(Life is) MOSTLY FICTION

Tempted Ch 11 - Stunned

2009-10-17T04:44:24Z

Here's the next chapter! If all goes as outlined, there should be two chapters left after this, and then we're done!

Disclaimer: these are not my characters, because as you can see, I would do different things with them than the show has done ...

Bartowski was standing in the middle of a Buy More aisle staring down at his phone with a disturbed expression. Ordinarily Casey wouldn’t have bothered himself about Chuck’s emotional disturbances – he tended to have a lot of them – but since the team was on high alert for the Fulcrum agent or agents who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth after surfacing on their way to Burbank, he figured anything that put that expression on the Intersect’s face was his business. So as he neared him Casey reached out and grabbed the phone from Chuck’s hands.

“Hey!” flash-boy squawked, reaching futilely for the phone. Casey stiff-armed him away with ease while he read the text on the screen. I’m taking today and the weekend off to get my head sorted out. Won’t be home till Monday. Please don’t wreck the house. From Ellie.

Get her head sorted out? “You and Woodcomb gonna be bachelors for a few days, huh?” That couldn’t be what was causing Bartowski’s upset.

“Ah – not exactly.” Chuck grabbed for the phone again and Casey let him have it this time. The younger man put it away, frowning. “You haven’t reviewed any of the surveillance recordings from the last few days, huh?”

“Walker did,” Casey snapped, annoyed at the implication that he might not be doing his job. He’d turned all interior surveillance of the Bartowski residence over to his partner. It was just ... better, that way. And she hadn’t informed him of any occurrences that would give Ellie the need to get her head ‘sorted out’.

“And you haven’t talked to her?”

“Of course not. Why would I talk to Ellie?” Had he looked guilty there, for a second? Did Chuck suspect something?

Chuck eyed him strangely. “I meant Sarah, Casey.”

Shit. “Oh. Yeah, regular sit reps.” Casey folded his arms firmly, to distract Chuck and because now he was onto a scent. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Uh ... well.” Chuck mussed his own hair. “Devon moved out last week.”

Moved out. Casey blinked slowly. “What do you mean, ‘moved out’?” There was no ‘moving out’ in his conceptual universe. Devon was a fixture. An ugly, pointless one, but screwed in tightly exactly where he wasn’t wanted. Not even after Casey and Ellie had completely lost control at the fountain that day had she owned up and come clean, and he figured if that didn’t do it nothing would. So ... what? “Moved out as in ... moved out?”

Chuck nodded dismally. “Yeah. No taking some time to think, no needing some space for a little while – they’re done, I guess. Short of some miracle.”

Casey hadn’t seen Devon around over the past week, but he’d seen the man drive away with his snowboard and some luggage and figured he was headed off somewhere to play. Hearing that he and Ellie were done, caput, Casey was ... he didn’t have an appropriate word for what he was. In shock. Flabbergasted, there was a good term. Vindicated, somehow, and ... well, not scared. What did he have to be afraid of? He was just a little befuddled, that was all.

“Why?” he barked out. “What happened?”

Chuck blinked and tilted his head suspiciously, but Casey barely noticed through the intensity of his drive for information.

“She didn’t really say,” Chuck told the older man in measured tones, “and I don’t think it’s any of your business.” He folded his arms as if to indicate that his lips were now Fort Knox.

Casey sneered at him. He was recalling that there was a reason completely unrelated to Ellie for which he’d originally sought Chuck out. But at that moment Walker entered the store, eyes gathering Casey and Chuck and efficiently herding them toward the Castle.

“Uh-oh”, Casey heard from Chuck. He didn’t bother with such meaninglessness himself as they clumped down into the Castle, staggered one by one to avoid rousing the suspicions of Buy More’s employees. Though most of them were so dimwitted that Casey wondered, not for the first time, if they even needed to bother.

General Beckman was on the screen. “Agent Walker informs me that Fulcrum has possibly surfaced in Burbank. From our end, it appears that Chuck is definitely their target.”

As if anything else in Burbank could possibly qualify as an alternative target, Casey thought sardonically.

“What?” Chuck squawked, betraying the fact that this was news to him. It had been Casey’s assignment to inform him in the few minutes’ warning the two agents had gotten before the briefing with the General. He sensed Walker sliding him a sideways glance, one that asked why that hadn’t happened. Casey scowled. Filling Chuck in was what he’d been on his way to do. Ellie’s text had distracted him.

It wasn’t good that Ellie was disrupting his attention to the job. Not good at all. And he realized with disgust that it was happening right now; he’d missed something.

“ . . . out of town,” Walker was saying. “Good timing for a trap.”

Trap? That effectively snapped Casey’s brain to the current situation.

“I don’t think ..” Chuck began, but was over-ridden by General Beckman.

“If we have certainty that your sister is out of the way for the entire weekend, you have a go.” She signed off abruptly.

Ellie out of town for the weekend was a good thing, Casey told himself. He could put her out of his mind and concentrate on his duty. The fact that this took effort scared him – just a little. But now wasn’t the time to be occupied with anything but the mission, including his discomfort over the feelings a woman was stirring in his gut.

With General Beckman off the screen Walker and Casey set to planning their trap. Walker would move into the Bartowski home for the weekend. Casey would too, but not as obviously – to all intents and purposes he’d still be across the courtyard in his own home. The timing of this was good for more than just a trap, he decided. Some action to pull his priorities together – that’s what he needed.

The next day, though, camped out on the floor in what had been Ellie’s and Devon’s room, he was feeling differently about this plan. No action had happened, yet. And no, Ellie wasn’t here, but all her stuff was. He lay on the floor staring up at the shade-darkened ceiling with patches of sunlight dancing across it, shoving away thoughts of Ellie and Devon together in the nearby bed. The room smelled like her. A drawer had been partially open when he’d entered, and something frilly was sticking out. It still as, because the goal was to leave everything in here undisturbed. Ellie could never know he’d spent any time – let alone what would potentially be two days – on her bedroom floor. So there it stayed, something pink and dainty, reminding him of his thoughts on her underwear months ago; he’d wondered if she had anything more feminine than the basic white he’d seen her in. Well, that question was answered. A dozen others were roaming his brain, though. He took the chance to curse Chuck for his refusal to let anyone but himself and Walker sleep on his sheets; otherwise Casey could have caught his sleep shift in Chuck’s room and avoided this torture.

When he finally rose and prepared for spending the night on guard duty, his lack of sleep made Casey unsuitable for human interaction. Sarah had had the day shift, as it made sense that the girlfriend would hang out in Ellie’s absence. She and Chuck would sleep in his room, still playing the loving couple, while Casey staked out the rest of the house. The two young people made an early night of it, a move spurred by Casey’s unvarnished surliness.

That was fine with Casey. He thought if he had to listen to Chuck’s yammering at all he might just put a bullet in the wrong person.

So Chuck and Sarah went to bed, early if not quite early enough for Casey, and blessed silence descended on the house. Casey moved about in the dark, checking the sensors he and Walker had placed at all the possible entrances and the silent alarm that would vibrate against his wrist and Sarah’s if anyone breached them. Then he set up for a long night of being on watch.

The hours crept by. As trained as he was, Casey usually spent times like this hoping something would happen, anything to break up the long periods of alert readiness. Tonight that was fueled by an additional desire to take his frustration, lack of sleep, and uncertainty out on an appropriate target – a villain. Any villain would do.

As the night wore on, though, it seemed he wasn’t going to get his desire. Midnight passed, and two a.m. Then five a.m. Morning light was considering creeping over from the east when Casey’s head swung around and his posture stilled. He hadn’t heard anything, exactly, and his alarm was quiescent against his arm. But there was something ... he rose from where he’d been squatting against a hallway wall, then paused to get a better sense of things.

There was a sound, from down near Chuck’s bedroom. Casey knew those two weren’t up and about yet. Adrenaline beginning to pump, he moved silently and swiftly to the bedroom door. It was ajar. Gun out and safety off, he nudged it open. It swung silently on hinges that he’d oiled the day before. Chuck’s bed came into view with two lumps in it, both of them breathing. Pushing the door further, Casey entered the room in a low crouch, automatically checking the area behind the door – and then catching a glimpse of movement at the window.

Casey dropped to the floor by the bed as a dark figure, difficult to visualize in the pre-dawn gloom, pried at Chuck’s window. It began to slide open. The alarm at Casey’s wrist didn’t react. Damn, the intruder had disabled it somehow; which meant he or she knew to expect security and agents here. Not good. He risked shoving his shoulder against the bed to jar it and awaken Walker.

There was the barest rustle, and then silence. She’d have her gun in her hand, then. Despite her lamentable tendency toward emotional entanglements, when it came down to an acute situation, Walker was good at what she did. Casey had no fears there.

The intruder had gotten the window open and was almost into the room. Casey had been inching toward the end of the bed when the alarm at his wrist began – finally –to vibrate. He stopped, and his lip curled up in pleased disdain. They may have disabled the entry-way sensors, but obviously they hadn’t gotten to the interior ones he and Walker had spent the previous evening setting up, like those criss-crossing the kitchen floor.

The man – in the slowly strengthening light, gender could now be identified – was halfway to the bed when Walker exploded up off it, kicking the blanket out of the way with expertise and leaping at the man with a flying tackle. Chuck awoke with a squawk and Casey didn’t stay to see more.

Darting out of the room, he headed to the kitchen. Another black-clad figure stood in the doorway raising a communication device to his mouth. He saw Casey and his hand reversed direction, toward the gun he wore in a side holster; but Casey’s was already out, and trained.

“Don’t,” he snarled, half-wishing he would – but common sense prevailed in the other’s head and he froze obediently, hands in the air. Casey lifted the gun out of its holster himself, and gestured the man to turn around. He reached for his handcuffs, shifting with his prisoner to keep him in gun sight. Just as Casey moved his weight to his right foot, a heavy blow meant for his head glanced instead off his left shoulder. The arm smarted with pain and then went numb, but he didn’t have time to consider that as he swung around with his gun now held to bludgeon. The grip connected with the temple of yet another man in dark clothing standing behind him. Casey registered instantaneously that the guy was going down, his eyes rolled up, and so he continued around to end his three-sixty turn once more facing the first man.

He was no longer there. Casey was peripherally aware of Walker, with Bartowski behind her, exiting the bedroom; but his attention was on Man #1 who was postured to deliver a roundhouse kick to Casey’s head. He ducked it and felt his gun knocked from his hand by a hard Fulcrum fist. That just left that hand free, though, to clip a fast right uppercut into the guys’ gut. His left arm was useless, so he followed up with a low-driving shoulder into the man’s chest and a head-but up under his chin. The Fulcrum agent got in a good punch to Casey’s jaw, but then he went down, and Casey fell on him to keep him there; the man fought his captor’s weight, twisting and clawing his arm out to find the gun that had fallen to the floor.

“Chuck!” Casey bellowed, because Walker was on the floor, too, subduing the man Casey had felled first, who had started to stir. “A little help here?”

“What? What!” Chuck appeared at his side, verbally dithering but looking ready to stomp on the guy’s head if need be.

“Handcuffs,” Casey barked out while maneuvering to corral the leg that was trying to knee him in the gonads, “my left arm’s dead.”

Chuck found the cuffs, got them on the guy who continued to struggle under Casey’s restraint, and then he backed off to Sarah’s side. Walker had produced rope from somewhere and was tightly binding the man Casey had cold-cocked.

“The other one contained?” Casey asked. She nodded.

“Handcuffed to the bed,” Chuck offered. He raised a hand to rub his shoulder as though it hurt, and Casey noted that Bartowski’s knuckles were abraded. So once more the Intersect had been an active player in the team’s reaction to a threat. He’d remember to put that in his report.

He grabbed the gun he’d dropped while scuffling with the agent who now wore his handcuffs. He trained it on him, because the idiot was snaking his body slowly across the floor in the direction of the living room door, as though none of them were going to notice if he got to it.

That was when said door opened, early morning light spilled across the floor, and Eleanor Bartowski walked into their midst.

"Tempted" Ch 10 - Finished

2009-09-29T03:27:59Z

Hi everyone, it's been a long time! The next installment of "Tempted", my John/Ellie fic, is

Finished

There were bruises on Ellie’s legs. This wasn’t so remarkable of itself; she often barked a shin on a corner of the nurse’s station, or a patient bed, or a large piece of medical equipment, while rushing around doing her job at the hospital. However, this morning she was careful to be up and dressed before Devon awoke. And that evening when she got home she pulled on long pants. She was stifling in the nearly 100-degree-heat, but she just didn’t want anyone asking about those marks. So she cranked the a/c instead of putting on cooler clothes.

After dinner with Chuck, she sat alone on the couch, Devon having worked a later shift today. She pulled her sore feet up onto the cushion and started to massage them, but soon found herself distracted by where she knew herself to be black-and-blue under her pants legs. She rubbed the area absently, staring across the room at nothing. Her thoughts were on the stone of the fountain from which she’d acquired the bruises, and the actions she’d willfully and knowingly participated in which caused them. She had spent too much of her time today fighting off memories of how John had felt - the length and breadth and warmth and hardness of him - and how he’d made her feel. And she’d spent the entire day guilt-ridden.

Because if what they’d done out there by the fountain hadn’t been cheating, and poaching, she didn’t know what was. It had been so wrong. And largely her fault, she felt, for the little game she’d been playing with John’s libido. It would have helped if she had some one to confess to, to mull things over with out loud. But she had no one she could share this with. She didn’t want anyone knowing this shameful thing about her. There was already John, who unavoidably knew, and who she was better off never setting eyes on again. Just the thought of what the two of them had done yesterday gave her palpitations, and to her shame they were not entirely guilt-spurred. Lust was pretty prevalent in there, too.

She planned to take extreme care not to run into That Man. And she was sure he would go out of his way to avoid her, too. But she knew by now that she wasn’t going to be able to get him out of her thoughts, and the semi-normalized contact she currently had with Devon wouldn’t help any. That day at work, Ellie had seriously contemplated moving. But she imagined bringing that up to Devon; “hey, honey, why don’t we look for a new place in, say, Nova Scotia?” She got an instant image of the “who-are-you-and-where-is-my-fiancee” look she’d see on his face.

So instead she tried enumerating, for the millionth time, the cons on her pro/con John list.

One was that he smirked a lot, a habit she detested in others. And he scowled. Yes, he had a beautiful smile, but he frowned way more often than he smiled; generally at her brother, who was supposedly his friend. Which, when Ellie took time to think about it, was a little strange. What was a guy his age doing hanging around with people the ages of Chuck and Sarah if he didn’t enjoy their company? The more she considered this, the more struck by it she was. It might even be kind of ... creepy. And then there were those moments she could almost have sworn that John and Sarah had some kind of mutual secret language ... they’d make eye contact, slight hand or eye movements, and the next thing you knew one or the other of them, sometimes both, had to leave. It was very, very odd. If anyone had a secret language, shouldn’t it be Chuck and Sarah?

That thought had occurred to her earlier in the day while she was standing at the nurse’s station. Ostensible perusing the chart of a patient she couldn’t, at that moment, have named, Ellie caught her breath. If Sarah had a secret language with someone who wasn’t Chuck, it was entirely possible she had other things with that person ... things she shouldn’t have with anyone but Chuck. It was an awful thought; but it put the blonde girl’s interactions with John into a whole new light.

Ellie couldn’t get rid of the idea; it had haunted her for the rest of her workday and on the way home that evening. She hadn’t thought Sarah was that kind of person, but she also knew that anyone could fall into temptation. More, Ellie knew intimately just how severe a temptation John Casey could pose. She didn’t like to think of him as someone who’d steal another guy’s girlfriend, either ... he’d even told her as much that day with the microwave malfunction, and she’d believed him. There had been absolute conviction in his voice. But then there was what they’d done out by the fountain. And what did she really know about John Casey? He was a big guy, he worked at the Buy More and didn’t enjoy it, he had a good appetite and was very sweet about helping in the kitchen. That was it.

Well, and that his kisses were like manna from heaven to the starving.

All in all, it didn’t amount to much. Sweet guys could be backstabbers, couldn’t they? Sure they could.

And there was one such sweet guy, possessed of heretofore unknown potential for dealing out pain, coming through the door into the house right now. Standing up from the couch where she’d been sitting staring into space, Ellie shoved her troublesome thoughts aside with an effort and gave her fiancé a determinedly bright smile.

He returned it, bright and breezy. But Ellie’s eyes began to narrow after he met them for about one second, then immediately focused on the kitchen. This was quite a switch from the past few weeks, during which he’d been ultra-attentive, buying her flowers and hanging around constantly and touching her at every turn. She swiveled to watch him make a beeline for the fridge, calling “‘how was your day?” over his shoulder.

He was trying too hard to be normal. When what would really have been ‘normal’ was for him to acknowledge that they had had, and still had, problems. Big problems. Perhaps, Ellie had realized yesterday, insurmountable problems. He had secrets of unknown gravitas; she had ones that were ocean-liner-sized. Given this, his current ‘nothing-could-possibly-be-wrong-with-this-picture’ attitude was grating. Especially considering that guilt was chewing a ragged hole through Ellie’s digestive system.

Devon grabbed bread and meat and began to throw a sandwich together.

“How was your day?” he questioned again, lightly. Easily, even blithely. While Ellie stood there with the marks of another man’s attentions on her body.

Suddenly, it was enough. Just ... enough.

“Devon.” Her words came out quiet but clipped. He slapped his pieces of bread together before looking at her questioningly.

“Sit down.” She pointed to the couch. “We need to talk.”

He frowned. “Can it wait, babe? I’m kind of hungry.”

Ellie grit her teeth. She shook head and sat back down herself, staring over her shoulder at him. Something inside had snapped. She was through fighting with herself, and Devon had run out of lifeline.

This was the end, one way or another.

“We’re talking,” she said in a low, measured tone. “You’re talking. Right now.”

He twitched, but her expression must have conveyed how deadly serious she was, because he walked around into the room and sat. Ellie folded her arms. On the couch, Devon seemed to become unable to look anywhere but at his own feet. One of his hands rubbed the back of his neck while the other hooked into his waistband.

“You’re right, Ellie,” he finally acknowledged, slowly. “We do need to talk ... I guess I just needed you to force me into it.”

Ellie watched him, not quite able to believe that she was at last going to find out what was going on with him. Despite the level to which her frustration had been ramped by his closed mouth, and despite the increasing difficulty of living with the guy when she was so hurt and confused and angry about his closing her out, she found herself contrarily tensing up now that it seemed the moment of revelation had come. Her mind raced with possibilities. He’d sold their house to Morgan and Anna at a quarter of its value so they could learn to be adults. He’d emptied their savings so he and some buddies could take a heliboarding trip around Nepal. His parents asked to move in with them after they were married, and he’d told them ‘yes’ ...

“Look,” he began. “I know you’ve been able to tell something’s wrong, and it’s getting to you. I’m sorry for that.”

. . . or maybe it was none of those eventualities. His voice was very quiet and more serious than she’d ever heard from him. Ellie swallowed. This wasn’t going to be good.

“I think ... I think ... no, I more than think.”

Ellie trained her gaze on his moving lips and said nothing. Devon swallowed and twisted his torso left, then right, before fully facing her again. His chest expanded in a deep breath, and then he just said it.

“I’m not in love with you anymore.” The words were bald and ugly in the taught air between them.

Ellie thought maybe her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. She did blink, once, slowly.

“I don’t know why, and I’ve been so frustrated and confused about this,” Devon rushed on, as though afraid he wasn’t going to get all the words out in time. “I’ve been trying to carry on like I am, because I should be, but I’m faking it.” He met her eyes fully, but only briefly. “I’m faking it,” he repeated more raggedly. “I should love you. You’re the most perfect woman in the world for me. So I’m scared. Because if I fall out of love with you, Ellie ... well, how am I ever going to love anyone?”

Silence.

Was she supposed to answer that?

Once more, Devon wasn’t meeting her eyes. Ellie felt a sprig of emotion start to poke through the blanket of cold around her numb heart. There was something he wasn’t saying.

“I think we need to break this off,” he finished.

Break it off? What, like a Kit-Kat bar?

And there was still something he wasn’t telling her.

“Is there someone else, Devon?” Her voice was so toneless it didn’t sound like her own.

Devon swallowed again, hard. “I haven’t – I haven’t! – cheated, Ellie. No way would I do that to you. But ...” he clenched his eyelids together. Shutting out the sight of her seemed to help, because his words came more slowly and softly. “There has been a woman at work. I’ve said nothing to her. But there’s something there ... something powerful. Something almost irresistible. So hard to deny, I don’t know if I should deny it.” His eyes popped back open. “I’ll always love you, Ellie, even if I’m not in love ... That doesn’t end for people like us, does it? But I just ... don’t want to marry you. I’m saying this badly, Ellie. I can’t explain it any way that you’ll understand.”

But Ellie shook her head, minisculely. Her mind repeated his words. Something powerful ... irresistible ... so hard to deny.

“I think I understand better than you think, Devon.”

His eyebrows drew together in concentration, before the light of comprehension dawned over his face. “Really? Who ... no.” He flung up a hand to stop her from imparting information she had no intention of giving him. “I don’t want to know.”

Good, because he wasn’t going to. Not today, anyway.

“I don’t want to, either,” Ellie told him.

“So.” Devon sank backwards into the couch beside her and bent his head, running his hands into his hair. “What,” he asked quietly, staring at the floor, “do we do now?”

Like she should know?

“I don’t know.” Ellie’s voice cracked a bit, and with horror she realized there were tears in her eyes. Blinking them back furiously, she trained her face away from Devon. “It’s pretty clear we’re not getting married, though.”

Silence descended, close and thick and awful. Devon let it lengthen. Ellie stared down at her hands, and there caught sight of the ring he’d given her. She watched her fingers move to tug it off with an odd disconnection, as though they didn’t belong to her. She held the cool metal band between her fingers, tremblingly, for just a moment. Then she held it out to Devon without looking. It seemed a very long moment before she felt him take it from her.

*******

The usual disclaimers apply! I hope you enjoy it!

'Tempted' chapter 9; Punished

2009-05-03T22:28:33Z

Despite what you may think, I haven't given up this story! It's coming along toward the end, now. I hope you're still hanging in there with me! This bit is, ah, kind of gratuitous. Couldn't help myself, despite the fact that it made me drag the Devon thing out a little longer.

Rating, disclaimer, etc. unchanged.

A/N: Obviously, this story is now AU. I’m not going to comment much about that, I guess, except to say that I’m not going to try to alter my timeline at this point … (POSSIBLE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST TWO EPISODES) Casey is still a major and no wedding has occurred. As a side note, I’m not sure Ellie has a car. If the writers ever made a point that she didn’t, please forgive me, but for the purposes of this chapter, she does.

Punished

John Casey was standing at a courtyard-facing window, arms crossed, a mighty frown riding his forehead. He should be working. General Beckman had called a few hours earlier with news that a suspected Fulcrum agent was thought to be headed to the Burbank area. At the very least, he ought to be corralling genius flash-boy. But Agent Walker would have him in hand ... she was probably even enjoying the having. Hell, she was probably holding Bartowski’s hand. Literally. Stupidly. But at least Casey was sure of one thing; no way was she going to let Chuck get captured.

And out in the courtyard was the real reason he wasn’t working. Flash-boy’s sister was doing ... something. He hadn’t really sussed out what. Erotic gymnastics, maybe. Perhaps seduction yoga. Didn’t actually matter, the effect on him was the same. She had changed from her normal rather chic bohemian look (which he found all manner of sexy) to something a little more blatant; athletic clothes, but of a teeny, revealing fit and make. Right at the moment, she was bent over at the waist, facing away from him, palms flat on the ground with one of her most attractive qualities up in the air and aimed his way. She held that pose long enough for Casey’s lip to curl into a full-fledged sneer. It was aimed at himself, because if he had an ounce of self-preservation left, he’d close the blinds and turn around and immerse himself in work.

But apparently he had some heretofore unknown self-destructive tendencies, because he didn’t. Instead he stood and watched while Ellie picked a jump-rope from the ground, stretched up to her full height, and turned around in his direction. She began to twirl the rope and jump in place. Ellie was generously proportioned in all the right places, and even contained by a binding athletic bra, certain positive physical aspects jounced and bounced, demanding his attention. All of it, even though he told himself with gritted teeth that he had work to do. Important, saving-the-nation-and-the-western-way-of-life work. Ellie, now ... Ellie was just the reason he did the work.

Whups. He halted to review that thought, because it hadn’t formed the way he’d meant it to. People like Ellie, that was what he meant. He did his job for all Americans, of whom she was only one. One of many. That was how it had to be. She wasn’t his, and she could never be special. Even if it was very specifically Ellie Bartowski and no other American who at this precise moment was making his heart speed up and his fists clench and his mouth dry out.

There was suddenly cool metal against his right palm, and it surprised him enough that he was able to tear his eyes away from the moving, breathing temptation outside his window. Glancing down, he saw that his hand had curled around his gun.

Grunting disgustedly at himself, he let go of it. What was he going to do, shoot her for being sexy?

No, not for being sexy. But maybe, he thought with his eyes fastened on her again, maybe for belonging to someone else.

Not mine. He repeated it to himself as she slowed her pace, dropped the rope, and began to jog in place. Then she left the courtyard, headed out on a run. He marked which way she went, and then went for a run himself. A very long run. In the opposite direction.

Casey made it a point not to be out mutilating weeds anymore when Woodcomb got off-shift. He wasn’t sure how believably his ‘nice-if-reserved neighbor’ cover could hold up to any more encounters with that guy, and it had already taken a beating at that infernal (though fun) dinner party. He found himself having trouble staying away from his windows, though, because Ellie had developed a sudden and inexplicable propensity for the outdoors.

He saw her constantly. When he left for work in the morning. When he came home at night. Every time he glanced out into the courtyard – there she’d be. Without fail dressed in something alluring, and without fail employed by some activity or other that moved her body around in fascinating ways. She started something green growing alongside her house, and this seemed to necessitate that she do a lot of bending and kneeling to care for it, while clothed in cut-offs that were cut off very high indeed, and a tiny tank top. She washed her car in the inevitable white t-shirt and another pair of cut-offs ... this pair used to be sweats, and she was soon soaking wet. She even, one day, hauled the pressure-sprayer out and cleaned off the exterior of her house. The wall hadn’t looked particularly dirty to Casey. He, on the other hand, felt decidedly dirty, watching her from a darkened window like some perverted old man. He was pretty good at slinking around and spying, hey, it was his job. But doing it to catch a glimpse of some woman that he wanted ... it just wasn’t how he did things. He wanted something, he went and got it. Simple as that.

Normally. This was anything but simple, and was getting worse by the moment. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t shake her. Those few days with the waitress up north, a little while back, should have cleared her out of his system. But she was still there, fire in his veins, consuming more of him by the moment. And he was starting to fear that no detox program he could think up would put the flames out.

The watching got excruciatingly painful, not only but also not least in a very physical sense. His morning showers got longer. Then evening ones became a daily necessity, too, whether the day had been physically strenuous or not ... or even more necessary, if not. And then he was needing an afternoon one too ... he was turning into a wrinkled prune, he reflected one day. He was hunched over a keyboard, staring at a monitor with his thoughts far from the screen.

And apparently that showed.

“Major Casey!!” The stentorian words whipped daylight into the grey fog clouding his brain. He jumped to attention without thought. General Beckman leaned into the vid pickup on her end. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, General,” he assured her quickly. “Nothing. I was ... considering options, that’s all.”

She sat back, scowling. She hadn’t believed him. But he was focused now, so she moved on.

“There aren’t any options. I’m giving you orders, Major. Find out exactly where this Fulcrum agent is. And if he’s genuinely headed toward Burbank, get Chuck out of there. Then handle the agent.”

“With terminal force, General?”

