongful incarceration, five since the happenings at Eagle Bend and their friend had been slow to smile since then. It was good to hear him laughing again.

Hell, his worry over Chris’ sudden increased surliness and his with-drawl from the entire group over the last few weeks had been the only reasons he’d held back from following after Ezra when he’d just about damn near fled the room. Vin had spoken to Buck for a good while the previous day about just how far Chris could with-drawl from everyone, how deep into a depression he could slip into, and they’d both agreed to keep a closer eye on him. Seemed like their reluctant leader was good though if that grin on his face was anything to go by.

The team couldn’t afford for anything more to happen to them, they were stretched enough as it was.

Everything was going to hell in a hand basket lately. And Vin didn’t know what to think about the fact that his worry over how Ezra had began growing distant lately topped even the list of all that was going wrong around town.

Vin was still astounded at just how quickly this thing between him and Ez had grown, it had started so little. Just a little companionship. Like sharing a blanket, sharing warmth on a cold night. Simple pleasure.

How quickly things became complicated.

How quickly he went from just wanting Ezra to needing him. He’d worked unsuccessfully on reigning in his attentions. A casual touch here, a lingering glance, standing just a little closer than usual for just a little longer than average.

Tonight was the closest he’d ever come to anything overt, anything that could have exposed this thing that was brewing between them.

Vin wasn’t too certain just how he felt about that either, he wasn’t used to losing control. Losing the ability to pull back and stop himself. It had just seemed like when he’d heard J.D. talking about the fight Ezra and Buck had found themselves in earlier, the fight where Ezra had been nearly injured, where a stray bullet had lodged itself into the masonry beside his head. Flying bullets was nothing’ new to any of them. Hell, it was part of the job description, only this time had been different. This time, Vin hadn’t been there making sure Ezra didn’t get hurt. Vin couldn’t remember exactly, but he was pretty certain he’d left J.D. telling the story. Vin couldn’t quite recall though, the only thing he could recollect exactly was the need to find the gambler. Good thing Nathan had agreed to take his shift over at the jail earlier this morning. Vin was pretty certain he wouldn’t have been able to stay confined inside those brick walls and not be tempted to do something a bit more drastic than was prudent.

Not that he seemed to be acting with his head firmly on his shoulders at the moment given how he’d just started attacking Ez under the table.

He hadn’t meant to start groping him. At least not till they had both retired for the night. It was just that walking into the bar, seeing Ezra sitting there, a slight grin pulling at the corner of his lips, just playing a simple game of solitaire….

The need to touch him had been so palpable it had almost been another being entirely. It’d carried him through the door, slinking around the bar so he could sneak up on the gambler, draw close enough to reassure himself that Ezra was perfectly okay, and all he’d planned on doing was just to sit down and be close to Ezra.

Wasn’t his fault that Ez had looked so calm and peaceful just sitting there. So alive, so contained, and just for a moment, he’d wanted to see Ezra lose a bit his composure. He wanted to see that spirit that Ezra hid away so desperately from the world in fear of betrayal. All he’d had to do was reach out a hand and just touch him.

Before he’d been able to do anything really, Buck and Chris had come in. The lanky cowboy had been retelling their earlier exploits, bringing Vin’s gut back into a roil as he thought about how easy it would have been for just one stray bullet to have taken away Ez. He’d been smiling and making all the appropriate noises just to keep attention away from the hand that was shaking while his other wandered up and down Ezra’s thigh in silent reassurance that the southern was still sitting beside him, still completely well.

And then Ezra had stood and walked out, a shaken look on his face ‘bout damn near matching the way Vin was feeling inside. Vin was still kicking himself about not going after him. From the look that had been in those green eyes, something was off. But Chris was his friend. Almost like a brother, and this was the first night in a long few weeks that he’d been more like himself.

“Josiah!” Buck’s voice cut through Vin’s thoughts. “Come on and have a seat.”

The preacher smiled, shaking his head. “Thank you, but no, I was merely hoping to catch Ezra and return this to him.” In his hand was clasped a small and well worn book. Vin recognized it only because Ezra had read him small excerpts one night, the Illiad.

“Just missed him, think he went up to his room,” Chris said, tossing his head towards the direction the gambler had retreated. Something about Chris’s tone snagged Vin’s attention and he glanced back at his friend, his heart taking a dive as he saw the pack of cards Chris was staring at thoughtfully. Hazel eyes rose to meet his and Vin looked away, clearing his throat. Sometimes, this bond with Chris could be right pain. ‘Specially when he seemed to be able to read him this easy.

Damn.

Vin had seen the same worry in Chris’ eyes. Those were Ezra’s cards. There was an ace in there with a bullet hole from the village that first week they’d banded together and Vin had never seen Ezra leave that particular deck out of his sight.

Vin started to rise, hand reaching for the deck when Josiah beat him to it. “Why, I do believe this is Ezra’s deck.” Vin forced himself to relax back into the chair. Ezra didn’t want nobody to find out about them, and Vin had a feeling that if he wrestled Josiah for the cards and went charging off the others would get a mite suspicious about what was going on. Not that Chris didn’t seem to have an inkling already. “I’ll just take these with me then,” Josiah nodded again and departed; a serene smile on his face as he ambled up the stairs.

Vin turned half a ear towards Chris and Buck, not really paying attention to what they were saying, his gaze fixed upon a stain on the otherwise pristine tablecloth and carefully avoided Chris’s probing gaze.

There were going to be questions now. Vin just knew it.

Couldn’t quite say he cared though at the moment, his mind was more troubled by all the little signs he was starting to see when Josiah returned a few moments later with his hands still encumbered by the deck of cards and book, as well as one more item. Laying rumpled against the leather cover was also a plain piece of paper with what looked like the religious man’s name written boldly across the front in Ezra’s florid hand-writing.

~-~

Link to Chapter One: http://heathenseyes.livejournal.com/3052.html#cutid1

Not Alone- Magnificent Seven

2008-07-14T06:14:35Z

Disclaimer: I own none of it.

Parirings: None

Spoilers: Some spoilers for season one of the Magnificent Seven.

Summary: When Chris is wrongly thrown in jail he can't help but think of days gone by when he was used to relying on only himself, when he didn't have the team to rely on, and he can't help but wonder if it was better, but even as he wonders, he can't help but miss the men he thinks of as friends and brothers. As for the team...they are frantically searching for their friend and leader, unwilling to rest till they have brought him back.

Gambling Is Never A Good Idea

2008-07-14T02:56:14Z

Title: Gambling Is Never A Good Idea(part 1/?)

Parings: Ezra/Vin

Warnings: Slash obviously

Spoilers: None really

Summary: Ezra realizes that he's gambled with the only thing that was ever his, his heart. Unwililng to accept the fact that his heart was already lost, his does what he's always done, he moves onto the next con. Now it's up to him to realize whether he's strong enough to take a chance and Vin if he's willing to fight for the errant conman.

Disclaimer: I don't own, but I wish I did own Michael Biehn. *drool*

Notes: Unbeta'ed. Sorry. My beta does not read slash and so I have to struggle on my own. This is for Pol and will hopefully spur her muse into action. *pointed stare*

Hope y'all enjoy!!!!!!!!

~~--~~

Ezra Standish had always been a man of words. Abandoned by his mother at the house of every aunt and uncle across the country for most of his formative years the only constant companions he’d ever found were the books his father had once read to him, a small collection assuredly, the pages often dog-eared, and well worn as the years passed on. The only one that had survived till now was currently sitting on the table beside his bed, a place where it had lain for over a month since his mother had picked it up and perused the pages while she‘d waited for him during her most unexpected of visits.

He’d read all of the others until they’d fallen apart, page by page, till there was no hope of holding them together any longer; he’d loved each and every one of them, even now he could recall almost word for word each and every book his father had left him. They had been wonderful tales, always light-hearted and tended to convey some moral or another.

In those pages he found families who were always there for one another, he found mothers who cared more for their child than for just another prop in just another con, he found fathers who didn’t leave their families. In books he found what he’d always wanted, a happy ending.

A happy ending. Oh, the nights he had spent dreaming away in foreign beds that he’d never quite been comfortable in, that his mother would just majestically reappear on the doorstep of whatever unfortunate person she’d lobbed him off on; not for just another job, but because she’d truly wanted him.

Needless to say, such an event never occurred. Not that he hadn’t spent more than a few years harboring that secret desire, however, as he had grown older life had shown him on more than one occasion that fairy tale endings were nothing more than just works of an imaginative mind.

The dreams spawned by fanciful printed pages were whittled away slowly until only the love of words remained and childhood illusions were left in the dirt of one backwater town after another till he’d felt far older than his still considerably tenderly numbered years of existence.

Not that he’d ever tell anyone his true age. He sometimes wondered if his mother could even recall it, she’d changed it so often over the years, he’d gained and lost years as a snake would shed it’s skin. Whatever age the scam required him to be, that was what age he’d be assigned so long as he could convincingly portray it. And it wasn’t as though it had been all to hard of a stretch to cast the illusion of age. No one normally assumed that he was in truth as young as he was.

Most assumed he was older, as was his intent. The less people knew about him the better. He had spent most of his life carving out several different personas, each guise an escape from getting close to anyone. After all, it never really paid to get to accustomed to the person who he’d either have to abandon when the job was finished or else was the intended target, and he’d learned early in the game to never fall for the mark. Oh, he’d definitely learned that lesson. Most painfully in truth.

Growing up, he’d been surprised how easily some people could be fooled.

Lower the voice just enough, talk a little slower, enunciate the words just that little bit more, perhaps speak with a slightly thicker accent than he really possessed, and slip in occasionally the words he‘d devoured from dictionaries years ago….

It was amazing how people just added on the years in their mental calculations when first meeting him and he didn’t often give them the opportunity to find out how off the mark they ever were, didn‘t really make sense to allow people to realize how led astray they‘d been. If he could help it, he preferred his targets never to realize the depth of his duplicity, not when he’d probably want to pass through the same town again at some point in his life.

Words. Words were his true trick of the trade. They served him better than any other parlor trick he’d ever learned.

They gave him the air of an education he’d never actually had, any person would have thought him to have gone through the finest schools, he’d never met any one who had even come close to the truth, that he was almost entirely self-taught. His father once long ago had taught his little boy to read and from there Ezra had taken the reigns of his learning, teaching himself everything he could from arithmetic to accounting to even the care of animals, little things that when his mother fully turned her attention to teaching him the ‘trade’ as she called it, he had all these useful little tid-bits of knowledge tucked away to use in a most interesting variety of cons. What he hadn’t been able to teach himself, he’d learned from anyone willing to teach him.

