Title: Apple (The Original Sin Remix)
Author: Green Owl
Pairing: John + Ellie JELLIE!
Word Count: 3,300
Timeline: Post-"Chuck Vs. The Sandworm"
Rating: PG-13 (Ellie shows a lot of skin and Casey reveals a bit of a shoe fetish)
Disclaimer: I do not own or buy/sell/process this mindcrack...I just abuse the hell out of it.
Summary: Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...
Author's Notes: This plot bunny came at me after I watched "Chuck Vs. The Nemesis" - I wanted to play with the idea of an apple again, but I had already written a piece with that title, so here is the remix. Dedicated to my partners-in-crime and fellow JELLIE H0!Nutz, steplianna and tinadoll.
"Roast beef?! She said she would bring roast beef? Chuck, dude, you can't be serious!"
Temple…?
"Hey, you know I wouldn't lie about something this important, Morgan."
Or mouth?
"I believe you, you know I do. But this now presents a problem."
Grrr…
John Casey grimaced as he attempted to detach himself from the utter inanity of the Bartowski-Grimes Sandwich Debate – Round II – by pondering the different ways he could commit suicide.
To his left lay a Glock 9mm pistol.
To his right lay a Savage-Springfield 67H shotgun.
Both were first-rate firearms capable of doing massive amounts of damage to the human body.
He hadn't yet reached the point of requiring an intervention, but if he had to listen to another hour of this absurd back-and-forth between Frito Bugger and Spam Gangrene, he pretty sure that he was going to dash off a very quick "Goodbye, cruel world! P.S. - Will someone please take care of my bonsai trees?" memo, submit it to his superiors, and use one of the government-issued weapons for his own private purposes.
"Oh? How so?"
9mm shot to the head would enter my cranium, pass through both cerebral hemispheres and end the agony – quick, clean, efficient.
"I don't know how to tell you this, buddy, but…I don't know if I can let you date someone who would be so untrustworthy as to bring roast beef to a desert island."
Alternately, put the 12 gauge in my mouth, pull the trigger and simultaneously evacuate my brains and turn the top of my head into a flowerpot – zero chance of returning to duty.
"Morgan, it's just a sandwich…"
The Glock would make less of a mess.
"It's not just a sandwich – it is a proven litmus test of her character! If there's roast beef, then there's automatically going to be horseradish and horseradish consumption is a surefire sign of a girl who will chew a man up and spit him out before he even gets a chance to cop a feel. It's an omen, my friend, a bad one. We're talking triple-sixes, and I'm not just giving a shout-out to the multiple mammaries of Eccentrica Gallumbits. I'm sorry, Chuck, but I don't think this thing between you and Sarah is meant to last."
Casey almost missed the sound of someone knocking on his front door as he put down the can of tuna and checked to see if the safety was off on his Glock.
He glanced at the feed from the entry's camera and his eyebrows shot up.
She was standing on his doorstep with a hell of a lot of her suntanned "wish-they-all-could-be-California-girls" skin on display and something large, round and orange dangling from her hand.
He paused for a moment, unsure of what to do.
He couldn't pretend he wasn't home – she'd seen him enter his apartment when he and Chuck had returned from their mission.
He couldn't pretend he'd already gone to bed – his lights were on.
He couldn't shoot her – too many witnesses.
Better just bite the bullet and find out what she wants.
Casey took off his headphones and took a moment to cleanse his mind of the auditory violation of the last ten minutes before he crossed to the door and opened it to find his mark's smoking-hot sister standing there wearing a bandeau and a micro-mini skirt made of nude spandex, sky-high poison green heels, and not much else.
He took an infinitesimal step back, disguising his pretty visceral response to her costume with a placid smile. "This is an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you, Miss Bartowski… or should I say 'Eve'?"
"Trick or treat!" she replied cheerily by the way of greeting as she jiggled a ridiculous little pumpkin-shaped bucket at him.
Treat, indeed.
The spandex was decorated in fake foliage and little rubber garter snakes, which gave her some coverage, but Casey couldn't believe Woodcomb was willing to let her out of the house while she was dolled up in that wet dream of a costume.
If it were up to him, garments like those would spend most of their time languishing on the bedroom floor while he and the girl he just peeled out of them dreamed up at least nineteen new-fangled and naughty ways to redefine Original Sin.