She nodded grimly. “Always on the table when we’re talking about Fulcrum.”

Casey showed his teeth in a ferocious grin. Good. He was in the mood to kill somebody.

*********

Ellie was finding a fierce delight in what was, she admitted candidly to herself, playing with fire. She glimpsed John’s face a few times, after one of her little attention-drawing displays in the courtyard. He was on edge, irritated, even infuriated ... and wading hip-deep in lust. She knew that meant danger for her. But she also, in a deep heretofore unknown corner of her soul, believed that John Casey wouldn’t act on his feelings for another man’s fianceé. He just wouldn’t. It went against his moral code, and he held that moral code very firmly.

Which made her, she freely admitted, a tease. Maybe worse than that. It made what she was doing that much more wrong. But she was finding a very wicked delight in playing a role she’d never had been before ... the temptress. This wasn’t who she really was, but for a little while, she reasoned, it was fun to play. Especially as the person she was playing with was both dangerous and safe. That combination got more and more heady as the days passed.

He’d be watching her, and she’d look over at him, and he’d meet her head-on. It felt like a collision every time. His eyes would be hard, and hot, and her hands would grow shaky and her breath short. His jaw would flex and she’d have to suppress a moan. Even from across the courtyard it was tantalizing, he was tantalizing; the look on his face, the desire in his stance that he didn’t bother to hide when it was just the two of them.

She was always the first to look away.

So she didn’t really know who was winning ... or even really what they were playing. If it was a game at all. Which she was coming to doubt.

But she couldn’t quite make herself stop, even though she thought that one day, they might both just spontaneously combust. And Chuck and Devon would gather over the ashes and puzzle about them, and their deaths would forever be a mystery.

But it was just for a few days, she reasoned, and John deserved it.

And so did Devon.

One other thing she also hadn’t stopped was trying to understand Devon. He’d become almost – but not quite – his old self again, and she just didn’t know what to do with him. Should she press him to revisit something that, according to him, was in the past? She wasn’t sure she could – or should - let whatever it was go. She tried a couple of times to get him to talk. He just breezily assured her that no problems existed any longer.

“They exist for me, Devon,” she told him crossly. “You were absent in mind – and usually in body! – for months on end. I got pretty used to the distance, to tell the truth. Don’t expect me to just take you back in, no questions asked, on your say-so alone.”

He nodded his head gravely. “I hear what you’re saying, Ellie. I’ll give you all the time you need.” And he’d pecked her on the cheek and tried to change the subject, leaving her feeling as if she was the one doing the taking and he was the one doing the giving, here. How had the conversation turned on her like that?

He’d give her all the time she needed?! Damn right he would! She steered him back on-topic just long enough to be sure he knew that while he might be sleeping beside her, that was as close as their two bodies were going to get for awhile.

A good long while.

He gave her that grave, understanding nod again. She gritted her teeth and bore it.

But things did seem to be better in the house, all-around. Ellie hadn’t realized how high the level of tension had gotten until it suddenly decreased. She even overheard Sarah comment on it, late one night as Ellie and Devon headed off to bed and the blonde was cuddling with Chuck on the couch.

When Ellie awoke a few hours later and slipped quietly out to the kitchen to get a drink, she was surprised to see that though Sarah was still there with Chuck the two of them were no longer all wrapped up in each other. They sat a prim distance from one another with their heads bent over ... a watch? No, because they were talking into it and someone was answering back. Ellie was too far away to hear what was being said, but it was something serious. Apparently serious enough to keep Sarah from noticing that Ellie was up and around. Sometimes Ellie thought that girl had Spidey-senses or something, the way it was impossible to be around her without her knowing you were there.

Feeling somehow like an intruder – this is my home! she told herself indignantly – Ellie cleared her throat. Sarah turned a bland face toward her, but Chuck jumped a little before facing her with a too-innocent smile. Ellie frowned at him.

“Everything OK out here?” she asked, walking around from the kitchen into the dining area.

“Oh, yes,” Chuck assured her. “We were just discussing ...”

“A camping trip,” Sarah inserted when it seemed Chuck couldn’t find words. “We’re talking about doing another camping trip. A longer one this time, since we both enjoyed the last one so much.”

For something they had both enjoyed “so much”, Ellie didn’t recall hearing any stories or seeing any pictures. She cocked her head curiously at them. Something was off, here.

“Uh” – Chuck inserted. “How long a trip are we talking?”

Sarah looked at him just as blandly as she’d looked at Ellie. “Couple of weeks, maybe. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yeah.” Chuck’s face wasn’t happy. “Good.” He coughed.

Sarah smiled.

Ellie frowned.

“But now,” Chuck went on with a cheery smile that seemed really out of place at two o’clock in the morning, “Sarah’s got to get going. Early morning, right, sweetie?”

“Yep.” Sarah let him walk her to the door, where she gave Ellie a friendly smile and Chuck a peck on the cheek. Ellie nodded goodbye with her arms crossed.

“Everything OK?” she asked again after Chuck had closed the door behind his girlfriend.

“Yes,” he said, and it sounded sincere, so Ellie relaxed.

“Look”, she said, turning back towards her bed, “I don’t have to know every little thing that goes on with you two. But it might interest you to know that Sarah is a much better actor than you are.”

Chuck muttered behind her, something that sounded like (but surely wasn’t) “well, she’s had a lot more practice.”

*******************

It was well into August, and the next Saturday evening Ellie came home feeling over-warm and sticky. Passing the courtyard fountain, she cast a glance towards John’s house in a move that had become automatic. His lights were on. Her schedule during the past week had meant she wasn’t around much when he was off-shift, and she found that she’d missed him. Even though they didn’t speak, just knowing he was there was ... a comfort, somehow and quietly, in her soul. Tonight he was home. She realized that with a glad quickening of her heart, for which she bit her lip and castigated herself. That intimate, welcoming feeling was something that should be reserved for Devon, who she knew was also home.

She wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead – it really was unseasonably warm, there were damp marks under the arms of her blue scrubs – and eyed the water flowing through the fountain with longing. It was a heavier fall than normal, perhaps on account of the weather; occasional drops splashed over the low wall that created a small pool at its base.

Ellie didn’t even know if the water was filtered or not, but it almost didn’t matter. A good dousing sounded really good right about now, she thought.

And just as she thought it, her need for it increased a thousand fold, because John Casey stepped out his door.

He had an overflowing trash bag in his hands, and certainly should not have had the effect on her that he did. Trash isn’t sexy, Ellie told herself hazily, watching him stride down his steps in the fading sunlight.

No, she agreed with herself. But that man is.

And he was. Clad in worn jeans and a plain black t-shirt, he manhandled the trash bag down toward the street, and into a container whose lid he crammed down. His arms rippled and his shoulders bunched, and Ellie swallowed. She was just starting to turn away when he looked up, and she didn’t get far enough around before he caught her eyes.

Of course. Because their eyes didn’t ever not catch. Well, if you wouldn’t look at him so much, that caustic voice in her head said.

But he’s so nice to look at, her whiny voice said back. Ellie sighed, and tore herself away completely, turning determinedly with her keys in hand.

But then she caught sight of the fountain again, and she was now flushed and so much hotter than she’d been before John walked outside, that she dropped her keys and bag onto the pavement and bent, dipping her fingers in the water.

She heard one last sound from John’s trash can and then silence. Good, he was going inside and would leave her alone. She didn’t feel like she could handle him tonight, and she was thinking it was about time to end the little mock-seduction game she’d been playing. She cupped a hand in the water and splashed it on her face, then her neck. The ‘game’ had been getting too serious, had been feeling too much like the real thing, and she thought maybe John had been punished enough. She flipped another handful of water directly at the V of her scrub top and tilted her head back, sighing as the cool water ran down over her chest.

“What are you trying to do to me?” A rough male voice gritted directly behind her.

Gasping, Ellie whirled around, water dripping from her hands in a sheening half-circle. How had he gotten so close without her hearing him? Standing in a small puddle, she stared up into the blue of John’s eyes. His nostrils were flaring. His jaw looked so tight she wondered dazedly how his teeth were surviving the pressure.

“I – you – I didn’t know”- she began, fumbling with her words because oh heaven, he was so close.

“Yes you did,” he grated at her, his arms held crossed over his chest as though that was all that was keeping him from hauling her up against him.

Which was where she wanted to be, so badly that she was shaking. She tilted half-away from him as she backed up a step, and was proud to have that much control over her legs.

“No, I – it’s hot, the water” – she tried to explain, twisting away from him and gesturing quickly. She hadn’t accounted for having moved nearer the fountain, and her hand went through the cool wet that was falling from its second tier, which erupted a spray of water toward John. It first hit him - dampening the tee so that it clung delectably to his chest – and then, as she reacted by jerking her hand back toward herself and spinning around to face him again, her own. Her thin scrub top formed instantly to what was beneath – herself – and that was where John’s eyes focused, then fastened. She quailed at the look she saw in them.

“Damn it, Ellie,” he hissed between clenched teeth, and then he was all around her.

At least, that’s what it felt like. He took her, slammed her up against the fountain’s low stone wall with knee-jarring force, her head in his large hands and her torso crushed to his hard one. Before she had a chance to even try to fight the swell of craving that rose under her breast, his mouth was on hers. Hard, so hard, but velvety and warm, too; she let out a high-pitched breathy sound that couldn’t be labeled, and when her lips parted he breached them. It was an invasion, but an uncontested one.

Because Ellie didn’t fight.

She was tired of fighting and so she didn’t; she parted her lips and answered his thrusting tongue with her own driving foray. Her hands were violent, raking into his hair –she’d never touched it before, it was heavenly – and her legs weren’t gentle as she raised one to hook it around his knee. She jerked him towards her, into her so that she collapsed backward, and he growled as he put out a hand barely in time to brace their half-fall against the fountain’s stone. The hard grittiness of it bit into her shins and the sharp angles dug into her thighs and tomorrow she’d have marks there but tonight she was feeling his skin, his muscle, oh gods so much hardness and strength and she didn’t care about tomorrow.

One of John’s hands stayed were it was, holding her head for his hot and bruising kiss; the other began to yank her uniform top out of her pants. The rate of her breathing hitched up one more level. Ellie pushed herself up into him frantically, trying to make every centimeter of their bodies meet, taking and returning what he dealt out with the pent-up fervor and hunger that had been building inside since the last time they’d done this, since the last time they’d exploded.

With his breath coming fast and harsh, John twisted one hand into her hair, hiked her up off the fountain’s ledge, and brought her head to his level by boosting her up onto his kneeling thighs. She came eagerly, wrapping both her legs around him tightly, and met him kiss for kiss. Touch for touch. For a moment she thought she felt something hard and oddly shaped at the small of his back, but he reached and adjusted her legs and then ran that hand up along her scrub-clad calf, then higher. Bending forward, John moved into and over her, his knees resting on the edge of the pool. His hands were on the bare skin of her back, now, learning the curve of her spine and each shoulder blade. It was heaven, the touch of his skin on hers. Ellie’s heart beat so quickly she couldn’t catch her breath around its pounding. John pressed in closer and as she plied his neck with her lips she felt his pulse rate clipping away at just as fast a rate as hers. He leaned further, into her touch, tilting them both backward ...

And into the startling wetness of the fountain’s spray. It cascaded down over and onto them, cool for their heat, calm for their ardor.

It brought them to their senses.

In the same moment, they each became utterly still. Ellie closed her eyes and pressed her face into his neck while the water she’d been craving cloaked them both in its flow. Just for a moment. Then she loosened her shaky legs and without looking at her John stood them both up. Her feet met the ground and she stood there. So did he. They were both soaking wet, and breathing fast and hard.

When she could, she took a step sideways, out from between him and the wall surrounding the fountain’s pool. He pivoted with her. His hand was pressed to where, if this were a cop show, a gun would ride at the back of his waist.

This wasn’t a cop show. It was her life. Really more of a comic tragedy, Ellie mused hazily as she edged toward her door.

John was the last one to speak, just as he had been that other night, the night after the dinner party. His voice was even harsher than it had been then.

“There is only. So much. That a man can take.” After biting those words out, he turned around and strode off.

A woman, too, she thought dazedly, watching him leave – again. Then she sank onto her steps and was left sitting there, head in her hands – again.

I can’t live next to this man anymore. I have to move.

Xx
To be continued ...

Tempted Ch 8 - Vengeful

2009-04-18T23:04:47Z

I know, it's been awhile. I got exceedingly busy (that's NOT just an excuse) and then somehow deleted more than half of the remaining story. So here it is, re-worked and the best I can remember it. I mourn what was lost, though!

Pg-13, standard disclaimers apply.
.

Vengeful

She had whimpered, high and sweet, almost a keen. That was what had brought Casey to his senses, enough to pull back from Ellie. The sound echoed in his head as he stood and walked away and left her there alone. It resounded through his sleep that night. It was still there in his mind the next morning, which was the cause of his particularly rotten mood that entire day. He was so surly at the Buy More that Chuck took to heading people off if they looked inclined to approach Casey for anything at all.

So he had made zero sales due to Chuck steering everyone clear of him. But he also didn’t damage anyone, which in retrospect was a good thing. After ‘work’, Casey was out in the yard trying to expend his pent-up frustration. He was attacking weeds growing against the side of the house (with rather more vehemence than weeds generally called for) when Woodcomb arrived home. Striding up the walk in his scrubs, the doctor waved with a friendly smile. Casey tipped his chin in response, politely if silently. But as Ellie’s fiancé disappeared into the house he shared with the two Bartowskis, Casey was pondering what size bullet would make the nicest hole in the other man’s head.

Ellie, on the other hand, spent the day trying to avoid Magritte at the hospital. That worked for most of her shift, but her friend caught her before she left the parking lot and demanded that they go somewhere and talk. Ellie resigned herself to having coffee and facing the music. Magritte had a number of potent words to unload, and she did so. It took her awhile to finally wind down to:

“Ellie Bartowski, that was absolutely the worst set-up I’ve ever had. And believe me, that’s saying something.”

Ellie really didn’t have much with which she could respond, except to say that John wasn’t normally like that, something must have been wrong with him yesterday, and she was so, so sorry. Magritte wasn’t one to hold grudges, so at least they were able to part with their friendship intact. Though as they were walking out of the coffee shop, Magritte got the last word in.

“You owe me, Ellie. You owe me big.”

Ellie could only nod resignedly, because she did.

That night, Devon appeared for supper, and even hung around afterward, surprising Ellie by helping to clean up. That was something he’d done frequently in the past, but not at all in the more-recent past.

“Ellie,” he said, laying the kitchen towel that he held down on a counter and coming up behind her to bracket her with his arms. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Shocked, Ellie froze where she was.

“I want you to know that I’m good now,” he told her softly. He ran his hands down her bare arms and tangled their fingers together. Not knowing what to think, Ellie let him tug her around. He smiled down at her. “I kind of had a problem there for awhile, but it’s resolved. No more problems now. So you have nothing to worry about, Ellie.” He leaned forward and caught her lips in a kiss. Ellie couldn’t think how long it had been since he’d kissed her; she couldn’t think at all, really. She just stood there and blinked as Devon pulled away and smiled gently down at her. “We’re all good,” he affirmed again, and stroked her cheek. “I have to go meet some friends right now, but I’m going to be around a lot more. We can kick the wedding preparation back into high gear.”

Ellie didn’t move as she watched him disappear into the bedroom. Once the door closed, she managed to shake her head. She was supposed to be able to shift gears that fast? Go from months of silence and distance to sweet smiles and soft words? “Slow down a bit, fella,” she muttered, finishing up the last bits in the kitchen. Devon came out, pushed his feet into shoes, and with a jaunty wave went out the door and was off with his friends. Ellie shook her head bemusedly, and somewhat sadly, finding she was just glad to have him out of the house.

But tonight, she had other concerns. Moving with purpose, she went and plopped down on the couch beside her brother, who had the TV turned to an old Dr. Who episode. She swung her tired, sock-clad feet up onto the cushion and watched her toes rock back and forth.

“Chuck,” she said in a commanding tone. He flicked her a glance but kept his real focus on the TV screen. She nudged his leg with her foot, not very gently.

“Last night at dinner you seemed ... like you were expecting something from John. Something, maybe, just like what he did.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Chuck tipped her another glance, and then with obvious reluctance picked up the remote and muted Dr. Who. He tilted his torso in her direction, too. Progress, although he was still sneaking sideways peeks at the screen.

“Not ... exactly,” he responded. “But I knew he was going to resist being set up, Ellie. I told you that going in.”

And so he had. Ellie nodded, ceding him that point. What she really wanted to get at was another, much more burning question, anyway.

“Well, from what I knew of him before last night, I wasn’t expecting anything of the sort. Just what kind of man is That ... guy?”

“Casey?” Chuck cocked his head at what he obviously found to be an odd question. He was looking fully at her, now; she’d managed to usurp all his attention from Dr. Who. “Just to double-check, Ellie; you’re waiting to ask this until after you’ve tried – disastrously, I might add – to set him up with a friend of yours?”

Ellie smiled ruefully. “Yes, Chuck, that’s what I’m doing.”

“Well.” Chuck rubbed his chin. He seemed to have nothing to say.

“Come on, Chuck. He’s your friend. I hope you know something about him.”

“I do, I do, I’m just ... undecided as to what to tell you.”

Ellie wrinkled her forehead at him. He was talking crazy.

“Ok. Ok.” He straightened his shoulders industriously. “Casey. I think ... I think I can safely say that Casey would give his life for me.”

Ellie’s feet stopped rocking. Her eyebrows climbed her forehead.

“That was ... really not what I was expecting you to say.”

“Yeah. I’m probably safe in saying that he’d shoot me, too, give the, uh, provocation. Or orders.”

“What?” Ellie stared.

Chuck shook his head and reached for the remote again.

“Nevermind, Ellie.”

Dr. Who sounded forth on the subject of Daleks. Ellie let it go, though she was left with her questions unanswered. She really didn’t know where her brother’s brain was. But she had other things to contemplate, too, things her brother couldn’t help her with.

Things like revenge.

Tempted Ch 7 - Distressed

2009-03-25T19:04:02Z

Here are the after-shocks from the dinner party. A John-Ellie moment gets a little out of control.

Rating still PG-13 for minor language.

Ch 7 Distressed

Devon went to bed. Ellie was bone-tired, but she wasn’t ready to sleep, and the house felt claustrophobic. So she slipped outside to sit near the door and breathe in the night air.

It was calming as always, and reviewing the dinner in her head, Ellie began to feel the humor of the situation. But only with reluctance. Across the way, lights were on in John’s house. And after a minute - well of course, she thought - his door opened. He’d seen her sitting alone out here, and was coming over. She watched him move in her direction with a sense of inevitability. And narrowed eyes, because she hadn’t lost her annoyance with him.

He halted in front of her and stood there looking down in the twilight, without a word. She didn’t rise, just tilted her head back to glare at him. He saw it in the light from the window and grinned, unapologetically; and God help her, it was sexy and adorable and she found her resentment slipping a little. She grasped it tight and bolstered it back up. He tilted his head questioningly at the step beside her; she responded with a sigh and a wave of her hand. When he lowered himself onto the step, he was close enough that she could feel the heat of him. She knew she was playing with fire, letting him so near; but surely her irritation at his recent ridiculous behaviour would be enough to shore her up. He didn’t speak; she didn’t speak. The air was crisp around them. Somewhere nearby a cricket chirped.

Finally, Ellie broke the quiet.

“You’re a very bad influence on my language,” she told him tonelessly, propping her elbows on her knees and sinking her chin into her palm.

“How’s that?” He folded his long legs with movements that should have been awkward from a man his size, but which he managed to make graceful. That was an aggravating trait in a man she was trying hard not to want, even if his insanity this evening had helped dial down her attraction to him by quite a bit.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to do so much swearing in my entire life,” she articulated, rather less tonelessly, “as I have these past few months.” He liked that; he grinned. She rolled her eyes and looked away, because she liked his smile too much. “Tonight,” she continued, “I was mentally calling you names I’ve never before called anyone.”

From the corner of her eye she saw that his grin became a smirk; he liked that too. Ellie shook her head.

“You know, if you objected that much to me setting you up with someone, you could have simply refused the invitation.” Ahah, there came her very genuine anger, spilling into her voice. Ellie was glad to note that down as proof that tonight, John’s sexiness wasn’t enough to completely deprive her of her senses. She stared out toward the street, feeling her jaw muscles tensing. “The message would have been received, loud and clear. And much less painfully! What was that all about?!”

She felt John hitch his shoulders once. “Not exactly sure,” he answered, “except I know that I wanted to make damn sure you knew that what you were doing wasn’t gonna work.”

He sounded as frustrated as she felt. Maybe that was where his dinner-table craziness had originated, but she wasn’t in a mood to be sympathetic. She kept her head turned away from him. “What isn’t going to work?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he asserted firmly. Ellie sat up straight and crossed her arms stubbornly. John grumbled under his breath.

“Maybe I don’t,” she challenged him, clenching her jaw. “Maybe all I know is that tonight, for some completely obscure reason, you were an unmitigated bastard.”

He rumbled something inaudible again. Good, Ellie thought. He deserved a bit of the aggravation she’d gone through at dinner.

“You know,” he reiterated, through gritted teeth. “So maybe we’ll be able to get past this, after awhile. Dammit, I hope so. But you can’t just throw a pretty woman at the problem and expect it’ll go away. We can pretend all we want – and we should, for everybody else’s sake! – but we need to at least acknowledge the truth to ourselves. You can’t just turn things off like a faucet!” The tone of his voice was getting more and more irate.

“What things?” Ellie threw back, recklessly. She did turn and look at him now, and their gazes tangled like they always seemed to do. Even that was infuriating, because dammit, she hadn’t asked for any of this! “Maybe you’re completely off-base,” she exclaimed, “did you ever think of that?! Maybe I have no idea what things you’re talking about!”

She acknowledged to herself that she had no idea what she, herself, was talking about. But she was just so angry right now. Angry enough to ball up a fist and punch him, hard, in the shoulder, even though she was certain there was no possible way that she could hurt That Man.

But then she knew provoking him had been a mistake, because he caught her clenched hand in a vise-like grip. Startled by the speed with which he moved, Ellie tried to pull back, but didn’t have time before she was caught doubly, once by John’s hand and once by what she saw on his face. The usual hardness of his expression had cracked, somehow. But she had only a second to see something distressed and vulnerable underneath there before he moved again.

In one lightning instant, he was no longer posed tensely beside her; he was on his knees before her, leaning over and into her. So close that he was touching, which her brain maintained just enough sanity to chant was dangerous, dangerous. So close that the wordless rumble rising from his chest reverberated through her own body. A great hard fist pressed into the step on either side of her hips, touching, and her bent legs were trapped by the breadth of his torso, also touching. Ellie’s breath caught in her throat, first at the shock of it and then at the heat of his body. Heart thudding, she swallowed with difficulty and leaned back, but he only pressed in closer until his chest was flush with her knees. And then he dipped his head down. He spoke, and his lips brushed her ear, which halted her breath completely.

“I’m talking about these things,” he growled harshly, the warmth of his breath sending shudders to her soul. His voice engendered an inner ache that swelled to encompass her heart as he tilted to set those lips roughly on the skin below her earlobe.

“These things,” he rasped, quieter. He opened his mouth on the skin of her neck. Ellie felt the scrape of his teeth, and she was on fire; lost, as her nerve endings exploded in sensation. Her breath came back to her in a forceful gasp that quickly turned into a moan as her head arced backwards. It met the support of his hand, large and warm and strong, which gripped the base of her skull while his other found the ridge of her spine and yanked her to him. She tilted forward onto her knees between his thighs and all the carefully constructed distance between them was gone, like that, in an instant.

Kneeling, pressed roughly against him, all of Ellie’s world telescoped. It collapsed in until everything she knew was contained and defined by the perimeter of John. She had nothing else but his muscled chest crushing against her softer one, his corded hands fisting into the back of her sweater, his hard legs clenching around hers. The pounding of his heart and the raggedness of his breathing were echoed by her own until she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. It was agonizing, it was beautiful, it was turning her into a purely physical creature capable only of desire and want and need.

But then, just as Ellie’s trembling hands began to move to touch him in return, the distance was back with jolting force. John pushed himself away from her so abruptly that she half-fell onto the step behind her. He sat back on his heels, staring at her, and for a long minute it seemed neither one of them were going to be able to move. For a moment the only thing Ellie’s bereft senses could register was his absence.

Slowly, her stunned brain began to function. At first all she knew was that she’d had him a second ago, and now she didn’t. Loneliness of an intensity she’d never known broke over her. She had to shake that off, she told herself, gaining cognizant thought at last and registering that John looked as steamrolled as she felt. But it hadn’t been so much, had it, what had just happened? Those, those things John had been so insistent about? They hadn’t even kissed.

But she didn’t fight that battle for very long before she admitted that she was lying to herself. Staring into the hot, hard eyes of the man who’d just held her in his arms, Ellie was forced to honesty. The look they shared, long and fraught, was a silent acknowledgement that they both knew the truth; that what they’d just done was something.

Something they might not be able to backtrack from, or ignore, or cover over.

Overwhelmed, Ellie squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her shaky hands around her knees. The sound of their still-rapid breathing was loud in the night air. She heard small pebbles grating against concrete as John got to his feet. She wasn’t, right at that moment, able to follow suit. When she re-opened her eyes, though, somehow she met his gaze. It glittered in the dim light, and she knew he wasn’t going to apologize.

She was glad.

“Good night, Ellie,” he finally said. His voice was still rough, hardly recognizable. It sounded the way her soul felt – rubbed raw, almost to bleeding. She nodded, the motion jerky. He pivoted and left.

Ellie sat with her forehead pressed to her knees. It was a very long time before she went inside.

Tempted Chapter 6

2009-03-10T03:24:31Z

OK, here's the promised dinner party. Casey has fun ... Ellie doesn't. Chuck and Devon don't help matters.

Rating: PG-13 for slight language

Stymied

Ellie arrived home early in the evening with a couple of hours to get ready for her dinner guests. With an excitement that she realized had been lacking in her life lately, she turned the stove on for pre-heating and began to grab ingredients. This was going to be a fabulous dinner, she enthused to herself as she checked the pork that had been in a crockpot all day. Casey would fall head-over-heels for Magritte – what man wouldn’t? – and Ellie would talk to Devon and get things straightened out once and for all. And that should raise enough barriers between them; That Man would be dating her friend, she herself would be engaged, and her issues with Devon would be resolved. Surely all of that together would work to let her mind finally take control of her body and force it to behave. Surely.

“This is going to work,” she whispered confidently to herself as she popped into the oven the bread that had risen overnight.

A few minutes before seven, the doorbell rang and Ellie answered it, as no one else had arrived yet. Magritte entered, dressed to kill and carrying a bottle of wine. Ellie put it to chill while Magritte leaned on the counter.

“So tell me again about this guy,” she demanded while Ellie went back to work.

“I told you he works at the Buy More, right?” Ellie responded. Magritte nodded while she adjusted the skimpy top she wore. It made the most it possibly could of her smallish amount of cleavage. “So his career definitely won’t take precedence over you,” Ellie smiled over her shoulder. Secretly, his job was the main thing Ellie kept reminding herself of when she tried to add to the ‘con’ side of her pro/con list regarding John Casey. Magritte, however, seemed taken with the idea that she’d be his number one priority, and nodded.

“He’s kind of quiet, so he won’t spend all your dates talking about himself. But he’s very sweet. I get the idea he’s pretty conservative, but you know those traditional guys.” Ellie straightened from the stove top. “Underneath, they’re tigers.”

“Huh.” Magritte looked unconvinced about that. “I’m not so sure. Sometimes stuffy is just stuffy, all the way down.”

‘Stuffy’ was definitely not how Ellie would choose to describe John. A tall dark hunk of wickedness that made her want to play with fire? Oh, yeah. Stuffy ... no.

