Chapter Text
"Watch it, Bartowski!" Casey tightened his grip on Chuck's ankles, the only part of him visible through the air duct opening. If the moron hadn't forgotten the grappling cable, they wouldn't be in this ridiculous predicament in the first place.
"You hit that laser beam, you'll have a stump where your hand used to be." Then he shrugged. "Although I guess you really don't need a hand to Flash."
Chuck's aggravated voice floated back up to him. "Yeah, but it'd probably cause a kink in, oh, I don't know, my spy career! And stop jostling me!"
Sarah ended the argument. "Be quiet you two! Casey, you just concentrate on holding him steady. Chuck, are you going to be able to disarm the alarm?"
"Trying to work here, sweetie! But yes, I think we're golden. It's black before red, right?"
"You idiot!" Casey barked. "You're going to blow us all up." Well, the two of them at least. And it certainly wouldn't be enjoyable for him, either.
"Just a little espionage humor, Casey!" He could practically hear the eye roll in Bartowski's voice. "Jeez, did they remove your sense of humor when you enlisted? I've got the Intersect, remember? Pretty sure it knows it's red before black."
Casey just grunted and let Walker take care of the situation.
"Enough fooling around, Chuck. Just get it done. That guard's going to be making his return trip in 4 minutes."
"Patience, grasshoppers...just another second...one more little snip...Okay! You can lower me down."
Casey let go and smirked as he heard a satisfying thump. "Oops. My hand slipped."
Walker glared at him before hissing, "Knock it off, Casey. We don't have time for this." She grabbed the sides of the vent and lowered her body until her arms were completely extended and then she let go, landing in the hall below with a soft thud.
"Knock if off, Casey ," he mimicked silently, before following her down. He made sure to wince, just slightly, as his left leg hit the floor.
Sarah had pulled up a schematic on her iPhone and they crowded around the display. "Okay, Intel places the chip in a vault located one floor up from here. There are two guards at the door, but they should be relatively easy to take out. If we can get this chip, we'll have complete control of Volkoff's satellite systems. It will be our first real chance to neutralize his operations."
She and Chuck took off down the hall, but when Casey made to follow them, she spun around and fixed him with a glare. "You. Stay!"
He started to argue but she cut him off, while Bartowski looked on with an amused grin.
"You're not even supposed to be here. And if Beckman finds out you got hurt because we let you come on a mission before you were cleared for duty," she gave his leg a pointed look, "we'll never hear the end of it. Just make sure nobody comes this way. Radio if you have a problem."
He growled, irritated, but gave a sharp nod before pulling his gun and putting his back against the wall. He watched until they disappeared around the corner before letting his growl morph to a snarl. This was the part he hated most, the pretense necessary to maintain the facade. By all rights he should be the one leading this charge, and not just because he had the most training. But he couldn't, instead had to limp and moan and prop against the damn wall because no forty something year old man, no matter how healthy, would be fully recovered from the gunshot wound he'd received on that rooftop.
It was annoying, but unless he wanted to disappear, start over, he had to play the game. That had been drilled into his head countless times since his first death. Even this much would have been impossible if he hadn't had an ally working as a doctor in the VA. Sometimes he thought about it, considered picking up and moving on, becoming someone new, but the truth was that he liked this life, was good at this job. In many ways, it was the only thing he was fit to do. Besides, he'd have to move on soon enough, and now that he had a daughter... Until that time came, he'd deal with the indignity of being left behind.
He looked at his watch. Walker and Bartwoski had been gone almost five minutes. He'd give them another ten before checking in. Five for the trip, five to take out the guards and open the vault, and five to return. Anything more and they'd have hit a snag.
He'd just holstered his gun when a he felt a slight buzzing across his brain. He shook his head to dislodge it. It couldn't be , not here . But his head jostling did nothing to calm the sensation, the static, and within seconds the voices had joined in, the ones that whispered and babbled, the ones he always thought that if he listened just hard enough, he could understand. But he never could. He whipped his head around, trying to pinpoint the direction before finally focusing on the ceiling above. He barely managed to take a step back and bring his hand down to the metal cylinder latched to the side of his belt before a small figured dropped gracefully through the same hole the team had come through. She stayed crouched for half a second before straightening, holding a long staff in a vertical position in front of her body.
The body definitely belonged to a female, he'd have to be blind not to see that, but that was the only thing he could be sure of. She was dressed head to toe in black, from the tips of a pair of low heeled boots, reminiscent of the ones Walker always wore, to the top of her head, swathed in a ski mask. Casey slipped the cylinder off his hip and held it loosely in one hand, thumb resting on a hidden catch. Maybe this could be settled without a fight.
He stared at the slight figure before speaking. "I am John Casey of - "
An exasperated groan caused him to falter and a light feminine voice spoke wryly. "Oh, God. Which one?"
His brow wrinkled slightly. "Excuse me?"
She sighed and reached up, pulling the stocking cap off her head. A riot of brown hair spilled across her shoulders before the girl spoke again. "Which one? Connor or Duncan?"
Casey blinked at her for a long minute, taken aback at her appearance. She was pretty, beautiful really, but barely more than a child, probably just past the cusp of adulthood when she'd had her first death. Now he understood why her curves had appeared so slight.
His thoughts must have been written on his face, or maybe she was just used to this reaction from her challengers, because she rolled her eyes and answered his unspoken words.
"Unfortunately, death is no respecter of age. Now, which one found you?"
She was fingering the curve of her staff and Casey backed up slightly, risking a glance at his watch. Eight minutes.
"Both. How did you know?"
She looked at him like he was an idiot and he felt his irritation return. "Because only those two think it's necessary to introduce themselves to someone they plan to decapitate."