Of course, he'd insist that she keep her shoes on. He liked it when a woman wore her stilettos to bed – it added a hint of danger, the thought that she could injure him at any time with one well-aimed stomp.
Casey risked a quick glance at her feet and swallowed hard.
Ellie Bartowski's strappy little spiked sandals looked like they had more than six combined inches' worth of potential peril.
Oh, yeah, those shoes would stay on for a very, very long time.
He shook his head and focused his eyes on hers because looking anywhere else would be completely inappropriate. "Sorry, 'fraid I'm all out of candy."
"Too bad," she said with a mock pout while she dug into the bucket and came up with an object which she presented to him. "Trick it is!"
In the center of her palm lay a piece of gorgeous, perfect red delicious temptation.
Casey looked down at the apple and then up at her face, thankful that his robe disguised the interest that was growing in the general vicinity of his groin.
It had been a very long time since Chechnya.
"Let me guess – there's a razor blade hidden inside?"
"No!" she said, her eyes dancing. "A little less diabolical, a little more Disney."
He mentally groped for a quip and came across a fleeting memory of his mother taking him to see Snow White as a child. "Is this a 'one bite and all my dreams will come true' situation?"
"Just a small, silly attempt to get you to join in the fun, 'my pet'," she replied, her natural warmth and sweetness ruining her attempt to imitate the Evil Queen's cackle.
Casey allowed himself a rueful smile as he crossed his arms leaned against the doorjamb. "Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am, but my mom told me never to take candy or fruit from strangers."
"But I'm not a stranger… I'm the woman who traded her top-secret guacamole ingredient for your Aunt Rosemary's quiche recipe, remember?" Ellie said, her soft, luminous, kohl-rimmed eyes giving him a teasing little glance as she held the apple up to her face and winked knowingly.
"Oh, I remember all right," he countered, playing along with her little game even as he questioned why she was being so flirtatious. "How could I possibly forget? You made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
"Duly noted – black truffle macaroni and cheese is John Casey's kryptonite!" Ellie proclaimed as she shimmied her shoulders and teetered a little on her heels. "Oooh! Guess I had a little too much wine…"
"You want to come in and sit down for a minute?" Casey asked as he reached out a quick hand to steady her.
He could've kicked himself the moment he said it. Yes, he was extremely concerned for her being able to maintain her balance in those precarious shoes, but his entire surveillance set-up was inside – how was he going to explain all of that equipment and not look like some kind of stalker or hi-tech serial killer?
He quickly scanned the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of her man, but Awesome was nowhere in sight.
"I'm all right! I can sit down on the edge of the fountain if I get too woozy," Ellie replied, making a waving motion with her hand as she shook her head.
"You might fall in," Casey cautioned, watching as one of the inebriated partygoers yelp in surprise as she slipped backwards from her perch into the small tiled pool.
"Look at you, all considerate and caring," she said, beaming at him as she balanced herself. "It is an absolute crime that a fine man like you is sitting all alone in your apartment on a night like tonight – you must join in with the revelry!"
"I wasn't aware I was invited," he answered as he allowed himself a moment to covertly admire the highly-toned state of her body.
Looks like she works out regularly – wonder how she'd look holding a gun…
"It's a party for the complex, John," she clarified, snapping him out of his perusal of her perfect little belly button as she gestured to the Halloween-themed festivities going on behind her. "No invitations, no snobby guest lists, just people stopping by, having some dip, having a drink – you know – mingling."
Casey's mouth twisted as he finally spied His Awesomeness prancing around in his flesh-colored, fig leaf-encrusted BVDs. "Don't know if I'm dressed for the kind of shindig you're throwing, Miss Bartowski."
Ellie grinned and then gave him a somewhat exasperated look. "My brother is running around as the back end of a sandworm. I'm sure you can figure out something to wear."
"Sorry, but I lost my Grumpy costume in the move. What you see is what you get," he explained, gesturing to his robe and pajamas.
"Not bad for a start," she said, scrunching her nose as she eyed him. "Those pajamas remind me of something but I can't for the life of me think of what that something is…"
She shook her head and he caught her again as she started to list.
"You should really sit down," he said, holding her up by both of her elbows.