“Uh, I need to change,” she said hastily. “Pull that out of the oven when the timer dings, will you?”

Magritte nodded, and Ellie escaped to her bedroom. She’d laid out a conservative grey sweater and pants to wear. She looked at the ensemble now and wrinkled her nose, comparing it to the gauzy, midriff-baring blouse and low-slung, clingy black pants her friend sported back in the kitchen. Ellie was going to look like used dishwater next to Magritte.

“That’s the point,” she told herself firmly. And pulled the outfit on. She’d done her hair and makeup before she started on the food, and refusing to allow herself more than one quick check in the mirror, she went out to set the table.

The doorbell rang as she was finishing, and it was John because Devon or Chuck would have just walked in. Her pulse skittered a bit and she took a deep breath, trying sternly to control it.

“He’s here,” she said to Magritte, and grabbed her friend’s hand to pull her along to the door. Magritte’s protest at this treatment died as the door opened and John Casey stepped through.

“Whoa,” Ellie heard Magritte murmur behind her, and fully echoed the sentiment in her mind, though it didn’t, thankfully, make it out her frozen lips. She’d seen John Casey in a suit before; had she been blind then? If so, she was making up for it now; she had difficulty tearing her eyes from him. His broad shoulders filled the classic fit of the charcoal-grey suit perfectly. The light sapphire of his shirt and darker marine of his tie picked up the blue of his eyes and turned them into devastating shards of sky. The pants fell flawlessly down his muscled legs.

What was he trying to do, kill her? Ellie resorted to closing her eyes briefly before opening them wide and pasting a hospitable smile on her face.

“John, it’s so nice that you could come,” she managed. Proud of herself, she moved to take the flowers he offered her. “Thank you, these are lovely.” She backed up to clear his view of her friend. “This is Dr. Magritte Gunnarsson. We work together.” She left them standing there to fend for themselves, using water for the flowers as an excuse to get away.

From the kitchen, she tried to covertly observe her two targets. John and Magritte had shaken hands. What was going on right at that minute, Ellie wasn’t certain; Magritte was standing still with a polite-but-puzzled expression while John walked in a circle around her. He was ... well, he was looking her up and down, assessingly. And when he stopped, facing her again, he gave a nod of approval. A rather obnoxious nod of approval, with his eyebrows raised suggestively.

How odd. Ellie had never seen him do such a thing before; he just had more polish than that, ordinarily. This was not making the best first impression. Magritte cast a questioning look toward the kitchen, and Ellie responded, calling her friend to come help arrange place settings.

Happily, Devon, Chuck and Sarah all arrived in short order. Devon and Chuck changed into evening attire while Ellie busied herself putting out the food and Sarah chatted with John and Magritte. Finally called to the table, everyone settled in with cheerful airs, even Devon and John. Ellie had placed herself and her fiancé at the ends of the table, and Magritte beside Ellie because she didn’t know anyone else there. To give John and Magritte the best ease of conversation, she’d put him across from Magritte. This also allowed her to manipulate – pardon, guide – their interactions. Unfortunately, it also meant that John was in the chair to Ellie’s left, within easy touching distance. She told herself sternly, though, that she could handle his nearness. She just needed to get his attention focused on her friend.

“Magritte and I were in med school together,” she informed John as dishes were being passed. “And then we both got positions where we are now, which was nice. Tell John about yourself, Magritte.”

Magritte smiled at the handsome man across from her. But before she could open her mouth, John opened his own.

“That’s a really great blouse,” he told her. He was smiling more widely than Ellie had ever seen him do, which might have been gratifying if he’d only been staring into her friend’s eyes. He wasn’t. Instead, his eyes were trained on the cleavage that was generously revealed by the article of clothing he was talking about.

“Thanks,” Magritte smiled again, cool and poised. She was rather accustomed to guys ogling her.

“Thank-you,” John answered, his tone heavy with meaning.

Well. Ellie took a drink of her wine. John continued to stare at Magritte’s chest, and his expression had turned into an outright leer. After a few moments even Magritte shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

This was a side of him Ellie had never seen before, a rather unattractive one. She supposed she’d never really seen him around other women before, except Sarah. But her brother was friends with the guy; he was usually a decent judge of character. Since Stanford, anyway. Ellie purposed to talk to him later, but then nixed that idea when she saw Chuck’s expression. His brow was furrowed in Casey’s direction, and he seemed worried.

OK, moving on. Maybe John was just ... blown away by Magritte’s beauty. Sure, that had to be it.

“Magritte is a doctor, but she also has some interesting hobbies,” Ellie enthused. “She’s a flight instructor.”

John nodded his chin once, politely, but said nothing. At least he was looking at his food now – or he did until Magritte smiled at him yet again, the special sweet-but-sexy look that Ellie knew for a fact had been practiced in front of a mirror. Obviously her friend had gotten over the discomfort his staring had caused. Now, however, he was back to the leering. Ellie didn’t understand it; this just wasn’t the John she thought she knew.

The butter was passed to him, and after plopping a generous amount onto his warm slice of bread John held it out to Ellie. She took it, trying to avoid his hand as she had with the other dishes that had been passed. She must have fumbled the maneuver somehow, because before he lifted his hand away his fingers slid across hers. Sparks jumped along her nerve endings. Ellie contained her shiver with an effort.

Well, that was just pathetic – here he was behaving like a lecherous old man and she was still struggling not to drool over him. How sad.

“Have you ever been up in a small plane?” Magritte asked John. “It’s such a rush, especially if you’re the one at the controls.”

John shook his head. “Nope,” he stated. “I’m anti-airplane. Especially small ones.”

Down the table, Ellie saw Sarah’s head lift. Magritte’s face looked puzzled, as well it might.

“I’m sorry,” she asked, seeking clarification, “you’re anti-plane? Does that mean you have a fear of flying?”

“No,” John answered. “It means I have a moral imperative not to waste this planet’s precious resources with silly little pleasure-jaunts that serve no purpose except to, as you put it, give someone a rush.”

Chuck and Sarah exchanged silent glances while Magritte sat her wine glass down with a thump. Ellie didn’t need to see her face to know its expression, because it said exactly what Ellie was thinking; what the hell?

In over two years of knowing him, Ellie had never got the impression that John was any kind of environmentalist, much less the type militant enough to attack someone over dinner for their un-green activities. Come to think of it, not too long ago he’d driven an older-model Crown Victoria; that thing probably got something like ten miles per gallon.

“I ... see,” Magritte said, and there was quiet for a few moments. Ellie slid John a sideways glance. He was tucking into his food, his expression bland. There was no way he didn’t know his little rant had gone over like a wet balloon, Ellie reflected. It was almost as if he was doing these odd things deliberately.

A change of subject was definitely called for.

“How was work, sweetie?” Ellie asked Devon, the first words between them that had been spoken since he arrived home. He looked up from his food to smile vaguely down toward her (though not at her).

“Fine, no problems,” he said cheerily. And went back to his food.

Thanks, Devon, that was so helpful. Silence again.

“Chuck?” Ellie asked desperately. He grinned over at her, sensing her anxiety.

“Work was interesting,” he provided. “We got a whole shipment of blenders that were damaged. Casey was stocking the first ones and kept hearing tinkling sounds, broken stuff shifting around inside the boxes, you know, so he opened one. And then Big Mike was on the phone forever because the company didn’t want to accept return shipment; they said something must have happened in transit that they weren’t responsible for.”

OK, so what passed for interesting at the Buy More wasn’t the most scintillating dinner-table conversation. Ellie turned her eyes to Sarah, thought, yogurt shop, and groaned.

Maybe John saw that she was struggling. He made a contribution to the foundering conversation.

“Yeah, that was really obnoxious. I had to stay after an extra thirty minutes. Believe me, the Buy More isn’t a place I want to hang around any more than I have to.”

Margritte eyed him warily. Which was to be expected, after their last interaction. “Why do you stay in that job, if you dislike it so much?”

John shrugged. “It’s pretty much a loser job, yeah, but it’s too much work to try to find something else.”

Now he was a guy with a ‘loser job’ who was too lazy to look for something better? Ellie couldn’t understand what was happening here, but this was really not how she’d imagined the evening going. Valiantly, though, she gave it another effort.

“What about you, Magritte? I didn’t see you today. Anything interesting?”

“Sure,” Magritte answered agreeably. “Life in pediatrics is always interesting. Today a little girl with leukemia, who’s in the foster care system, asked to come home with me. That was sad, of course, but it felt good to know I’d made that much of a positive impact in her life.”

Ellie cheered inwardly. She raised an eyebrow at John, to communicate see what a great person she is? She likes children, and they like her back. Even sick ones. Isn’t that sweet?

But John was shaking his head. “And you didn’t set her straight?” he asked in an aggressive tone. “Kids in the system have to learn early on that they’re stuck with what they’ve got. Raising false hopes like that, it’s cruel.”

Now unable to contain her frown, Ellie saw Sarah set her knife into her pork with more force than necessary. She remembered Chuck saying something in the past about his girlfriend not having the greatest childhood. Had she spent some time in foster care?

Magritte was staring at John with a puzzled expression, and Ellie felt the same. First he’d painted her friend as a selfish Earth-hater, and now as an unfeeling taunter of children. What was wrong with him?

Then Magritte looked down at her plate, and John’s eyes slid sideways toward Ellie’s and he winked at her. Winked. Audaciously, smugly, infuriatingly.

And she knew what he was doing. He was purposely sabotaging her plans! Why would he do that? Didn’t he see how this would help them both?

“I myself,” That Man proclaimed, stabbing his fork into the salad in front of him, “think we seriously need to consider a one-child policy in this country. Mandatory sterilization might be a really good thing, too. All kinds of people who should never be parents are churning out kids left and right, and they just take up space and resources the rest of us need.”

“What?!” Chuck had been keeping it together until this point, but he couldn’t keep that exclamation back, and Ellie didn’t blame him. Mandatory sterilization – wow, where had he come up with that one? Devon let out a gurgle of surprise, and Magritte just stared. Ellie’s lips firmed together in exasperation. OK, so John might not agree with what she was doing, but this seemed a little extreme. Couldn’t he have just expressed polite disinterest?

She shifted in her chair, and a second later felt a knee against hers. A big blocky male knee. And after that, a shin, also big and male. Urk. Despite her annoyance with him, the contact was electric. She jerked her leg away. John’s face was impassive.

That had not been an accident. Ellie gritted her teeth.

“You’re a doctor. You gotta agree with me, right Woodcomb?” John was drawing her fiancé into the disaster of a conversation. Well, maybe Devon could rescue it. She aimed a pleading, hopefully subtle, expression at him. She was apparently too successful with the subtlety: he didn’t see her look, but he did try to smooth things over in his usual manner.

“I’m not the only doctor here,” he pointed out, quite sensibly, and in a single sentence tripling the number of words he’d contributed to the conversation since they had all seated themselves.

John shrugged. “They’re women.” He waved his fork around with a pompous air. “They don’t count.”

At this blatant arrogance, Sarah and Chuck exchanged glances again. Ellie observed them with deep suspicion. Her exasperation was starting to boil over into wrath. Oh, when she got either of those two alone ... Chuck appeared distressed, but Sarah seemed, incredibly enough, amused. She picked up her knife with an intent expression and began to saw, that was the only word for it, at her meat. The loud scraping sound as the blade hit the ceramic plate made Ellie wince. The blonde paid studious attention to using her fork and putting the piece of meat into her mouth, as if she needed to occupy it, or she’d be saying something she might later regret.

“Can’t say I do agree with you,” Devon was continuing, “but to each his own, buddy.” He must be on a role; that was his third whole sentence.

“How many kids are you and Ellie planning on having?” John asked, in an abrupt change of subject. Ellie was swallowing, and coughed a little as the bite lodged in her throat. John reached over to give her a thump on the back, and then, to her distress, left his arm lying casually along the back of her chair. Which was as out-of-character as everything else he was doing tonight. Ellie shrugged her shoulders aggravatedly. He seemed not to notice. She did it more aggressively. He laid his hand directly on the ball of her shoulder and rubbed it with a conspicuous absent-minded air. Ellie froze in her seat.

“We haven’t discussed that lately,” Devon was saying blithely, apparently attaching no significance to where John’s hand was. Devon was kind of a touchy-feely guy, though, so maybe he expected other men to be, too. For her part though, Ellie was irate enough with John that her usual pounding-heart, dry-mouth, clenched-abdomen reaction to him was diminishing.

Huh, it could be That Man had struck on a solution that was better than hers. If he did a good enough job acting like a bastard, maybe she just wouldn’t feel attracted to him anymore.

“Actually it’s something we don’t quite agree on, yet,” Devon was continuing. “Ellie’s been pretty stubborn. But I’m confident I’ll win her over to my point of view.”

Ellie’s displeasure enlarged itself to more fully encompass its second-most provoking target. Why would he tell everyone something that personal? And his self-assurance was grating.

“I see,” John nodded. “So how’s the sex between you two been, then?”

Magritte gasped. Ellie choked on her food for the second time in five minutes. Again, John thumped her on the back while smiling suavely at Devon, who’d finally caught on to the fact that something wasn’t right here. He frowned at John with fuzzy irritation and obviously no clue how to respond to such an outrageous question.

“Hey, bro” – he began, only to be cut off by his future brother-in-law.

“Uh, what are your plans for the weekend, Magritte?” Chuck inserted a trifle loudly, trying to help the situation. He also eyeballed the male arm that was still on the back of Ellie’s chair, a bit more alert to some of the vibes dancing around the table than was Devon. Then he shared a look with Sarah that was fraught with some hidden meaning, but some of which Ellie believed was I told you so. That was confusing, unless Chuck had known John planned to act this way – in which case her brother was most definitely in for it after everyone left tonight. And Sarah offered an I’m confused, but also enjoying myself and what can we do? expression in return. So they both knew something was up with John, and possibly with Ellie. Great, that was all she needed, for either of those two to be linking John and Ellie together in their heads.

Magritte was answering Chuck with strained politeness. Chuck was nodding back. John chose that moment to move his arm. Which would have been most welcome, except that he did so by skimming his large hard hand along her shoulder to her sweater’s neckline, and then across her bare skin to slide sensuously beneath her hair. He drew his strong fingers caressingly up the length of her neck before continuing to pull back.

The glide of his skin against hers was more than Ellie’s stretched sensibilities could handle. Pulse fluttering madly, breath coming in a harsh gasp, she jerked forward in her seat. Too forcefully. She bumped the table with a hard jar, and plates and serving dishes clattered. The half-full wine glass in front of Magritte tipped over, spilling a pool of red liquid across the table and onto Ellie’s friend before she could move out of the way. With a screech, Magritte jumped to her feet, her lap full of wine.

Ellie leaped up too, distinctly hearing John Casey chuckle. He didn’t even try to pretend concern, or fake an apology. But he did at least move his napkin from his lap and offer it across to Magritte. She took it without looking at him and began to mop at her pants. Ellie herded her down the hall to the bathroom, supplied her with club soda and a washcloth and towel, and left her there. She came back out to where everyone else had remained seated.

Sarah and Chuck were leaned in to each other, whispering inaudibly. John had his fork and was swallowing a bite, the only one still eating. Devon rose when Ellie appeared.

“She alright?” he asked solicitously, giving her a one-armed hug. It was as annoying as John’s arm on her chair had been, and nowhere near as sexy. Ellie shrugged him away and spent a few minutes mopping up the wine that had reached Magritte’s chair.

“She’s fine. A little wine isn’t going to kill her.” She turned to glare pointedly at John as she sat back down. She’s my friend, and she’s too tough to get upset that easily. He must have understood some of that, because he dipped his chin. And then he waggled his eyebrows at her, cockily.

Arrgh.

Magritte came back to the table, sitting down somewhat gingerly with a wet lap. Determining that she wasn’t going to knuckle under in defeat, Ellie brought the desert in from the kitchen. Chuck continued to eye John with suspicion while his sister served everyone. And, clearly, he came to the conclusion that she needed defending. Which was sweet, but quite unnecessary, especially as what he proceeded to do was put the finishing touches on the destruction of her dinner party.

“You’re not the only one with hobbies, Magritte,” he said cheerfully into the strained silence that dominated the room. Magritte said nothing in reply, just paid studious attention to what was on her fork. Smart woman. Chuck plodded on anyway. “Casey’s got some pretty interesting ... interests.”

Ellie didn’t know where he was going with this, but Sarah and John were exchanging glances that looked ... dangerous. Sarah must have done something to Chuck under the table, because he winced. But that didn’t stop him.

“Yep. Ask him anything about any science fiction show. He can quote you character and episode. Big sci-fi geek, our Casey.”

Science fiction? Ellie didn’t know about anyone else, but she was feeling like she’d gotten caught in an episode of the Twilight Zone, tonight. John’s face, which had been pretty much a permanent smirk the entire evening, became a snarl aimed at Ellie’s brother.

“Can it, Chuck. Any little factoid gems that might have gotten stuck in my head are only there from hearing you and Morgan drone on and on about that stuff ad nauseum,” he asserted.

That sounded odd to Ellie. “I don’t remember you ever hanging out over here when they’re doing their, uh, science fiction thing,” she mused. “Do you all go over to Morgan’s?”

“That’s kind of weird, actually,” Devon contributed. “I’ve wondered about that myself. Older – sorry, mature - guy like you, hanging out with kids like Chuck and Morgan? What’s that about?”

John’s scowl became even fiercer. “I have never,” he asserted, “been to that little slimeball’s house.”

His vehemence made the whole thing weirder. And was the name-calling really necessary? Chuck concurred with his sister’s thoughts about the slur made against his friend, because he continued his attack.

“Oh, come on, Casey, no need to be ashamed. You might as well just come out of the closet,” he soothed in a voice fraught with mock concern. “It’s OK, we’re all friends here.”

Ellie never knew whether he did it accidentally or deliberately, but Devon misunderstood that statement. Deeply.

“Oh,” he said, with the dawning light of realization on his face, “that’s what’s up with you and Morgan, Casey. Never saw that coming, man. Wow, Ellie, were you ever barking up the wrong tree tonight! Hey, Magritte?” He had a good chuckle. He had it all by himself, because the rest of the table couldn’t quite manage laughter. Magritte’s eyes had closed. Ellie’s chest was clenched in some kind of vise; had her fiancé lost his mind? He’d just taken the atrocious behaviour of their guest, and then her brother, and one-upped it.

Sarah had one hand to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at John as though she thought he might explode.

But John was, contrarily, the opposite of explosive. “Sorry, Devon,” he said as smoothly as any arch-villain in a movie, calmly picking up his wine glass. Only his eyes betrayed that he was hugely enjoying himself, at the expense of everyone around him. “I don’t play for that team. If I did, Morgan would be about last on the list of eligibles.”

Sarah dropped her hand. Relief at this mild reaction was written large on her face.

“Hey”- Chuck started, getting even more annoyed at all the insults his best friend was enduring. Sarah put a quieting hand on his arm. That worked until Casey moved his wicked, deliberate gaze to his coworker.

“If anything, I’ve always thought maybe Sarah had something to worry about in the Morgan department. You guys are awfully close. Chuck.” His tone was sugary and suggestive and acerbic all at once. Not a soul believed what he’d said, but no one could believe he’d said it, either. After a moment of silence, Chuck gurgled. It seemed that was all he could do.

“On the other hand,” John continued casually after a sip of wine, “if I did swing that way, I might give Ellie a run for her money. You’re much more my type, Devon.” And he leered again. This time at her fiancé.

Who just stared back with his mouth open.

Ellie had no words. No movement, either. Magritte did, though; she stood to her feet.

“I’m going to call it a night,” she said steadily to Ellie, ignoring everyone else at the table. Ellie nodded jerkily, and managed to get her feet moving as well. An odd feeling of resignation, and an insane desire to laugh like a hyena, crept over her. She mused that there was only so much discussion of the sexuality of strangers that one individual could take. Her friend had stuck it out as long as any sane person could be expected to. She’d been a trouper, really.

Magritte left, mumbling about needing to soak her pants. She also said she’d see Ellie tomorrow, which came out sounding more like a threat than a promise. Ellie nodded helplessly.

Chuck made a move to pull John outside; Ellie hoped it was to give him a lecture about his behaviour tonight. She herself wanted to take a pot to the side of That Man’s head. But Devon, awakening belatedly to the idea that Ellie might be in need of a little support, insisted they all help clean up. Ellie wanted to shoo everyone out of her kitchen, but knuckled under with a sigh. At least with that many hands, it was short work, and then Devon hinted broadly until Sarah and John left. Ellie didn't see them to the door - she didn't quite yet trust herself not to do bodily injury to John.

Thankful for Devon's intervention, Ellie felt her displeasure with him lessening. By the time Chuck went off to bed, she was enough in charity with her fiancé to give him a full hug. He grinned at her as they separated.

“Let’s never have that guy over for dinner again, OK?” he laughed.

Ellie returned his smile. “Agreed,” she said fervently. She set her hands on his shoulders.

“Devon,” she began, reluctantly, not really feeling up to the discussion they needed to have. He raised a hand to cut her off.

“I know we have to talk,” he said, stepping back from her. She let her hands fall to her sides. “I’m just not ready. OK? Soon, Ellie. But not yet.”

“Soon,” she repeated. And then sighed again. She was just so tired, for many reasons. Too tired to deal with whatever was going on with Devon, right now. “All right, Devon.”

'Tempted' chapter 5 - Scared

2009-03-01T00:40:45Z

I'm back at work on Tempted -- I apologize that it's been so long! This is a shorter bit, just to get me back on track with the story. I hope somebody's still interested in reading it!

Title: Tempted Chapter 5 - Scared
Rating: PG
Spoilers: not really.
Disclaimer: all the usual, they belong to someone not me

Scared

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Chuck sent his last customer on his way with a smile and started closing things up at the Nerd Herd desk. He’d spent much of the day trying to figure out if he should just invite Casey over for dinner with no explanation, or fill him in on the fact that Ellie wanted to set him up with a friend of hers. On the one hand, if he told him, he was sure Casey would refuse the invitation and Ellie would be pissed. On the other, if he didn’t tell him and Casey was ambushed by two scheming women, Chuck was certain Casey would be the one who was pissed.

Ellie’s anger or Casey’s. It wasn’t really a dilemma at all, was it? Chuck left the desk and approached the other man.

“Hey, Casey,” he said, easing into things with a casual smile. “Any plans for tomorrow night?”

“Besides babysitting you and Morgan while you dissect the latest Battlestar episode? No.” Casey had a pallet full of surround-sound systems that he was stocking. He didn’t turn from the job, just tossed the disgusted words over his shoulder.

“OK, then.” Chuck shoved his hands into his pockets. “In the mood for a home-cooked meal?”

Hah, that got his attention. Casey paused in the act of shoving boxes onto shelves.

“At your house?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, where else?” Chuck laughed.

Casey started lifting boxes again. “I’ll have to skip this one.”

“Really? You’re going to pass on the offer of my sister’s fine cooking?” That was a first, that Chuck could recall. Though thankfully there had only been a few occasions where he’d been forced to be friendly with Casey at his own dinner table.

Something must have caught Casey’s attention again, because he’d stopped stocking once more. “This your invitation, or your sister’s?” He wanted to know.

He must have known something was up. How did he figure these things out? That was why the guy was a spy, Chuck supposed.

“Does it matter?” he tried, with a nervous grin. “It’s a free, home-made meal.”

Now Casey turned around, folding his arms and putting on his scary face. The one where he actually put some effort into amping the intimidation, as opposed to his baseline threat level, which was already plenty high enough.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Well.” Chuck’s grin grew weak, but he hung onto it. Whatever they said about him, he had bravado, if nothing else! “Ellie’s having a friend of hers over. You never know, it might be nice, Ellie and Devon, me and Sarah ... you and, uh, Magritte ...” his voice trailed off to the accompaniment of Casey’s lowering brows. The other man took a step in his direction. Chuck held his ground, just barely.

“Are you trying to hook me up? Chuck?” Casey punched the words out with deliberation, as though they were striking an opponent. And they found their mark, because Chuck flinched.

“No, no, not me!” he exclaimed hastily, raising his hands and unhesitatingly throwing his sister to the wolves. Well, wolf. “It’s Ellie! She has a friend from work she wants you to meet. That’s all. Not a big deal, really.” He watched Casey’s angry face, knowing this would never happen. There was no way in hell that Major John Casey was going to allow himself to be set up on some kind of blind date with two other couples present - much less when Chuck and Sarah were one of those ‘couples’.

Said Major’s face looked as though it had frozen in a snarl. While Chuck watched, though, the skin around the nose began to wrinkle in what looked suspiciously like laugh lines. The snarl slowly transformed into a smirk, and the eyes took on what Chuck could only term as an unholy gleam. To tell the truth, this was even more terrifying than the snarl had been. Now Chuck did take a step back.

“Thinks settin’ me up’s gonna work, does she?” Casey mused, seemingly to himself but out loud. And then he emitted a horrifying sound; a chuckle. "Must be getting desperate.” His eyes abruptly lost their middle-distance haze and zeroed in on Chuck, who felt caught in the sights of a sniper rifle.

“Tell your sister I’ll be there, Chuck. This is gonna be interesting.”

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“I’m telling you, I was terrified,” Chuck insisted, sitting across an Orange Orange table from Sarah while she laughed. “He’s got something planned. I don’t know what, or why, but it has something to do with Ellie. And I’m worried.”

Sarah pulled her hand away from her mouth, controlled her laughter enough to take a deep breath, and shook her head. “If I weren’t invited, I’d be crashing,” she stated. “Just to watch Casey while your sister tries to set him up.”

“Are you listening to me?” Chuck demanded. “I’m worried about this. It was twisted, the way he laughed, Sarah.”

“Chuck.” Sarah leaned forward. “What could he possibly have in mind? He’s a professional. He’s not going to do anything to compromise our cover. He’ll play the mannerly, if reserved, houseguest, as long as no one touches him. Just like he’s done before. Relax! This is going to be fun.”

Chuck shook his head, unconvinced. “You didn’t see his face. I’ve never seen that look on him before, Sarah. Maybe you should bring your gun. Just in case.”

Sarah’s face composed itself in a hurry. “I always carry my gun in your house, Chuck.”

The Twelve Days of Christmas - j/ellie fic Pt. 3

2009-02-23T23:14:39Z

Here's the last installment of greenowl 's Secret Santa gift. We finally get to see a little bit of drunk/flirty Ellie. I think it's still PG, though ... let me know if you think not.

Title: The Twelve Days of Christmas, Days Ten Though Twelve
Rating: PG
Timeline: probably about a year after where the series is now

Day 10

January third Ellie arrived home without having left the cheerful zone she was currently occupying. Her night stint was over. She didn’t have to work tonight, or tomorrow. Awaiting her was her Day Ten gift, a ten-ounce mug depicting stethoscopes and sporting the words “Sexy Doctor”, which made her smile. And she decided that evening after dinner that she was going to do what she hadn’t done in a long time; let loose.

“You going out?” Chuck questioned from the door of the bathroom where she was putting the finishing touches to her makeup.

“What was your clue?” Ellie teased. “The little green dress, the high heels, or the jewelry that hasn’t seen the outside of a box in half a year?”

Chuck grinned. “You’ve been almost your old self since Christmas, Ellie. I’m glad to see you’re over Devon.”

Over Devon. Ellie considered that later as she sat in an upscale bar, staring around the room full of people. She hadn’t thought of Devon since ... well, yeah, since Christmas. She nodded to herself, pleased. Chuck was right.

That deserved a celebration, even if it was, by necessity, a party for one. She was ordering her second drink and resigning herself to that fact when suddenly, the aloneness wasn’t a necessity anymore. Because John Casey came through the door.