Ezra sometimes wondered what he could have become had he been able to attend a formal school. He’d wondered about this often over the years as he drifted from town to town, always seeking something that he’d never been able to find. What a surprise that had been. To discover that his life wasn’t quite the game he’d come to believe it was. Reality was quite a harsh mistress when it wanted to be, which was more often than not. She was also quite a sneaky lady too. More capricious than even Lady Luck.

She’d come a calling at a most inconvenient time, he’d been quite happy just drifting from town to town, never letting anything in, never getting to close. He’d just been going with the flow until all the little things he’d always been missing and had never allowed himself to dwell upon had all suddenly sprang upon him in the most confounding appearance of six rather interesting individuals. Heroes all, just the type of men he normally ignored.

It had been almost as though Providence had smiled down upon him in the form of a nearly foiled con.

Drunkards, though highly amusing, were not always the best of men to attempt to gyp. Easy targets to be sure, however Ezra could attest to how quickly laughter could turn to sullen anger. Not that he hadn’t been prepared for certain eventualities. He had been. As he had told Larabee, he didn’t gamble. He abhorred the thought of leaving the choice up to fate and chose instead to only go after the sure thing.

Accepting Larabee’s offer for work had most certainly not been a sure thing.

He still wasn’t certain why he rode out with those men for the promise of a paltry five dollars. Five dollars which he had never seen. Not that he cared about such an insignificant amount of money, not when he could raise more than that in five minutes of honest work. Hmm…honest for him at any rate.

A gust of wind rattled the shutters of his room, causing them to knock against the window sharply, the loud knock echoing through the room and reverberating through out his entire body. Startled his hand dropped the quill it had been holding and the wrist gun was already snapped from it’s place of concealment between one moment and the next.

It hardly took a genius to ascertain that he was more than slightly skittish. This was why he didn’t allow himself to become to involved. He lost control. He couldn’t concentrate. And he was literally a bundle of nerves. He didn’t even remember this uneasy when he was a gangling youth. Not that he’d actually allowed himself to publicly endure the rigors of his teen years.

Cultivating a personality took years. And a sure way to destroy a life-time of work was letting someone in close enough that they could see the holes in his façade.

His mother had been right when she’d told him years ago that loving some one was a sure ticket to death’s door. She’d told him on more than one occasion the particulars of her meeting with his own father. Even his father had once upon a time told him of the dubiously happy occasion. Looking back, Ezra felt a little part twist inside of him, his mother hadn’t talked about that first meeting for a great many years. That con she’d slipped up and had to head out of town two steps ahead of a posse. His mother had always been ambitious, she’d never even thought that there was some one out there who could have made her think twice about living the kind of life she’d led. She’d certainly never intended to meet him working as a buss-boy at the very hotel where not only had she been staying but also where her target had resided. His parents had never given him all of the particulars of that little jaunt, such as just exactly what con she had been pulling, but they had both waxed on about how his father had caught her on the road out of town exactly ten minutes after she’d hightailed it out of there, smirking proudly because he’d cut all of the saddle harnesses on the horses belonging to the group gathering to ride after her.

His mother had never spoken of her husband after he’d died, it wasn’t even a month after his death from fever that she’d taken Ezra out on the road with her, leaving behind their modest little home and all the memories it had held.

He wouldn’t use the word coward for her abandonment of his childhood home. Now he only to well understood the pain that came with leaving behind everything that had ever matter, with losing the only person ever capable of penetrating their erstwhile defenses.

Only this time it was different. His mother had lost her husband to fever. She had precious years of memories to look back upon. He had a bare two months to recall, most of which spent in fear of discovery, and he hadn’t lost his love. He was fleeing it instead.

He felt like a fool. And a coward.

Cowardice was certainly a new feeling for him. Until today, the thought of a yellow streak running through him never even entered his mind. Even when he had been leaving a town with a certain amount of haste that was perhaps more than usual, he hadn’t been running away from something. He’d always figured it was more like he was running towards something better, new friends that had yet to experience his God given talents.

That and he’d much rather live to see another day than to stand and fight against innumerable odds. It had in fact been a steadfast belief he’d carried with him from one end of the country to another for most of his life since he’d been on his own at the tender age of sixteen; an age when he’d been too old to be the adorable child his mother had needed for a number of the more lucrative jobs and too young to act as a partner in several others.

He’d been too old to be lobbed off on people who owed his mother favors and just young enough that he could still be easily disillusioned when faced with the harsh reality that had awaited him; he’d never realized until then just how much his mother had protected him against.

Looking back, he felt as thought most of his life had been spent evading one thing or another, just ahead of the law or just ahead of the men who thought he’d cheated them when he’d done nothing more than play at the fullest(and in some instances not even close to the full extent) of his abilities.

A wry smile twisted his lips. If only he’d known what a gamble he’d been taking when he’d first initiated this little diversion.

He’d messed up everything quite spectacularly. All of his wit had fled him, all his bravado, all of his charm and ease. Even his words had fled.

Words made everything easier, they were his only friend’s, his truest gift, and discovering himself bereft of them when needed was a very unexpected blow against which he had no protection.

He had never found himself so tongue-tied as he had these last few months. It had taken a while before he’d realized that it came more and more often in the presence of one particular individual. One Mister Vin Tanner.

A truly frustrating discovery indeed.

His mother would be laughing at him now if she could see her son. Sitting in front of a piece of paper, quill poised above the parchment, just trying to wait for the words to flow from him, and sitting here completely unable to even put the words into writing.

Hell fires.

The man had made him addle minded, even now, sitting there and preparing to depart, all he could think of were those lips and that damnable smile.

His mother wouldn’t be the only one laughing, the specter of himself from a year ago would have been chortling silently as well.

Ezra Standish was in love. Complete and absolute. And he was miserable.

A conman who fell in love tended to be short lived. Love made a person foolish, it made them sloppy, it made them forget the most golden rule; trust no one, especially your partner. It had been the reason his mother had retired from the game during her marriage to his father. She’d known she wouldn’t have been able to keep up the images she’d have needed too. For a few short years, his mother had lived an ordinary life; something Ezra knew he could never have.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

A part of his mind reviled at the use of such coarse language even if none of it had been spoken aloud. He was a gentleman first and foremost, a true southern boy even if he was trapped in this hellish back water town.

Trapped. But not for much longer.

He couldn’t keep this up, losing himself bit by bit, day by day. Not when he was certain that he was most assuredly alone in the more emotionally vulnerable portion of this relationship. He’d gambled and now it looked like he was losing, seemed about time to cut and run.

He would ignore the little voice in his head that was chanting what a unmitigated ass he was being and how the degree of his cowardice was increasing. Perhaps it wouldn’t be chanting quite so loudly if he were at the very least leaving the yet to be written letter for the person who it truly concerned. However, since he was also in this endeavor, it wouldn’t matter who it was addressed to. He was after all just a passing fancy. Some one to simply warm the blankets of a certain tracker.

Well, no more. Dipping the quill into the ink, he wrote quickly, the words finally flowing from him onto the paper as he tried to explain just why he was disappearing without a spoken word to them. There was a whole world just waiting for the pleasure of his dubious company. Plus, he had a feeling that the sooner he was out of Four Corners, the sooner he could return to his pervious life of a blessedly blithe existence.

Carefully, he laid the pen aside, watched silently as the ink dried, and then gently folded the paper. In flourished letters, he addressed the letter to the one man he knew would probably understand, and ignored just how much he wanted to write another man’s name in the place of Josiah’s. Vin would be fine. He’d just keep going as he was, floating through life in the life he loved. Ezra ignored just how much it hurt to think that he would no longer be a part of that life.

~~--~~

Link to http://heathenseyes.livejournal.com/3402.html#cutid1 chapter two

Hard Trails Ahead- Mag7

2008-07-08T21:53:10Z

Title: Hard Trails Ahead
Spoilers: Some for season one I suppose, but not really.
Summary: Trails and tribulations, every step ahead is just as hard as the last.
Pairings: None really. It could be kinda slashy if you squint and tilt your head sideways I suppose.
First attempt at a Mag7 vid. Hope it is okay. Lemme know, eh?

By the way, this one is for Polgara who totally got me hooked onto both the Magnificent Seven and Kasey Chambers. *hugs*

Confusing Realities: Doctor / Master

2008-06-29T23:14:48Z

I had a couple of hours and after talking to a friend of mine about some possibilities for a Doctor/Master story, I got to thinking...and this is what happens apparently. LOL.

Hope y'all enjoy!!!!!

Disclaimer: None of it is mine!!!!!!

The Other Sister: Chapter One

2008-06-10T01:40:28Z

Title:The Other Sister

Pairings: To many to really put down....

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I own nothing of SG1 or of BtVS, although I would like to own Michael Shanks, I would be such a happy girl. LOL.

Summary: The Goa'uld threat is spreading rapidly, feeling a bit outgunned, SGC starts looking to increase it defenses from home. The Initiative is willing to drop a name for a price; but what happens when it is Sam's sister? Response to the Problem Child Challenge over on Twisting the Hellmouth.

Author's Note: I wanted to start pasting my other fics on LJ, this one is in the works of getting a brand new spanking chapter added fairly soon to it. Hopefully. Luckily, I have seven chapter to post up on here before I need to post the unfinished eighth chapter(which hopefully by then it will be finished). Any who, enjoy!!! P.S.-For those who have watched Stargate, this is during season three and for Buffy this is post season seven. *hugs*

~~--~~

Kawalsky leaned back in his chair, laughing at the thunderstruck expression on his friend's face.

"I did what?" Two air men that had been walking past shot the Colonel startled glances at his incredulous tone.

The major smirked.

"Oh yeah; General Orlando never even knew who flew them on the flag pole. It was there half a day just waving in the wind outside of his office. Hell, he threatened the entire base with a court martial if no one came forward. Two weeks later he was transferred."

Jack shook his head. He remembered thinking about it, sure, and who hadn't?

The general had been an ass in more than one way. But he'd never acted on the impulse, even after he had learned about the heart-spotted boxers that the general was rumored to have owned.

Great!

His alternate from the other reality had not only been happily married, but he'd also flown a general's undies on a flag pole. Damn, he'd have to top that somehow.

