We Hid Behind the Cliches to Protect Ourselves from the TruthRating.
PG-13Written for. aphrodite_mineCharacters/Pairings.
Sarah Walker, John Casey; hints at Sarah/CaseyOriginally Written.
December 29, 2008Spoilers/Warnings.
General knowledge of Chuck
is really all that is necessarySummary. John Casey suspected Sarah Walker would be the death of himDisclaimer.
I don't own a thing; it belongs to people more creative than I am.
John Casey suspected Sarah Walker would be the death of him (not knew,
as that would imply he was a fatalist, and fatalists don’t survive long in his profession).
It doesn’t shock him she’s at his back when the bullet hits him squarely in the chest.
To say he hoped it wouldn’t happen is not true either, as hope implies optimism, and optimists die even faster than fatalists.
John Casey is much happier to die a pragmatist.
It’s not her fault.
It’s not Casey’s either.
She still blames herself (it makes the pain easier).
Casey suggests that they kill them.
“Fulcrum.” In a tone that waivers between disbelief at her question and disbelief at himself for saying it at all.
“Okay.” He clasps her hand and lifts her up off the floor.
To tell Agent Walker why he wants to kill Fulcrum would be admitting a weakness, and John likes admitting that he’s human about as much as he liked listening to Morgan and Chuck drivel on about World of Warcraft and Call of Duty.
(Some nights when he can’t sleep and Walker’s taken enough sleeping pills for the both of them, he listens to tapes of Chuck – not from missions or nights of potential threats – just arguments with Ellie, cheering with Morgan and angsting over Sarah, the boy had out-loud pitying down to an art.
Whenever she wakes up suddenly, he switches his iPod, from Chuck to ACDC in two seconds flat. If she’s noticed his habit of rapidly changing his music when she awakens, she has never commented.)
They all have their ways of coping. (This is his.)
Sarah always imagined her death in one of two scenarios:
She would die saving Chuck. She would take his bullet and kill his assailant before dying in his arms – his mop of unruly brown hair the last thing she saw; she would be dead and Chuck would be safe.
The other has John Casey at her back, both lacking bullets they claim to have and outnumbered five to one (Chuck sometimes figures in, running for his life, but always safe). The last thing she sees in this situation is Casey dying next to her, proud and honorable, and her body bleeding away on some cold tile floor and a CIA clean-up crew mopping up the mess before the world would know.
Sarah always wished for the first – she figured it was noble and heroic.
Now she sometimes wonders if it wasn’t the coward’s way out.
(But she likes to believe that was the best way to die.)
It takes eight months, but they track Fulcrum down, every last agent: murdered, assassinated, suicided.
Twelve different countries and a dozen more aliases, and they’ve only got five left, and they’re all going to be meeting at a pizza parlor in two hours.
It seems like a dream, how easy the ending will be.
Sarah will die with John at her side (somewhere between Brazil and Pakistan their last names got lost and it was John and Sarah not Casey and Walker; maybe not the names they were born with, but the ones with which they’ll die).
And it probably won’t be all that heroic.
Bad guys will be dead, but so will they.
John will be there beside her, grunting through his pain and using all his bullets and still falling one short.
Of all her relationships, the one with him was probably built on the least lies and the most common ground. They’re both broken souls fighting for the one thing they can still believe in.
It will be the death of them.
But then again, they kind of knew that when it all started.
It’s 9:34 on a Thursday evening when John Casey dies.
As he suspected, it is all Sarah Walker’s fault.
If she had never met Bryce, then maybe he wouldn’t have decided to be a hero and a double agent, and then he never would have had to kill him, and then Chuck never would have been sent all the secrets of the Intersect, and then they never would have both been assigned to him, and then when Chuck died, neither would care, and they wouldn’t be here, one bullet short and too much fight left to give up.
“It’s been a pleasure.”
He nods and they fire. His last two bullets hit his marks right around the time one slams into his upper chest and the world starts to go dark.
One, two, three shots ring out into the darkness before he hears a soft thud and a quiet moan.
They were always one short. It’s something he suspected all along – like how the girl dying next to him would cause his own.
The last things John Casey ever hears, in the milliseconds before his death, are the echoing sounds of shoes on the pavement and one last ringing shot in his ears.