Without stopping to give it a second thought, she swung around on her barstool and waved until he looked in her direction. He cocked that sexy little half-grin and moved towards her.

“Imagine meeting you here,” he offered when he was in hearing distance.

“Yeah, right,” Ellie returned, her carefree mood spilling over into her words. “This doesn’t strike me as your usual kind of watering hole, John Casey. You followed me here, didn’t you?” It was a teasing remark but as the words hit the air she found herself watching him for his answer. He looked back steadily for maybe two seconds before giving it.

“Yes.”

Yes. That meant ... something. Ellie nodded slowly.

He’d crossed his arms. “Is that all right?” It was calmly stated, but now he was the one watching as if her answer was important.

“Yes.” After she’d said it, she smiled. Then she gestured across the room at tables placed in cozy little corners. “How about we get a table? I’m celebrating. You can join me.”

He did. He also waited until after he’d gotten his first drink down and they’d ordered appetizers to ask what they were celebrating.

“Freedom,” Ellie told him. His face questioned her without words. “I should give you fair warning. I intend to really celebrate. If you embarrass easily, you might not want to stay.” She heard a challenge that she didn’t think she’d intended in her voice. And John rose to it.

“You kidding? Glad I came along. I think I’d like to see you tie one on, for once.” He raised his glass and clicked it against hers. “To freedom.”

“Hear, hear.”

By her third drink, Ellie was starting to feel her buzz. She was something of a lightweight when it came to hard alcohol. Sometimes, she reflected smugly, that was to her advantage. Case in point; John was ahead of her in money spent and amount of alcohol consumed, and he still looked stone cold sober.

“I’m winning,” she confided, leaning across the table towards him. Whups, she’d forgotten how small the table was; her arm bumped his. She scooched it away, but not before she noticed how lovely his bare arms were. His short-sleeved shirt was an excellent choice, just the right blend of casual and elegant. She nodded to herself. The man could dress.

“I didn’t know we were having a competition,” he said.

Ellie frowned. What?

“What are you winning?” John clarified after a moment, as her puzzlement became clear.

Oh. “Nothing. Never mind. Nice outfit.” She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp and waived the waitress down for another.

“And you, sir?” the woman asked.

“Just water for me now,” John told her. Ellie giggled. Maybe she wasn’t the lightweight here, after all.

She went back to perusing his arms. That led her to his chest; then his neck; then his face. And his startlingly blue eyes, which were truly an unfair gift to be bestowed on anyone of the male variety. The eyes were staring back at her, and she felt almost paralyzed by their electricity. Then they disappeared as John glanced down, slowly. She shivered as they reappeared.

“Ellie?” John had cleared his throat before he spoke, but it still came out hoarse. Was he getting sick?

“Are you getting sick?”

“Uh ... no.” The blue went away again, looking at something south of her chin. Ellie looked down, too, and discovered that he was staring at the neckline of her dress, which gaped a bit as she leaned towards him. Startled at how much she was showing him, Ellie instinctively covered her chest with one hand and looked back up at him.

Warmth welled in her abdomen at the look in his eyes. It built until sparks skittered along the nerves of her limbs. Uncomfortable with the intensity of it, Ellie opened suddenly dry lips to say something; what, she didn’t know. John forestalled her by silently touching the back of one hand to her cheek. Ellie blinked, suddenly cognizant of how very close to him she was leaning. A few more inches and her lips would be on his. Swallowing, she backed up into her own seat. Feeling over-warm, she concerned herself with her drink while John sipped his water, his eyes glinting at her over his glass.

After that, Ellie quickly lost track of what she’d had to drink, or how much, or the time; or even, after awhile, where they were. She forsook all her plans for wildness and craziness, because it was just better being in this little corner with John. John whose big manly frame was so invitingly, touchably near.

“Ellie?” Was he laughing? Ellie squinted at him suspiciously.

“What?”

“You do know that’s my leg, right?”

Ellie blinked down at her hand. How had it gotten onto his thigh? Now that it was there, though, she wondered why it hadn’t gone there before. It was a mighty nice place to be, John’s leg. Wonderful topography.

“You have lovely thighs,” she sighed, squeezing the one under her hand. The muscle there tensed. The light of laughter in John’s eyes abruptly disappeared, replaced by a much more intense gleam.

But then he ruined it all by sliding a hand under hers and lifting it away, to place it very properly in her own lap. Ellie frowned at him.

“What’s the matter, John?” She was certain she hadn’t misread him; there had been lust in his eyes ever since he walked in here. She tipped her glass back for a swallow and frowned again when she found it was empty. She thunked it down in disgruntlement.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. He smiled across the table at her, and all was instantly forgiven. She leaned in toward him again. His eyes dipped the way they had last time; Ellie giggled. John raised an eyebrow. She grinned widely into his face. Leaning both elbows on the table, she hitched up to the edge of her chair and touched her fingers to each of his cheekbones. Well, that was what she tried to do; instead she got his nose. John startled, twitching back, but when she chased after him he stilled. Perhaps he feared if he moved too much she’d damage him. Successfully cradling his face between her palms, Ellie softened her smile, but it was smug. Quite smug.

“John Casey,” she breathed. “You like me.”

His brows crinkled. He didn’t say anything, but she thought she felt his mouth twitch. Yep, that toe-curling laughter light was back in his eyes.

“You do,” she affirmed, nodding her head self-assuredly. Her voice acquired a sing-song quality. “You li-ike me.”

John smiled into her eyes briefly, the wicked laughter gleaming brighter, before he shot two quick glances around the bar. Covering each of her hands with both of his, he moved them away and placed them on her side of the table. Ellie sat back, but she was giggling and continuing her chant. “Like me, like me, li-ike me.” She paused to consider that, then felt maybe clarification was necessary. “Or at least you like my breasts.”

John looked around the room again. “Ellie”, he murmured, “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

“Really?” Ellie regarded her empty glass and shook her head in disagreement. “I don’t think so. I think we have a different problem. You know what it is?” She leaned into him again – she couldn’t seem to help doing that – and dropped her voice conspiratorially.

“No,” he returned, one corner of his mouth quirked.

“The problem is, that you have not had enough to drink.” Ellie nodded sagely before twisting around in her seat to find the waitress.

“Actually,” John told the woman when she responded to Ellie’s frantic waiving, “We’re ready to pay.”

Ellie pouted, but found herself bundled out the door in short order.

“I thought you said you’d like to see me tied to ... tied on ... uh, tie one on.” She smiled to herself when she got the phrase right.

“I think I’m seeing it,” John answered. “It’s ... interesting.”

“Yeah? Interesting good or interesting bad, handsome man?”

“Mostly good,” he assured her, tucking her arm into his and turning them to walk down the street. She resisted, digging her heels in until he was forced to stop or risk damaging her shoes.

“Where are we going?” Ellie demanded.

“How about a cab, then home?”

“Home with you?” Ellie asked eagerly. John gave an odd gurgling snort, then shook his head. Ellie shook hers too, regretfully.

“You to your home, me to mine,” he clarified. Ellie considered this and rejected it in short order.

“Nope. Not ready to go home yet.” She lifted her face to the night sky. There was a cool breeze kicking up. She leaned into the large warmth beside her and sighed contentedly. “Let’s stay out here, just you and me, handsome man.”

“Handsome, huh?” He was steering her somewhere. She decided it was easier just to go where he wanted. Which, evidently, was a nearby bench situated under a street light. He maneuvered her down onto it and she let him, sinking into his side. After a moment he pulled his arm free of hers and before she could protest that, tucked it around her shoulders.

“Ooh,” Ellie cooed to his chest. He had a marvelous chest, really he did. She patted it with satisfaction. “Don’t you feel like we’re in high school again?”

“What?” He squinted at her. Her hand wandered from his lovely pecs, down to his abdomen, and then headed for lower parts. He caught it before it went anywhere dangerous and returned it to his chest, holding it in his. That was OK. Better than OK; very nice, really.

“If we were back in high school, don’t you think this would be an ex-cel-lent place to make out?” Ellie continued.

John looked around, at the nearby bar and the homes and the cars zipping by and the people passing. It was a fairly busy corner, for this time of night.

“Not especially,” he grunted. Ellie picked her head up from his chest to be able to see him. Of course, this required tilting her neck back, and resulted in what she felt was truly an ex-cel-lent posture for kissing.

“Are you suuure?” She purred, edging her lips closer to his. His grip on her hand tightened; even in the dim light she could see how his eyes widened. That was exciting.

“It’s cab time,” he announced, standing abruptly. Yanked to her feet beside him, Ellie tipped as the blood left her head too abruptly. Dizzily, she rocked into John, who steadied her while putting out a hand to wave a cab down. One appeared in no time at all and he hustled her into it.

She lost track of how they arrived at her door, but they did. John fished delicately in her purse for the keys she couldn’t find. She laughed at his expression.

“Men don’t like going into women’s bags”, she observed sagely, leaning on the doorframe as well as John’s arm. She was starting to feel kind of nauseated. John shot her a disgruntled look.

“Can you blame us?” he inserted the key in the lock and turned it. “Who knows what might be in there?”

“Afraid of finding a tampon, John?” She chortled. He winced.

“Unless you want to have your brother out here clucking over you, you better keep your voice down.” He pressed against the small of her back and herded her inside. The lights he turned on were bright; he clicked them back off at her wince.

“Lay down,” he commanded as he moved her to the couch. It sounded like a good idea, so she did it, but couldn’t restrain a grumpy “bossy” in his direction. He snorted and covered her with the throw from the back of the couch. Ellie snuggled into the cushion with a happy sigh, but grabbed John’s arm just as he was backing away.

“No goodnight kiss?” She meant the words to sound sexy and alluring, but they just came out slurred. She couldn’t see John in the dark. He didn’t answer that, but he did kneel down beside her.

“Your keys are in your purse on the floor here. I’ll lock up on my way out.”

“No kiss?” Ellie whined.

She thought she felt a hand on her hair, before he stood up with a grunt. “Not tonight.”

She didn’t hear him leave.

Day 11

January fourth was well underway before Ellie awoke. She creaked an eyelid open to glaring sunlight and snapped it closed again with a groan. A voice from somewhere nearby chuckled.

“Guess you weren’t lying about letting loose last night.”

Did he have to be so loud? Ellie risked opening her eyes to give Chuck a scowl. That hurt, though, so she gave it up.

“This was outside the door,” he told her, laughter still in his tone. She heard a thump as he laid something on the floor beside the couch, and then he left her alone. It was a few moments before Ellie moved enough to grab whatever it was.

It was a recipe, on the same paper as that Grinch drink had been printed. Squinting was painful, and it took awhile before her bleary eyes could interpret the message. ‘There’s no such thing as a magic cure for a hangover’, it said. ‘Hair of the dog, lots of water, and some aspirin. But you knew that, of course.’

If she’d felt better, Ellie would have smiled. She squinted a bit instead, at the twelve-pack of vitamin water that accompanied the note. One was missing. She considered that foggily for a moment before realizing that today was the eleventh day of Christmas, and someone had given her eleven 11-oz. bottles of water to help her get over her hangover.

Chuck was back. He bent to place something on the floor; an empty glass and an aspirin bottle. “Do you really want any hair of the dog?” he asked, standing back up. “’cuz all we got is that liqueur your secret admirer left you.”

“No,” Ellie managed to mumble.

That evening, having eaten a solo supper, she was feeling much more herself. Mentally promising herself that she’d never have quite that much to drink in one sitting again, Ellie tied up the trash and lugged it out to the curb for pick-up. She was straightening from smashing the overfull bag down into its plastic container when she caught sight of John, doing the same thing across the way. He stood up, too, looking at her, and then walked across to her.

Streetlight limned his face for a moment as he did so, and it struck a memory in Ellie’s head. An alcohol-shrouded memory. Of a bench under a street light, and some touching ... augh, she thought that had been her ... and something about a kiss. Which she thought might have been refused. Great, had she asked him to kiss her and he’d told her no? How embarrassing!

By the time John reached her, Ellie was glad for the night because hopefully it hid the flaming red of her cheeks. She managed a crooked smile but couldn’t quite get words out.

“Evening, Ellie,” he provided, when she didn’t speak.

“Evening,” she croaked back. Clearing her throat, she glanced down to see that her arms were folded defensively across her chest. She dropped them, annoyed with herself.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she said, trying another smile. “Uh ...” she couldn’t think of any other words.

He could, though, and they weren’t ones she particularly wanted to hear. “Look, about last night ...”

“Oh, please,” she hastily inserted, “let me apologize for that. I don’t, exactly, remember everything I did, but what I do remember tells me that I was probably quite embarrassing. Thanks for getting me home, and please just forget it. Even though I’m sure I deserve the embarrassment.”

“Well, actually,” he started. No, there could not be an ‘actually’. Ellie did not want to have a conversation with him about how in vino there was veritas. Not at all.

“Please,” she said. “Anything I said or, or did; it didn’t mean anything. Nothing at all.”

“Nothing at all?” he asked softly, narrowing his eyes at her in the dimness. “You sure about that?”

Well ... no, she wasn’t. But she didn’t want to talk about that, either, when she was feeling humiliated and defensive. She nodded firmly, arms crossed again.

“OK,” he said. But he sounded anything but persuaded. And as she turned away to re-enter her house, Ellie was certain she heard him mutter, “for now.”

Day 12

January fifth was the eve of Epiphany, which was appropriate, because Ellie had one. And immediately afterward she felt rather extremely stupid. She stood just inside the door to her house, having opened it to look for what she expected would be the last gift from her ‘admirer’. It was the twelfth and final day of Christmas, after all. She felt rather depressed about that.

But instead of a gift on her doorstep, there was a person. And she looked at him and could only think; of course. Because John was standing there, and that made complete sense, and really it was ridiculous that it hadn’t occurred to her until now. With one hand behind his back, he was griping a small slip of paper in the other, which he held out to her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t decipher. She took the paper and looked down at it, the weight and color familiar. After all, she’d seen its like on Days eleven, nine, six, and two. It held twelve words; hand-printed this time, not typed.

Oh, come on. You knew it was me all along, didn’t you?

She bit her lip, staring down at it for a long moment. When she looked back toward John, she was shaking her head slowly.

“I actually didn’t, you know. For a few days there I thought it might be Morgan.”

John’s eyebrows pulled together in fierce disgust. “You serious?”

“Yeah ... that was before the Grinch, though.”

He shook his head. “I was going to tell you last night, because I was running out of gifts to get, but, well ... you know.”

“Yeah.” Ellie closed her eyes briefly. “I was embarrassed, I just couldn’t talk to you.”

She bit the corner of her lip and stood there, awkwardly, the silence heavy between them. It lengthened until apparently John wasn’t able to stand it any more.

“So I couldn’t think of twelve of anything to get you.” He’d topped the final step and was standing very near her, now. Ellie’s heart began to pick up speed at the closeness, and her breath caught when she tried to pull it in.

“Not sure I believe that,” she countered, crossing her arms. “Twelve is a quite well-accepted number, for certain types of gifts.”

“Huh.” His eyes glittered at her, responding to the challenge in her voice. Ellie tucked one corner of her mouth in to keep from smiling.

“A dozen red roses, I suppose you’re talking about.” His mouth hadn’t moved, but she knew with certainty that he was smiling. And suddenly everything in her world was very, very right.

“That’s a fairly common version of the gift, yes,” she purred, uncrossing her arms to put her hands on her hips. They didn’t make it that far because, of course, he’d brought her a dozen red roses; and he whipped them out one-handed from behind his back and filled her hands with them. They were just starting to bloom from their buds, dark and velvety in scent and color, and with their red petals and green stems gloriously Christmassy. Ellie sighed as she brought them to her nose, her eyes closing while she breathed in their beauty.

John allowed this minimalist activity to continue for perhaps half a minute; then he reached around her to the knob of the screen door, and put his hand at Ellie’s waist to steer her backwards into the house. He barely had the door closed behind him before he maneuvered the roses away from her and onto the nearby table. Ellie didn’t protest, because he promptly filled her now-empty hands with himself, stepping in close to her and pulling her arms around his waist. She stood as he’d posed her, tilting her head back to grin into his strong face. His eyes crinkled, glinting down at her. She laughed, full and unrestrainedly.

“I really should have known it was you,” she mused.

He stopped the downward movement of his head to hers just long enough to cut her an irritated glance. “Who else?”

Who else, indeed.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - j/ellie fic Pt. 2

2009-02-23T01:00:12Z

Finally, here's the second bit! Basically, Ellie continues to receive gifts. A Secret Santa gift for greenowl</lj> at the j/ellie shippers community.

Title: The Twelve Days of Christmas, Days Two through Nine
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Not really
Link: .

Day 2

On December twenty-sixth, Ellie spent the morning cleaning up after last night’s dinner party, and had no reason to venture outside until the mail came. When it did, she opened the door in her pajamas and bare feet. Situated far enough from the door that she wouldn’t step on it, but close enough that the sunlight hadn’t yet reached it, was a small Styrofoam cooler; the type you bought and used once and then threw away because it developed a crack.

She brought it inside with the mail, setting it on the dining table. There was a small typed note taped to the lid. “Not enough for a real fight, but maybe enough to make you smile,” it said. With curiosity, Ellie opened the container. Inside was crushed ice, barely melted, so it couldn’t have been sitting outside very long. Odd that she hadn’t heard the person who delivered it.

The ice was packed carefully around two zip-lock freezer bags containing ... more ice? Puzzled, Ellie drew them out. No, not ice ... snow, one sphere in each bag. She’d never seen the real stuff before, but this definitely seemed to be snow. She hefted one baggie-enclosed ball in each hand, not minding that her hands were quickly growing numb. Her first instinct was indeed to smile, remembering the conversation at dinner last night.

And then she thought, Morgan, and dropped them to the tabletop with a moue of distaste. She didn’t want any gifts from Morgan.

Still, it was a very sweet gesture. Where had he found real snow in this area, overnight? Picking up the snowballs again, she put them back in their cooler and then made space for it at the back of the freezer. She’d take some time before seeing if she needed to have a little talk with her brother’s friend.

Day 3

On December twenty-seventh, arriving home from work in the wee hours once more, Ellie was greeted by a white plastic bag. She stood looking at it a moment, head cocked, before bending to pick it up. After kicking her shoes off and dropping her work bag on the floor, she emptied the plastic bag’s contents onto the kitchen counter. Three containers, still warm, were each filled with single servings of chicken dishes. Labels with the local gourmet food store’s emblem told what they contained; chicken cordon bleu, chicken francaise tarragon, and chicken Veronique. Ellie was tired, and it took a moment of looking at the names of the recipes before it dawned on her: someone had given her three chicken – hen - dishes, prepared French-style. On the third day of Christmas.

There was no note, no explanation. These were definitely not from Morgan – it was too clever a gesture. Maybe from Chuck, who might be telling her she didn’t have to cook for the next few days?

But as it turned out, Chuck had no idea where they had come from. And all the dishes were consumed in one setting that evening, because in an interesting coincidence John Casey followed Chuck home from work. After raising the point that it might not be safe to eat food that had mysteriously appeared on one’s doorstep, and then inspecting the hermetically sealed containers to his own satisfaction, he consumed the cordon bleu while Chuck and Ellie had the other two dishes. They were delicious.

Day 4

December twenty-eighth she came home after a long, very difficult night at the hospital, and was too tired to notice anything sitting on her steps. An hour after she went to bed, though, she awoke to Morgan pounding on their door. Ellie let him in, and he shoved a long white envelope at her. “Found that outside,” Morgan said around whatever it was he was eating for breakfast. “Chuck not up yet? We’re supposed to spend the day gaming.”

“Starting at eight in the morning?” Ellie wanted to know, acerbically.

“Well, yeah,” he answered, in a what-else-would-we-possibly-want-to-do-with-a-day-off tone. “I’ll wake him.” Morgan disappeared in the direction of Chuck’s bedroom.

Ellie opened the envelope. Inside were four tickets to a local theatre group’s musical version of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” Smiling bemusedly, Ellie shook her head. The tickets weren’t expensive, but four of them must have cost at least twenty dollars. Added to the rose, the snowballs that still sat at the back of her freezer, and the food from yesterday, this person was going to a lot of trouble. And four tickets were problematic. Who was she supposed to invite, besides Chuck and Sarah? The giver? How could she do that when she didn’t have a clue who it was?

Looking at the tickets again, she saw that they were for that evening, scheduled conveniently for the show to end in time for her to get ready for work. While she digested the significance of that, her brother appeared in the kitchen, yawning and searching for breakfast. She let him get his own, leaning on the counter to show him her latest gift while Morgan hung in the background. She kept an eye on that one, just in case he really was the person who was gifting her.

“Wow,” Chuck said, pouring cereal into a bowl. “You’ve got a secret admirer, Ellie. That’s kind of sweet.”

Ellie covertly eyed Morgan. He was scrounging in his pocket, looking completely uninterested. And he wasn’t that great an actor.

“Sure, I guess. It’s maybe a little creepy, though ... someone knows my routine really well. But I hate to waste good tickets, and I think I’d enjoy the show. You and Sarah free tonight?”

“I am. I’ll check with Sarah.”

“O.K.” Ellie was about to mention the one remaining ticket, but glanced again at Morgan just in time. She didn’t want to spend the evening with him; she’d seen entirely too much of him, lately.

Chuck looked Morgan’s way, too, and knew what she was thinking. “You could always ask Casey,” he suggested, somewhat sarcastically. But Ellie considered that and then nodded. She angled to give him a grateful look without Morgan seeing it. Oblivious, Morgan found what he’d been rooting for, a smashed piece of gum which he unwrapped and stuck in his mouth.

“You think John would enjoy something like this?” Ellie asked when Morgan ambled off in the direction of the bathroom.

Chuck shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just trying to rescue you from Morgan.”

“Well, why don’t you ask him? That way it won’t seem like I’m asking him to ... double date, or something.”

Chuck grinned. “Why? Thinking of getting back out there someday, aren’t you?”

Ellie gave him a mock scowl. “Of course. Just not ... yet. Anyway, I doubt a man like that is going to want to go see a musical Grinch.”

But to Ellie’s surprise, Casey agreed to go. He met Ellie, Chuck and Sarah in the courtyard that afternoon, changed from his Buy More shirt into a light grey sweater and dark blue slacks that complemented his eyes. He looked good, Ellie reflected. Really good. Her brother’s remark about ‘getting back out there’ came back to haunt her while they stood in line to enter the small theatre. John was ahead of her and she allowed her eyes to travel over his physique. He was a mighty good-looking man, there wasn’t any denying that. But somehow, he was a bit more man than she was used to. He was very sweet, but underneath that there was something that was a bit intimidating.

They settled in to watch the show in a Sarah-Chuck-Ellie-John seating sequence. As the lights dimmed, John adjusted his position in his seat and his knee bumped Ellie’s.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I always have problems with these small theatre seats.”

Ellie nodded. He was a big guy, after all. “No problem,” she assured him. In point of fact, she really wouldn’t have minded if it happened again. Or lasted longer.

There were lots of children present, and the atmosphere was light-hearted. Ellie even saw John crack a few half-grins out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t have said whether Chuck or Sarah laughed at all, but she did notice any inclination toward laughter that Casey happened to exhibit.

He felt her watching him, eyed her a few times, himself, and finally leaned over to whisper in her ear. “What?”

Ellie shivered as his breath gusted over her skin. “I was just thinking that you don’t generally laugh much,” she murmured back. The darkness lent them an air of intimacy and was maybe the reason her heart was beating a little faster, more than the nearness of their heads.

“I laugh!” John rasped at her, indignantly. She angled her head down to hide her own smile, but he caught it. He quirked one corner of his mouth up and hitched the shoulder nearest her. It brushed against her. “Well, maybe not as much as you do,” he admitted.

They didn’t speak again after that, but Ellie didn’t catch as much of the show as she would have if she’d been sitting at Chuck’s other side.

Day 5

By December twenty-ninth, Ellie was looking forward to finding a surprise awaiting her at the end of her work night. This morning was no disappointment. What she opened was a box holding five flavors for homemade snow cones. She did pause a moment to wonder how this person knew that she had an ice shaver in her kitchen cabinets that she’d never used. But the idea of making snow cones was too fun, and she called Chuck up to make sure he’d be home for dinner.

When he arrived, it was in the company of John Casey. Ellie reflected on how much she’d seen of that one lately as she put an extra plate on the table. She also wished she’d waited until after dinner to put her work scrubs on. It was too late now.

They ate together, and then she got out the ice shaver and the bottles of flavoring that her mysterious ‘admirer’ (to use Chuck’s label) had given her. Making the snow cones was messy, but fun, and eating them even more so. Ellie perched on the counter licking her lips contentedly with a blue-tinged tongue, with Chuck leaning beside her and John lounging in a chair he’d dragged into the kitchen.

“That was fun, Ellie,” Chuck said, pushing away from the counter. “It’s nice we finally used that thing.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agreed. Chuck left, due to meet Sarah somewhere. Ellie turned curious eyes to John, who had stayed seated.

“I’ll help you clean up,” he offered, rising from the chair and stowing it in a corner.

“So you’re still getting anonymous gifts from someone,” he commented as Ellie gathered the bowls they’d used.

“Yeah,” she said, watching out of the corner of her eye as he dismantled the parts of the ice shaver that needed to be cleaned.

“Are you creeped out at all?”

Ellie gave it some thought as she turned on the water to rinse their bowls.

“Not yet,” she finally said. “If I thought it was a stranger, yeah, it wouldn’t be a good thing for him to know what I have in my house and what my schedule’s like. But so far it just seems like this is a person who’s in my life already, and knows little things about me.”

Holding the pieces of the ice shaver, John walked over to her and placed them in the sink.

“Someone who knows you and pays attention,” he said softly, looking down at her. Ellie smiled just as softly.

“Yeah.” She blushed a little. “This is going to sound silly, but it’s kind of like being fourteen again, finding goofy little love notes pushed through the slats of my locker. You know?”

He quirked one eyebrow. “No.”

Ellie chuckled. “Yeah, right. You telling me that in high school no little cheerleader ever had a crush on the big handsome” – she paused to cock her head assessingly – “football player?”

His eyebrow came down, accompanied by a snort. “Good guess. And, no, not to my knowledge.”

Ellie shook her head in teasing disapproval. “You were probably too intimidating. I bet they all nursed broken hearts from a distance.”

He cocked his head, blue eyes suddenly searching. “You think?” he murmured.

Ellie swallowed, the moment too unexpectedly intense for her. “Sure,” she said, attempting a breezy smile and turning away to wash the counter down. “I bet you could have been a real playah, if you wanted.” Still could be, she thought to herself.

He didn’t chase after her, just helped her finish the clean up and then left. Ellie went to bed wondering what tomorrow’s gift would be.

Day 6

December thirtieth, the container on her step was another of those Styrofoam coolers. She withdrew six items from it and lined them up on her kitchen counter; a bottle of Midori melon liqueor, another of banana liqueur, one of coconut rum, a high ball glass, a small slip of paper that held a recipe for a drink called ‘The Grinch’, and last but not least a four-inch-tall glass Grinch figurine. She bit her lower lip, smiling, as she touched a finger to the last’s bulging bag of stolen Christmas. The recipe sounded sickeningly sweet, and a glass of wine was usually more her style, but the Grinch theme was adorable. She put everything away on the same shelf, except for the Grinch figure: that she placed on the top of her dresser.

Day 7

December thirty-first, a bubble-wrapped package held seven more glass Dr. Seuss figurines; the Grinch’s antler-encumbered dog, the Whoville Christmas tree, and five little Whos. Ellie wasn’t normally a knick-knacky type of person; she saw no point in collecting a bunch of junk that just sat around having to be dusted. These were so cute, though, and Christmassy, and her mood was Christmassy. She grouped them around the Grinch on her dresser and stood admiring them an inordinately long time before going to bed.