"I recognize that gleam," Kawalsky said, a hint of a smile on his face. The Major burst out with a loud laugh at the 'who, me?' look that Jack gave him, nearly tipping back his chair.

"So what about you, Kawalsky? What happened?" Jack had almost called him Charlie, but had stopped himself, just barely. For a moment the Colonel had to remind himself that his Charlie, the man after whom he had named his own son was dead, and even though this was Charles Kawalsky, it wasn't Charlie Kawalsky. The realization hurt, even more than he would ever be willing to admit. Just another person the Colonel had failed to save and the man sitting in front of him was another bitter sweet reminder of the friend he had lost.

And even with the little voice reminding him that this wasn't his Charlie, another spoke just as calmly that no matter what, it was Charlie, just slightly different from the one he had known.

A little voice in Jack's head calmly pointed out that this wasn't Charlie, that it was a double from another reality, and, luckily, Jack was really good at ignoring the little voices in his head. After all, these were the same little voices, which were more then a little prudish, that had been the reason he hadn't flown those boxers in the first place in his own reality.

A shadow passed over his friend's face, the smile faltering, and Jack regretted the question. "Listen, you don't have to--"

Kawalsky shook his head. "No, it's okay. I got engaged. About four years ago. To a cheerleader, if you can believe it."

"A cheerleader?!?"

"Yeah, a cheerleader. Well, she was one in high school, anyway. I met her the summer she came and visited Sammy and... her husband. It was love at first sight. She was...incredible."

Kawalsky fell silent, his eyes darkening with the memories.

"She died less then a year after we were married, exactly fourteen months after we had met. It was before the damn snakes even started attacking. She and her wh-partner were attacked coming back from a...a stakeout. They had been left for dead. By the time I got to the hospital, her partner had died and she had been nearly bled dry. The damage was too bad. They tried to save her though, they really did, but the damage was too much." Kawalsky stopped, unshed tears gathering in his eyes. Jack remained quiet, watching as the other man shut his eyes, his throat moving as he fought against his emotions. They remained in silence for several moments until the Major finally opened his eyes, the pain lessened, but still shining brightly from the brown depths. "I'd always expected me to be the one who died first. I'd never thought she'd leave me behind instead, she was even better than yo-than General O'Neill about getting out of tight spots. Doctor said she had been askin' for me when I got there. Said she was just holdin' on. They hadn't even told her that Merrick was dead, they were too afraid that she would die right then and there if they did. It was the hardest thing I had ever done before, walking into that room. She was hooked up to so many damned machines. But she woke up when I picked up her hand, she smiled at me, and then she died. I would've lost it, if it hadn't been for you and Sammy."

Jack heard the slip as the man said 'you' and not the General or John and his heart squeezed painfully. "She was a cop?" He asked softly.

Kawalsky smiled sadly. "Yeah, buddy, something like that."

Straightening up, Kawalsky leaned onto the table top, worry etching his face. "Sammy's gonna be okay, right? I mean, once they figure something out? I know what the doc said, but still..."

"Don't worry, she'll be fine. Between the two of them, I'm sure they will come up with something." There was a pause as Jack was trying to figure out how to ask the next question. "You really care for her, don't you? You never even really knew her in this reality."

"Yeah, she's the only thing I have left of Beth."

Jack raised an eyebrow at the statement.

"Beth, she was my wife. I promised her before she died that I'd always take care of her sister. It's the one promise that I intend to keep."

"Sister? You mean Carter had a sister?"

Kawalsky looked a little surprised at the question. "Well, yeah; it was always a joke between us, about the two of them marrying into the military. Huh, I guess she didn't exist in this reality. Too bad, Jack, you would have loved her."

The two continued to talk for hours, catching up on a lifetime that they hadn't shared, each pretending that it was their old friend who was sitting before them. Each one pretending that, for the night, their ghosts didn't exist. Remembering happier times that seemed -- now, more then ever -- to be so far away.

~~--~~

Mistaken Assumptions (2 of ?)

2008-05-26T02:58:04Z

Title: Mistaken Assumptions
Pairings: Eventual Casey/Chuck, hints of prior Bryce/Chuck
Rating: PG-13 for now, will be bumped up eventually
Warning: Language(it is PG-13 for a reason), slight spoilers for season 1, besides that-no, none really.
Disclaimer: I own nothing!!!!!
Summary: Life was never simple for Chuck and, as the past year had shown, it liked to throw curve balls; to bad Chuck always sucked at sports. Now, Chuck's cover is blown...just not the way he thought it would be. Casey and Chuck find themselves forced an interesting situation, only pretending just isn't what it used to be these days and these pesky little truths start to emerge....
Author's Note: All mistakes are mine, this is being posted non-beta approved. Sorry, if you spot anything glaringly horrible, please point it out and I will fix it. If there is anyone willing to Beta drop me a line, I am terrible with grammar and...pretty much anything dealing with punctuations and all that jazz. LOL. Let me know what y'all think. Hope y'all like.

Link:

~-~
Chapter Two: I Want Casey...Gah!! Not Like That!!!
~-~

Chuck had discovered a couple of things over the past year. Both discoveries had been made from a series of near death experiences and both were little tidbits he would never have ever found out had been able to continue on in blessed ignorance of the government's top secret...secrets.

The first was that, all boyhood fantasies aside, he wasn't cut out for anything more than a vanilla type of life. Too many things stood in the way of him actually enjoying anything more adrenaline based, unlike other people he could name Chuck didn't thrive on a life centered around a string of experiences that spelled out eventual disaster.

The other was that in certain situations, like the one he was currently in, his mind did not reach that peaceful plateau that he'd heard others did when faced with the realization of their own mortality. His mind was different. His mind, it seemed, decided to go into overdrive and turned into the tower of babble.

Like it was at the moment.

Currently, his thoughts were flying through his mind so rapidly he couldn’t keep them in any kind of order, they were like a jumbled jigsaw; one he was pretty certain was missing more than a few pieces.

The general gist was pretty simple though and it mainly centered on one very specific thought that he'd already been turning over and over in his mind since the whole race for survival had commenced a few short minutes ago; today sucked.

There were no ifs, ands, or buts. It just sucked. Period.

Oh, sure, he'd had other days that had sucked pretty spectacularly since before today. Plenty. Most of them even included situations like the one he was currently faced with where he was literally running for his life.

Those days had one thing going for them that today just didn’t have. He'd already survived those days. At the moment he was hoping he'd have the chance to look back on today with the same sort of terrified horror that he viewed the others with. If he wasn’t that lucky....

Well, he was an eternal optimist. The good news would be that he’d never remember any of this if he didn‘t survive. Of course, because he had been in Casey's continued company for a year now and if there was one thing the man was not it was optimistic his mind felt the need to point out the downside. The bad news would be that he'd be dead. The permanent kind of dead too. He really doubted fate would allow him to pull a Bryce Larkin and rise from the dead; Intersect or no.

Today was the kind of day that he should have called in sick and stayed home. He should have pulled the covers over his head and hidden.

He should have waved a little white flag outside of his window and posted a sign on his bedroom door that said 'sorry, but the Intersect cannot come outside and play today, call again next year'.

And had he? No; he hadn't. What had he done? He'd gone, gotten up, got dressed, and went to work because they had been all of the perfectly logical things to do. Wake up, try to live his life, and pretend that there wasn't a super computer in his head.

Just another day- or so it had seemed.

Damned deceptive bad days. They had to be taking lessons in stealth from Casey. Heck, if they were, the bad days were getting really proficient. He'd made it through half of the day before he'd even gotten a single hint as to just how royally screwed he was.

Pick any action flick hero and they’d be laughing at him right now. With their burly, or at the very least well toned muscles, and often debonair attitudes they’d make mince meat of the scary henchmen who were fool enough to pick a fight with them.

For Chuck, that just wasn’t in the cards. Bad guys with guns were chasing him and he could only try to run a little faster and hope like hell his lungs didn’t explode. He was a nerd, not a long distance runner, and he really wasn’t cut out for attempting it. Of course, it was either run or die. Not a hard choice there.

Man. This whole double life thing was a pain in the ass. Life of mystery; the spies could keep it.

Saving the world on a weekly basis was a tiring job. Perhaps a little more so for him because he'd never wanted anything like this.

Sure, the excitement could be kind of fun in a terrifying oh-my-God-I-am-going-to-die kind of way, but he was happier to just veg out and watch infomercials. At least late night TV, while being slightly hypnotic, wasn't going to put a rather possible and messy end to his life…just his bank account.

Long legs and reasonable speed aside, he was plagued by an inherent clumsiness that forewarned of painful falls even walking just across a deserted parking lot when not fleeing for his life. In fact, it wasn’t just running that he was really unsuitable for.

There was another pretty important issue that kept cropping up too; a really important issue that had turned his entire world upside down over the last year; being what equated to a hard-drive cover for a super computer's memory wasn't a job he was not really cut out for.

He just couldn't do the whole spy thing because of one very key little piece of detail. The few times Chuck had been forced into the field each and every time either his life or freedom came into question and he'd never been a particularly lucky person in the first place.

He was getting an ulcer just waiting for his current run of luck to come to an end. Of course that event would probably also be the end him as well.

Boy.

Note to self, try not to get into life-endangering situations because of possible moroseness.

It wasn't that he wouldn't try to keep plodding on or that he was giving up because surviving really did win out over death, he just didn't want the kind of life that went along with being what equated to a hard dive cover for the internal memory of the government’s super-computer.

He liked being normal. After all, an average person tended to have a longer life expectancy than...oh, say a person whose life revolved around espionage and came in contact with a variety of people whose first priority was survival at all costs.

It could even be said that normality had been his life long goal; sadly, the whole super computer currently residing in his noggin had kind of thrown him off track.

Since last year, the couple of times he'd tried for some semblance of actual normality had ended in disaster...and bruising of mind, body, and ego, good thing he had plenty to spare. Of ego at least. He didn't really need it after all. He needed his body and mind more or less intact though.

...It wasn't like last year had been all bad.

He was even happy with his life over all; the font of eternal optimism that had survived being a nerd for most of his life had ensured the capability to even manage an unflaggingly buoyant attitude even when faced with possible death, dismemberment, defenestration, or being locked into a padded cell for the rest of his life.

Plus, denial was a wonderful thing.

As long as he had Ellie in his life, he kept that tiny anchor to the life he'd once had. His sister was that tie that kept him grounded. Awesome too come to think of it....

Then there was Morgan, though Morgan rarely came without Anna these days, Casey(as scary as that was), Sarah....