"Only if you put on your dancing shoes and join in the fun," she replied. Her head lolled a bit as she looked up at him. "Golly, you're a tall man, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Casey replied, looking down at her, more than a little mesmerized by the graceful curve of her lips.
"It's a good thing you lost the Grumpy costume," she declared, peering back at him as she regained her equilibrium.
"Why's that?" he asked, knowing she was good to go on her heels again, but not wanting to stop smelling the subtle scent of her strawberry shampoo.
"Grumpy was short," she explained in a patient, convincing tone that the slightly inebriated were wont to adopt. "You are not short. In fact, you are the complete opposite of short. Therefore you can't be Grumpy, can you?"
"Can't resist that logic," Casey said, considering her words as he marveled at the cute shape of her chin.
"And you can't resist the allure of my secret weapon!" she taunted, waving the apple under his nose. "I will have you know that this is one of the most marvelous specimens ever grown in the history of fruit: the Baldwin semi-dwarf. Holds its shape beautifully during baking and produces some of the most superlative cider on the North American continent."
Casey's eyes became heavy-lidded as he contemplated mating the apple with the last of the jar of Naturally More that languished in his cupboard. He'd run out of jelly two days ago and hadn't yet made a grocery run this week. Damn, that would taste so good skinned, cored, sliced and slathered with peanut butter…
"Come on, John," Ellie cooed, playing her part of Biblical temptress to the hilt as she backed up out of his arms and crooked her finger, turning the apple slowly this way and that. "You know you want to…"
Coming out of the mouth of any other woman, he would have taken those words would as an outright invitation for him to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his bedroom, but Casey felt something else in addition to the masculine interest that was tugging at his groin.
He expected the reaction below his belt, but the twinge in his chest disturbed him. He briefly wondered if he should make a mental note to get an electrocardiogram at his next physical – wouldn't do to drop dead of a heart attack before completing the mission – but dismissed the thought as he realized what was happening.
Buried under layers of skin, muscle and bone, it was there: a faint, but potent presence - a powerful protective streak that was growing with every moment he passed in her company, like some kind of crippling cancerous malignancy that was feeding on his cold, detached cynicism and leaving something warm, fuzzy and unfamiliar in its place.
"Sure you're not just a tad enticed?" Ellie cajoled, widening her eyes and making an "O" with her lips as she took another step back and held the apple up higher.
Casey gave her his quarter-smile as he shook his head, idly wondering if Woodcomb knew what a lucky bastard he was to have such a sweet, sassy lady like her for his woman.
It was more than likely that he did. For all that the man came off as a cross between a loveable Golden Retriever and a surfer dude with barely enough neurons firing to make a sentence, he knew Awesome's I.Q. was right up there with his girl's. Morons did not become doctors.
Ellie, not to be deterred in weaving her harmless spell of fruit-centered seduction, closed her eyes and took a deep sniff of the firm red skin. "Mmmm, it smells so good. Sure you're not even the teensiest bit tempted?"
Casey grinned at her persistence, very thankful that his inner monologue was in excellent working order. Oh, I'm tempted, all right…and what I really want is completely off-limits due to a number of factors, the primary one being that it's already spoken for.
Right on cue, Awesome appeared and wrapped an arm around Ellie's waist, snuggling her back against his chest. "Hey, babe, you finally got our reclusive neighbor to come out and play?"
"No! He's got his Mr. Grumpy-Grinch Pants on and is refusing any and all overtures. I even tried the Baldwin, but he's just not biting," she replied, trying to glower at Casey but failing miserably because it just made her look all the more adorable.
"Oh, man, you rejected the Baldwin?" Awesome said, shaking his perfectly coiffed blonde head. "Harsh, John, way harsh! You're gonna break my girl's heart if you go on refusing her produce like that."
Ellie seconded Devon's opinion by giving Casey a piteous little nod as she looked at him with "wounded" eyes.
Casey knew it was just an act, but he bit his tongue and tasted blood all the same.
"The prognosis in serious cases like these is not good, babe," Devon advised as he cuddled Ellie closer and kissed her temple. "What say you stop pestering John and get back to the party?"
"She's not pestering me," Casey said quickly, but neither of them appeared to have heard him. He silently cursed the muscle that involuntarily twitched in his jaw as he watched them turn to leave.