Day 8

On New Year’s Day, there wasn’t a package, but eight unwrapped shot glasses in a row on her top step. Ellie regarded them with raised eyebrows before gathering them up. This was the second time one of her Twelve Days gifts, as she’d started thinking of them, had revolved around alcohol. Did she look like she needed a stiff drink? Or eight?

Day 9

January second it began to rain as Ellie was on her way home in the early morning. She was nearing the end of this particular stretch of working nights, and would normally have been in a good mood because of that. It had been a particularly difficult night, though, and she felt particularly grumpy as a result. Then she thought of a present waiting for her outside her house, and felt cheered.

As she came up the walk, she found herself hoping that whatever gift was waiting for her wouldn’t be damaged by getting wet. And then she came to her door, and there was nothing there.

She looked for it. Maybe it was on the ground by the steps, or in the nearby shrubbery, or even tucked up into the eaves. But there was nothing; no boxes, bags or containers of any kind.

She was exceedingly ill-tempered as she showered and went to bed. A little later, Chuck got up and made a lot of noise clumping around the house. Ellie rolled over with a growl and pressed her pillow to her ears until he left. After tossing and turning for a little longer, she finally fell asleep. It hardly seemed any time at all, though, before she had to get up for work. She was frowning as she stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight.

The frown dissolved slowly into a resigned, self-mocking smile when she saw the box of expensive-brand (her favorite) chocolates sitting inside the cool of the house’s shadow, with a note taped to the top. She was pretty sure that with her swift mood changes she’d just proved to herself that she was on an ego trip with all these presents.

Oh, well. She picked up the box of chocolates and opened the note that was taped to the top. ‘A little late today’, it said. ‘My apologies’. With no explanation. She sat down on the steps and opened the box. Inside, she counted nine dark chocolate truffles. She ate one and then stowed the box carefully in her work bag beside her stethoscope. Later that night, the nurses commented on her particularly chirpy mood.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - j/ellie fic

2009-02-01T01:45:41Z

This john/ellie Chuck fic is a Secret Santa gift for greenowl</lj> at the Jellie community. These are most definitely not drabbles ... and I tried to make it a one-shot, but it just got too long, so it'll probably be posted in three parts. I'm sorry it's quite late, and perhaps not exactly what you were hoping for ... but Happy Holidays, in just-barely-still-January!

Title: Twelve Days of Christmas, Day One
Rating: PG
Spoilers: I don't really think so. No idea what the timeline is ... probably at least one year from where the series is now.

DAY ONE

On December twenty-fifth, Ellie found a flower on her doorstep. This was odd for two reasons. One, she and Devon had gone their separate ways more than three months ago. She wasn’t seeing anyone in any way that would remotely invite flower-giving. Two, it wasn’t just any flower. A perfectly formed blue rose lay there on the cement, its stem wrapped in a thin blue ribbon. It wasn’t lavender, which she’d seen before, and there wasn’t the least hint of mauve either. It was blue, true blue. She didn’t think she’d ever glimpsed a blue rose in real life before.

She glanced back and forth toward her neighbors’ homes. They were all dark. Her porch light was the only one on; it wasn’t yet light out. Ellie had worked all night, and was just getting home. In the house before her, Chuck was surely still asleep. He wouldn’t be up for at least another hour. He had some mysterious errand to run today, with Sarah. Ellie couldn't imagine what errand he might have on Christmas day, but they were going to wait to celebrate Christmas till tonight, when everyone was free. ‘Everyone’ truly meaning everyone, because somehow their annual Christmas Twighlight Zone marathon had turned into a dinner for what seemed like half of Chuck’s Buy More friends, plus Sarah. Which was probably a good thing; Ellie could stand to be distracted from the fact that this was her first Christmas in a long time without Devon.

Inside the house under better lighting, she marveled anew at the flower’s perfection and color. There was no card or explanation for it, and for some reason this made her smile more widely. She carefully cut the stem under running water and placed it in a narrow vase before heading off to a shower and bed.

She was awake before Chuck got home. When he came through the door, instead of Sarah as Ellie expected, it was John Casey who was at his back. Ellie threw them both pleased smiles, calling ‘hi’ as she bustled around the kitchen getting dinner ready.

“Thanks so much for the flower, Chuck.”

“Huh?” Chuck cast confused eyebrows her way. Ellie nodded her head toward the single flower which held center stage on the dining table. Chuck shook his.

“Not from me,” he said succinctly. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a blue rose. It’s pretty, though. Wasn’t there a signature?”

“Apparently not, whiz kid, or she’d know it wasn’t from you,” John contributed. Ellie grinned as she moved from the kitchen to stand near them. Their neighbor always made her want to smile, even when he was at his grumpiest.

“There was no card at all,” she told them. “It just appeared.” Something suddenly occurred to her. “Hey, maybe it’s not meant for me. Maybe Sarah sent it to you, Chuck.”

“Uhh” – Chuck started.

“Yeah, right,” John overrode him. “Sarah sent her manly-man roses, ‘just because’.” He cranked his voice up an octave on the last two words so that he sounded falsetto.

Chuck folded his arms in an affronted fashion. “Hey, Sarah’s a very forward-thinking woman, and I just happen to be like-minded. We have an extremely gender-equal relationship. So why not?”

John shook his head, folding his arms too. This created a mirror of Chuck’s stance, in such an absurdly more manly way that Ellie sucked in her cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. It was good to have John around. He cheered her up.

“Look up the meaning of blue roses, forward-thinker,” John was telling Chuck dryly. “Also they cost a bit more than your average red rose. Can’t see Sarah buying one for no reason, on her yogurt-shop salary.”

Chuck shook his head. “I’m gonna go get changed for tonight”, he said to no one in particular, and headed off to his room. Ellie turned her gaze on the rose again, reaching out to brush the underside of a leaf.

“Now I’m very curious,” she said. “I really thought Chuck had gotten it for me to cheer me up.”

John watched her stroke a thorn, and then his sky-eyes tracked on her face. “Do you need cheering up, Ellie?”

She smiled half-heartedly. “Oh, I’m fine. I’m just not completely back to my old self, I guess, after the break-up with Devon.” She frowned. She hadn’t meant to flounder into waters that deep.

It also occurred to her to wonder why John was here so early. Dinner wasn’t for another three hours. He didn’t usually just hang out at their house. But, as long as he was here...

“Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“Sure.” Before they moved, though, he reached out to tap the glass vase holding the rose. “Maybe you’re cheered up a little, huh? Someone somewhere obviously thinks you’re special.”

Ellie looked at the flower again, and let out the soft smile it engendered. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It’s made my whole day.”

John looked inexplicably pleased.

******

The dinner was a success from the start. People arrived in good spirits, bearing dishes and calling ‘Mery Christmas’ and ‘Happy Holidays’. Sarah denied having sent Chuck any flower and affirmed that it must have been meant for Ellie. Anna exclaimed over how ‘romantic’ the gesture was and raised her eyebrows pointedly at Morgan, who pretended not to see her.

They all sat at the table for a long time after the meal, talking and drinking eggnog and laughing.

“This was a great day,” Morgan enthused to Anna. “The perfect Christmas dinner, on top of your, ah, gift this morning. Under the tree.” He grinned lasciviously while Anna slid sly cat-eyes at him. Ellie struggled against unwelcome images of what the ‘gift’ had been. Across the table, she saw that John’s lip had curled up in disgust. But then their eyes caught and it was suddenly funny. They shared a private grin that had an odd warming effect on Ellie’s insides.

“The only thing that would make it better would be some snow,” Morgan continued. He’d once spent a winter in North Dakota with his uncle, and ever since considered himself the Californian expert on snow. “There’s just something about snow on Christmas Day.”

Ellie found herself nodding in agreement. “I’ve never seen a white Christmas,” she said. “But I think just once I’d like to. There’s something about all those images of a sparkly white snowfall, and kids making snowmen, and snowballs. I think I’d especially like to have a snowball fight.”

There were nods all around the table. It was an excellent idea, everyone agreed. They also agreed it was obviously never going to happen in their town.

Except for John, who excused himself around nine-thirty saying he had something to do, everyone left late. Ellie didn’t mind. She was in a better mood than she’d been in months. She saw them all out the door with genuine good cheer. Chuck said good night, too, and headed off to bed.

On her way to do likewise, Ellie passed the table and its vase full of beauty. She paused, something John had said echoing in her mind. In her bedroom, she pulled out her laptop and sank down to sit on the bed.

Blue roses. She found they really didn’t occur in nature; the color was the result of dye or, very recently, genetic manipulation. One webpage said they meant that the receiver had an aura of ‘mystery’ ... well, the reason why anyone would consider Ellie mysterious was a mystery to her. Further down the page, though, there was an alternative meaning; they were a symbol of the impossible or unattainable. That was even more confusing, as was the information that they implied a need for discretion or secrecy. And then, finally, they symbolized the excitement and, again, mystery of new beginnings and possibilities.

Confused, Ellie closed her laptop slowly and turned the light out. She’d slept a few hours during the day and wasn’t sleepy. She lay under the covers blinking at the ceiling, resisting the urge to go out and stare at that flower again. As if doing that would reveal the sender to her.

.

To be continued.
..

'Tempted' chapter 4

2009-01-13T04:26:55Z

Links to previous chapters: Ch 1: http://icebreather.livejournal.com/12506.html#cutid1
Ch 2: http://icebreather.livejournal.com/12588.html#cutid1
Ch 3: http://icebreather.livejournal.com/12860.html#cutid1

A/N: still rated PG-13, possible spoilers (I'm not certain). Bit of a long one, again. Eliie decides to go on the offensive.

Frustrated

Ellie sat the bowl of mashed potatoes down and surveyed the table’s other contents before sitting down as well. It was dinner time, Devon and Chuck were both there, and even Sarah, who she hadn’t seen much of lately, had joined them. She and Chuck seemed to have fixed whatever difficulty they’d been having. Devon was present for dinner, for once. The day at the hospital had gone fairly smoothly. Ellie should be happy and content.

But she wasn’t. Devon still, in the past month, hadn’t opened up to her and had brushed her off with a smile and a quick peck on the cheek when she asked him what was wrong. She had fought against the feeling that he was somehow slipping out of her life. But she had passed the worried stage, by now, and was working up to plain and simple resentment. Almost two months had gone by during which he hadn’t been very interested in sex, or her in general. He’d also managed to be gone whenever she had time off. The sheer number of times this had happened made Ellie rule out coincidence. She was tired of making excuses for him.

And there were still these internal issues she was having over That Man. After their brief but surreally momentous conversation in the Buy More parking lot, he must have had difficulty getting time off from work, because he’d still been around. Aggravatingly, arousingly around. Since yesterday, though, she hadn’t seen him, so he must have managed it. This hadn’t, unfortunately, done anything to make her less grumpy.

“Haven’t seen your friend Casey around, lately,” Devon chose that moment to comment. Ellie stopped herself – just barely - from shooting him a suspicious look. Of course he hadn’t been eavesdropping on her thoughts! But lately, everything he said sounded like an evasion of the real subject - that being whatever he was dealing with that he wasn’t sharing with her.

Chuck blinked, and for some reason shot a quick glance at Sarah before he replied.

“Yeah, Casey ... took a few days off.”

Sarah complacently took a bite of green beans, but there was something about Chuck’s glance at her that struck Ellie as odd. Those looks happened kind of frequently, between any two of those three: John, Chuck, and Sarah. It made Ellie wonder sometimes.

Chuck shook his head. “Something’s been off with him lately.”

That comment got Sarah’s attention (as well as Ellie’s), though she picked up her water glass and took a swallow before questioning her boyfriend. “What do you mean?”

Chuck shrugged. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he has woman troubles.” His eyes met Sarah’s, and they shared a smile over something the rest of the table wasn’t privy to. Ellie frowned. That was just rude. And no, her annoyance did not have anything to do with wanting the details of whatever Sarah and Chuck knew about John that she didn’t. Nope. Nothing whatsoever to do with that.

Sarah smiled blandly at Chuck’s statement. That girl did a lot of bland smiling, Ellie reflected as she took a long drink from her wine glass. Then Sarah shook her head, and her expression became amused.

“I don’t know what kind of woman would go for a guy like Casey,” she told Chuck.

Ellie’s eyes narrowed to slits. She felt it happen, and without a look toward Devon forced them back to neutral with an effort. She could tell that perky little blonde exactly what kind of woman would go for a guy like Casey.

She could, but she wouldn’t.

Devon thought he had it figured out, though. “He’s the kind of guy who likes the helpless type,” he contributed, grinning. “Somebody who wants a big, strong guy around to get rid of the spiders and order her meals.”

Ellie shot him a disbelieving look. Was he for real? How more off-base could he get? And he wasn’t done. He picked his water glass up with an air of authority that grated over her nerves, and nodded superiorly at Chuck and Sara.

“And its women just like that who like guys like him back.”

Oh, that was enough.

“Since when are you the expert on attraction, or anything else to do with sex?” Ellie spat the words out before she thought them through. From the paused postures around the table, a lot of the annoyance she was feeling with her fiancé had seeped into her voice. All right, it wasn’t annoyance; it was straight-up anger.

She shook her head, and attempted to dial it down a little.

“I, ah, just mean ... not all big, strong men like little needy women.” Her frustration began to rise again in spite of herself. For an intelligent and educated man, how dense could Devon be? “Sometimes a half-way intelligent, real man comes along who actually wants to be with a woman who’s resourceful, who pulls her own weight, and who can stand up for herself.” The volume of her voice was rising. She pressed her lips together and tried to reign in all that frustration she heard spilling out, but wasn’t successful. Devon had ducked his head and was shoveling roast into his mouth. Sarah was looking to Chuck for guidance, and Chuck had his head tipped to the side while he gazed at his sister in confusion.

Ellie heard the words she’d just spoken echo in her head, looked at Devon’s chipmunk cheeks as he tried to swallow all the food he’d put in there, and had a revelation. She, herself, was as far from the ‘little needy woman’ as she could get. And Devon - God bless him, Devon who needed a woman to manage him more than any man she’d ever met – he’d somehow decided he wanted a clingy type. Someone to depend on him.

She tried to picture that. She failed. Devon just wouldn’t be able to make it on his own, much less if he had someone else to steer through life. The very thought was ridiculous. Where had he come up with this? As she thought back over the past few months, though, her suspicion was confirmed. All his little comments about being ‘soft’ and ‘feminine’, his inciting her to use feminine wiles on John Casey (of all men, he’d picked That Man), even his wanting her to wear a dress every so often ... he was trying to make her into something she couldn’t be – emotionally dependent.

She had been staring sightlessly off at a wall, she realized, when Chuck leaned over the table to wave his hand in front of her face. She started, and tracked on her brother’s earnest expression.

“You OK there, El?” He asked with concern.

Ellie looked at him, another hapless male who had let a woman screw him up and only seemed to be getting his life back on track due to another woman, and she pushed her plate away. What was it with the men in her life? Did she turn them into these adult-size children?

“Men,” she said, turning her head to Sarah, because she just didn’t want to talk to a member of the opposite gender right now. And scraping her chair back, she stood, leaving a tableful of surprised people. Behind her, she heard Chuck’s confused “What ...?”

She left the room, too. And then the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

John Casey’s windows were dark, and his vehicle was gone. It was a good thing, Ellie told herself. Otherwise, in her state of mind, she’d have gone right over there and tried to use him to prove to herself that there were grown men, mature men, responsible men who could survive on their own, and yet still desire an independent woman like herself. That would have been a big mistake, unworthy of her and disrespectful of him. Instead, she paced around a couple of times, and then when the door of her house cracked open and Devon stood silhouetted in its frame, she left the courtyard. She didn’t want to talk yet.

She did a circuit of the block, and then the neighborhood. The nights were cooling off a bit as summer came to a close, and the clear air helped to clear her head. After a couple of hours, she felt ready to go back and face the music.

Chuck and Sarah had cleared out when she re-entered the house. Devon sat on the couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee. He’d been drumming both his hands on his foot; he stopped abruptly when she opened the door. He got to his feet quickly, and approached her with his hands out. She let him kiss her cheek, and ask her how she was.

“I’m all right, Devon.” She wasn’t going to apologize. “I’m just getting really tired of you hiding whatever it is you’re hiding from me.” There. He had a chance to tell her, once and for all, that he wanted her to be something she wasn’t. She was giving him an opportunity to be honest.

He didn’t take it.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied, I know,” he admitted, hanging his head and giving her a sheepish look. “I didn’t mean to take any of my problems out on you. There’s some stuff at work ... but I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Maybe later, OK?”

Ellie stared at him resignedly. Stuff at work? What could possibly be going on there that she, who worked at the same hospital, wouldn’t understand? He was giving her the run-around. But she couldn’t force him to share. And she was tired.

“All right, Devon,” she sighed. “But this is becoming a big issue between us. I’m not going to wait forever.”

He swallowed. Then he nodded. And they went to bed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * ** ******

John Casey came back home the next week. It was both a relief and a torture. A relief, because she’d spent much of the time he was gone fighting off mental pictures of him doing what he’d said he might do – find a woman. People in her surroundings spurred these images at the oddest moments. If she worked with the extremely well-endowed E.R. nurse who was charge on afternoon shifts, she wondered if that was the type he’d picked. Or maybe it would be the teeny, twiggy little barista at the coffee joint where she usually stopped on the way to work. Or would her friend Magritte, a nearly six-foot-tall Nordic type without an ounce of body fat anywhere, appeal to him?

She tried talking herself out of what had become an obsession. She had a handsome (if sometimes vacant-headed), smart (if naïve), fit (if sporadically jock-ish), sweet (if frequently adolescent) man who was a successful doctor. John Casey, a man with apparently no ambition whatsoever given his job, shouldn’t be such a draw for her. Her own brother, whose lack of direction she deplored, had a higher-level job than That Man, and was probably ten years younger.

But her brain wouldn’t obey her attempts not to think about him.

So it was a relief to look out her window as she was pulling her hair into a ponytail Wednesday morning and see that his vehicle was parked out there. He must have gotten home last night. And then it was torture, because his door opened and he walked out. And despite the fact that he wore an ugly Buy More shirt and a facial expression that she could only describe as sullen, all her thoughts about his lack of ambition went right out the window. Because That Man was just that ... all man.

She told herself that she hoped he’d worked out all of his sexual urges in the past week. She told herself that if he didn’t desire her, her life would be that much easier. She told herself that they would be able to return to being relaxed, friendly acquaintances. She’d worked herself up to half-believing these lies when he paused in his walking, almost as though he felt her eyes on him. He stood still for half a second and then his eyes moved unerringly to her window. Though she stood at an angle inside a darkened room that he shouldn’t be able see into, Ellie shrank back against the nearest wall. He started walking again, but his eyes moved from her house in a slow assessing circle, scanning his surroundings. He had sensed her. What was he, psychic? His right hand had gone to the back of his waistband, and was holding something under there. It almost looked as if he had a gun, which was laughable. What would he be doing carrying a gun to his salesman job?

Still, he looked tensed to handle a threat. And as he opened his car door, he shot her house one last look. Ellie stayed indoors until he was gone, despite her arguments with herself.

At work that day, nothing was much different than it had been for the past months. She did rounds and was half-way successful at concentrating on what she needed to concentrate on. She had time for a lunch break, though, which was bad news, because without work to occupy her mind it was John who did. Even with Magritte sitting across from her, telling a lively tale about her recent weekend home to see her parents, it was John staring around the courtyard that morning that held her thoughts.

“You in there?” her friend wanted to know, leaning forward to catch Ellie’s wayward gaze.

“Yes. Yes, sorry, I’m just a little distracted.”

Magritte nodded. “You’ve been that way a lot lately. Something going on with Devon?”

Ellie tapped her coffee cup, looking at her friend and debating whether to tell her the whole miserable story. Devon’s making himself so scarce I’m forgetting what he looks like, and I really need to get my sexy neighbor off ...hmm. Uh, where was that going? My mind. I'm out of my mind? Yes, but that wasn't ... Off my mind. I was thinking that I need to get John Casey off my mind.

So, yeah ... obviously spilling to Magritte exactly what was going on inside her head right now was a really bad idea. Or at least potentially extremely embarrassing.

“I’m fine. So your mother’s a pimp now, huh?”

Magritte coughed, choking on a surprised laugh. After she wiped her eyes, she rolled them. “I sure felt like she was pimping me. She must have paraded me in front of half-a-dozen guys, all in two days. Why can’t she accept the fact that someone can be straight, single, in their thirties, and happy?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s what moms are like when they have single, thirty-something daughters, I guess.” Not that Ellie would know. She regarded her friend assessingly. Magritte was striking, fun, and successful. She liked men. Why wasn’t she with one?

“Do you want to get married at some point?”

Magritte shrugged. “Maybe. My tastes are kind of unique, though. I like the strong, silent type, you know? The big muscled kind that can handle most things without a fuss. Who’s a little less interested in his career than he is in me. Somebody who can make me shiver just by looking at me. Not a lot of those in this town.” She waved a hand around the hospital cafeteria, disparagingly. Ellie followed her gaze, ticking off the men within view. Stringy and whiny-looking. Cute but metrosexual. Loud jock. Fit but taken. Not one of them matched Margrite’s ‘type’.

Ellie knew one man who did, though. Make you shiver just by looking at you, indeed. She stared at her gorgeous, single friend and had a brilliant idea.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“This is a terrible idea.” Chuck’s voice was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were intense. Maybe even a little worried. Which was absurd, because Ellie felt strongly that this was a very good idea. An excellent idea. Maybe the idea of the century.

“Why not?” She challenged.

Chuck scratched his head. “Uh, Ellie ... I can’t really explain it. But just take my word for it, Casey isn’t going to compromise ... uh, he’s not going to be interested in anyone you set him up with. He’s got, um, other priorities.”

“’Other priorities’? Really, Chuck.” Ellie laughed. “Women are pretty high on every single straight guy’s list. Have you had a girlfriend so long that you’ve forgotten?”

Chuck shook his head, and continued to object. But he finally caved in and agreed to invite Casey to dinner the next evening. And Ellie called up Devon, who was out somewhere doing God only knew what (he hadn’t seen fit to inform her), and told him that he would be present at dinner tomorrow night. If he wasn’t, they’d be redefining their relationship. It was time to force him into truthfulness. Way past time, in fact.

Tempted chapter 3 - 'Enticed'

2009-01-01T20:56:23Z

A/N: This is turning out to be quite a bit longer than I expected. Also, it's probably deviating from pure fluff. Let me know your reactions, please!
Rating: PG-13
Summary: John continues to disturb Ellie's peace of mind.
Timeline: not sure
Disclaimer: not mine, not making any money.
Links to previous chapters: #1: http://icebreather.livejournal.com/12506.html#cutid1
#2: http://icebreather.livejournal.com/12588.html#cutid1

ENTICED

The microwave quit again the next week on a Thursday morning. Ordinarily, this event would have been something rather short of catastrophic. But Ellie stood in front of the nonfunctioning piece of equipment and wondered what vengeful higher power she could possibly have offended. The past two weeks had been ... not great. Devon was becoming increasingly distant, and uninterested in her. Although she’d tried some subtle questioning, Ellie still felt she shouldn’t push him to share until he was ready, and anyway, she had her own issues to deal with. She had been using an inordinate amount of energy to try to control her unexpectedly overactive sex drive, and the universe had conspired against her at every turn.

Last week on Tuesday, John had suddenly decided to take up jogging – or if he’d ever done it before, she hadn’t noticed until now. He’d done warm-up stretches in the courtyard while Ellie happened to be vacuuming near a courtyard-facing window. By the time he finally finished stretching and lunging and generally being catnip-for-women in a Casey-suit, she’d run the vacuum into the wall twice and into an end table once. She’d knocked off a picture frame.

She kept waiting for the intensity of her reactions to that man to die down, become something manageable. But it hadn’t happened yet. She didn’t understand it. In the past he’d just been the large, sweet neighbor with the eyes and smile. Seeing him in mostly skin had changed that, somehow. He was large, certainly that; heavenly, deliciously, mouth-wateringly large all over. But now she was noticing other things about him, as well. Sweet ... she was rethinking that. Devon was sweet. John did sweet things, but he had something else at his core. Just what, she wasn’t certain yet.

And she was spending way too much time trying to figure him out, when she should instead be getting a handle on herself. This was demonstrated very well on Wednesday afternoon, when she’d been working in a patient room and a nurse walked by in the hallway calling for “Mr. Casey”. Ellie had fumbled the bandage scissors she held and when she stupidly grabbed for them, got a blade cut across her finger. The person the nurse was searching for hadn’t been John Casey, of course; it had been the octogenarian grandfather of a little boy who’d been hit with a baseball.

It seemed John was haunting her, though, because yesterday evening in the grocery store she had spotted him a ways up the aisle she was turning into. Without taking a moment to think, she whipped her cart around quickly to steer clear of him, only to slam it into a display of large glass bottles of cooking oil. Besides drenching her cart in oil and glass shards, this naturally served to draw the attention of every customer in the store, including the person she wished most to avoid. To her dismay, he abandoned his own cart and came to Ellie’s rescue as a store manager arrived.

The manager was, to put it mildly, pissed. Ellie stood and tried ineffectually to assure her that yes, certainly she’d pay for every broken bottle. The woman only gesticulated grandly and exclaimed about damages and the people who could have been injured by Ellie’s careless cart-driving. At which point, John interjected an intimidating snarl. That was it, just a curl of his lip in the woman’s general direction. Then he turned away and commandeered Ellie’s cart. But Ellie observed, marveling, that the thoroughly cowed manager seemed unable to say anything more. That was a skill she needed to learn, she thought, as she aimed a weak smile at the manager, who shook her head but moved away to supervise the clean up.

Then Ellie spent the next five minutes trying not to ogle her brother’s friend as he bent and lifted everything salvageable from her dripping cart into his. That man shouldn’t be allowed to wear jeans. And besides his fine thighs and rear, he had good hands, easily avoiding the glass debris and shaking clinging drops of oil from packages. Ellie offered a half-hearted protest at his help, which he negated with a grunt.

“You get cut?” he tossed at her from where he leaned over their groceries. The tone of voice was off-hand but his eyes, when he looked up, held a shrouded concern. Ellie, befuddled, hadn’t thought to check. Berating herself for her distraction and wrenching her eyes from the cause of it, she did so now quickly.

“No,” she answered. John grunted again - he did that a lot, she observed – and straightened up. He’d been setting a loaf of bread from her cart gently up against the jar of crunchy peanut butter that was his own selection. The bread collapsed softly around the round, hard jar. Her blood pumping faster, Ellie had to swallow and look away from that, with foul words roaming her mind that had never before dared trespass on her intellectual premises. She had to get away from this man. She was getting turned on by bread and peanut butter, for the love of ... there was absolutely no excuse for this. She took a deep breath, then another. She just needed to buy her food and get out of here.

But now he had all her things hostage in his cart, so she had to follow him around while he made his final purchases and she replaced what she’d ruined. She attempted casual conversation, but wasn’t really feeling up to the task, and while polite, John wasn’t really the type for pointless conversation. They finished in silence. On their way to the front of the store, they passed an elderly couple who was as quiet as they were, pushing their cart along in companionable silence.

John and Ellie got into the checkout line together, and with that togetherness image fresh in her mind, Ellie couldn’t help noticing that they looked like just another couple out shopping. Annoyed, because she truly didn’t need thoughts like that, Ellie tried to push them out of her head while she separated her items from John’s. She placed the plastic divider between their purchases with a little more firmness, perhaps, than the action usually called for. John shot her a curious look from under a lowered brow. She ignored it as she paid – paid double for some items, since she had to cover the cost of the ones she’d ruined, which only added to her frustration.

The entire time, however, John hadn’t done or said a thing beyond a few surface pleasantries. Manners personified, that man did nothing to make her uncomfortable except just be there. Unfortunately, that seemed to be all that was required to agitate her.