He grunted dismissively and then fixed her with his best 'I am three times your size and will eat you for breakfast' look. It had made men bigger than him quail in their boots, but she stared back impassively. He felt an unusual flicker of admiration, but he didn't have the time to play games. If this was the way she wanted it... "Are we going to do this, or was your plan to talk me to death?"
"Fine, fine." She waved her hand at him in a bored, go ahead gesture. "Carry on."
"You could just walk away. I don't usually make a habit of beheading children."
Her brown eyes flashed into something hard and old and he was momentarily thrown off guard by the dichotomy caught there – aged wisdom mingled with an air of childish innocence. Her words were dry and humorless. "I haven't been a child in a very long time, John Casey. And unfortunately, I need something from here, and I suspect you just might try to stop me from taking it."
He'd almost forgotten they were in a high security Volkoff hideaway, and she wasn't exactly dressed for casual visiting. Better to be quick then, before Walker and Bartowski came back.
He depressed the trigger and a blade of lightweight titanium unfolded, sliding seamlessly into place at the same instant the blade guards unhooked from the sides. He assumed a defensive stance and waited for her move.
She shook her head ruefully. "You younglings and your new fangled toys." She turned her staff horizontal and made a twisting motion with her hand. The ends detached and she was left holding a slim, doubled bladed baton.
He spoke again. She might mock, but the forms should be followed. The Game was brutal enough without them abandoning all civility. He bowed his head and said formally, "I am John Casey."
She grimaced. "Oh, fine. Vera." When she saw him looking at her expectantly she expounded. "Just Vera. We weren't too big on last names when I was born. Living in a village of a hundred people kind of makes it a moot point." She cocked one eyebrow. "Shall we?"
She didn't wait for his response before swinging her staff in a tight circle and advancing. He raised his sword to meet hers, and the game was on.
Casey had been taught by some of the best, and as a result was one of the best, but this girl, Vera, she was something else. She wasn't just fighting, she was dancing - twisting and flowing with her blade; not a weapon and a girl, but a single entity, both working together in seamless harmony. And she was laughing. She obviously enjoyed a fight as much as he did.
He flashed a rare smile and redoubled his attack, appreciating having a decent opponent for once. Offensively, though, it didn't matter which way he turned, she was already there and parrying, somehow having anticipated his move. She had to have been doing this a long, long time.
He grunted and dodged a blade headed for his stomach. "How old are you?" He swept out a leg and managed to kick her foot out from under her, but instead of tumbling to the ground she caught herself on her palms and flipped back up and out of reach of his sword.
"John, John, John" she chastised, as they warily circled each other in the small hall, "a gentleman never asks a lady her age."
He scoffed at both labels before pressing forward, using his blade to push her back toward the wall. She had been careful to stay out of arms reach of him, because while she might be faster, and possibly better, he still had the advantage of height and muscle mass. If he could get within her defensive circle, he would have her trapped and they both knew it.
She took several steps back before slipping to the side around him. He swung around, barely getting his sword up in time to block her downward thrust. A loud clang rang through the hall as their blades met and he winced slightly at the sound. Why did these damn things always have to happen at such inconvenient times?
He used the momentum of his block to heave her up and back, and she stumbled, giving him the opening he was looking for. In an instant he was on her, trapping her body between his and the wall, his sword at her throat. Her own weapon was useless for this close range and she let it drop as she stared at him challengingly.
He hesitated. This was the part of the Game he really didn't enjoy. He'd shoot a man, stab him, even blow him up if he needed to in the course of his job, but decapitation? Where did that get fun? At times like this, the Game just seemed like so much stupidity and waste.
His pause cost him his advantage. He heard the soft schnick of a knife being unsheathed and when she glanced down he followed her gaze to see her holding the small blade against his groin.
She grinned gleefully. "Your move."
Her eyes told him that she'd never surrender and he felt an answering thrum from his own inability to back down. The adrenaline high crashed over him and her scent tickled his nose, light and woman. He smirked and pressed in closer against her, turning his blade slightly so that the flat instead of the edge was against her throat. His eyes dropped from hers to her mouth and he watched as her lips parted slightly.
Crackling static broke the charged silence and Walker's voice filled the air. "Casey, we've got it. We're on our way down."
He held Vera's stare for another second before, by unspoken accord, they simultaneously withdrew their weapons. She slipped her knife back into her wrist sheath and he returned his sword to its innocuous appearing cylinder. There was one more second before she shrugged.
"It's just as well. I can think of a lot of other things I'd rather do with your head than chop it off." Then, quick as a flash she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss against his lips. He froze and she laughed and ducked under his arm, scooping up her doubled bladed staff as she went.
He spun around just in time to see her grab the wooden covers from the floor and tuck them under one arm.
"Another time, Casey!" She winked and gave him a mock salute before turning and running lightly down the hall. He watched, bemused, until she disappeared around the corner. Before he could do anything more, he heard the sound of pounding feet and Walker and Bartowski came up panting beside him.
"Did we mention that one of the guards revived enough to call in backup?" Bartowksi gave him a nervous grin. "So we probably want to, you know, move quickly."
A shot rang from the way they'd come and Casey growled disgustedly before pulling himself up into the duct and turning around to reach for Walker's arms. As soon as they were safely back in the vent, Chuck replaced the cover and they began the long crawl back to the surface.
As he shuffled along on his elbows, stuck in the unfortunate position of staring at Bartowski's backside, he heard several long spats of gunfire below them. Vera must have been pinned down, and he briefly considered going back to help. But he had no good reason to give Walker for going back, and in the end, his responsibility was to his team, not to her. He put the whole odd episode out of him mind and kept moving forward, all the time grumbling about nerds who chose to tranq instead of using real bullets.