A/N: This fic is written for Xenaclone as part of the Holiday Fic Exchange Challenge. She asked for Casey, fun, fluff, romance, and spy stuff, but didn't want the story to include angst, death, or femmeslash. The requested pairing was Casey and someone female, thankfully leaving it open for me, and the prompt was under the mistletoe. I might've taken a small liberty with this and if anyone else gets the small references in this, kudos. Enjoy and Merry Christmas, Xena! :D
Of all the times and all the places to have a mission, the bad guys had decided that December in New York would be a good place to cause some mischief. Some mischief big and bad enough for General Beckman to call in Team Bartowski.
Snow thick and quickly growing slushy, as New York snow tends to do, bordered the sidewalks and streets and drastically narrowed the already thin walkways. Tourists and natives alike brushed shoulders as their heads ducked to avoid the blistering wind, last minute bags in gloved hands or hanging from wrists as those gloved hands hid in pockets. It was a scene that any person would know from the innumerable Christmas movies set in New York.
A scene that made John Casey grunt at in contempt as he nursed a scotch inside a warm and cozy bar.
The team had arrived two days prior to complete the mission, obtain information about the whereabouts of one of The Ring's higher ups, currently visiting "family" in New York City. And with all the glittering Upper East Side parties (another snort of derision came from Casey at the thought) it hadn't been hard. Chuck had found a way into a panic room where the information was being kept, gotten himself and Walker (of course) into a tight spot and Casey had come to the rescue. Again. Thankfully, the mission was completed a full day and a half earlier than the General had been prepared for, and that led the team to have a whole night to themselves.
Christmas Eve in New York City and a night off. Casey looked into his scotch thoughtfully, wishing for a celebratory cigar. He'd lit one after the brief with the General in their hotel rooms but the rapidly falling snow had extinguished it pretty quickly. And after not being able to take any more of that damned tension between Bartowski and Walker in the room, he'd grabbed his winter coat, muttering a caution to not do anything stupid.
Knowing the two of them, though, they were no doubt in the throes of something completely stupid, prompting Casey to take a pull of his scotch, finishing the glass. Not far from their hotel, he'd found a sub-level bar, warm windows beckoning him in and a green sign above them declaring the place MacLaren's. He'd pulled his coat more tightly around himself and ducked inside, leading him to his current place, sitting at the bar.
His posture did not belie that of a man willing to converse with the other bundled up patrons. While not hunched, Casey gave off his standard air of anger, almost waves of it pushing away even almost the bartender, who approached hesitantly, despite his own size and reputation for violence.
"Another?" He asked and Casey simply nodded, pushing his glass towards the bartender who filled it graciously. As he put the bottle down, the bartender leaned closer to Casey, beckoning him in as if he had a secret to share. "The brunette sitting alone in that booth, she's been checking you out all night, buddy."
Casey furrowed his brows, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder to see, indeed, an incredibly attractive brunette, with her own tumbler of an amber liquid, averting her gaze from him. The shadow of a smile appeared on Casey's lips and something to the tune of iYou've still got it, Johnny/i, passed through his thought process. He turned back to the bartender and was careful of his volume when he asked, "You know what she's drinking?"
"Scotch, neat." The bartender responded and Casey nodded. Glancing once more carefully at the brunette, who gave him an encouraging smile that time, he leaned a little closer to the bartender.
"When she's done... get her another. From me."
The bartender smiled and nodded knowingly, moving away to ready another glass for her. Casey only smirked to himself as he nursed his own scotch, now all too aware of the brunette's eyes on him. He must've been very deep into his own reverie to not notice her staring at him before, and decided that this one (okay maybe one more with the lady...) would be his last. It wasn't much longer before Casey saw the bartender hand the glass to the waitress, who took it to the brunette. He watched from the corner of his eye as she looked at it and then looked at him, raising it to him briefly. Casey raised his own glass to her and they both sipped at the same time, coy smiles on both their faces.
John Casey knew he should've stopped right there and walked out of the bar, back to his hotel room. He knew he should've just gone back there, gone over the surveillance of Bartowski's room (just in case), or just gotten into his pajamas and gone to bed. But before he knew, the brunette was sliding into the stool next to him on the bar, turning a warm smile and blue eyes on him.
And if anything, John Casey was a sucker for dark hair and bright eyes.
"Robin." The woman said, extending a slender hand and Casey nodded, shaking it politely.
"John. It's a pleasure, Robin." He responded, trying his damn hardest to keep the gruff tone he'd become known for away from his voice. Robin only seemed to smile curiously at him as she sipped her own scotch. Casey took a sip of his own drink before adding, "It's always nice to see a woman enjoying a fine drink."
Robin seemed to smirk a little at him, hiding her smile behind her tumbler. "It's a cold night. Seemed like the only drink suitable to warm me up."
Casey actually chuckled, glancing at the windows with their small piles of white building on their sills and then back at Robin. Raising his glass for the second time that night, he nodded. "I'll drink to that sentiment."
"Not used to the cold, John?" Robin asked and Casey grunted in an amused fashion, shrugging.
"Not lately. I don't live on the East Coast anymore."
"Where do you live, then?" Robin responded, clearly intrigued. "And what brings you to cold and snowy Manhattan?"