All of which was why she now stood staring at the microwave with narrowed eyes and gritted teeth. Two weeks ago she had been determined to figure out, subdue, and if necessary conquer her physical attraction to John Casey. What she had to show for her efforts were a broken picture frame, two stitches on her right index finger, and a credit card bill for forty-three bottles of extra virgin olive oil. And now the microwave had quit again, as he’d warned her it would. She was going to have to get a new one. And she wanted to get it done before her brother found out.

But the universe being its conspiratorial self, Chuck walked into the dining room as she was unplugging the cursed device from the wall.

“It finally give up the ghost?” he asked.

Ellie nodded and said nothing, hoping he’d move on. He didn’t. Curse him too.

“Gonna have to go out and get a new one.”

Ellie nodded again, noncommittally, not giving him any reason to think this was anything but a minor issue. But Chuck still didn’t let it go. Instead he fished in his pocket, pulled out a wallet, and removed his Buy More employee discount card. When she saw what he held, Ellie shook her head.

“I think I’ll try Large-Mart,” she admitted to him. And then lied about the reason. “I’ve heard they might have some good prices.”

Liar, liar, liar! her conscience taunted. Ellie knew for a fact that John was working at the Buy More today. And tomorrow. His schedule there was pretty regular. And she just didn’t want to have to deal with the sight of him lifting any heavy boxes. Or bending down to talk to a customer, which he did because he was taller than all of them. Or even just standing as she’d seen him do sometimes. His arms would be folded and his eyes moving about alertly, as though he was a medieval knight on guard duty at the castle’s gate, and the rampaging hordes might attack at any moment. The way she’d been feeling, she’d find that too sexy for words. She might just end up offering to be his maiden in distress.

And there was always that hint of a smirk on his face, as though he knew everything it was important to know, and you didn’t, and he wasn’t telling. She didn’t know what that was about, but somehow, she found it just as enticing as his knight-defending-the-castle pose.

Chuck was giving her a puzzled look. “They’re not going to have any prices that beat my discount,” he said. He shoved the card at her. “I’d pick one up for you myself, but I’m going out of town tonight.”

“You’re doing that a lot lately,” Ellie commented, not taking the card. Maybe she could distract him and still avoid the Buy More.

“Yeah, well, Sarah and I ... we’re working some things out.”

Ellie kept the frown off her face carefully. She still questioned whether that whole Jill thing had truly been resolved, in Chuck’s heart. First loves were so rough on some people.

“I’m glad you’re working it out,” she offered, turning away toward the doorway. But Chuck reached around in front of her to push his discount card into her hand. With a suppressed sigh and a very un-heartfelt thank-you, she took it. She didn’t have an argument that wouldn’t sound crazy. As she walked away from her brother, she briefly pictured telling him the truth. ‘Actually, Chuck, I’ve been drooling over your big man-hunk of a friend ever since I saw him nearly naked, and I’m afraid that too much exposure might cause me to actually try to jump his bones’. Chuck would ... well; she couldn’t quite imagine his reaction to that kind of revelation. But she was sure it would be memorable.

So that night after work, once she’d heard from Devon that he wasn’t going to be home over the next two days due to a last-minute biking trip with friends, she drove determinedly to the Buy More. Though tempted to linger in the parking lot or skulk in the entranceway trying to scout out John’s location, she wasted no time going in. She’d learned the folly of trying to avoid that man – who was becoming That Man in her head - at the grocery store. It was best to just directly approach him and get it over with.

And there he was, holding his knight’s post by the toasters, just a stone’s throw from the microwaves. He currently faced away from her but there was no way he wouldn’t see her once she entered the microwave aisle. Ellie suppressed a sigh, and a swallow at the sight of his khaki-clad behind, and advanced on his position. Relax, and be friendly. Keeping it light, surely that was the key.

“Hey, John,” she called, smiling. He started to turn in her direction. Pleased with the light tone she’d achieved, she continued with a little joke. “Is the castle secure?”

As the words exited her mouth, she realized he wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Idiot! But his head whipped around so fast she was surprised he didn’t sustain a concussion. Narrowed eyes bit into hers like blue lasers. Surprised by the intentness of his expression, Ellie pulled up short.

He took in her reaction, and she watched with mounting puzzlement as he visibly, almost methodically, relaxed. He unfolded his arms; cocked his head slightly; and quirked one corner of his mouth up.

“What was that?” he said with ease. Lightly. As though he hadn’t nearly given himself whiplash five seconds ago.

“Ah ... sorry,” Ellie said, befuddled. She was in that state way too frequently in his presence, and it was truly getting old. “A little inside joke, I guess, where I’m the only insider.” Wow, she really did sound as stupid as she had the day she’d knocked on his door to ask for help with her microwave. Which was not an experience she wanted to relive right now. “You just sometimes look ...” like a knight in shining armor. “Rather military, the way you, ah, stand so straight and assess your environment.”

He tilted his head a little more. “What was that about a castle?” Casual, very casual. But she still had the impression of an unsheathed sword held ready to strike.

“Hmm.” She was blushing, curse it; her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “You know, knights, castles that need defended ...” she shrugged nervously, and let her voice taper off before she blurted out that hideous knight-in-shining-armor comparison. This was bad enough as it was.

“Hm.” He grunted, and his stance loosened up even more. Watching his shoulders relax, she forced a friendly smile.

“Well, nice seeing you,” it was a little traumatic but I guess not as bad as it could have been, “I’ll get out of your way.”

She moved to edge around him, but damn him, he followed her. “You’re shopping for a microwave?”

“Yeah, the other one died again, just like you said it would”. Boost his ego and send him off happy. She quickened her step. But he kept up. “I’ve got Chuck’s discount card,” she added lamely, as filler for a silence she was certain would be awkward.

They were before the rows of microwaves, now. John showed no signs of leaving. Was he hoping for a commission? She didn’t want to deny him his income, but she’d really rather anyone else help her. Even Morgan. She looked around for someone, but this part of the store seemed to have cleared out. The universe really had it in for her, it seemed. So far she’d been doing relatively well with not letting her inappropriate mental meanderings make it out of her mouth. But she had no guarantee of that presence of mind lasting.

Insisting on getting another salesperson would seem nuts, though, as well as insulting, and he appeared determined to stay with her. So she would have to let him. She’d just get through this as quickly as possible and get away.

“What are you looking for?” he asked in a professional tone.

“That one,” Ellie said, pointing at the first item to come into her line of sight. John squinted at it, then her. It was tiny and white, with a confusing array of buttons.

“Many people are choosing stainless steel right now,” he advised her smoothly.

“Oh ... OK. Does it come in that?”

“No.” He reached out and, horrors, touched her shoulder lightly to guide her a few steps further up the aisle. She felt the heat of his arm all down her side.

“This one might be a better option,” he gestured, thankfully dropping the hand that had been touching her. She took a deep breath. He kept talking, as though oblivious to what his nearness was doing to her. “It’s more suited to a household that frequently feeds more than one person.” He stood back tranquilly, but not far enough away for Ellie’s peace of mind. After a moment of frustration, she realized she was meant to examine the device. So she made a show of doing so, edging nearer to him and opening the door and inspecting the operating buttons. None of it registered, but she nodded her head mindlessly. When she didn’t say anything, he moved again, once more placing fingers on her arm and leading her to another appliance.

Please, someone, make him stop touching me.

“This one is a slightly older model, but it has a good track record for reliability. It comes with a three-year limited warranty.” He moved his arm away again; she could breathe again. His voice was even, utterly impersonal. She ought to be thankful for that but found herself increasingly aggravated instead. She wanted to know that she affected him the way he affected her.

When he momentarily turned his back, she shook her head sharply, contradicting herself. No, no she didn’t want that. She wanted him to be utterly unaffected by her, because she certainly didn’t want to have to fight not only her feelings, but his too.

Wait, no, not feelings. There were no actual feelings involved here, just hormones. That was it, and she was grateful that he was maintaining a personal distance. Really, she was.

“Mmm,” she said noncommittally when she realized John had been silent for a few seconds and was looking at her expectantly. For those few moments the well-defined edge of his very fine jaw caught Ellie’s eyes, stirring her ...not-feelings.

“What are your feelings?” he asked.

She jumped. “What?!” She hadn’t spoken that ‘feelings’ crap out loud, she was almost certain.

“About this model. What do you think?” He popped its door open, at the same time sending her a look. It wasn’t the puzzled look from the grocery store, though. It held something else entirely, something that clenched her abdominal muscles into tight knots and pulled her pounding heart down into her stomach. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

He finally looked away and she was able to also, toward the turntable that he was demonstrating. She dutifully reached in to see for herself what he was describing. He pulled his hand back at the same time, and they collided.

Just their hands. But his was as warm as she remembered, and hers was suddenly trembling, and instead of moving his away he spread his fingers under hers, steadying their visible vibration.

“You all right?” His voice was quiet. And no longer quite so smooth.

“No.” No, she wasn’t all right, because her fingers were sinking down in between his. Their palms were meeting. He was wrapping his thumb up over hers. And suddenly they were holding hands. Hers stopped trembling, held firmly by his strength, but that shuddery sensation had migrated to her chest and taken up lodging there.

“No?” His voice was low and rough. He moved a step closer, too close. His heat warmed her back and she had to firm her spine against what it wanted to do, which was liquefy until she leaned back and pooled all over his muscled chest.

Devon. Devon, think of Devon. With an effort, Ellie slid her hand from John’s. His calluses – how did he get those rough areas when he worked in a Buy More? – scraped and sent frissons through her soul. With more effort, she turned to face him, and by the time she did so he’d backed away. Their gazes caught, just for a moment.

Ellie considered that maybe she should make a doctor’s appointment. A blood test to check her hormone levels might be in order, because a reaction this strong to a man she didn’t know well had to be wrong. She’d been standing in the kitchen appliance section of a Buy More turning to jelly because she was holding hands. With a store employee, for pity’s sake!

“I mean, I’m fine.” Ellie gave John a determinedly benign smile. He responded with a frown. She squared her shoulders, anyway, and turned her efforts determinedly to the task at hand. She listened intently to all of John’s advice and followed it to the letter. She decided on an appropriate model. Then she had to bear the sight of him hefting the box to bring it to her.

And she still wasn’t rid of him. Because he carried it to the checkout counter for her. And then he lifted it again and followed her outside into the day’s last, fading light. At her car, she opened a back door and then stood shifting back and forth on her feet behind him while he bent to slide the box onto the bench seat. The movement stretched the material of his khakis wickedly over his deliciously sculpted rear. A nearby streetlight flickered on and highlighted things she was better off not looking at. But she stared anyway, weakly, and wondered what he would do if she just leaned in with both hands and squeezed. She wondered what he would do, explicitly, and what she would do in response, and then how he would respond and how that would feel. If what she was experiencing right now was anything to go by...

Trying to derail that dangerous train of thought, Ellie bit back a groan and closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. This was getting so ... just so beyond ridiculous. And worrisome.

And of course, while she had her eyes closed That Man straightened up and turned around and caught her. Caught her visibly struggling to contain her body’s reaction to him; he knew that was what she was doing. She knew he knew because when she dropped her hand from her face, he was standing holding the door tightly, looking at her with those eyes that despite the gathering twilight were still blue blue in her mind. His jaw was flexing and his brow was furrowed, and his gaze was knowing. Wise. He was wise to her.

John moved out of the door’s path and closed it. Every movement was sinister grace. His expression was intent and his eyes held a heat that didn’t do anything to help solidify her spine. The last time he’d closed a door in her presence, it had served as a divider, a safety bar. But closing this one removed barriers. Without anything physically between them, Ellie couldn’t work up the coordination to move her feet and back away from him. But she did manage to fold her arms protectively over her chest and her frantically fluttering heart, only to realize belatedly that she’d unconsciously mirrored his stance.

“Maybe we should talk about this.” Was that her voice? Yep, it was, because he was reacting with a deepened frown. The man didn’t have a lot of happy facial expressions, she noted, and wondered what the cause of that was.

None of her business. And off-point. She was talking out loud about her intense attraction to him, again! So embarrassing. But his face was the most open she’d ever seen it, and seemed to be saying that his insides were doing the same thing that hers were.

“Don’t see that there’s much to talk about,” was his contribution. How like a man. But his tone was rough, even harsh, and so she knew that he wasn’t brushing her off. He was just voicing what he viewed as their lack of options. Ellie acknowledged with a small nod that he was right. She wasn’t going to break up with Devon, and she wasn’t going to cheat on him, either. She just wasn’t. And John, by his own admission, didn’t steal other men’s girlfriends. Or fianceés.

Which was all very good and admirable and left them both in a difficult place.

“Well, maybe we should talk about how we’re going to not ... not ... you know.” she waved her hand helplessly.

He didn’t fill the words in for her, didn’t say anything at all. He just pressed his lips together while wrinkling the upper one, an expression which conveyed as much frustration as she was feeling as well as affirmation that he knew exactly what she was talking about. She was relieved to have him acknowledge it but wound tighter at the confirmation that it wasn’t only her own, oh just admit it, feelings that needed to be controlled here. It was his too.

“Maybe I’ll ask for a few days off,” John mused, staring over her shoulder to where the last colors of the sunset were fading away. “I’ll go clear my head.” He shrugged. “Maybe find a woman. Something. Get straightened out before I come back.”

Find a woman. Something inside Ellie reared its head to roar protest at that thought, and she fiercely stomped on whatever that thing was. It was a good idea he had. An excellent idea.

“And maybe I should take Devon out for a romantic weekend. Rekindle things.” Lovely, now she’d admitted out loud that rekindling was needed. Oh, well, how much worse could things really get?

“OK.” John nodded crisply.

“OK.” So apparently they’d decided. They were going to use other people to distract themselves from each other.

Well, that sounded like they were doing something wrong, when they were both trying very hard to do the right thing.

“It’s the right thing,” she said aloud, somewhat desperately.

“Yeah.” He stood a silent moment longer, his hands shoved into his pockets. Then he nodded again, sharply, and swung around and marched back to the brightly lit store. Ellie refused to let herself watch him go. She got into the car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove away.

"Tempted" Ch 2

2008-12-21T22:44:41Z

I really have no idea where this is going. Anyway, usual disclaimers apply; rated about PG-13, I think. Fluff, 2nd in a J/Ellie series.

There was a lot that Devon wasn’t noticing about her lately, Ellie mused. He didn’t sense the underlying tension that guilt brought to her interactions with him Saturday night. He didn’t see through her determinedly cheery smile and the increased frequency of her hand on his shoulder or back all day Sunday. It wasn’t that he was blind or dumb, it was just that at his heart he was an honest person, and he expected the important people in his life to deal as honestly with him as he did them. If Ellie didn’t make it obvious that she wanted to talk about a problem, he wouldn’t pursue it. For today, that was a good thing, because it meant she’d have a chance to regain her equilibrium regarding a certain sexy neighbor whose geographic proximity was suddenly ... disturbing. It meant she’d have time to determine if the sensations she’d felt yesterday were a fluke, or if she needed to invest some serious mental effort in controlling her body’s reaction to John Casey.

Chuck and Sarah came back home Monday afternoon, while Ellie and Devon were both at work. Devon got off before Ellie did, so when she came in through the door late that evening it was to the sight of the three of them gathered on the couch, watching some hokey beach movie and laughing at each other’s sarcastic comments about it. She smiled and waved ‘hello’ on her way past them; as they were too engrossed in ridiculing the movie to pay her much attention, she got a few distracted waves and one ‘hey’ in response.

“Good to see you too, yes my day was fine, thanks for asking,” she muttered as she made her way into the master bedroom. She dropped her bag on the floor with an aggrieved sigh, but only got a few steps away before she had to return and put it in its proper place. She’d had a rough day, and her mood was sour. She acknowledged to herself that keeping away from her loved ones might be a good plan for the rest of the night. “I’m taking a shower and going right to bed,” she called out toward the living room. A variety of disinterested mutters answered her. Rolling her eyes, she pulled out pajamas and entered the bathroom.

The shower helped, but she still didn’t feel like dealing with people tonight. Sometimes just being with others was exhausting. She wasn’t an introvert – she always enjoyed a good party and she welcomed companionship very much – but there were times when the demands of others on her time and attention just got to her. Especially after a long day of ungrateful patients, an incompetent x-ray tech, and a superior who used her as a scapegoat for his own error.

Intruding, distracting thoughts of callused fingers touching her face or the way a particular pair of muscled arms lifted a microwave didn’t rate a mention, not at all. Days like this, it was best just to come home and go to bed. So she did.

********************

John frowned at the screen showing him surveillance of the Intersect’s home, and told himself there were other things he should be doing. All the feed from the hidden cameras was recorded, so that he or Walker could review it if need be. They didn’t typically spend a lot of time just sitting in front of the monitors. He definitely needed to find something else to occupy his time. And in just a few more minutes, he would...

There. She was home. He watched the less-than-enthusiastic greeting Ellie got and narrowed his eyes. One of those morons ought to get up and ask how her day was, or at least make eye contact – didn’t they see the way her shoulders were drooping? But none of them did. And it wasn’t his business, he reminded himself. He was levering his torso to stand and go find something else to do, until he saw that Ellie headed straight into her bedroom.

He smirked as she half-threw her bag on the floor, only to go back two seconds later and gently retrieve it. She couldn’t treat even an inanimate object with disrespect; that fit with what he was coming to know of her. She called something out to the others, and then opened a dresser drawer. He was making to get up and leave the monitors again, but just then she pulled out pajamas and headed into the bathroom. And he sank back down into his chair.

Ellie turned the water on and brushed her teeth at the sink while it warmed. John drummed two fingers on his chair arm. She pulled the band out of her hair with one hand and stood a long moment just staring into the mirror. Her expression wasn’t particularly happy; John’s fingers ceased their movement. Finally, Ellie shook her head and turned away from the mirror. She pulled off her socks and then, in the next second, her scrub top.

John blinked – slowly, not in surprise, because really, what else had he been sitting here expecting her to do after turning on shower water? - and told himself that now it really was time to get up from the chair and leave the monitors alone. But it wasn’t helping that echoing in his head was the sound of her voice from Saturday, all breathy-sounding, saying ... well, never mind what she’d said. It was just making it difficult for him to get out of his seat, when the sight in front of him was of her untying the waist of her scrub pants and efficiently sliding them down a lovely length of leg. And anyway, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Ellie in the altogether before; there had been over a years’ worth of surveillance footage recorded of that household, by now. But up until now it had only been incidental, glimpses that he hadn’t given any thought to. It came with the job, this seeing people in their private, most intimate moments. It happened quite a lot and wasn’t a big deal – or if it was, you were an agent with a head problem and didn’t belong on the job.

This wasn’t the same as other times, though. Before yesterday, he hadn’t stood in her kitchen and heard her accidentally admit to being physically attracted to him. Before yesterday, he hadn’t known what her hair felt like. He’d certainly never sat and watched ... just for the sake of the watching. The other glimpses of skin he’d gotten had all been excusable because he’d been in pursuit of the bad guys, working for the greater good of the nation. This had no such noble goal. He frowned at the screen. Ellie was down to her underwear and bra, now. She had on plain, sensible, white things. No frills, no lace. The sight was immobilizing anyway. His jaw clenched as he wondered if she had anything black or skimpy or lacy, or all three, away somewhere in one of those dresser drawers. Devon would know; that thought made his lip curl fiercely.

Ellie was reaching around to unclasp her bra. John squinted at the screen, a strange mass of upheaval in his chest, and then with a growl he slammed his eyes shut and shot to his feet just as the straps were falling from her shoulders. Somehow, much as he wanted to see Ellie naked, sitting and seeing her disrobe while she was unaware of him watching was ... cheap, that’s what. Dirty voyeurism. An invasion. It made him the bad guy. He performed that part plenty of times, sure, but only when doing so served the greater good.

This didn’t. His back to the screen now, he ruthlessly tamped down the urge to turn back around and watch her shower. He was hungry. Not necessarily for food, but a sandwich would just have to do.

Later on in his living room, sandwich finished but his hunger uncurbed, John paced around the spartan space with his arms crossed. He was in search of something to occupy his thoughts, anything besides a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want. There was always drinking for times like this, but given his current mood, loading his system up on alcohol seemed imprudent. No, a little discipline was what was needed here.

He passed his little bonsai tree. Unfortunately, it needed no attention. Beside it, his hero, Reagan, smiled benignly out from behind framed glass. John paused, twitched his shoulders uncomfortably, and paced away. The next time around the room, he avoided Reagan’s knowing stare altogether. That didn’t help his discomfort, though. So the third time, he halted his pacing and frowned down at the picture.

“Hey, I didn’t watch! Not for long, anyway.”

Reagan’s answering gaze was unwavering. With a growl, John reached out, picked up the frame, and flipped it around to face the wall. That was better. Reagan could use a little time-out.

He headed across to his chair and the new tactical operations book he’d picked up last week. He hadn’t gotten through half a page, though, before he clapped it shut and got back up.

“Sorry, sir,” he muttered as he turned the photograph back around. He managed a sheepish, reluctant half-smile. Hey, he was only human.

Chuck fic

2008-11-23T05:46:49Z

Hmm. I've written something new, and it is not Firefly. It is (in my brain anyway, through AB) related though. It's Chuck, john/ellie (or j/ellie, if you prefer), and mostly fluff. Ellie goes from level-headed to mush-headed just because John Casey opens a door. I don't know that I have these characters down, as it's the first I've ever written for them ...
Enough excuses. It's rated PG-13ish for slight language. No spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Chuck' or any piece thereof, and I'm obviously not receiving any profit.

TEMPTED

Ellie wasn’t usually one to cuss. Out loud, anyway. She was a woman very much in control of herself, and if any blue language came from between her lips it was usually pre-meditated. So she stood at the microwave a full ten seconds before putting her hands on her hips and sighing out a ‘dammit’.

Usually, too, her swear words had a target audience, and this was no less true today. Sure enough, from across the kitchen, Devon turned towards her. He had a huge sandwich in his hand and had to swallow before speaking.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“The microwave won’t run.” She turned toward him and thrust her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s been acting funny, lately. Can you take a look at it?”

Her fiancé stared at her before setting down his sandwich and walking across the floor. “I’m a doctor, not an electrician,” he reminded her, nevertheless bending over the appliance. Ellie watched him fondly. If she asked something of him he’d always give it a try, even if he didn’t know what he was doing. He had a good heart, Devon did.

And he definitely didn’t know what he was doing. He punched a few buttons, unplugged and re-plugged the cord, and tried to tinker around underneath. Finally, though, he turned to her with a shrug.

“Don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe you should have Chuck look at it.”

“Chuck’s out of town until Monday,” Ellie returned. Devon nodded; Chuck had mentioned at dinner last night that he and Sarah were going camping this weekend, and indeed, this morning bright and early Sarah had appeared at their door and the two of them had gone off in a vehicle loaded down with all kinds of paraphernalia. Not all of it had looked like camping paraphernalia, but Ellie had never been much of a camper. Neither had Chuck, actually, and Sarah didn’t strike her as the type. Strange.

“You could always ask that scrubby friend of his.” Devon reached for the remainder of his sandwich.

“Morgan? Thanks, but no thanks,” Ellie shook her head. She didn’t feel like dealing with creepy little Morgan on one of her rare Saturdays off, without Chuck around to distract him.

Devon wolfed the rest of his lunch down. “Try that other one, the big one,” he suggested when he’d finished. “Saw him out this morning, don’t think he’s working today.”

“John Casey?”

“Sure. He lives right next door, try him.” Devon was searching the countertop, swiping his hand around corners. Ellie reached for the keys that were next to the soap dispenser and dropped them into his palm.

“I think Mr. Casey does sales, not service.” Ellie followed Devon into the living room and watched as he stuffed his feet into his shoes.

“So? Guy looks like he’d know his way around a hammer.” Devon straightened up. “Most single men’ll do anything for the pretty girl next door. Just wear a skirt, and when he opens the door widen your eyes, talk softly and look kind of helpless.”

Ellie blinked. “Are you telling me to go over to the neighbor’s house and flirt, Devon?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m just saying be a little feminine. You don’t have to pour it on thick ... he’s one of those knight-in-shining armor guys. You can tell he likes to help out the damsel in distress.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’m not in distress, Devon, except at the idea that you might not mind me flirting with some random guy.”

“I got no worries, babe. I trust you completely. Gotta go, I’ll be late.” He bent to give her cheek a quick kiss and then left.

Ellie stared at the door he closed behind him, frowning. She was a little disgruntled, but wasn’t sure exactly why. Sometimes his breezy, the-world-is-my-oyster attitude just got to her. “Wear a skirt, look helpless, I trust you completely?” she muttered, turning back to the kitchen to clean up the mess he’d made getting their late lunch ready. “Talk softly?” Was he saying her normal speaking tone was harsh or abrasive? “Be a little feminine?” That wasn’t the only comment he’d made lately about her appearance. She looked down at the plain T-shirt and jeans she currently wore. So she didn’t usually run around in frills and lace ... hey, she was a doctor, scrubs were de rigueur; was it so bad to want to throw on a comfortable pair of jeans on her day off? When they went out she dressed up pretty well, thank-you-very-much. It wasn’t her fault that they hadn’t really been out anywhere nice in ... well, awhile. She had to stop and think, actually, about how long it had been.

But by the time she was wiping the counter down, Ellie was feeling a little sheepish about her petulance. It wasn’t Devon’s fault, after all, that their schedules weren’t jiving well lately. Or that they hadn’t had a decent bout of sex in a good while. He was stressing about something, she was sure, though he hadn’t yet opened up to her about whatever it was. She wouldn’t push him, she decided, flinging the cloth into the sink. He’d tell her when he was ready, all in good time. They were just having a bit of a rough patch, that was all. She’d take his advice and run across to ask John Casey for help with the microwave.

She wasn’t going to change into a skirt, though.

* * * * *

Ellie knocked on the door and took a step back, folding her cold hands into one another. Devon’s remarks were making her unaccountably nervous about a silly little thing like asking a neighbor for a favor. A few moments passed before the door opened soundlessly inward. She concentrated on not widening her eyes the least smidgeon, and pasted a friendly but decidedly not flirty smile on her face.

Then the door cleared the person standing behind it, and she lost the smile and her eyes widened way past the flirty stage. Naked. That was the only thought in her head ... that he’d come and opened the door naked.

After her brain had a moment to get un-dazzled, though, she saw that wasn’t precisely true. He did wear a pair of athletic shorts. That was all, though, and they were hard to notice against all that array of skin. Skin and muscle. Lovely, smooth skin and beautifully bulging toned muscle.

She’d never really noticed John Casey in just this way before. She wasn’t sure she’d ever noticed anyone with this intensity before. What he normally wore around her must detract a lot from his assets. She’d briefly noticed his baby-blues and lovely smile when she’d met him, and that had been about it. Well, there was that one time at the Buy-More that she’d been admiring the ass ... ets of an employee bent over a boxed television, and when he’d straightened up and shown himself to be her brother’s friend she’d blushed a little and glanced away before he caught her ogling him.

Right now, though, she felt bushwhacked. Sideswiped. Bulldozed. Those blue eyes seemed electric, somehow, with the skin crinkling around them, and the well-formed lips were gorgeous and ... and moving.

He was talking. What?

“What?”

“What can I do for you?” he asked, speaking a bit slowly and a bit loudly. As though this wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Well, that was what he got for answering the door naked. Nearly naked, anyway.

“Oh ... uh.” She really needed to say something and for the life of her couldn’t think why she was here. “How are you, Mr. Casey?” Yeah, say something normal. Maybe it would help if she didn’t glance below his neck.

“You can call me John.”