In some strange and disturbing way, his family had grown and strengthened over the past year. Chuck couldn't really imagine losing any of them, even Casey and Sarah who he knew basically nothing about.

Together the seven of them had spent an interesting Thanksgiving, a painful Christmas, Easter had been scary and hopefully something he’d never repeat, Sarah had been initiated into the Mother’s Day Club, the Fourth of July he was still trying to block out of his memory…huh, that was pretty much every major holiday.

Wow, there were a lot of really sucky days to look back on.

Huh. Each of these past scarily hectic days would have been easier, perhaps, if he'd been more adept at handling incredibly volatile situations. Or, if he were some kick-ass superhero.

Too bad being tough had never really been his kind of thing. He'd excelled more at the avoidance of needing to be anything more than unassumingly meek, like a perpetual Clark Kent without all the superpowers.And, no, he wasn't counting the super-computer currently residing in his brain as a super power.

It was more of a super-hindrance.

One that tended to put him into more trouble than it saved him from and on the few occasions the data currently tucked away inside of his head did provide some crucial bit of intel which went a long way in providing for his continued existence, that only happened after it had put him in the hot seat in the first place. Like today.

Over the past year, Chuck had run into a lot more bad guys than he had ever wanted too.

After a certain point, Chuck began realizing that the bad guys really did fall into two types of categories. For once it seemed, the movies really did get it right.

The first category was the garden variety bad guy. These guys just wanted to kill him, they didn't care if his government was spending ridiculous amounts of money to keep him safe, they just wanted his life ended. Period. Some times, like now for instance, there wasn't really any particular reason, the bad guys just assumed he knew enough to be a danger. Boy, if only the knew. Granted, if they did know then they would fall into the second category. In that category was the people who wanted to use him(or his mind, whatever, they were a package deal) for their own various reasons. Loathe as he was to admit it, he was kind of clumping the government into this category as well. They were the good guys yes, but they were also using him because of the information bouncing around inside of his head. He didn't blame the government, the Intersect was their baby after all, and he could have handled it pretty well if not for the ever present threat that at any moment the head honchos may decide that he needs to go underground, for his own safety of course.

Come to think of it, even then it wouldn’t be too bad if his own government was the only worry he had. The threat of his own government screwing him over was almost kind of normal, after all, that’s what taxes were all about, this was just another level. However, they weren't his only worry. And at the end of the day, they weren't even his largest worry.

His largest worry was the other guys, the ones like Fulcrum who wanted him in their custody so they could use the data for their own nefarious purposes.

Huh, both really had the same agenda ultimately. Own the Intersect at all costs and a cell was a cell, no matter how state-of-the-art the amenities were....

Hmm. Come to think of it, Chuck wasn't quite certain which kind of baddie was worse. It was kind of like choosing what lay behind door number one or door number two. Only in this instance the choices were a little more extreme than basic cable TV game shows. Chuck go the choices where he could either go with being killed or being locked into a cell for the rest of his life with the probability of torture thrown in.

Wow. Choices, choices.

Of course, his government hadn't threatened him with various types of torture and, no, he wasn't counting Casey's constant threats to his person as coming from good old Uncle Sam. Casey was different. That was just because Chuck somehow managed to annoy the NSA agent even when he wasn't trying. Besides, if Casey wanted him dead, Chuck knew he'd be dead before he even got the slightest inkling.

Eeeiiieeeeeekkkkkk....

Best not to think about that. He was already nervous about surviving this, he didn't need to start worrying about Casey killing him too.

Of course, if he didn't survive today, this entire debate would be left unsettled since the people currently after him weren‘t worried about his continued good health. They just wanted to put a bullet between his eyes.

In a new twist of fate that was funny in a strange and slightly fascinating way, these guys were actually kind of original. They wanted to kill him because he knew Sarah.

Guilt by association.

That was a new one. Chuck didn’t think he liked this new threat either, it sucked. Kind of like today. At least there was a trend. Everything sucked.

He was pretty certain he'd lost them. There hadn't been any close calls for a couple of minutes now. The sweat pouring off of his forehead was just about to blind him because of the stinging pain it caused.

Sweat + Eyes = Owww and not being able to accurately see where he was going would probably cause him to run smack dab into one of the people he was trying to avoid.

Spotting a trash can he dove behind it, crouching down as low as he could go while attempting to fold in on himself. No small feat for a person made up primarily of legs and arms. He felt a little like a giant praying mantis hiding from a particularly scary bird. Seconds ticked by and he'd gotten nothing more than a curious look from a jogger.

California. You had to love it. There was no other place in the USA where a guy could be hiding behind a trash-can and there be nothing out of the ordinary about it...except maybe Washington DC. Chuck was willing to bet that everyone probably assumed he and the guys chasing him were playing some kind of laser tag with incredibly realistic looking guns. Damn silencers.

Chuck was rapidly also discovering that he couldn't accurately tell how deeply in the doo-doo he was currently since in order to that he would have to actually peek his head over the garbage-can his was currently hiding behind. That would require him moving and at the moment he wasn't certain whether that was even possible.

When he'd ducked behind the garbage-can he'd just been worried about finding something large enough he could hide behind.

What he should have perhaps taken into consideration was the fact that he'd already almost lost the contents of his stomach earlier thanks to all those lovely pictures the NSA and CIA had thoughtfully gathered for El Carnicero. Since he hadn’t taken that into consideration the ice-cream he'd eaten earlier had settled firmly in his throat and he was pretty certain that it was just waiting for any excuse to jump the boat as soon as it could. It was summer after all and the trash receptacle was pretty full of all kinds of rotting bits of food and…oh, god….

Okay.

Not going down that road. It would make him hurl just as quickly as moving would. Of course, if he moved he could see if he managed to evade the bog scary guys with guns.

Hmmm. Lose his lunch or see if he were still in danger....

The choices he was presented with. The conclusion was quickly made for him when a metallic sound rang out just a little too close. His stomach made a quick decision that it would like to survive long enough to expunge itself again at some point and politely allowed movement.

Chuck lunged forwards upwards, hurtling over the very full garbage can, completely ignoring the gross squish he felt as his hand pressed against something, and then he was running before his feet even hit the grass.

Distantly he heard shots ring out one more and then more shouting. He still couldn't understand what the hell they were saying. Man. He missed the bad guys that spoke English. At least those he could understand.

He broke through the line of trees, hearing the shouting growing closer and thankfully devoid of any more bullets.

Bad guys were gaining but not shooting at the moment. He could live with that. In fact, he felt his chances of survival doubling. Sure, there were other ways they could kill him, a really big variety of ways even that didn’t require bullets, however, Chuck was lean and squirrelly, all he needed to do was avoid them long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

The cavalry. Uh-oh.

While his brain had been calculating his chances of continued existence, it was also began to process through that this could possibly another one of those times that he would have to save himself. If that were the case he was really screwed.

His chest was burning, there was a really painful stitch in his side, his lungs were threatening to go on strike if they didn’t receive some air soon, and his left leg was cramping enough that his entire leg was spasming. At the moment, he didn’t think he could manage anymore running, maybe a painful limp….

He'd already done his frantic running earlier, it was unfair they were making him do it again. That’s it. After this he was going to implement a strict no frantic running policy. He had handlers. That was supposed to be what they were for, making sure he didn't have to run around like a chicken without a head.

And boy, this would be an incredibly opportune time for one of his handlers to come to the rescue. He’d take either one. He wasn't picky and they normally had the whole last minute rescue thing down pat. It had already reached the point that Chuck was pretty certain it couldn't get much more late minute than this.

Crap. His brain was still in the ’they’ mode. They as in Casey and Sarah. Huh. Guess he was a bit too used to the whole package deal part, it wasn’t often he saw one with out the other and it was even rarer for either of them to be with out him. Today really, really, really sucked.

Casey was probably still off somewhere playing installer and unless Casey had magically managed some sort of Chuck Danger Radar, he probably wasn’t going to show.

Chuck had just been with Sarah earlier, he guessed that he’d just have to settle for her coming to the rescue. Crap. He was picky. Not that he wanted to sound ungrateful or that he had any sort of objection to her rushing in like the really hot spy she, capable of performing any incredible feat she wanted whether it be making a delicious soufflé or killing a syndicate of international super-spies.

She was great. She was wonderful. She was even more than just a little scary when he stopped to think about all the ways she could kill him. Not that he thought about that often.

….

Or at least too often.

Sadly, there were a couple of small, almost infinitesimal problems standing between him and her performing some sort of heroic rescue.

One, there were extremely huge guys chasing after him, one of which he recognized from early as having been fighting with Sarah when she’d told him to run, just the fact that he was chasing after him now was pretty bad and slightly terrifying news. The second thing was that he had absolutely no idea where she was.

The best thing he could guess was that she was somewhere still in the park, hopefully still alive. He really hoped she was still alive. He might not be in love with her, but he still loved her…kind of like Ellie.

Dear God. His love life was doomed. First there was Jill, then there was…that other collage experience that he was still pretending never happened, then Sarah, and Lou, and Sarah again. He was destined to be eternally unlucky in the love department.

Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap. He wanted to go home. He wanted Casey here.

Chuck’s mind blanked out for a moment there. Backtracking to the comment it had just formulated, it paused, and then screamed in slight terror when it linked the love life comment to Casey.

Mentally he shrieked. Externally he heard a little whimper that was slightly high pitched and Chuck was denying that it had come out of his mouth.

He didn’t want Casey to do anything at all ever with his love life. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought; Casey was scary, Casey was mean, Casey would break his neck like a twig.

Wow.

Was this a bad time for his thoughts to go south. He’d never even thought of Casey that way, it must be the whole no sex for four years and then prospect of death….

No, He didn’t want Casey, he just wanted Casey…for safety reasons. That was all. His mind may be a tower of babble but he'd at least be able to keep it PG-13 until he survived this current situation. Later, when he had a chance to review things and puzzle out all of these sudden revelations his mind kept hitting him over the head with, then he would probably have a breakdown.

Till then, he just wanted some one to save him. Namely Casey since when brute strength was required Casey was the man. Chuck would even take the inevitable slightly too-tight grip that normally came along with its own side order of matching bruises; bruises which were becoming increasingly difficult to explain to his sister. Like it was Chuck’s fault that Casey got remarkably handsy when he was mad at him. Damn, this situation was probably going to make Casey really, really ticked off. God, if Casey did somehow manage to swoop in and save the day, Chuck really hoped this wasn’t going to be like last time.

