A/N: And now the brief epilogue of our little plaid Christmas tale.

A Year Without Christmas?

Epilogue: The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul

Casey shut down the computer, turned off the bugs. He poured himself a generous re-fill of Johnny Walker and motioned with the bottle to Morgan's glass. He shook his head no, still teary-eyed from his earlier choking and crying. Casey's eyes were watery too.

Even though Morgan refused the drink, he sat back in his chair, off his precarious perch on its edge. "So, we don't need to watch over them anymore, Chuck and Sarah?"

Casey huffed good-naturedly. "No, I'm certain Agent Walker has Agent Bartowski well in hand by now. — I probably should've stowed a couple of those donut tailbone pillows in Walker's Porsche. They'll likely need them tomorrow."

It took Morgan a moment again. "Oh. Oh!"

"So what happens with them now?"

Casey got a far-off look in his eyes, shrugged. "They'll have to get this past Beckman, but I like their chances. Beckman's been down a similar road, for better and for worse. And now that Chuck's an agent…"

"But, he didn't actually do that Red Test thingy, right? Did I understand? You did it."

Casey gave Morgan a long look. "If you're gonna be on the Team, you gotta figure out what to say and what not to say, Morgan. So, keep this to yourself, do you hear me?"

Morgan nodded.

"Yeah. Like you said this morning, Bartowski could pull the trigger to save Walker...or Ellie, or Devon, or you...or me. But he can't pull one in cold blood. It ain't in him, in his wiring. But the Red Test is some barbaric shit dreamed up by Langston Graham and his intelligence-service cronies." Casey wove his fingers together and flexed his hands, palms out, cracking his knuckles, an expression of disgust on his face. He picked up his glass and stood, anger making him move.

"Always been more about them controlling the agent than about the agent earning status. You heard Walker. Her Red Test day was her...shatterday." Casey fought off the memory of his own, long ago. "I figure a lot of Walker's...troubles...tie back to that day, one way or another. Shaw making her administer that for Bartowski was one cold, calculated, psychotic move — kill three birds with one shot: Walker's feelings for Chuck, Chuck's sense of himself, and the mole. Sonovabitch might've pulled it off.

"Don't know that all of him knew what he was doing all of the time," Casey shook his hands, his cracked knuckles. "Divide yourself enough, slice yourself up inside, and...well, ...you can fool all of yourself some of the time, and some of yourself all of the time, but you can't fool all of yourself all of the time. Shaw knew, or some of him knew, some times, the shit he was up to." Casey took a long sip from his glass, and sat back down.

"So…" Morgan said, "it was Sarah, right, her Red Test? And that's what's on the thumb drive?"

Casey's eyes widened. Morgan hurried on. "I heard you and Shaw talking, coming up the stairs. Too cold for the A/C unit to be running..."

Casey sat back in his chair. "That's right. I executed the mole. Sarah executed Shaw's wife. Sure she had no idea who Evelyn was. My bet's that Graham withheld the name of the target. Walker has no idea who she…. — well, all she knows is what Graham told her, and knowing him, that was basically squat."

"Jesus…" Morgan sighed, "what a mess. Are we...you...going to tell Sarah?"

Casey closed his eyes and started to answer. "Got to. It'd come out anyway. Shaw's gone. Beckman knows." He opened his eyes and gave Morgan a stern glance. "But they get tonight and tomorrow to...just be about them. I'll give them some story when they get back. Then I'll tell them in a day or two. Lucky for us, I don't think Shaw is likely to be on either of their minds. And when they know the truth, I don't think they'll be too broken up…"

"But, Sarah, wasn't she...Didn't she?"

Casey lifted his hands, palms up, and shrugged. "Well…, not sure. Probably. But she never loved the guy, not one iota, and she knew it. All of her knew it, all of the time, even if she kept trying to pull off some kind of self-Cherniak…"

"Cherniak?" Morgan asked, blinking. "You mean the nuclear power plant, the disaster?..Cher— Cher—." Morgan was lost.

"Not Chernobyl. Cherniak."

"Oh, that thing you do when you are choking!"

"No, numb-nuts. The Amazing Boris. The hypnotist. Thought you were the obscure pop reference guy."

"Haven't paid much attention to hypnotists…"

Casey gave him a long look. "Well, she was trying to hypnotize herself. Like someone trying to kick cigarettes. She was trying to kick her Bartowski habit. Didn't work, though. You saw."

Morgan's face split into a happy grin. "Yeah."

They were still for a minute. "So, her name is Alex?" Morgan asked, leaning forward.

Casey nodded. "Yeah, Alex. She seems like a nice girl." Casey's tone grew...dangerous.

Morgan leaned back a little. "Right."

Another still minute. Morgan yawned. "I'm bushed. I'm gonna go get a little shut-eye. Visions of sugar plums, you know?"

"Uh-huh. I'm tired too." Casey stood and Morgan did too.

Another still minute.

"Um, look, Grimes...Morgan. Good work today. I owe you."

Morgan looked embarrassed. "We did good, didn't we?"

"Even more than we planned on. Above and beyond. Betting Beckman's attack on that Fulcrum hideout will yield dividends."

Casey extended his hand. Morgan took it. They shook hands. Casey opened the door. Morgan gave Casey a small smile, then he left the apartment and headed to his.

Casey shut the door.

He sighed. Alone.

He walked back to his chair and took a drink of his whiskey.

He was alone again. But he had friends. Two good ones. Walker and Bartowski. Chuck and Sarah.

And another. A third. Grimes. Morgan.

He took another drink, swallowing slow and deliberate, maximizing the sweet burn of the whiskey.