He’d told her that before, she recalled. “OK, OK sure. I’m Ellie.” Brilliant, Ellie. That's OK, though, just be normal. He shifted his stance, folding his arms across his chest, and distracted her. Bad, bad eyes, no looking below the neck!

“Yes, I know.” His voice was devoid of amusement, and his face looked set in stone, but one eyebrow had twitched up and down. He didn’t say anything more. A man of few words, John Casey.

“Right.” She searched desperately for another topic of conversation, and for a way not to stare at the sleek, toned belly showing below his arms. “Been working out?”

He dropped his arms and glanced down at himself. “Yeah, sorry, I’m a little sweaty.”

“No, no, you’re fine. You’re very fine.” Shut up, shut up, what is wrong with you?

He squinted at her a little. He was probably confused, and rightly so. She sounded like an idiot.

“Can I help you with something, Ellie?”

And, that wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question. She mentally thumped herself across the forehead, silently promised she’d do it again later for real, and took a breath, trying to gather her scattered wits. “Yes, actually, I came over to ask a favor.” Her voice had gotten rather breathy. Soft, in fact. She cleared her throat and talked louder. “My microwave seems to be on the fritz. I was wondering if you could take a look at it? That is, if you know anything about appliances.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Guess I could give it a shot. Hang on a sec.” He stepped back into the interior of the house and shut the door.

Ellie turned around and moved some steps away, fulfilling her promise to give her forehead a good thump. Then she did it again, for good measure, and took a couple of deep breaths. What in Hades was wrong with her? She’d never turned into Ms. Head-Full-of-Rocks at the sight of a well-muscled man before! Devon, in point of fact, wasn’t exactly a 90-pound weakling; he was nicely muscled indeed. But she’d never ...

Best not to go there, she decided hastily. The door behind her was opening again. John came through it. He’d pulled on a T-shirt. Thank God. She mustered up a smile, and John quirked one corner of his mouth up in return. Shame he didn’t use his beautiful full one, but the half-smile was sexy too.

Stop that. Just stop. “Ridiculous.”

John cocked his head at her. “Sorry?”

Damn it, she’d spoken out loud. “Ah, it’s ridiculous. The microwave not working, I mean. It’s only ... eight years old.”

“Eight years is long enough for an appliance to wear out,” he advised her gravely, as though he was informing her of the importance of looking both ways before crossing. “You may want to consider getting a new one.”

“Well, maybe,” Ellie hedged. She had no idea, at the moment, how old the microwave actually was. “Let’s see if anything can be done for it first.”

They were at her door. She fumbled it open and they stepped inside. She welcomed the coolness of the air conditioning on her heated face.

“Right here,” she gestured, leading the way into the kitchen where the microwave sat on the countertop. “Do you need any tools?”

“Maybe. What’s it doing?” He programmed a few minutes in and hit ‘start’ while Ellie pulled open a cupboard and placed a screwdriver and pliers within his reach.

“That. It does nothing. The display looks like it should be running, but ...” Ellie shrugged. Here in her own house, she was feeling more self-assured, more together. She must have had a momentary attack of insanity at his door, that was all. A brief flare-up of lust, nothing serious. Probably happened to other people all the time.

“What does?”

Damn it, again. She had to get past this new talking-out-loud-by-accident problem.

“Er, microwaves breaking down. Happens to people all the time, right?”

“I ... suppose.” He gave her a puzzled look and upended the microwave. She tried to ignore the very nice bulge of his arms as he did so. She also tried to ignore this new view of his backside. It was an excellent backside, exactly the right size and shape, and parts of her lower anatomy seemed to be liquefying. Ellie licked her lips and sighed. John glanced around and caught her staring at nothing, leaning on a counter while he worked and heaving sighs like she was in some 1940s drama. He was probably thinking Chuck’s sister was a loon. And who could blame him? Maybe she should apologize. Yeah, right. What was she going to say? ‘Pardon me, I’m a lot turned on right now’?

“What??” That was John’s voice, and it cracked. He straightened up from the microwave and moved an abrupt step in her direction. Oh, no, please God, no she had not said that out loud ...

“You’re a lot ... what?” His voice was raspy, and he was staring, and there was something dark and hot in his eyes. Her stomach muscles quivered and she had to get out of here. Right now.

“Ex – excuse me,” she squeaked, before whirling on legs that were numb, and dashing from the room.

* * * *

She ended up in the bathroom, not by design, and found herself leaning on the counter over the sink staring sightlessly into the mirror. What had she just done, and how in hell had she done it? Had someone slipped something into her lunchtime coffee? No, that would have to have been Devon, dear dimwitted Devon who trusted her completely. He was a stand-up guy who’d never dream of something so underhanded. So it only remained that she had herself to blame. Somehow she and her hormones had gotten herself into this position, and she’d have to get herself out.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, blinking into the mirror, mulling over what she needed to go out and say to John. She just needed to be honest. “I’m experiencing an inexplicable physical attraction” ... all right, so it wasn’t inexplicable, it was completely reasonable given his state of physical fitness. “I’m experiencing an inexplicably intense physical attraction ...” no, better not say that, he’d think he could have her at the snap of his fingers. Which he definitely couldn’t. She was an engaged woman. A faithful engaged woman.

That thought sobered her. She splashed some cool water onto her face and straightened away from the sink, looking herself firmly in the eye. “Go out there and face him,” she told her reflection. “And stop talking to yourself.”

She moved back toward the kitchen with a sense of dread. Maybe he’d gone home, she thought. That’d be nice ... maybe they could just move on and the next time they saw each other from across the street or the yard or the store or the room they could pretend she’d never said what she said. The kitchen was silent as she neared it, and her hopes rose.

But there he was, lovely tapered torso reclining back while his hips rested against her counter. Looking like he belonged there. The room would never be the same for her after this.

She halted across the room from him, not certain what to say. Her gaze halted and stuttered between his and their surroundings, but his didn’t waver. She offered a weak smile.

“It’s running,” he said in reply, gesturing at the microwave that had started all her troubles. “There’s a short in the panel. I did a temporary fix, but you’ll want to replace the panel pretty soon, if you don’t plan to get a new microwave.”

“Thanks,” she responded lamely. When she didn’t say anything else, John levered himself away from the counter and headed out of the kitchen. Toward her. She hastily moved out of his way and followed him to the front door. He paused there a moment, eyed her as though he was about to say something, then apparently thought better of it. He was reaching for the doorknob when she reached for his arm.

She stopped short of touching him, thinking that would be a really bad idea, but he must have seen her movement because he didn’t open the door. Instead he pivoted toward her and looked down, silently. She met his eyes and swallowed.

“I want to apologize for what I said earlier,” she sighed. He regarded her steadily. “I don’t know what my problem is today, because usually I’m not like this.”

“I know.”

He knew, did he? How, exactly?

“Chuck talks about you. You’re the level-headed one, the adult, the caregiver.”

The caregiver. Ellie’s brows furrowed. She wasn’t sure she liked the sedate and boring sound of that.

“You’re the giver, period,” John added in a lower tone. She wasn’t sure about that statement, either, but more because she wasn’t quite certain what he meant.

“I just want you to know that ... me saying things, like I said back there” - she waved vaguely in the direction of the kitchen – “that won’t happen again.”

He cocked his head, calm and steady as a rock, a sharp contrast to her frayed nerves. That wasn’t fair at all. Then he reached out, gently catching a strand of hair that was curling over her face, and tucking it away slowly. His hand lingered, tracing the curve of her ear with a deliberate motion, and then trailing down the side of her neck lightly but with a scrape of calluses. She swallowed hard. His warm dry fingers paused in the juncture of her neck and shoulder, just over her pulse, so there was no way that he didn’t know how it pounded. He probably knew she was light-headed and about to hyperventilate, too.

She’d been frozen, staring up into his blue blue eyes this whole time, eyes that watched her every move and every reaction to what he was doing. But now she swallowed again, summoned every last drop of will power in her being, and stepped back from him. It felt like scaling a mountain, that step, and he let her go, dropping his hand to his side. She moved her lips and finally got a whisper to pass through them.

“I don’t cheat.” If he hadn’t been standing so close, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her.

He nodded, once, slowly. “And I don’t poach.” His voice was rough. Now it was his gaze that dropped. He turned his head to the door. After a second he reached for the doorknob. It turned, and he went through, and pulled it shut carefully behind him.

For the second time that day Ellie stood staring at a closed door.

new Rayne one-shot

2008-11-10T21:46:28Z

Hey, look, I wrote something new! It's been forever, but I got a challenge from Original Bubble on fanfic and took a break from RL to write it.
Let's see if I remember how to post it.

Disclaimer: Firefly: The Series and Serenity: The Firefly Movie and all related characters are copyright 2002-2005 Mutant Enemy, Inc., Universal Pictures, and 20th Century Fox. This is a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement is intended

A/N: This is a response to a challenge by Original Bubble, to write a River-centric fic based on a song called ‘So She Dances’ that’s sung by J. Groban. It was written quite quickly (for me) and is un-beta’d. Let me know what you think!

There will never be a crowd. She acknowledges that to herself as she enters the cargo bay in her slippers. When she was younger she dreamed of a crowd, an audience to her artistry, but she understands that is impossible now. Standing in dimmed lighting that (if she imagines hard enough) faintly resembles moonlight, she pulls her hair back from her face and into a ponytail. She does this because along with her re-connection to the ‘verse has come a cognizance of little things, ordinary things, irritating things like your long hair getting in your way when you’re trying to dance.

There’s a new comprehension tonight, too, of not-so-little things like your unbound hair obscuring your peripheral vision so that, focused on the thoughts and intentions of the seven large skilled men you’re fighting, you at first miss the darting movement of a boy 750 meters away. And so there isn’t time to get there before the dark-haired kid somehow slips in under Jayne’s guard, and with his knife does some real damage before dying, Jayne killing to avoid being killed.

This memory is a difficult one, for despite the many ways that she knows she fails, combat is one arena in which she has become the unparalleled champion. She fights as no other human in the known ‘verse can. She had thought it her one dependable skill. She does not think this anymore.

She turns the nearby speaker’s volume to the desired level, but does not yet play the music she’s hacked from the Cortex. Stretching down to lay her palms flat on the decking, legs straight and long, she regrets that miss of hers for another reason, one that has surprised her every morning she’s awakened since. The regret is for the discomfort that she's felt Jayne feeling. Ever since a different boy on Canton who took a killing knife in Jayne’s stead, she has found the mercenary to be softened and confused by surprising things. This death of another boy is one of those things.

Standing upright, balanced firmly on her left foot, she lifts the right into the air above her head, one hand reaching up toward it and the other providing balance on her opposite side. Equilibrium, poise, she has gained it on the outside and now strives to make a mirror image on the inside. But this is disturbed by the sudden presence at the other end of the cargo bay.

Outlined against the brighter light of the corridor, he’s a hulking darkness in the dimness. She’s left the lights mostly down. Her mood is not bright tonight. She frowns fiercely in his direction; Jayne is not supposed to be walking this far from the infirmary yet, he has been too near the edge of death. But he is stubborn. Determining to ignore him, she lowers one leg and raises the other, stretching far. But today her soul cannot follow. Not yet.

For that, there is the music.

Back to the speaker she goes, feet silent, dress swishing, to turn on the Cortex remote that Kaylee helped her rig for this purpose. She scrolls past the earthy comforting songs, the air-filled bubbly ones, the wet and wild cries, the fiery conflagrations. Those are not for tonight. Tonight she is a solitary ballerina on a music box’s lid, and so she settles on something that tinkles and crescendos. It’s quiet but arresting, moody but optimistic, a boy’s song about a dancing girl; she directs it to repeat before she starts it.

Jayne is still over in the shadows, but he’s come closer. She wishes he would go away; he’s too much of the weight that has unbalanced her this day, and this week. He is the reason she flung the words “crooked liners and the drawers are empty” at Kaylee when the smiling engineer met her outside her hatch yesterday morning. He is the reason Simon wore Big-Brother-Worry alternating with Professional-Doctor-Concern on his face all day today.

The music has started and she’s been too captured by her thoughts to notice. She jumps, startled, and hurries to catch up. She wants Jayne gone and yet he’s there, his posture intent, watching her with eyes that she can’t see. He’s still inching closer, as though pulled; as though the song and the dance call silently to him. The music usually washes over her; she ordinarily finds herself reflected back at herself, and in the duality she finds wholeness. So she turns her body to working out her confusion, but today it is not working. There is herself, and there is Jayne, separate entities, and between them is a crowd, after all; a confused mangled mass of shadows, memories, and feelings. The first verse moves into the chorus, and Jayne moves, too, slowly, heavily favoring his left side. She can’t see his face but he’s there, flashing past as she turns, rotating upside down as she bends over backward. And his thoughts are there, too, as they were five days ago.

They surprise her still, those thoughts. My fault. Just before he’d lost consciousness, she’d caught that as she ran toward him, nearly there but not near enough. Jayne doesn’t shoulder the blame for anything, that’s not who he is. But about this he did, and is (though only to himself, of course). The reason why is even more surprising: wouldn’t have had to kill that stupid kid if I hadn’t been depending on Moonbrain so much. Expecting her to have my back ... used ta know better. Ain’t no one ever ... ain’t adjustin’ well. When he briefly regained consciousness on the way to the infirmary, those mental words battered at her. And she knew then and knows now that it is true: they’ve become cogs in each other’s machinery, she and Jayne. And that day she did not perform her function. She failed, and so Jayne was forced into something painful to his seldom-used conscience. That’s a type of discomfort with which he is ill-equipped to deal.

Balance, she tries to remind herself. But her own thoughts are consuming her, and now Jayne moves again, so that the shadows slip back from his powerful shoulders, his dark head, and finally his watchful eyes. And she falters, which in all her years of dancing is certainly a first. She stumbles amidst the throng of recollection and emotion, because of the new thought she catches from his mind. It is not about the fight or her miss or the boy’s death. It is about the night following, in the infirmary, after Simon gravely announced to the rest of the crew that Jayne wasn’t going to die from the knife that made half-a-dozen shallow wounds before sliding into his fifth intercostal space and piercing his heart.

She’d been in the room, and stayed as the others filtered out. Jayne stayed too, unconscious on the cart, Simon’s tools of life collected quietly nearby for sterilization. And River stood beside the cart, staring down at Jayne’s large, still form, oddly sideswiped by how glad she felt that the stillness wasn't entire. His chest moved. And within it, the heart to which she’d never given any thought till now, it beat. Each beat made a tent in the bright line on the vitals monitor, and a soft ‘blip’ sound as well. Fascinated, wanting to experience that thump a little more personally, and without thought to the fact that people didn’t touch Jayne, not for touching’s sake, she did. She laid her hand lightly on top of the many padded layers of dressing, over the analgesic-numbed tissue that Simon had opened in order to save the heart beneath.

She hadn’t felt Jayne’s heart beating. And through the analgesia and the anesthesia and the dressing, he shouldn’t have felt her hand. But he did. His eyes flicked open, catching her in the act. He stared up into her face, and then down at her hand. He was muzzy from medication and there were no thoughts in his head beyond ‘what ...’ and she doesn’t know how long she stood there before taking her hand away and leaving.

And now. Now, in Jayne’s head, in his eyes as he stares at her, is that memory. Her touching him. Her hand on his chest. It’s of this that he thinks, and the thought is tinged with his current view of her; her body dancing, her shadow a graceful companion. It’s shaded with his ever-present lust, yes, but also with an aura of what she never expected to associate with Jayne – romance. As much of it as his scarred and simple soul is capable.

The song has ended and begun again. The music has seeped into her psyche now. Lover-like, it has lifted her, and has carried her across the distance Jayne hasn’t crossed. He tips his head down in order to keep watching her and he doesn’t back away. Both her feet are flat on the floor as her heart catches, pauses, and she stares into his eyes and sees light, constellations of stars. The song’s chorus crescendos and she doesn’t notice that her eyes have teared until the stars in his eyes fracture and prism. They sing; there’s music and it’s all right that her heart isn’t beating, because his is. His beats, and the rhythm is her and her dance. He doesn’t move. She does; her hand to his chest, again, where this time there is less padding and so she can feel the thump-thump beneath her palm.

Her feet are moving for a long time before she realizes it, but she is no longer the lone ballerina. She looks down at them and sees the pattern; a waltz. A dance for partners. She raises her head again and looks at him, continuing to step, working the pattern around him. He stands still; he’s too injured, yet, for dancing. For now, he just watches.

But he won’t be watching forever. One day her dance will be a celebration of the balance she’s found. It will be a dance for two.

wow

2008-09-07T02:59:10Z

I haven't been here in quite awhile, I see. Real Life interferes with the best of things! But I was just over and scanned the Best of Rayne nominations on Pretty Deadly, and was surprised to find out I was there. More than once!

I don't know how that whole thing works, but whoever nominated me, thank-you! Seeing the other writers on there, I'm quite in danger of becoming impressed with myself ... I'm in most excellent company! TRULY, it's exciting that someone likes my stuff that much. Thanks again!

One-shot

2007-10-25T21:51:20Z

A/N This is pre-relationship, River and Jayne at a beach party. Utter fluff. Not much plot at all, but still manages to go on for 9 pages. Also the sanest I’ve ever written River. You’ve been fairly warned . . .
And, in spite of trying circumstances,

voodoo_buddha beta'd. Bless her.

Starlit

The night was clear and sweet. The stars strewn across the darkening sky above were almost as thick as could be seen in the Black. River tilted back to stare at them, twisting her head to make them dance. The resulting illusion was faster than the actual rotation of the planet, too fast for her mood, so she stopped. Slow was good, tonight. Flames did a crackly ballet in the nearby bonfire, a fiddle sang from across it, and a few of the villagers did their own dance a little farther off. The night needed no quicker rhythms than those.

River closed her eyes to absorb all the tempos. A few hundred meters away, waves of foamy water slid in to stroke the sand. That beat was the most pervasive of all, a backdrop seeping through her bones with a wet warmth that made her feel clean and soft. She breathed deeply through her mouth; that was salt she tasted. It was on her lips, too, from an earlier swim. She couldn’t remember ever having immersed herself in an ocean before today. It had been glorious. She’d breathed deep and sunk beneath the waves until the clamoring tumultuous world was gone. The water’s surging had buffeted her gently while she sat on the sandy bottom and became a length of seaweed.

Until she had to breathe again. She smirked to herself, remembering the sense of her brother’s panic when she’d reappeared above the water, back in the world. It had hit her extra hard after that brief respite, but she’d been learning appropriate responses and interactions, and had sternly admonished Simon to calm down before she’d ducked beneath the waves again. She remembered hearing Jayne laugh at her brother. The laugh had made her smile to herself as the water closed back over her head. She and Jayne had slowly adopted a mutually snippy, snarky and rather juvenile relationship in the year since Miranda. Everyone else on the crew seemed to have become resigned to it, and to the occasional puerile pranks they pulled on each other. Eventually the two of them had become almost friendly; but not quite, because there was always an unacknowledged tension just under the deceptive surface of their verbal wrangling.

River knew Jayne enjoyed the beach. He didn’t make a big deal of it, but he’d bounded out into the waves like a big child and then began powerful swimming strokes that propelled him a distance along the shoreline. She’d observed him with a fondness that she didn’t want him to know she felt.

The day was gone now, and night had sneaked over them with its potent peacefulness. They had all been in need of a little rest. The villagers of this little planet had hired Serenity’s crew to retrieve some stolen merchandise, a years’ worth of hemp crops, from a gang of thieves who’d been terrorizing them for the past few seasons. The festivities occurring around River now were a celebration of their successful delivery of the raw hemp to the appropriate buyers. They’d gotten a nicely sized commission from the grateful locals and no one had wanted to refuse this impromptu party, even Zoë, who River knew always felt melancholy at bonfires. The rest of the crew was now dispersed throughout the group of villagers, most of them smiling and feeling festive.

“Food’s ready,” Jayne called from another fire a small distance down the beach. Instead of helping provide music, he’d volunteered to be the one to chemically alter the animal muscle with heat. It was actual meat, from animals caught and killed that day. River’s mouth watered at the thought of it slowly roasting over the flames, and she rose to her feet to join the line of hungry people. Jayne stood at the head of the line, wielding a spatula with authority and serving up what he’d cooked. They were at the beach, it was a warm night, and Jayne had taken his shirt off much earlier in the day. He now wore an apron over his bare chest and shorts. He was appealing when the view of his musculature was unobstructed; River had noticed this before.

She observed him silently as she moved up in line. He seemed to have absorbed the mood of the night as she had; he was in an inordinately good temper, even grinning at her as he plopped a succulent steak on the plate she held out. River was still caught up in the softness and good sentiment of the twilight and couldn’t bring herself to pick at him. Wanting to share the good place she felt herself to be in tonight, she smiled back, sweet and soft. It wasn’t an expression she frequently focused solely on Jayne.

Jayne’s hand paused over her plate as their eyes caught. He blinked. River’s smile slowly faded. Little frown lines appeared between his brows; he looked puzzled. Finally, he nodded, and seemed to be forcing himself to turn to the next person in line. River reminded her legs to move her, and stood out of the way but not far from the focus of the increased softness in her chest.

She knew Jayne could tell she was still there, just out of his field of view. She could see it made him antsy, too. That was understandable, she nodded to herself. There had been no more knife incidents in which he was the victim, but there had been a hand glued to a chair, clear plastic wrap over a urinal, cracker crumbs in his sheets ... she didn’t know why Jayne was always the focus of her little practical jokes, except that he had the most entertaining reactions.

Not that he hadn’t given as good as he got. She was recalling a few of his more memorable stunts as she sank her teeth into what had to be the most tender steak she’d ever had. Juice ran between her fingers and she let out a soft surprised moan. It must have been louder than she’d thought, because Jayne’s head twitched in her direction. He didn’t look at her, though. He concentrated on what he was doing, nodding and handing out portions of meat. The person currently in front of him, though, was a particularly attractive redhead, who was giving him a blatantly flirtatious smile. And he didn’t seem to have noticed. River moved closer to observe this interesting turn of events, still not able to hold back her little sounds of enjoyment as she ate. She thought she was entitled to them, anyway. It wasn’t often she got real meat, and Jayne was apparently a master at this type of cooking.

Jayne offered a serving to the man behind the redhead, and she moved off with a look of disappointment. River slipped even closer, pulled by something she didn’t quite understand. Jayne eyed her sideways as he helped the last person in line. Then they were alone in the cozy darkness, the smell of roasted meat and burning wood a perfume around them. River swallowed another bite and sighed in appreciation.

“Good?” Jayne asked, his voice just short of gruff, as he pulled the grease-stained apron off over his head. He busied himself cleaning the rack he’d used for cooking.

“Superior,” River replied, her eyes on the patterns that the firelight threw over his unclothed back. She reached for another bite and saw that her plate was empty. Jayne had glanced her way, and he saw the comic expression of regret on her face. He grinned at her again, and some of the old snap was in the expression, but so was a friendliness that River found herself enjoying.

“Got room for more?” he questioned. River nodded eagerly, moving nearer as he added one of the few remaining slices to her plate before helping himself to one, too. They ate in silence, on their own by the cooking fire since the other partiers, including crew, were mingling over at the other one. River didn’t want to leave this spot, and didn’t want to question her reasons too closely. She knew Jayne didn’t feel motivated to leave her, either. He just stood there beside her, large and warm and real, chewing his own food as he watched her consume her second steak.

“Eatin’ almost as much as me,” he commented. River shrugged. She’d found a name to describe the slowness and softness that was around and inside her; romantic. She was feeling romantic, in this starlit darkness, and had no one to share it with. She frowned.

“Now I’m thirsty,” she told Jayne, raising a hand to her mouth to lick her fingers clean. Jayne’s eyes narrowed as he watched. He swallowed, shifted his feet, and reached down to the sand beside him.

“Here ya go.” He handed her a bottle. River took it, but glanced around toward the main group of people around the other, bigger fire. A large number of them were now dancing, loosened up by liquor and good food.

Jayne smirked. “Checkin’ to see yer brother ain’t lookin’?”

River threw her chin up. “I don’t wish to make him uncomfortable. He is having trouble allowing me to grow.”

Jayne raised his brows challengingly. “Yeah, but ya are, aren’t ya? Gotta make yer own decisions sometime.”

River regarded the bottle with pursed lips. She brought it to her face and sniffed; Jayne sniggered when her nose wrinkled.

“It’s quite odiferous,” River stated, distancing her olfactory receptors from the liquid.

“You get used to it,” Jayne answered, shrugging. He watched with interest as she raised the bottle again, this time to her lips. She took a small mouthful. Her face screwed up, and she leaned over to spit it out in the sand away from the fire. Jayne guffawed.

Her shirt dipped as she moved, and even while he laughed Jayne’s eyes followed the line of her clothing. River wasn’t trying to read him, but caught a glimpse of an image of herself from earlier in the day. She’d been wading out of the sun-dappled ocean, a tank top and shorts molded to her. She hadn’t known that Jayne was watching her then, or that he noticed how her clothing had clung to her, but she now began to feel very warm under her skin as Jayne’s mind’s eye zoomed in and slow-motioned the memory of her body’s movements. River edged away from the heat of the fire. It didn’t help.

“I’m making my own choice,” River said, “I do not care for this flavor.” She was holding the alcoholic beverage out to him and using that one mouthful to excuse her breathlessness to herself. Jayne reached for it, but instead of pulling it from her he slowly wrapped his warm calloused fingers around hers against the cool glass. River’s breath left her in a rush. Her heart picked up speed and spread a pleasurable heat through her cardiovascular system. She moved her hand away, slowly, after a minute of trying to decide what to do.

Jayne lifted the bottle and chugged a large portion of its contents down, watching her intently. Something was there in his expression, more openly than she’d ever seen before. It whispered along her already sensitized nerve endings.

“I’m gonna go dance,” he said finally. “Wanna come?”

River turned her eyes toward the moving mass of people about the other fire. The one they stood beside was burning down, slowly, with no fuel being added to keep it going.

“No,” she decided. She was wrapped in the softness of the night and didn’t feel impelled to join that merry group. Slow, she was slow tonight, a river that meandered and took its time.

“All right,” Jayne shrugged. He drained the rest of the bottle, tossed it into a nearby trash pit, and grabbed another from a cooler. Then he set off toward the dancers. A flute had joined the fiddle, and pure high notes scintillated in the air. River watched Jayne go, feeling a little deserted. She glanced down at the cooking fire again. It was going to die, and she suddenly didn’t want it to. She cast about for something to keep it going. There was nothing close, so she wandered toward the ebony line of trees that edged the sand.

She found suitable combustibles there without actually having to enter the woods, and carried them back, seating herself and beginning to slowly feed the fire. It flared up satisfactorily and she propped herself against the large, stacked logs that were there for that purpose. They were surprisingly comfortable. Content to recline there in quietude and watch the villagers and her crew from a distance, she leaned on one arm and listened to the notes of the music.

Mal and Inara danced. Zoë didn’t, just sat off to one side with her arms propped on her knees. Simon and Kaylee were nowhere to be seen, and River cocked her head a moment before catching a sense of their essences flaring brightly and fiercely from the same tree line where she’d gathered wood. She pulled back hastily from that, grateful for having gained enough control over her senses to do so. Once she’d have been fascinated by what they were doing. But since she’d become more cognizant, she’d began to doubt she could have it, that meshing of desires and mutual pleasure. So she shied away from it when she could.

She realized those feelings were a lot like what Jayne had stirred up in her tonight. She shifted her focus back to him, locating him unerringly in the gyrating cluster of revelers. He’d found that redhead, or she’d found him. They were dancing up close. He had another bottle in one hand, his third River counted, while his free fingers were against the woman’s spine. River felt her lower lids crinkling, and an uncomfortable lump rose at the back of her throat. She moved her gaze again.