Nearly three months ago, Chuck had flashed on a small crime boss and ended up dangling from a hook four feet off the floor held onto the metal by a painful knot of rope which had been tied around his wrists. Casey had literally dropped down, from where Chuck wasn’t certain and had been a little too scared witless to find out.

The NSA agent had quickly taken out the couple of guards while Sarah had attended to the guys outside. By time the NSA agent had managed to lower Chuck to the ground, Casey had been so angry that he’d literally been unable to even make a sarcastic comment about the trouble Chuck had found himself in. It wasn't Chuck's fault he'd flashed on a guy while he'd been trying to fix his computer. Nor was it his fault that the guy had an inferiority complex because of his height. It had been pure bad luck that Chuck in his nervous state had told the man it had been 'just a little problem'. Guy took the thing way out of context.

Chuck supposed he should have been happy that Casey had, at the very least, also helped him down from the meat hook he’d been dangling from as opposed to just letting him drop to the ground and in all actuality he had been incredibly happy that Casey hadn’t just let him drop until the moment that those paws Casey called hands had gripped his waist.

Chuck had never felt more like a damsel in distress. He felt like one of those fairy-tale princesses who had to be rescued by the handsome prince. Not that Casey was handsome....

Gah!!!! After this he was really going to have a very stern discussion with...himself. Boy, did that sound retarded. And not a little dirty. He was so not thinking about that.

At any rate, he’d felt like some over grown porcelain doll as Casey lifted him up just enough that he could slip his bound hands over the tip of the hook before the larger man had none too gently put him back on solid ground.

By the time Chuck had reached home, had a small panic attack, and listened to Sarah laugh about his recounting of the entire ordeal, all he’d wanted to do was forget about the entire night. Unfortunately, when he’d started undressing to take a shower he’d noticed ten very distinct bruises from where Casey’s fingers had dug deeply into his flesh. To make matters worse, Ellie had walked into the bathroom right then and had caught sight of the bruises since he’d been more worried about covering his lower half than he was about her spotting the new discolorations decorating the flesh right above his both hips. And because he sucked at lying, he hadn’t been able to come up with a good fabrication in response to her worried questions about the origins of the bruising and, to his further mortification, he’d nearly lost his towel because he’d started to attempt to bat away her hands when she wanted a closer look at them.

Ellie. Ever the doctor. She was a little scary when she got into her doctor mode….

Captain Awesome had saved him that time. Drawn by the commotion, the other man had wandered in, asking what was going on, and had been completely unfazed by Chuck's near naked state since he believed nudity was awesome. Devon had taken one look, patted Chuck on the back, and smiled like a proud father. Chuck would have escaped the entire thing dignity intact if he also hadn't followed the proud look with the remark that ‘someone liked it a little rough’. The comment had been followed by a moment of awkward silence and a lot of blushing on both he and Ellie's parts.

No one had ever brought that particular instance back up since then, though Captain Awesome kept nudging him and winking every so often….

Hmmm…

Okay. So he’d try to trade the painful gripping for intimidating glares; the glares that Casey could convey all sorts of unspoken death threats with, the one that some how always managed to make Casey the scariest person Chuck knew. Chuck wanted Casey here if for no other reason than because as scary as the guys chasing him were, Casey was scarier.

Boy. The world was ending and there was the first sign of the oncoming Armageddon right there. Chuck honestly and sincerely with no sarcasm present at all wanted Casey here.

Chuck heard a twig snap and instinctively ducked, seeking cover behind a tree large enough to give him some coverage. He never had a chance to realize that luck still wasn't with him before he slipped into unconsciousness. He did manage a soft eugh and that was about it....

~~-~~

Mistaken Assumptions (1 of ?)

2008-05-23T04:12:18Z

Drum roll please....okay, never mind. LOL. Here's the first chapter of Mistaken Assumptions which goes with the video I posted up last week. Sorry for the wait and chapter two is already in the final stages. :)

Title: Mistaken Assumptions
Pairings: Eventual Casey/Chuck, hints of prior Bryce/Chuck
Rating: PG-13 for now, will be bumped up eventually
Warning: Language(it is PG-13 for a reason), slight spoilers for season 1, besides that-no, none really.
Disclaimer: I own nothing!!!!!
Summary: Life was never simple for Chuck and, as the past year had shown, it liked to throw curve balls; to bad Chuck always sucked at sports. Now, Chuck's cover is blown...just not the way he thought it would be. Casey and Chuck find themselves forced an interesting situation, only pretending just isn't what it used to be these days and these pesky little truths start to emerge....
Author's Note: Thanks to ladyofpride for reading this over, all mistakes are mine though, if you spot anything glaringly horrible, please point it out. Grammer is my enemy. LOL. Let me know what y'all think!

Link:

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Chatper One: A Picnic In The Park Isn't Supposed To Spell Doom

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Chuck would have liked if, just for once, today had come with some kind of little signs or warnings.

He wasn’t asking for anything big like, say, meteorites which would turn the sky some freakish shade of pink and leave most of humanity either flesh-craving zombies or big piles of pinkish dust.

He wouldn’t have needed anything on that grand of a scale. He’d have been happy with something smaller. Like being hit by lightning.

And it was just his luck that there had been no portents that the day was going to be just one of those days better spent hiding under his covers; in fact, there had no warnings, nor signs, no...nothing, just the start to what had looked like any other day.

In fact, this morning had been almost abnormally normal.

It had all started off, innocently enough, with the discovery that he needed a new alarm clock. Which if he survived all of this he really needed to get a new one and instead of waking up when the sun was just making an appearance he woke up bleary eyes and wondering why it was so bright outside.

A quick glance at his watch had led to the realization that he’d woken up nearly an hour later than originally planned and from there it had rolled down hill.

He’d stubbed his toe on the way to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door because while he didn’t have any odd bruises to explain this particular morning, he didn’t think he could deal with the mortification of some one walking in on him naked once again, though since that incident every one had taken to being extra-careful about knocking on doors before entering a room.

After the shower and scrambling around for a few fevered moments trying to find clean clothes, he hadn’t managed time for breakfast, and would have even been caffeine deprived had Ellie not possessed the foresight to make him up a cup of coffee while he was rushing around searching for his right shoe.

By time he’d reached work he was thirty minutes late; not terrible by any means certainly, but it was late enough to garner a look from Big Mike with the standard ‘don’t do it again or else’ warning attached to it before his boss had ordered him to go and change shirts.

Yeah. That's right, there had been more coffee on his shirt than in his stomach courtesy of trying to take a sip of coffee at the exact moment some one had cut him off, since the choice had been brake or hit the other car, he'd braked. Sadly, the coffee hadn't braked with him and decided to continue with the forward motion despite Chuck's best efforts.

He’d really wanted that coffee too. Since he had supposed to have worked a full day with only the regulation half hour break sandwiched between the long hours the drink was going to be the only he could manage till break time finally rolled around.

Thankfully, there was still the tuxedo shirt sitting in his locker, back from the dryers for nearly seven months and just sitting in his locker waiting for him to take home. Good thing he hadn't remembered it.

It was while he had been buttoning up the new shirt that the first of what Chuck called his exercises-in-futility occurred.

Chuck had been there, innocently trying to change shirts when the door to his locker had slammed shut. The loud clang had surprised him enough that he’d jumped slightly (yes, he considered six inches off the floor to qualify as only slightly) and perhaps if anyone had been listening they would have also heard him yelp in a less than masculine way while Casey had stood there chuckling.

Exercises in futility.

Chuck's continued surprise and his persistent inability to catch Casey before he could sneak up-on him should have proven one important argument that Chuck had been trying to get across to both of his handlers for the past few weeks. The exercises were absolutely redundant. Six weeks of these useless exercises had done little to hone the skills they were targeted at and still left Chuck startled out of his wits each and every time Casey managed to sneak up on him.

It was all because of that stupid Marlin incident, something which Chuck really wanted to forget. Unfortunately he couldn't. Especially with Casey going into high alert since then, shadowing Chuck's every movement, and keeping watch for any possible threat.

Chuck supposed that the Fulcrum agent having slipped past Casey's radar had struck a few nerves, Chuck was willing to bet though that it hadn't bothered the NSA agent nearly as much as it had him.

In addition to the increased security, Casey had also taken it upon himself, with Sarah's blessings, to attempt to help(here Chuck read help as force) the younger man to be more aware of his surroundings.

Oh, sure, the man’s reasoning had sounded sane enough when Casey had first started out-lining his plans. Chuck had even agreed to the additional training. After all, he’d come a little too close to be extracted and he really didn’t want to ever go through that again.

Chuck guessed that on some level, Chuck had agreed to the plan without actually thinking about what exactly was laying in wait for him, if he had, he'd have argued a heck of a lot more and probably taken to hiding in his room for extended periods of time in fear for his sanity.

A person could ask why the fear and Chuck would have to point out his rapidly dwindling sense of security. Despite what Casey said, paranoia was not a good thing.

Up until this afternoon, all that Casey’s supposed training had managed to do was make Chuck more paranoid of his surroundings because he never knew when Casey was going to sneak up on him and growl "good going, Bartowski, your dead" in his ear.

Going from being completely alone to sudden having six foot- five inches of killer breathing down one's neck was more than just a tad bit disconcerting.

For instance, there had been a couple of weeks ago where Casey had literally stepped out from behind a small potted palm tree in the mall and Chuck was still trying to figure the logistics on that one. There was just no way that a man that large should have been able to hide behind something so small. It was like on moment the NSA agent hadn’t been there and in the next instant he’d just oozed out of thin air.

Casey had scared the crap out of him. Even now, Chuck could still hear the deep laugh that had rumbled out of the larger man when he’d told him just where Casey could shove his sudden over-driven stealth setting.

Exercises.

Hah.

Training his ass.

Double hah!

Chuck was willing to bet that Casey just wanted to make him squirm,. The man had a twisted sense of humor and seeing Chuck on constant alert, nervously waiting for the NSA agent to pounce was probably Casey’s idea of entertainment. That or it was some strange way for Casey to get back at Chuck for causing him to be stationed working a mundane job in the Buy More when he could be out doing more interesting things like killing people.

Before today had really taken the trip south, he’d already been contemplating tying a bell around Casey’s neck; for such a large man, the NSA agent moved with a freakish amount of furtiveness.

Casey.

