'Tempted' chapter 9; Punished

[icebreather]

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.

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Punished

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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.”

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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 ...