The night went on, the songs changed, the stars spun. River felt herself collapsing into the wood at her back and the sand beneath her. She breathed, the air thick and sweet on her taste buds, the melody soothing her ears and the fire moving warmth over her skin. The fiddle scraped to the end of a rollicking number, and switched to a slow low counterpart for the delicate notes of the flute. She waited.

A footstep stumbled in the sand not far away.

River scooted halfway upright to see Jayne coming towards her. A half-empty bottle swung between his fingers. The redhead was nowhere in sight. He stopped to peer rather blurrily at her, and she returned his regard solemnly. Flute and fiddle sent out ribbons of notes that fluttered around them on the low breeze.

“Mind if I sit?” Jayne asked her, his voice muzzy. It must be the alcohol making him so polite. He’d imbibed a lot of it. River shook her head to indicate that she didn’t mind, so he advanced and folded his long legs underneath himself. He was unsteady, but got there, although River put a hand out to safeguard him from toppling into the fire. He made it all the way down until he was leaning against her log. Close enough to touch but not touching.

“Change yer mind ‘bout wanting some?” Jayne asked, waggling the bottle at her. She shook her head and countered his gesture by lifting the can of water she’d found in the cooler. He tipped a corner of his mouth at her, and she let herself smile back. That was two he’d pulled from her this evening. Soft, soft, the night battered at her like a pillow. The lump in the back of her throat got bigger. She swallowed against it and turned her head to stare at the fire.

“Shouldn’t do that,” Jayne croaked from beside her. She tilted a question at him with her eyebrow. He wobbled his head in the general direction of the flames. “Eyes get fire-blind at night. Someone comes up on ya, yer not gonna be able to see ‘em. Could gechyerself hurt.” Then he seemed to reconsider. “Guess ya don’t really need yer eyes, though, huh? Got that psychic mind ta help ya out.”

River didn’t deny it, as that would have been a pointless exercise. Jayne nodded to himself sagely, held his bottle up unsteadily, and drank a few swallows from it. Afterwards it fell forgotten to the side.

“It’s a good thing ta have,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “Glad ya got it. Keep yerself whole.”

His drunkenness was making it hard for River to decipher his emotions, so she wasn’t sure if he meant her to hear what he was saying. Until he turned his head and pinned her with a gaze that would have been fierce, had it not been smudged with inebriation. “Don’ wancha hurt. Wanta see ya dance again. Woulda liked ta see ya kill off all them Reavers”.

River didn’t breathe. He’d never admitted out loud how he felt about that day on Miranda. They just didn’t discuss personal things like this, except on a superficial, argumentative level. The alcohol seemed to have enabled Jayne to delve deeper than that.

His body had somehow gotten closer. Had she moved, or had he?

Jayne’s voice had gotten quite husky. He nodded slowly, and she couldn’t look away. “Yeah, Ida liked ta see that. Hadda be beautiful.” He squinted at her in the firelight and the starshine, and his head moved through the darkness toward her. The fire crackled. River sat very still, immobilized by his closeness. “Gorgeous,” Jayne mumbled, and she felt a stroke from his rough hand down her cheek.

She parted her lips to let pent-up breath out between them, and he was so near it stirred his hair. He tilted his head, his gaze drawn to her mouth. His hand moved again, and this time his thumb sketched the outline of her lower lip. It trembled under the contact. River’s hands curled into themselves, her fingernails digging into her palms as he applied pressure that pulled her jaw further open.

She tried to drag a breath back in and it wouldn’t come against the pounding of her heart. Slow, slow, all her muscles were like the night. His nearness was inebriating her as no alcohol could’ve done. She blinked sluggishly, while his thumb scraped against her teeth. It dipped further into her mouth and touched her tongue and she tasted him. Salt, electrolytes, electricity, he must have rinsed his hands in the ocean recently. Her thought processes were just as muzzy as his, and she couldn’t get beyond that one sensation; he was salty. He was salty and tangy, and she let herself lick.

Slowly, a sweep of her tongue over him. He groaned, hoarsely. So she raised hands that were weighted, heavy with desire, to the broadness of his shoulders. She angled her head to suck more of his thumb into her mouth, and his fingers tightened along her jaw. She heard a husky cuss word, and his face dipped in close enough now that when he closed his eyes she felt the brush of his lashes against her forehead. And then he slanted his head, and for all his impaired senses and reflexes he moved his thumb and replaced it accurately with his mouth.

Her fingers spasmed into his muscles and she arced up against him, the intimate contact of his lips freeing the inner warmth that had been garnering fuel since he’d grinned at her over the steak. It seeped into her bones and she opened her mouth further, instinctively angling her head in response. There was more taste now, he tasted like what he’d been drinking, and suddenly the flavor wasn’t so repulsive. He deepened the kiss, lapping at her lips with his tongue until she reached her own out to tangle with it. She gasped at the wet warmth of that, even though she’d initiated it, and suddenly the lilting flute notes that had been a constant backdrop ceased.

The world seemed utterly silent, for a moment. They both stopped moving. River closed her eyes, now, for the first time, so she felt but didn’t see Jayne lurch away. She heard him bump up against the logs. She heard him murmur “Can’t. Shouldn’t.”

When her heart had tamed somewhat, when she could breathe without struggling for it, she let her lids open. Jayne had found the bottle he’d dropped, and was drinking the rest of it straight down. She wondered why he didn’t leave. Maybe he couldn’t walk; she knew she’d have been hard-pressed to, if it had been required of her right then. She dropped back against the logs, leaning her head into them and staring up at the stars once more. Jayne was still and silent next to her, until she heard his head fall back too.

She didn’t look at him, but she knew when he lapsed into sleep. It made her a little angry, that he could so easily move on into the distancing effects of slumber. Of course, his path was eased by the amount of liquor he’d imbibed. She was stone-cold sober, as clear-headed as a crazy person ever got, and couldn’t escape the remaining tingles of his nearness and the ache he’d stirred inside her.

She was trying to fight off thoughts about whether he’d remember what they’d done in the morning, when she felt him tilting sideways. He leaned into her side. He was heavy, and when she shifted her shoulder out from under him he slipped farther, into her lap. She stared down at his head, at the flickering shadows on his face, and swallowed. She should push him back up and leave him here, that’s what she should do.

Maybe it was the starlit beach and its beauty. Maybe it was the peacefulness spread by the flute that was raising one last song into the darkness. The dancing had nearly ended, River sensed, and a sharp regret pricked her at how soon she was going to lose the night. Maybe that was what made her scoot a little and settle Jayne’s head and upper arms on her thighs and against her tummy in a position that looked more comfortable.

Then she sat there, one hand on his bicep and the other hovering in the air over his head. It settled down, finally, into his hair. He had grown it out some, and its thick strands curled crisply against her skin. She rubbed a bit of it between her fingers wonderingly, and then let her hand cup his skull. He stirred a little, his brow puckering, and she stroked his bare shoulder soothingly. He settled down again, his features relaxing. Affection rose foreignly behind her ribs as she stared down at the dark length of his lashes lying against his cheek. His hair swirled in whorls behind his ears, and she rifled her nails gently through it, combing it out. Her other hand slid down to lay against his chest, where it rose and fell with the breaths he took. He was starting to snore quietly, and his chest vibrated under her palm.

She laid the back of her knuckles on his cheek, and he moved his head against her thighs, turning into her touch. Her heart twisted, and she laid her own head back against the logs. He was out of her line of vision that way, but the warm weight of him against her lap wrapped her in a blanket of tenderness. The fire was dying, the flute’s sweetly lilting song was coming to a close, and many of the partiers had left the beach. The dark was claiming everyone. River could feel all those things, along with the tilting of the planet and the rustle of the moderate breeze and the beat of Jayne’s heart. She let her eyes close. She let her breathing even out. She felt sleep claim her.

Hours later, Zoë found them like that. The warrior was given pause, taking in the sight of big bad Jayne curled into River’s side with his head pillowed in her lap. River’s small hands were braced about him protectively, comfortingly. There was such an aura of quiet tenderness about the pair that hot tears pushed suddenly against the back of Zoë’s eyes. She swung away, pressed in by memories and emotions, the unexpectedness of the moment temporarily swamping her defenses.

She pulled them back up quickly, though, and reached her foot out to tap the bottom log that supported River. The girl’s eyes opened immediately. They met Zoë’s in the pre-dawn light.

“Time to go,” Zoë told her quietly. River nodded, but for a moment she didn’t move. She looked out at the sea, and to the lightening eastern horizon. Then she looked down at Jayne.

“Unexpected bonding through mutually enjoyable activities,” the girl murmured. Then she bent over him and shook his shoulder.

Zoë turned away. She didn’t leave, but it seemed a moment that required privacy. She heard River’s voice murmuring, a querulous inquiry from Jayne as he roused, and then a taut interlude of silence. Finally, there was the sound of Jayne rising to his feet. When Zoë heard a muttered ai ya from him, she swung back around.

River hadn’t yet risen, and realizing her legs were probably numb from Jayne’s not inconsiderable weight, Zoë offered her a hand up. River accepted it with an uncharacteristic shyness. Zoë guessed she was feeling awkward about having been found with Jayne that way. The glance the psychic sent the mercenary as the trio began to move in the direction of Serenity was even more hesitant.

Jayne wasn’t looking at River. But he slowed his normal pace down to walk beside her while he brushed desultorily at sand that dusted his bare skin. So Zoë dropped back some, giving them space. And watching with interest.

River was looking straight ahead but her focus was all to her left side, where Jayne walked. He was moving with care, so River guessed his head hurt. That wasn’t too surprising.

He glanced down at her a couple times, then away. She bit her lip and didn’t say anything. He rubbed a hand over his bleary eyes, and then scowled at the sandy path ahead.

“Seems to me there was some – uh – some stuff, last night.”

Some stuff. River nodded silently. The sound of the waves was receding as they moved away from the beach.

“I – don’t really remember ...” Jayne’s voice trailed off as River jerked her head up to glare at him. She knew that wasn’t true. He remembered, and somehow she couldn’t take it if he was going to lie about it.

“Right,” Jayne muttered. “Guess I do remember.” There was quiet again for awhile, until the ocean had disappeared from sight. They were nearly to the ship when Jayne reached and grabbed River’s hand and pulled her to a stop. Zoë walked around them and up the ramp. None of the other crew were in sight. River tightened her fingers around Jayne’s and stared up at his tired face. He needed to shave. The tenderness she’d felt last night returned in strength, threatening to overwhelm her.

“We don’t have to discuss it right now,” she told him. “When you’re rested would be better.”

He nodded. But they didn’t move. He had something more to say.

“I remember it was good,” he told her finally. His voice was tight and he stared off over her shoulder. “I remember I thought I’d gotten as close t’ paradise as I’m likely to, and that I’d no gorram right to be there.”

River bit her lip. She stretched up on tiptoe and tilted her head to catch his gaze. It burned into her.

“You have the right I give to you,” she managed to say. She hoped that was clear. Apparently it was, because light flared behind his blue eyes.

He didn’t speak again. They resumed walking. But he still held her hand. All the way up the ramp, into Serenity, and past Simon and Kaylee he held it. Simon sputtered; Kaylee cooed. A few minutes later, Mal groaned when Zoë told him about it. A half hour after that Inara told him it was ‘to be expected’, and laughed when he stared at her with incredulity.

So it wasn’t really a shock to anyone that a week later Jayne moved into River’s cabin. But Simon nearly had a stroke anyway. Jayne explained to him that his own bunk was really too small for two people. Simon gasped that that wasn’t the point.

Jayne nodded, and said “exactly”. River patted her confused brother’s hand and told him to grow up. Then the mercenary and the assassin locked themselves in their cabin and commenced certain mutually enjoyable, no longer unexpected, bonding activities.

Separate Checks part 2b

2007-07-30T14:52:04Z

And, here's the last bit. I hope you enjoy! voodoo_buddha beta'd.

Spoilers: post-BDM
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously, all Joss's & company's
Warnings: Nothing really.

Down a few blocks lit with street lamps the two caught up with their quarry, who hadn’t waited long to start getting physical. River hailed them, and Jayne hung back a few steps.

“This woman has nefarious plans,” River said to the blonde’s customer, folding her hands behind her. “You don’t want to go to her bed.”

The man shot her a confused, disgruntled look as he drew back from the whore. “Huh?”

River’s mouth did an annoyed down-turn.

“Whore’s got plans to kill you,” Jayne clarified, stepping up and pointing to the blonde. He had his gun out, safety off, held discreetly down at his side in the shadows. “After some drawn-out torture, sounds like. ‘Less that’s yer cuppa tea, you’ll likely find better fun back inside.”

The man now gave the entertainment he’d already chosen a wary but confused look. He wasn’t too bright, Jayne guessed. The blonde woman’s lips had pulled back over her teeth, giving her a rather feral look, and both her hands were at her sides. So, Jayne wasn’t the only one using the shadows to conceal a weapon.

River’s leg flicked out, sudden-like, and there was a clatter as a long wicked-looking knife flew out of the woman’s hand. It arched glinting under the streetlight for a brief moment and away into a gutter. There were sounds of Serenity’s crew coming up behind them, but Jayne knew they wouldn’t get here in time. The brown man backed up with a startled exclamation while the blonde woman snarled. She charged forward, and River met her with a swinging fist. The customer, who’d been staring confusedly, made a move finally, with an apparent half-conceived idea of defending the whore. Jayne pivoted on one heel around him, getting an armlock about his neck and dragging him back a few steps while River swiftly laid the blonde out flat on the ground. Jayne watched with admiration. Of course, the prostitute hadn’t been a trained fighter; her accustomed methods were more devious than that. But still, River fighting was a lovely sight.

He realized that the crew was collected around them when Mal’s voice broke in.

“Do we have plans for any more interesting-ness this evening? Or may we go back and finish our meal?”

River looked to the woman unconscious at her feet. “We need to contact the sheriff that she’s here,” she said. “Tell him to check the knife blade. It will hold proof of what she is.”

“Likely we should tie her up,” Mal suggested languidly. River nodded.

“This one too,” Jayne grunted, getting tired of holding the whore’s hapless customer. The man was only struggling half-heartedly, but Jayne clocked him one upside the head anyway. Just hard enough to knock him senseless but not enough to do any serious damage.

No one appeared to have brought any suitable restraints with them to dinner. Finally, Inara shook her head resignedly and stepped out of her shoes, bending to remove her stockings with the statement that they were strong nylon and should hold for awhile. Jayne watched with interest as she hiked her skirt. Then for some reason he darted a glance over at River; and she was aiming a narrow-eyed look back at him. He squinted an apology at her without thinking.

Then he had time to wonder what that had been about, as Mal took over the man he’d been propping up. River slid up next to him.

“Changing precedence,” she said, as though that explained the reason why he was suddenly feeling guilty about getting looks at other women.

Other women? Since when did she merit her own separate category? If others were ‘other’, that meant River wasn’t other. He shook his head, bemused. One hour ago she’d mostly been the annoying doctor’s annoying little sister. Something had changed ...

Once they’d left two unconscious people piled just off the road, bound in Kaylee’s and Inara’s underthings (River had extended a bare leg from under her skirt to exhibit that she had nothing to contribute), they all trouped back to the bar. Mal made an anonymous, audio-only wave to the local law while River finally got to empty her bladder. And then they had their now-cold meal re-heated, with apologies to the cook.

Settling back at the table, River found occasion to imitate what she’d seen Mal and Inara doing earlier. She sneaked her left hand under the tablecloth and settled it on Jayne’s thigh. She took a moment to absorb the same pleasure that had surprised her before, when she had sat down on him. She’d never expected to get enjoyment from physical contact with Jayne, but there it was, spiraling into her fingers, up though her arm, and then across her chest.

Jayne’s leg muscles tensed under her hand as he absorbed her touching him again, without the excuse of needing to rescue him from whores with evil plans. She let her finger spread and rub a bit, exploring, but he saw she was careful not to disturb the tablecloth and alert anyone else to what she was doing. Him wanting River wasn’t all that surprising, he figured. Her wanting him – that was sudden and all manner of surprising, but he was definitely gonna find out where this track was leading.

He took huge bites of a meal that was suddenly unimportant, hurrying through his food to free his right hand. When all that remained was his drink, he picked it up in his left while slipping his other hand down. He rubbed his palm over the back of hers, wrapped his fingers around to turn it over, and twined her digits in between his. She slid her thumb back and forth over his knuckles, discovering his texture and tightening a coil of desire in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t take much of that. Before long, he wouldn’t be able to stand up without giving everyone a clear view of what she was doing to him.

“Time to go,” River announced abruptly. Most of the group was finished with their food, but had been lingering over drinks. Kaylee looked up to protest. She’d been leaning into Simon’s side with his arm about her shoulders. It wasn’t a posture she’d easily surrender.

“Why the hurry, albatross?” Mal asked lazily. Apparently everyone had decided to chalk the earlier River/Jayne scene up to her crazy attempt to rescue him, and his inability to resist accessible female flesh; lamentable, but nothing to dwell over. Though Mal had made a mental note to have a little talk with Jayne at some point.

“The prostitute and her would-be victim have been found, examined medically, and held for questioning. The knife has been discovered where you told them it would be, with her fingerprints and slow-acting poison found on its blade. Connections to a murder three weeks ago are being made. Your wave was traced to this facility, and deputies are on their way here.”

“Can we get back to Serenity without being noticed?” Mal was regretful, but he’d straightened. He had no wish to get into a drawn-out affair with the locals.

River nodded.

“And they’ve enough evidence to bind that woman by law, without speaking with us?” Inara wanted to know.

“What use is Crazy gonna be, if not?” Jayne asked impatiently, standing. He was in a hurry. “Never yet knew a world where mind-reading was admissible evidence.”

“He’s right,” Simon contributed.

Payment was left on the table and they again exited the bar. They fell into natural groupings, walking back to the ship. Mal and Inara led, and the dark seemed to encourage daring; Inara slid her hand candidly into the crook of Mal’s arm as they rounded a corner, and he glanced down at her with a small smile. Kaylee and Simon turned the same corner with their arms around one another. Following, not touching, Jayne and River stopped in unspoken concurrence. The corner remained unturned. The street was quiet and empty except for them. Jayne looked down sideways at River, and she met his look wide-eyed under the light of a streetlamp. He moved sudden and pressed her up against the nearby wall with his chest and thighs.

“You just playin’ with me back there?” he demanded, knowing that even as fast as he’d moved she wouldn’t have let herself be trapped between him and the brick unless she’d wanted to be.

“No,” she answered, absorbing the new sensations of all his hardness pressed full-length against her. She swallowed, breathless. “No,” she said again. “Unexpected, but ... “

“But good,” he supplied when it seemed she couldn’t find the word. She nodded mutely. He hitched her up off the ground to be more on a level with him. His body was already hard with wanting her. Her face coalesced into a smile, wide and beaming, and she moved her arms to hook around his neck.

“Very good,” she agreed. “Kiss me.”

It was his turn to swallow. He rotated his hips against hers, making her head drop back on the brick and pulling a groan from between the lips that he was contemplating. He breathed heavily against the thumping of his heart. And then before Mal and Simon backtracked looking for them, he leaned in and did it. Kissed her full on the lips; their mouths opening, tongues touching tentatively, and then tangling with growing fierceness. River strained against him, and he groaned as he wedged his hand between them and began to explore any parts of her she’d let him reach.

Too soon, though, River relaxed back against the wall and opened eyes that had closed in passion. He felt her retreat and backed off too, reluctantly, slowly. Her feet reached the ground once more and he leaned against hands braced on either side of her head, staring sightlessly at the wall. He was still a little shocked at this. He tried to catch his breath, and wondered where this had come from, this fierce emotion and wanting.

“Doesn’t matter,” River murmured, tilting her face sideways onto his wrist. The hand trembled a little. He unfisted it and stroked a thumb from her eyebrow to the corner of the mouth that had just been causing complicated goings-on in his insides. “Only matters where it’s going.”

“Yeah?” he managed, although his voice was hoarse. “Where's it goin’?”

Her teeth gleamed startlingly at him in the dim light. “Right now, back to Serenity. Simon is coming.”

He’d figured that was why she’d stopped. He shook his head, growling just a bit as he stepped farther back from her. “We keepin’ this a secret?” He awaited her answer tensely.

River sighed, following him as they return to walking. They turned the corner the others had gone around before them. The street stretched wide and straight ahead.

“For now, don’t you think?” River replied. Jayne scowled, but then nodded. She reached out to his arm, caressing the muscles there, getting another touch of him before they were back among crew.

Sure enough, Simon appeared at the end of the street, Kaylee trailing him. Mal and Inara were nowhere in sight.

“I’ll see you later?” Jayne asked in an undertone, hurriedly. He was again edgy about her answer, but she didn’t make him wait.

“Yes,” she said, and scintillated up at him. His heart squeezed painfully. “Will – will you come to my room?” She searched his eyes closely, seeming to look for something. He didn’t know what, but met her gaze as honestly as he knew how. He only had time to nod before they caught up with Simon and Kaylee.

River didn’t really register the rest of the walk, only Jayne at her side. Simon talked, questions she supposed, and Jayne must have answered to his satisfaction because there was companionable silence after that. They went back into the grieving space and it was no longer so lonely. Zoë didn’t appear, but River could sense her away in her bunk.

“The warrior sleeps in peace,” she said as the ramp closed behind the foursome. Inara and Mal were nowhere to be seen either, but there was a flaring of passion from the Companion’s shuttle that pushed River into Jayne’s side. He didn’t put his arm around her because Kaylee had turned at River’s words, but she knew he wanted to.

“Zoë’s OK?” the mechanic asked anxiously. River nodded back.

“And Mal and Inara are exploring futures.” River smiled.

Simon smiled back at his sister, then at his lover. River left the bay and the other two trailed after her. Jayne lingered impatiently, long enough to know everyone was settled where they belonged.

Then, with his gut still coiled in knots of desire, he moved down the corridor and knocked quietly at River’s door. It slid aside and she was there, smiling greeting and looking passionately up at him. He swallowed, and stepped in to her, and knew that everything had changed.

Like as not, next restaurant they was in, he would be paying for both of them. And maybe not even minding it.

Separate Checks part 2a

2007-07-30T14:49:37Z

Here's the other half of this little story, in 2 sections though because it was too long for one post (seems like that always happens to me!). And beta'd by lovely, wonderful voodoo_buddha again, bless her!

“That all true?” Jayne asked down at the girl, still not quite wrapping his brain around the fact that she was curled up in his lap. She twitched her face up to scowl at him. She hitched her little bottom around, and her skirt rode up even higher on her thighs, giving Jayne’s heart an excitement-spurred lurch.

“I said it was.”

“Well, then,” why hadn’t she quit playing with his hair yet? “Thanks. I guess.” He really couldn’t drag up much annoyance that he’d lost his fun for the evening. That likely had something to do with the woman-fingers that had slid from his chest to his hip and were kind of massaging the skin there. The back of his neck felt warm and his heart was going kind of fast. Jayne shifted his arms on the table and thought about putting one around her waist. Maybe her craziness was catching, suddenly after all this time.

“RIVER!” A voice, the doc’s, finally broke through to the moonbrain. She turned her head so she could see him, but that was all she did. The rest of her stayed draped over Jayne. “River,” her brother had his ‘doctor’ voice on, “you can’t – this isn’t appropriate. Leave Jayne alone, now,” he cajoled. Simon flicked the mercenary a glance, which actually looked grateful; for not dumping his sister on the floor, or worse, Jayne supposed.

And he didn’t exactly know why he hadn’t, except that Crazy-girl felt more like Crazy-woman, sitting on him, and he liked it. He felt River go really still against him right then and he figured she’d Read that at the same time he thought it.

“You were in danger,” River told him in a low tone. Her voice wasn’t entirely steady. He guessed she’d never sensed those kinds of thoughts from someone before, at least not ones about her. “My only motive for initiating physical contact was to rescue you.”

He chuckled, and answered with his voice as low as as hers. “That so? Well, I’m rescued . . ." he paused to smirk. "So just what, exactly, are you still doin’ in my lap?”

River blinked, and stiffened away from him. She paused with her head cocked to the side, thinking; and then, for a wonder, eased back down against his chest.

Huh.

None of the crew had heard what River had told him about the blonde whore who was now approaching another table occupied by a thick brown man. They were all very focused on the bizarre sight of their mercenary with his lap full of psychic genius girl. Jayne couldn’t help the little smirk he felt coming on. Their upset, all the commands and entreaties they were aiming at River, it was starting to be downright amusing. To further press some buttons, he went ahead and wrapped an arm around the lithe form of the girl until she wasn’t just sitting on him, he was holding her. It felt good.

Across the table, Mal’s features tightened and his hand went to his holster. Up till then everyone’s threats and pleading had been aimed at River, who they’d assumed was having a crazy spell. That changed now. Inara stood to her feet, but she reached out to stay Mal, not Jayne. Good for her.

“River,” Kaylee tried her hand at detaching the two of them, “wouldn’t you like to come back to your own chair and finish your meal?”

River rubbed her cheek back and forth against Jayne’s shirt. “I am very comfortable,” she replied. She ran one arm behind Jayne’s back and linked it to the one across his front, so that he suddenly felt as enfolded by her as she was by him. Surprise flame-fingers of desire sparked in his gut. He felt a little tremor run through River, and he thought it was a silent laugh. Here they were all treating her like she’d gone around the bend again, and she was having a joke at all their expense.

Well, not at his, because he was sharing the joke. His stomach muscles were tight with holding his own chuckle in. That, and also the closeness of all the woman-curves in his arms. He wondered if he could get away with finding out how some of those curves would feel under his fingers.

River tucked her face into his neck to telegraph her smile to him by touch. He felt her lips curve on his skin, and their movement sent curls of heat down to his groin.

“They’re all too easy,” she murmured too low for anyone else to hear. He figured she meant the crew’s reactions to what she was doing. But he was fast losing his ability to think about anything but what he could do to the delectable little female who was suddenly so accessible.

Mal chose right then to decide he’d had enough.

“Jayne,” he commanded in as captain-ey a voice as he could manage, “you let go of her if you want to see any of your cut from the next few hundred jobs. River, get in your own chair, now, or we’ll all be giving our fellow customers a far more interesting meal than they’ve planned on.”

Jayne figured that had probably already happened. There were plenty of strangers’ eyes on their little group, at least. He shrugged, but looked down into River’s big brown eyes. They sparkled. He stroked the cloth-covered portion of her thigh with the thumb of his free hand, angled so no crew could see it. River’s eyes widened and the teasing flirtiness that had been there suddenly flared into hot desire.

“Revelatory,” she said softly. He wasn’t too sure what the Bible had to do with this. But his brain had gone right to the bedroom. And then she wriggled in his lap again, and it went straight to the gutter.

River’s eyes had been getting hazy, but she suddenly sat up and cast her gaze around the room.

“We should tend to the whore,” she said, and it seemed like there was regret in her voice. “She will harm another unless we alert him.”

Jayne slid his own eyes toward the table he’d last seen the blonde approaching; yep, the man there was standing and looked ready to exit with her at his side. Jayne grunted in irritation.

“Guess so,” he addressed River, but then dipped his head to whisper. “We’ll – revisit this? Later?”

The brown eyes danced now. “Agreed,” she said, and nodded, and slid off him. He let his hands trail and got a nice feel of the bottom that had been pressed so distractingly into him. He knew he heard her giggle, and Mal’s already furious face hardened further.

“A mission,” River addressed the group at large, who obviously expected her to sit and finish eating. She gestured at Jayne and headed to the door before anyone could stop her. The large brown man had already disappeared through it. Right, they were going to the rescue. Jayne sighed, stood up, and followed the psychic. Behind them, he heard some confused discussion; Kaylee called after them questioningly; and then there was the sound of feet following them. But as River and Jayne slipped out the door the others were held up by Maude demanding that they pay their bill before exiting the building.