If he wasn’t afraid of some one hearing him, he’d even growl. Or at least try too. Chuck was pretty certain that is he attempted this feat at the moment, it’d turn out a bit more like a whimper; fear was trumping anger here, in fact, it was kinda of stomping it into the ground and doing a little victory dance on the grave.

Chuck's current situation was all to be blamed on one Major John Casey and if Chuck survived it, he would tell Casey that to his face, he'd be tempted to go to further extremes, but Casey was Casey after all and Chuck didn't have that much of a death wish.

Chuck had actually thought today was beginning to look up this morning, that it wasn't going to be a bad day. It had even suddenly started becoming one of the best days in some months exactly ten minutes after Casey had walked out of the employee break room, still laughing at what he termed ‘Chuck’s girly squawk’. because in those few minutes, Casey had done what no other employee at the Buy More had managed for over a year and a half.

He sold the Deluxe Grill Man 4000x. It was the Mack-daddy of all grills; complete with multiple burners, dual propane tanks, a removable cast iron grill, and all the bells and whistles that most people would never think of in conjunction with something used on the occasional summer week-end.

The grill was also the single most expensive piece of merchandise the Buy More they worked at currently carried in stock, an impressive feat for a store that carried over seventeen different kinds of flat panel LCD and plasma televisions, state of the art computers and notebook just to name a few.

It was also a product that no other Buy More had ever stocked. Indeed, it had been its way out of the ordering catalogue when the last assistant manager…Neill had accidentally ordered; he’d been trying to order a converter box for a customer, it was amazing what a difference one number could make.

The mistake had been a big enough one that Big Mike had demoted Neill less than a week later when he’d learned the ware house would not accept it back into their inventory. Apparently the shipping manager had told them that since they had ordered it, it was their problem. This of course had resulted in Neil’s subsequent refusal to return to work, opting instead to work for the Large Mart next door where he wouldn’t have to worry about ordering anything ever again.

So the grill had sat, towering over all of the other grills, and Chuck was certain that if it had been possible the Deluxe Grill Man 4000x would have even given it’s smaller versions complexes of inadequacies.

What disgusted Chuck on a fundamental level was that Casey hadn’t even really been trying to sell the stupid thing.

He’d still been smirking over his earlier game of Seek and Frighten Chuck, just talking about God knows what probably and still, some how, what ever the NSA agent had said worked.

Chuck had expected for a large carpet to spring out of no where as the two had walked towards the register, one of Casey’s arm swung over the customer’s shoulders as the other gestured wildly while he no doubt described all of the things the man could grill on the mammoth he was intending to purchase.

Heck, Chuck had even expected to hear trumpets, maybe even the emergency lights to begin flashing…instead there’s been an almost eerie silence.

Chuck learned a few minutes later that the silence had been the result of Morgan muting all of the televisions in tribute to the large man’s sale and boy had the almost-hero worship shinning in his friend’s eyes freaked him out. Chuck was used to his friend's quirks, however, seeing anything other than annoyed terror in Morgan's expression when in conjunction with Casey was just weird.

Some things should just never have to witnessed. That was one of them.

Big Mike had even come outside of his office, watching wide eyed with the rest of the Buy More crew as the price tag was scanned into the computer before he had quickly crossed the sales floor, pushing the cashier out of the way as he totaled out the purchase.

Chuck wouldn’t admit it now, or possibly ever, but even he had found himself being sucked into the moment as he held his breath, watching while the customer slowly drew out the credit card and handed it over to the credit card.

Time resumed as the receipt was handed over and Casey had turned, smirking towards Chuck when Big Mike’s hand fell on his arm.

Chuck had to confess that watching that damned smirk falter on the Major’s face as Big Mike told him that he would appreciate it if Casey also went to the customer’s house with the delivery truck and made sure everything was okay probably was the highlight of Chuck's morning and it also probably made the top ten list of Chuck‘s most memorable moments. The fact that Big Mike's tone hadn’t been one of friendly suggestion either had made it all that sweeter.

Chuck had worked for Big Mike long enough that he knew his boss wanted to make sure the grill was not coming back, ever, and was sending Casey along for the installation as kind of precaution in case ten minutes after walking out of the store the customer realized he really didn't need a grill that probably cost as much as his monthly mortgage payment.

It was that point that Chuck had started to believe that today was going to be an incredibly good day.

And from there it had only gotten better.

On a slight high from getting to watch Casey being forced to do something he had obviously not wanted to do as well as the few sips of Awesome’s industrial strength coffee, Chuck had literally been bouncing with energy.

He’d been certain nothing could top Casey’s expression and the slight reprieve Chuck had been given when Big Mike had approached him, his face clouded, the time sheets clenched in his hands.

Chuck had never thought ‘what the hell are you doing here, Bartowski’ could sound musical when practically shouted five inches from his ear. However, when the shout was accompanied by an order to get his ass out of there for the day, it some how managed the feat.

Two nights on call, both spent being called in on trouble jobs that had lasted more than the regulation hour allowed worth of tweaking had just barely pushed chuck over the forty hour mark plunging him into OT. One thing Bog Mike prided himself on was that none of his employees had gone over two hours of OT in nearly five years, by being at the Buy More for three hours already Chuck was seriously endangering Big Mike’s current record.

Chuck didn’t argue against being sent home early; being sent home early meant that he wouldn’t be there when Casey returned to the store which meant that the NSA agent wouldn’t be able to take out any sort of revenge for the amount of enjoyment Chuck had taken from his discomfort.

Of course, Chuck knew Casey would catch up to him eventually, but till then he was safe and was going to take advantage of not worrying about what potted plant or mailbox the man was going to pop out from behind of.

Smiling, he’d left quickly, barely waving goodbye to Morgan as he fled the store, taking the opportunity to visit Sarah.

Things had never quite been the same between them after Bryce’s sudden reappearance back into their lives a few months back, the suave spy bringing back a lot of baggage for Chuck as well Sarah.

Over the past couple of months they had finally fallen back into that ‘almost-friendship’ they had enjoyed before.

Which was good.

Of course, there was that thing that had happened a few weeks back that Chuck hadn’t told either Casey or Sarah and he was still debating about whether or not too. After all, it had been a mistake. A one time thing. Kind of like a hiccup from the past and Chuck was never going to let that happen again.

Anyway….

Chuck had gone to Sarah’s place. That was what any normal boyfriend would do if he found himself with an available afternoon right?

At least that was what Chuck figured any normal guy would do if they were dating such a beautiful woman, plus, if he‘d gone home there were a couple of piles of laundry waiting for him all scattered about the floor of his room because he hadn‘t been able to find a clean pair of pants this morning and had elected to go with the pair that didn‘t look that bad.

And it had been nice.

They’d spent the afternoon in the park, just laughing. They’d even picnicked, sitting there for what had felt like hours as they just joked about absolutely nothing. Chuck couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so comfortable around her and he’d felt as though he were flying high when Sarah had through he head back, laughter pealing out loudly as he supplied her with a slightly goofier version of Casey’s face as he’d been forced to go above and beyond the call of duty earlier that morning.

Just sitting there, he hadn’t been worrying about saving the country, he’d blocked out the fact that his brain had a super computer in it, he’d even ignored the facts that he didn’t even know her real name and she wasn’t really his girlfriend, just his cover.

It had been, to quote Devon, awesome.

Then disaster had struck.

In a couple of different guises it had slowly rolled in, each so seamlessly intertwined that Chuck wasn’t certain which was really worse.

...Though, he was currently leaning towards the latter occurring incident since it was the one that had put him into his current precarious predicament.

Ultimately, Chuck had no problem placing the blame squarely on Casey’s shoulders. It didn’t matter that the NSA agent hadn’t been there when it had happened because the whole thing had started due to the paranoia Casey had inflicted upon him.

Before today, Chuck had never given any real credit or thought to the whole belief that paranoia could be spread from person to person in certain type of situations like some contagious disease. He’d even always kind of laughed at the belief that it could be; he wasn’t laughing any more.

After they’d finished picnicking, Chuck and Sarah had opted to walk around for a little while longer, just strolling through the park and enjoying the ice-cream cones they had bought. Sarah had been loosely holding his hand, when a startled laugh broke past her lips at something Chuck had said, her fingers just barely covering her lower mouth as her tongue darted out to lick away a smear of vanilla ice-cream from her bottom lip when a realization hit Chuck.

A year ago, a month ago, even a couple of weeks ago, a move like that would have stopped his heart and tied his tongue as his brain turned to mush due to the pure beauty of the lethally dangerous woman who was currently charade as his girlfriend.

But that was a year ago, a month ago, and eve an couple of weeks ago. Today it had just made Chuck realize that though she was beautiful, wonderful, perfect even in her own way, he wasn’t in love with her any more.

It was kind of like being hit over the head by a two by four hunk of wood and just about as painful; a large blow because she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. Intelligent, funny, caring, gorgeous, and, yeah, so he’d never dreamed of the whole spy thing, but, for Sarah, he’d have worked it in some how.

He’d looked away at that moment, searching for anything to occupy his attention as he reeled from the shock of discovery.

A little voice inside of his head whispered in a tone much like Ellie’s that this was what growing up was all about. Chuck just thought it sucked.

It was while he’d been desperately searching for something to take his mind off of his current crisis of self-realization that Chuck noted something…odd.

There had been a man, standing only a few yards away, his back turned towards them, and Chuck could just barely pick up the man’s garbled voice as he spoke quietly into his cell phone. Around him, there were several other men, seeming to just be standing around, their postures relaxed, one of them was even feeding some pigeons, which any native knew NOT to do. Nothing out of the norm, nothing that was odd about the scene, nothing glaringly obvious that practically screamed "danger, Will Robinson"...but something about the whole scene had struck a cord and Chuck had felt himself grow cold at the casual glance.

The scene snagged his attention enough that he looked back as Sarah stopped to tie one of her tennis shoes, thoughtfully finishing off his own ice-cream cone while he tried to figure out just what was bothering him.

The guy on the cell phone seemed to be just some random person, nothing out of the ordinary.

From the back, Chuck could see the guy was going bald in the back and the way his shirt pulled from in front, Chuck was willing to bet that when the guy turned there would be the paunch that most men of a certain age seemed to be cursed with.

He was plain. Normal. Everything was. And in the end, Chuck supposed that was what had attracted his attention. After several weeks of Casey and his maniacal plan to make Chuck more aware of his surroundings, the NSA agent had finally been able to make Chuck as paranoid as he was.