"Los Angeles. And what else? Business." Casey replied and Robin nodded. And their conversation continued like that. Robin gradually eased up as the scotch was poured freely, although unbeknownst to her Casey stopped after his third glass. They discovered their love of firearms was indeed in common, discussing the review of the latest Taurus PT709 handgun in the latest issue of Guns and Ammo. Robin discussed far more than Casey did (he found the fact that she was Canadian, although a recent dual citizen, amusing and endearing), but that was merely because she was much more drunk than he was. She had three more scotches before her hand found Casey's, caressing it tenderly.
"So John. Do you have a warm place to stay tonight?" She asked and Casey smiled, leaning closer to her, foreheads barely grazing.
"I do. Would you like to join me there?" He asked softly and Robin, eyes hazy and cheeks rosy from the alcohol, nodded gently. "I would very much like that," she said in a soft, husky voice, her hands going for the lapels of his jacket. Casey merely dug out his wallet and paid for both his and her drinks, leaving an ample tip for the bartender as well, before helping Robin down from her stool. She was taller than he would've guessed, but the fact was that he ishould've/i guessed and therefore had skipped something vital in determining her threat level. Which, at the moment, was sub-Arctic low. Casey couldn't deny the company of a beautiful and clearly intoxicated woman, when it had been far too long since he'd last seen Agent Forrest.
Casey guided Robin to the coat rack and she picked out her coat, which Casey chivalrously took and helped her put on and button. As the two bundled up, Robin carefully slid her arm in the crook of Casey's elbow and he led her towards the door before she stopped short. He furrowed his brow looking at her, sure she'd forgotten something when he noticed her gazing upward. Confusion deepening, he followed her gaze and noticed the sprig of green leaves and white flowers hanging above their heads. Casey groaned as inaudibly as he could muster.
"Mistletoe, John," Robin smiled, moving closer to him and Casey smiled down at her, nodding softly. "That it is," he said softly and she leaned upward, planting a gentle and rather chaste (considering just how drunk she was) kiss on him. Casey pulled her nearer, kissing back softly before pulling away enough to press his lips near her ear.
"My hotel isn't far," he told her and Robin nodded, replacing her arm in the crook of his elbow. Casey pulled her closely to help guide her and the pair left, venturing out into the cold and slushy New York snow.
When she stumbles into his hotel room, he is careful to turn off all offending electronics and hide weapons and gear as their bodies tangle. A well placed kick here, moving her body to press against the closet doors, effectively shutting them as he leans into her, kissing feverishly. Discarded clothes covered manila file folders and she's wearing the most charming red bra and panties set he'd ever laid eyes on. Until it finds it's new home: the hotel room floor.
The sun is shining Christmas Day, ice glinting in the windows and light spilling from beneath hotel blackout curtains. Casey is already showering after his morning work out in the hotel's gym, while Robin is still curled, naked and languid, beneath the warmth of the covers. She stirs as water continues to run, stretching her arms above her head like a pleased cat. A pleased cat not quite ready to end this rather unexpected meeting. So, as quietly as she can muster, she slips from beneath the covers and gathers her underwear, remembering the delight in his blue eyes when it'd been revealed. Snaking her arms through the straps of her bra and wriggling into her panties again, she was eager to surprise the man and continue what they'd started. Excited, Robin laid herself as sensuously as she could across the bed, after trying about four different positions - finally settling on the good old bended knee and holding her head in her hand, laying on her side. The water shut off and she smiled to, no doubt, the man about to come out from the bathroom.
That was until she heard the main door knob unlock and the knob turn. A blush crept up her cheeks and she attempted to hide her face before the intruder fully came in.
"Hey, Casey, Beckman got us a flight back early -- oh my god!" The intruder turned out to be a leaner man with dark curly hair, roughly the same height as John, frozen in his spot in front of the bed. Robin buried her face in her pillow and John stalked out of the bathroom, growling.
"I'm so sorry, oh my god -- oh my god!" The other man sputtered before turning back and retreating as quickly as he could. Robin was far too embarrassed to move and John simply moved around the room, robe tied tight around his waist, handing her back her clothes. He was not anything if not polite, after all.
Chuck tried desperately to scrub the image from his mind. He cursed his own eidetic memory loudly, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Only then did he feel some iota of comfort, enough for him to get across the hall safely to his (and Sarah's) room and shove the keycard into the reader. It beeped pleasantly and he shoved himself inside, closing the door with a quick slam behind him. He leaned against the door, breathing heavily and eyes squeezed shut as tightly as he could muster.
"Chuck, what is it?" Sarah wandered in from their own bathroom, an image eerily reflecting that of her older partner - a robe cinched tightly around her waist, long blonde hair tied and still wet on her head. "You look sick. Are you okay?"
Chuck breathed as deeply as his rolling stomach would allow, opening his eyes to the sight of Sarah Walker and her concerned look facing him. He swallowed thickly, glancing over his shoulder as if looking for Casey right behind him. He turned his gaze back to Sarah, gulping again.
"I went to tell Casey about our flight and," he took another breath, as if bracing himself to speak his own terrifying and utterly disgusting theory.
"Sarah, I think Casey got a hooker for Christmas."