Walker had...finally...acknowledged her choice. Casey was sure it would stick. Walker was not the same as, say, Carina Miller. Walker was a deep file, secrets within secrets. Miller was all surface — lovely surface, Casey mused, as an image of her in nothing but his lucky boxers flitted in and out of his mind — Walker was all depths. Getting to her heart took someone like Bartowski, a pearl diver of a man, capable of holding his breath for...what? — Casey checked his watch — almost three, three gawddamn years.

The kid has true grit.

The kid. Kid. An image of Alex smiling at him seized Casey's mind, halting everything, including his breathing.

Christ-on-a-Cracker: she looks almost exactly like Kathleen did years ago.

Casey had basically run from Kathleen's when she did not recognize him, hoping she would not. He had not taken any time to look around, he had been first so frightened for her and second so frightened for himself. — Did Kathleen have a daughter?

Casey had managed over the years to keep himself from digging into Kathleen's life. As much as a part of him wanted to know, another, deeper, part of him did not. He was not sure he could go on if he knew much, that he could keep doing the job.

But he got up and turned on his computer. It took a few minutes of digging, but Kathleen did have a daughter, Alexandra. Casey chased Alex around, finding her on various social media. The same girl, the same young woman. Her age, her date of birth…Alex McHugh. Jesus.

A daughter. Casey had a daughter. He stumbled back to his chair and sat down, staring into space.

There was a knock on the door. Casey got up, still dumbfounded, and opened it automatically. He expected to see Morgan. Instead, it was Alex. Casey stared at her, his dumbfoundedness dumbfounded.

"Um...Hi, John."

"Alex? What are you doing here? How?"

She gave him a nervous smile. "I saw you leave with that guy, the guy at the other table, the video... And when you left, I bussed the table for Matilda. I found this where that guy was sitting." She held out the Ring phone that Shaw had. Casey had forgotten about it in everything that happened, and taken it for granted that it was on Shaw when Shaw was taken away. Casey had left the check of Shaw's person to the team Beckman sent.

Casey snatched the phone. Alex pulled her hand back, looked hurt

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that this is...evidence. Important evidence. You didn't use it, did you?"

"No," Alex said, shaking her head, "I didn't do anything with it. I figured I would bring it to you after my shift. Call it a strange Secret Santa gift." She gave Casey a smile that he had not seen in years, Kathleen's smile, clever and cheeky.

He almost fell down. He locked his knees, took a deep breath.

"Alex, how did you find me?"

She got a shy look on her face. "I saw you leave the parking lot — with a bearded guy. I got the license plate of your car. Couldn't catch you. — Like the Crown Vic, by the way. Mom has stories about...a guy who owned one, a guy she knew, a long time ago. — Anyway, Matilda's sister works at the DMV. I figured it was a long shot but she kept after it and found your address. I guess the car's yours, not a company car."

Not a Company car. "Yeah, it's mine. Got a thing for fine Yankee craftsmanship,"

She grinned. "Well, I guess that's my errand. I've got to go. Christmas Eve celebration at my mom's. Hope to see you at Comfort Food again. I work there a lot; helps pay my way through school."

Casey thought about asking her in, but thought better of it. This had been present enough, gift enough, and he needed time to think, feel his way through it.

"Thanks, Alex, thanks a lot. I will definitely be back. How's the pie?"

"Excellent. Try the apple or the walnut."

"Walnut?"

"You won't regret it. Promise. No regrets."

"Then I'll do it. No regrets."

She gave him that smile again and turned away. He watched his daughter — my daughter — walk away. He was beaming, and scared to death.

He shut the door and took a breath. Re-energized, he went to the computer. A generous, anonymous donor was going to help Alex McHugh with her college tuition, her father. Casey cracked his knuckles again and got to work.

When he finished, sure that his tracks were covered and that the tuition would be paid, Casey made a phone call to Barstow, to a pizza place, and sent a veggie pizza, no olives, to Walker and Bartowski's room. They needed to keep up their strength.

Casey clipped a cigar, slid the cigar band off it. He breathed it in. To hell with Castro but God bless Cuba!

He walked outside and lit his cigar. Someone in a nearby apartment turned on a radio, and Christmas music wafted into the courtyard, mixing with the grey wreaths of Casey's cigar smoke.

He thought of his dad. He thought of his mom. He thought of Kathleen. He thought of Alex. What to do about her? Get to know her. Be of whatever help I can without messing anything up.

I got a daughter, gawddamnit. He wanted to dance, to laugh out loud.

He took another puff on the cigar, then looked at the steely gray, lengthening ash.

Casey knew he was getting older. His ash was lengthening too, so much of his life now smoke, gone. But he was not dead. Not by a long shot. And, he was not Daniel Shaw, poor dumb bastard.

He looked at Ellie's apartment, could see blinking lights inside. Casey had a home, friends. A daughter.

Tomorrow would be a Team Bartowski Christmas. He would grumble and grunt and enjoy every fa-la-ladyfeelings moment of it.

He finished his cigar. Smiling, he went inside — presents to wrap, gawddamnit, and then I'll call Mom.

The man who walked across his heart
Was doomed to journey to the start
Of every love affair he'd broken
All the lies he'd ever spoken
Tattooed on his arm

And the jellyfish stings
Even angels with wings
Who look too deep
And dare to peep

Now he sits all alone
Knowing flesh blood and bone
Is everything
He found the treasure he'd been seeking
The man who sailed around his soul

-XTC, The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. I'd really appreciate a review or a PM.

Check out the video for the XTC song. I think you'll get a kick out of it in relation to the story.

I'm finishing up my other Christmas story, Red and Green. You may want to take a look at it. It's lighter fare.

A Merry Christmas or a Happy Holidays to all!

— Zettel