Chuck was just about to toss the remainder of his cone into the trash when the guy turned.

Two things struck Chuck simultaneously. The first was that yes, the guy did have a stomach of a man who enjoyed just a bit too much wine and good food and the second was that the NSA and CIA had a lot of information on the balding guy….and more than a little on the men who had been just casually standing around him.

While he was beginning to grow used to the flashes, they still sucked on several levels because having hundreds of images slicing through his brain at speeds almost too quick to catch while large amounts of intel just kinda went along for the ride did not tickle. At all.

Plus, having the gathered intelligence that both the CIA and NSA had managed to compile on one Leland Haurs, aka El Carnicero, was enough to make Chuck really regret having eaten that ice-cream just a few moments prior.

The bite he’d just swallowed seemed to stop somewhere in the middle of his esophagus and decide it didn’t really like the trip he’d sent it on, thank you but no, it’d prefer to take a more scenic route.

He hadn’t been able to even gasp out a strangled warning to Sarah not to look over because he’d been a little too busy gagging and then choking as the cloying sweet creation rerouted itself once more in order to spray out of his nose.

Boy did ice-cream hurt when it was expelled from the nasal passages.

Chuck was more than a little certain that this was going to be the last time he ate Rocky Road ice-cream. At least for a while since he was pretty certain that particular sensation was going to stick with him.

Peanuts really sucked on the trip back up as well.

And, of course, since he hadn’t been able to warn Sarah, she had scanned the area during his incredible feat of near regurgitation.

It was like the hand of fate had reached out a couple of fingers and flicked the events that followed like one elaborately set up dominoes display.

At the same moment Sarah had looked over, El Carnicero had turned his attention to the strange gangly man causing so much noise, and it was just Chuck’s luck that Sarah had a run in with Mr. Psycho two years ago when she’d tried to blow him up.

From all of the NSA and CIA reports, the man was supposed to have been dead.

Apparently both organizations had been wrong; after all, it wasn’t like it would be the first time that had ever happened.

Chuck internal alarms went from ’uh-oh’ to ’holy shit’ as the balding man’s eyes grew wide momentarily before orders began flying from his mouth; in Spanish no less, a language that despite four year of high school tutelage, Chuck still couldn’t understand unless written down and something was telling him that El Carnicero wasn't about to write it down just for his benefit.

The guys that had been just standing around went onto a high alert, several of them reaching towards what Chuck had to assume were concealed weapons. Even Chuck knew that the frenzied alarm meant the bad guys had recognized Sarah and from their agitated state, he had to assume they didn't want a repeat performance of their boss' near death experience.

Crap.

Briefly, Chuck had looked over at Sarah and found something even more disturbing had occurred. Sarah had turned about two shades paler than normal. That was never a good sign. Sarah did not get nervous, at least, not without a good cause. Something that was big enough to make her nervous was really bad news, the kind that Chuck had wanted to avoid.

That was the point that it started to dawn on Chuck that today was probably not going to be a great as he thought it was shaping up to be, nor was it going to be as boring as he would have hoped.

The tree branch only a few inches from his head exploding into a bunch of splinters kind of reinforced that very sudden and new found belief.

~-~

Mistaken Assumptions- Chuck / Casey

2008-05-18T05:25:47Z

Okay. I couldn't help myself. This is a vid to go with a story of the same name I am working on. Hope y'all enjoy!

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own any of it.

Warnings: Slash, obviously.

Pairings: Chuck/Casey

Say Goodbye- Chuck / Casey

2008-04-14T04:16:28Z

Say Goodbye- Chuck/ Casey, slight Chuck Bryce hints

Warnings: None really, slashy overtones, sadly nothing too slashy. ::sigh::
Disclaimer: I don't own it!! If I did though, there would be a great deal more..."interraction" ::ahem ahem:: between certain characters....::cough Chuck cough Casey:: LOL
Pairings: Chuck/Casey, slight Chuck/Bryce hinting
Rating:PG-13 sadly
Description: Chuck is used to his life being turned upside down on a daily basis, what he wasn't prepared for was his past to keep coming back to haunt him. Can he let it all go? Can he let Bryce go? Will Casey keep waiting for Chuck to finally decide?

*Note* You know, it all started out funny and then as I tweaked it, the vid began to get really angsty. LOL
:)

Captain Salacious

2008-03-14T01:45:47Z

Title: Captain Salacious
Author: Heathenseyes
Pairings: Chuck/Casey
Ratings: PG-13
Spoilers: None Really
Beta: ilovesn, blainesgirl (mistakes are still all mine though)
Word Count: 3465
Disclaimer: I don't own any of it!
Summary: Its funny what a little beer can lead too....

~~--~~

Chuck glanced out the window, catching slivers of the sinking sun through the blinds of Casey‘s apartment.

It amazed him at times. Casey worked for both Buy More and for the NSA. Chuck would have assumed that the man could have gotten better window treatments. Not that the blinds were ugly or anything. They actually matched the inside of Casey’s apartment pretty well color-wise. But they were just so…boring.

Everything was boring at the moment

Okay, Chuck could do this he told himself firmly, clamping down his jaws so that he would not yawn, not betray any sign of his colossal boredom.

After all there was only....

Chuck glanced at his watch and winced. There was still another hour and a half of the game left.

Great!

Okay, he could still do this.

He could pretend to be interested in this new and strange form of torture called football that Casey had decided to inflict upon him.

Man.

This so sucked.

He'd never quite understood football or baseball or basketball or...just about any sport really. It wasn't that he had anything against them or anything. It was just that...well, there always seemed to be more interesting things to do or see than just sitting a bunch of men basically running back and forth across the television.

Even drinking hadn't made it more interesting. With the couple of beers he'd had so far, it still just looked like a lot of guys running back and forth, back and forth. Just to break up the monotony, every so often they would tackle one another or 'pile' on each other.

Yay.

Great! And to make it worse, he was stuck watching hours of it. It was all because Casey had been assigned the ‘Chuck babysitting duty’ by Sarah for the night while she took care of some 'business'.

Business, like he needed her to lie to him. He'd only seen her aflutter like that once before. That had been when she'd learned that Bryce was alive. It'd been several months since they'd last seen the rogue agent. Since then, Chuck had thought he'd developed a good friendship with her. Then she did something like this; asking Casey to watch over Chuck for the night which reminded him that despite their friendship, he was still a job. And because of that, he didn't really know her. Sarah could have at least been honest with him and told him she was seeing some one.

Was she? No. Instead she had just smiled at him as she dropped him off that the door of Casey's apartment like he was her kid being left behind at the babysitter's. Okay. Maybe not her kid. After all, Sarah had also dropped off a twelve pack of beer for them to enjoy, not too many mothers did that. The beer, it'd been like a little peace offering. A twelve pack of which only two beers had been finished off from and those two only. Chuck knew his limit. It was really only one beer, but with how the night had been going, the second had disappeared before he'd even noticed. And even then, he'd been drinking alone. Casey didn't like beer.

Chuck hadn't known that. He was guessing Sarah hadn't either. When Chuck thought about it he didn't really know anything about Casey. It wasn't like Casey was the kind of man to just share his life story or any kind of story for that matter.

John Casey was the kind of man who allowed actions to speak for him more than words. That was perhaps why, Chuck supposed, that the other man kept his vocal usage to an absolute minimum.

As far as Chuck could see most of Casey's vocalizations appeared to be mostly in the forms of either threats, the occasional warnings, an incredibly broad selection of curse words which Chuck was pretty certain didn't either A) exist or B) were physically possible, and an even greater range of lewd innuendos.

Out of all of the rather crass oral capabilities that Casey demonstrated it was the lewd innuendos that bothered Chuck the most, especially when they were directed at him and his lack of...any thing.

Threats, once upon a time, had scared the hell out of him. Particularly when delivered in the low gravelly tone that promised a great deal more pain than Casey's words could ever impart.

At a certain point though, Chuck had discovered that the threats seemed to lose some of their intimidation factor.

Still, Chuck had to concede, not all of their menace was lost. There were still more instances than he was entirely comfortable with when something life-endangering would occur and Casey would then promise a more painful ending than even the bad guys had as yet managed to threaten with. In those instances it was still more than possible that Chuck would perhaps scream in a slightly more feminine than masculine manner.

Thankfully, those times were few and far between.

Really....

Of course, that point had been first preceded by a great deal of painfully realistic images.

Not only did Chuck have a really active imagination but Casey was more descriptive of the things that he would do to Chuck should he annoy him just too much. Casey, Chuck had discovered, had mastered the ability to describe things with viscerally, agonizing imagery amazing well.

However, girly screaming or no, it still remained that the more than a few threats to his life didn't phase him as much as they once did. At this point, it just was a day if some one wasn't out to try and kill him. Or torture him. Or kidnap him and force him too....

He was deviating and he also didn't want to dwell on just how used to the constant threats he was becoming which could be due to the sheer amounts of near death experiences he'd gone through since his brain had become the home to the Intersect. Or it could be the simple fact that he was pretty certain Casey wouldn't let anything harm him. Even if it was because the NSA agent would prefer to do the physical harming personally, instead of allowing some nameless assassin or spy do it.

Either way, most of the threats, operative word being most, Chuck could pretty much ignore; most meaning even if more than a few still made him want to curl into a ball and chant 'it's not real, it's not real' in Klingon.

As for the cursing...well...despite the fact that Casey could use terms that caused Chuck to blush more often than was strictly comfortable with wasn't something Chuck couldn't handle.

The lewd innuendos were a completely different matter though. As if to add insult to injury, Casey often didn't have to speak to be lewd. There were times when he just seemed to ooze lewdness.

Hmm…lewd.

Well, perhaps lewd wasn't exactly the right word.

For some reason, it stuck in Chuck's craw when he thought it in conjunction with Casey. Strangely, the word seemed to...coarse.

Salacious?

That was it.

Meant the same thing but it seemed to fit so much better.

Salacious meant that something was obscene, lustful, and lecherous. Funnily enough, for all the coarse definitions it still rolled off the tongue so easily, almost decadently in an incredibly beguiling manner.

Just like John Casey, even though he was almost the exact opposite.

On the outside he was coarse, rough, inclined to violence, and often invoked memories. Memories of the bullies that had tormented Chuck all through out his childhood until Ellie had grown sick of it and showed the worse ones just why some one didn't mess with her little brother.

That was just the outside though.