"Oh, wait, I forgot something!" Ellie said, shaking off Devon's hand. "I'll be right with you, honey!"
"Okay, babe! But remember, we're bobbing for apples in a few," Devon reminded her as he shrugged and rejoined the festivities.
Casey put on his best poker face as Ellie moved towards him, more than a little wary of the warm rush of tranquility he felt as she smiled.
All possible permutations of myths associated with apples presented themselves, much like he imagined the "flash" must be for Chuck…Adam and Eve and their eventual fall from grace…Eris, the Goddess of Discord and the originating incident that provoked the Trojan War…Hippomenes distracting Atalanta during her footrace…the twelve labors of Hercules.
"This really was for you," Ellie murmured as she placed the apple in his hand and curled his fingers around it with her own. "I just wanted an excuse for you to try it – you know, get your opinion on the flavor and all."
"That I can do right now," Casey said, taking a bite. The sweet, juicy, firm texture of the apple's flesh went a long way towards canceling out the protein aftertaste of the tuna and he had to stifle a deep groan as the sweet, subacidic flavor flooded his tastebuds.
"It's good?" Ellie asked, clasping her hands under her chin and rolling up on her toes.
Casey nodded and took a second bite. "Mmmm…yeah."
"Yeah?" she pressed.
"Oh yeah!" he repeated, rotated the apple and took another massive bite, looking forward to the fourth, which would be slathered with a lot of peanut butter.
"Good, because I have an entire bag's worth more at home!" she said, clapping her hands silently and grinning at him. "I'll be making a pie out of them on Sunday…should I set a place for you at my table?"
Casey tore his attention from the apple and applied it to the gunmetal grey – his favorite color – of her eyes, glowing in the lamplight. "Oh, you play dirty, ma'am, don't you?"
"I'll take that as a yes," she said, preening and blushing a little. "Dinner's at seven. Don't be late."
"I'll be there," he vowed, nodding with conviction.
"Good," she declared, turning to leave.
"Miss Bartowski?" Casey called out after her.
"Yes?" Ellie replied, looking at him over her shoulder.
"Would it be too presumptuous to request you make enough for seconds?" he asked hopefully.
She gave him a soft, melting smile and said, "John, for you, I'd make thirds."
Great, just great…that's all I need! Casey thought, feeling a churning in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with indigestion as he watched her walk away.
Right now he wanted nothing more than to keep the evils of the world from ever touching her, to make sure that nothing ever happened to take the light from her eyes or the smile from her lips.
She was the quintessential girl-next-door, the embodiment of feminine grace and steel-magnolia strength. She was innocent, she was playful, she was gentle and friendly, always trying to feed him and fuss over him, always going out of her way to make him feel included. They had a saying in the Corps for a girl like that: "tits all around".
"You find a girl like that, you don't let her get away and you don't ever treat her like a tramp – you marry her," he used to tell his junior officers during the brief moments of alcohol-soaked down time they managed to squeeze in between missions.
"So why ain't you married, sir?" a rednecked lieutenant from Tennessee once had the gumption to ask in a moment of tequila-flavored liquid courage.
"Never found one for myself," he had answered with a shrug. "Too busy saving the world."
He was in trouble. Big time.
He already lusted after her cooking, but if he wasn't careful, he would be in serious danger of developing a massive jones for the woman herself.
Casey licked a bit of apple juice from the back of his hand as he entered his apartment, locking the door behind him. He got the peanut butter and a knife from his kitchen and reviewed his options.
The bonsai trees beckoned, his guns could stand to be cleaned again and there was always PT that he could be doing, but none of them would be enough to counteract the potent pull of Chuck Bartowski's domestic goddess of a sister.
He eyed the headphones with distaste and sighed.
Chin up, soldier, he thought as he sat down in his chair and steeled himself for the duty at hand. You did the crime, now you get to do the time.
"…But you use Arby's horseradish when you get their Large Roast Beef – how is that any different?"
Oh, no…
"It's totally separate and distinct! Arby's peddles "Horsey" sauce and the mouth-burning properties of said condiment are entirely negated by the nuclear cheddar cheese that accompanies the curly fries – "
Not again…
(The End)