On the inside, Chuck had caught enough glimpses of something more so often that it was frustrating. Casey just kept on pretending to be big scary, Neanderthal-like, and entirely too intimidating secret agent who oozed sex.

Not that he thought Casey oozed sex out of his pores or anything.

Nope.

It was nothing like that.

Nope.

It was nothing at all like that.

"What?" Casey asked, his eyes never wavering from the TV.

Crap.

Chuck realized he must have spoken out loud; he just had to figure out which part he had said. Hopefully he didn’t say the oozing part. Dear God, please no.

"It’s nothing, nothing at all." Casey's eyes finally broke away from the TV and the look he gave Chuck clearly said he wasn't buying it. "I mean, uh, I said that I...can't believe he made that shot?"

Crap. That wasn't supposed to come out like a question. Now he sounded like an idiot.

Like Casey needed more of a reason to think he was some kind of pathetic nerd.

Not that he cared if Casey thought that at all or not.

Crap.

It seemed unfair that even in the privacy of his mind Chuck's ability to curse still remained PG-13.

"For God's sake, Bartowski, he punted the damned thing. This is football, not basket ball. Hell, they don't even make shots; they throw the balls or kick them. Get your sports straight." The last was growled as Casey turned his attention back to the TV and Chuck almost sighed in relief.

When in fear of discovery, make a sports comment. Even if it was an incorrect sports comment.

Yep.

This was a stellar night.

Here he was, holding a conversation with himself while he was stuck sitting here...watching football with Captain Salacious.

"Captain who?"

Casey's attention was once again turned upon him.

Chuck quickly realized this was why he never drank. His inner monologue sometimes became outer monologue with the aid of alcohol. Plus, his befuddled head was using some pretty large words that he normally didn't use in his every day life.

Bryce had pointed that out once, that Chuck was the only drunk who could still use words like vexatious which Casey was being without even trying and salacious which Casey was because he oozed sex....

Not that Casey oozed sex!

Or that Chuck had noticed any thing like that!

Of course not! He was simply just a very salacious person and Chuck was pretty certain that his stomach shouldn't be doing those little flip flops in conjunction with thoughts of Casey and sex.

Uh-oh.

"Salacious?" Casey had turned his full attention to Chuck know, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Crap. He had done it again.

"It was nothing?" Crap. Chuck hated that. It still came out like a question.

"Who the hell is Captain Salacious?"

Chuck couldn't stop the current mantra of oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god that was currently running through his head long enough to even come up with something. Anything that he could give the other man as an excuse would work! He was praying for any possibly feasible fabrication.

Casey sighed, picking up the channel changer and switching off the TV. "This isn't going to have to be one of those talks again?"

Chuck mentally screamed. Just because he had asked one time what exactly one of Casey's more colorful curses had meant....

Chuck still maintained that...that was not physically possible!!!

"No!!" Lunging for the remote, Chuck fumbled with the channel changer. A flush spread across his cheeks as he tried to coordinate his fingers under Casey's amused gaze. And he was definitely not at all flustered because this was the first time since Chuck had come over three hours earlier that Casey had directed more than a glancing interest in his charge with a gaze that looked pretty predatory. And the blush he felt spreading from his face on-wards was definitely not because Chuck had been thinking about how the larger man practically exuded carnal magnetism.

Chuck had managed to turn the television back on just about the same time his head hit the table, the thud resounding just over the excited yell of the announcer, and Chuck brought his head back up, blinking rapidly, his head slightly drooped in defeat.

It was like losing a battle, one he hadn't even been aware that he'd been fighting. It was like Casey, who Chuck had first mentally compared to a walking ape that first time he'd seen him, had some how wriggled into his brain.

"Aren't you tired of it?" Chuck's voice surprised him just about as much as it did Casey.

See this?

This was Chuck giving up because his brain had suddenly decided to mentally dissect a man who could probably break his entire body using only his pinkie.

"I'm not going to get to watch the rest of the game am I?" The resignation filling the NSA agent's tone did nothing to dissuade Chuck from his sudden inability to keep his mouth closed. Especially when Casey sounded more amused than annoyed which was too bad 'cause annoyed probably would have helped Chuck to reign in his mouth because he really didn't want to die.

"I'm serious. Why do you keep on with the scary intimidation thing?" Chuck began, his mouth completely taking control and running with it. "Why does ever other word out of your mouth seem to be some type of curse and I mean really, how many different cuss words do you really need to know, and in how many languages? It's ridiculous! For that matter, how many ruthless killers have a larger selection of silk kimonos than one of those...of those...geisha?!?!? It’s almost obscene the amount of them that you have! And that's another thing! You! You are Captain Salacious! You know why?"

Casey had grown still during the rant, a fact that Chuck's mind was trying to impose the importance of on his mouth. Unfortunately Chuck's lips had apparently decided it was do or die. With the scowl that Casey was wearing he knew he was in trouble and Chuck's brain was betting it was the latter choice, regretting ever having started the tirade in the first place.

"You ooze sex!" Chuck practically shouted the words, making them sound like an accusation. "I've never met a man who oozed sex before! Every other sentence that I have heard from you lately in some way relates to how much I need to be laid and my naiveté! What do you care?!? What Casey? Are these comments your backward way of offering to teach me some tricks?

"Chuck's brain completely shut down, disassociating itself from the mouth with sudden speed. Chuck was left a little dizzy and more than a little confused as to how he had managed to cross the entire couch until he was practically...okay, not practically, because he was sitting on Casey's lap.

Casey was oh-so very quiet and so emphatically still that if Chuck hadn't been sitting on his lap he wouldn't have even been able to see the rise and fall of the larger man's chest as he breathed.

Oh, God, he was going to die.

"Is that it, Bartowski?" The words were growled and Chuck shivered a little, the slight movement causing him to shift just enough that Casey suddenly took in a deep breath of air, a faint flush tingeing his cheeks.

Chuck's brain kicked back in pointing out that that had been an interesting reaction.

Maybe death wasn't in his future today.

"No." Chuck said slowly, bringing his face closer to Casey, just enough so that he could feel the puffs of airs coming from Casey's mouth, kiss-ably close some would say. "So, are you?" A small muscle tick started, right at the edge of Casey's jaw. His jaw really was a piece of art. "Are you trying to ask me something?"

"I think you should move. Now." Casey ground out, the words spoken so softly that Chuck had to strain to catch them, the threat evident in Casey's tone as well as his few words, and despite the promise of pain, Chuck couldn't have brought himself to move even if he'd wanted too.

Not that he wanted too.

"Or what?" Casey growled at the question Chuck posed.

Chuck was tempted to move in closer, press his suit just a hair more. He couldn't though; he wanted to see just what Casey would do. That is, if Casey would do anything.

Oh, Great Muppety Odin, if he was wrong about this Chuck was pretty certain Casey wouldn't even give him long enough to experience any amount of pain before he killed him.

They sat there for a few more moments, breaths mingling, and silence spreading across the room as it stretched the few inches between them into a chasm. It went just long enough that Chuck's brain kicked into preservation mode. His brain started babbling incoherently that it was all his mouth's fault they were in this mess in the first place asking and just what good was having all of the government's secrets stuffed in there if it didn't save him from one of his own body guards exterminating him.

Chuck was just about to agree, planning on attempting to make a very hurried and ungraceful run for the door when Casey's hands clamped onto his wrists.

Crap.

Casey must have sensed he was going to run.

Crap. Crap. Crap. He was going to die and he still couldn't bring his curse words above PG-13.

Certain death, thy name is John Casey.

Casey was going to keep him there to kill him. Probably very painfully. Hopefully not very slowly. Chuck just knew it, his life was flashing before his eyes. He'd totally read things wrong. Stupid beer! It was totally the beers' fault....

A sharp yank drew his attention. Pain lanced through his arms as Casey none to gently dragged Chuck's hands behind him so that they rested on Casey's back. Casey's very strong...very solid back. Chuck could feel the warmth through the thin cotton shirt Casey was wearing.

Suddenly Casey's hands were moving, one slipping beneath Chuck's shirt to rest above his hip, the thumb stroking the flesh just below Chuck's ribs, while the other hand threaded its way around his neck. There was a small sharp tug as Casey's fingers tangled in the slightly too long curls and Chuck fell into an ardent agreement with his brain as it broadcasted 'Oh. My. God.' through his entire body.

His mouth, which had the right idea all along, crowed. Or would have. If his lips hadn't been a little busy.

His lips dropped open right when Casey dove forward the remaining inches.

Pulling Chuck closer, Casey quickly closed the small gap between them, muffling Chuck's tiny 'eep' with his own mouth.

Dimly a thought tugged at the back of Chuck's mind. It had to compete with the feelings flooding in as Chuck's hands grew a great deal more daring. His fingers plucked at Casey shirt until it slipped out of the neat tuck it was always in. He could feel the smooth skin beneath his own and wanted more. His brain...and other areas taking a great deal of pleasure with the groan that slipped past Casey's lips at the contact....

Okay, so, it was very, very, very dimly that the thought tugged at the back of Chuck's mind and he wondered just why his mouth tasted like peaches when all he'd had was the beer Sarah had pressed upon him.

But it was a very dim thought which paled in comparison to the taste of Casey and easily forgotten when Casey decided Chuck had too many clothes on.

~-~

Sarah leaned back in her chair with a widening smirk on her lips as she took off the ears phones. On her television screen she watched as the two men rapidly lost articles of clothing and her eyes grew wide.

Wow!

She hadn't known either man was that...flexible.

Humming happily she raised her beer in salute to her own genius. She'd been getting just a little tired of all that repressed sexual attraction. While her plan hadn't quite worked the way she'd wanted it too since Casey hadn't even taken one sip of the beer, all in all, it had still worked pretty well.

If she had any luck at all, Chuck wouldn't have noticed the slight peach after taste that the truth serum tended to leave behind.

Even if he did though, Sarah didn't think he'd mind it.

Her jaw dropped open as she watched Casey rise from the couch with Chuck still wrapped around him they stumbled towards the bed room.

No!

They weren't supposed to move!

All that work and she wouldn't even get to see....!

How dare they?!

Glaring at the screen she watched as the door was slammed behind the two, leaving her nothing to watch. A large pout developed on her lips....

Hmmm....

She couldn't watch, but perhaps....

She brought the headphones back up to her ears. The smirk returned fully to her lips as she closed her eyes, letting her imagination fill in the blanks.

The next time she heard from Bryce, she'd make certain to tell him he now owed her a hundred bucks.

~~--~~