Disclaimer: I do not buy/sell/own this mindcrack, I just abuse the hell out of it.
Seven days later, he was in the middle of finishing up a report in the Castle when the text message came in: "Help!"
John flipped open his phone and dialed the number.
It picked up after one ring.
"John?" Ellie's voice sounded a little harried and stressed.
"Yeah. What's goin' on?" he asked, checking his watch.
"I forgot to get candles."
"Candles?"
"For the jack o' lanterns."
"Oh, yeah…I'm on my way home from the Buy More. What kind do you need?" he asked, tearing off a sheet of notepaper.
"I think Large Mart has six-packs of mini-pillars on sale. Can you get me one of those?"
"Sure. Anything else?"
"Um, matches? Long enough to light the candles without burning my fingers or catching my hair on fire?"
"Okay, got it. What else?"
"Um, let me think…I have the lady fingers, I have the plastic monkey heads with the detachable scalps, the tapioca pudding, the apples for bobbing, the dry ice for the cauldron…"
John closed his eyes and fiddled with his pen, letting the soft sound of her inner monologue on broadcast wash over him and soothe away the tension from the mission they'd just completed. Considering how much his buddies in the business liked to bitch about how forgetful women were and how much they hated all that domesticity shit, he was surprised to realize how relaxing he found it.
Or maybe it was just Ellie that he found relaxing. She's started calling him for the emergency supermarket runs more and more this past year, claiming that Chuck had become too absentminded for her to leave the last-minute pick-ups to him anymore. Nowadays there wasn't a major holiday that didn't bring an eleventh-hour call or text message from her, and he spent more time than he'd like to admit punishing himself with extra PT every time he chose to come to her rescue and this latest call was going to give him at least one more mile each day this week, as well as an extra fifty push-ups and pull-ups.
Sick thing was, he welcomed the discipline and the pain because she'd commented on what great shape he was in more than once this past summer.
Should change my middle name from "Adams" to "Masochistic"…
"So, we've got candles, matches, red Kool-Aid and jelly worms for 'bug juice' – anything else?" he asked, reading off of the piece of paper.
"Nope, that's it," she answered.
"See you in an hour," he said.
"Thanks, John," she sighed. "You know you're my hero, right?"
"My pleasure," he murmured before he hung up and smacked the phone against his forehead.
He hadn't meant for his bedroom voice to come out just then, but it had.
Now he was going to have to deal with a whole new round of tension when he saw her.
He used it before by accident and discovered that her body had this unnerving penchant for responding quite favorably to the pitch and timbre of that tone.
The first time it had happened, he'd inadvertently used it when he was in the middle of enjoying a taste test of her ambrosia salad at the Fourth of July party. He'd been more than a little shocked to see her pupils dilate as she took a deep breath and blushed to the roots of her hair.
He'd wondered if it had been a one-time thing, but further experimentation had proved him wrong.
They'd been cleaning up after dinner one Sunday night in the middle of September and he'd tried it again. She'd dropped the dishtowel and turned towards him, her accelerated breathing causing her breasts to push against her shirt and the apron she was wearing as she instinctively gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and looked at him with wide, awakened eyes.
There had been one split second during which he suspected that she'd been prepared to tackle him to the floor and do hot, naughty and unspeakable things to his body if he so much as moved a muscle.
Morgan, bless his little hairy little self, had saved the day by walking into the kitchen in search of more dessert.
John had been very careful not to use that tone with her since then, but all of his watchfulness was for naught because here he'd gone and done it again.
There was no telling what would happen when he walked in the door, and he found himself praying that Captain Dumbass was there to take the edge off before he arrived.
No such luck.
"Where is everyone?" John asked as he put the bag of groceries on the dining room table and took in the campy decorations that she loved so much.
"Chuck and Sarah went out to see a movie, so they're won't be here for a couple of hours," Ellie answered as she stirred the pot on the stove. "Devon's not going to be home until late. Would you bring the Kool-Aid and the jelly worms in here, please?"
He watched her body language as he entered the kitchen with the requested items. She was moving strangely, her body radiating aggravation and frustration.
Hmmm…
She pursed her lips and blew a bit of hair from her eyes. "He decided to take on another shift tonight, so he'll probably miss the party."
"He didn't tell you?" John guessed.
She shook her head, clearly upset. "He was supposed to be here…to help me set up…to…to…"
He saw it coming, and he didn't run from her when she turned to him and burst into tears, didn't flinch when she pressed on one of his brand new bruises in the process of wrapping her arms around him. He just put his arms around her and held her.
"Look at me," she whispered as she pulled back from him and reached for a paper towel to blow her nose. "One hour until the party starts, I've got a million things to do, I haven't had a chance to get ready, and here I am, wasting time going off on a crying jag for no reason!"
He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that her fiancé was a complete and utter dickhead, but that wasn't what was called for in this situation. "I'd like to help. Can I do anything?"
"But you just got off of work," she protested. "And I made you get me things. It wouldn't be fair now to ask you to stay and help me."
"Screw that," he said, making a face. "You and me, we're friends, right?"
Ellie looked at him as she finished wiping her nose. "I like to think we are."
"Well, okay then. To me, means that we've got each other's back, no questions asked, and that includes helping you out of a bind when you're in one. And it looks like you're in one now, so you tell me what you need."
"I…uh…I need someone to make the bug juice," she said, looking at the bowl on the counter she'd designated for the punch.
"What else?" he prompted.
"Um…" She looked around. "I need someone to put plate up the snack food, and…set up the lady fingers cake, program the stereo to play continuously, make sure there's enough toilet paper and pump soap in the bathroom..."
"That it?"
"That's all I can think of," she said.
John took her by the shoulders, turned her around and walked her to her bedroom. "You, get dressed. Me, I'm going to take care of all of the stuff you listed, then go home and change into my Batman costume. No arguments, okay?"
She gave him a soggy smile. "Okay."
He chucked her under the chin and turned to attend to the tasks at hand.
"Hey, John," she called.
He turned around.
"It's a good choice for you – Batman," she told him in a sweet, solemn, if somewhat sniffly voice. "Sometimes I feel like all I have to do is put up the Bat Signal and there you are, coming to my rescue. You don't have to, but you always do. It…it touches something…inside of me…to know that when I need you, you're there."
He swallowed the ten very inappropriate responses to her words and gave her a brusque, satisfied nod.
Her eyes glittered as she smiled back at him before she closed the door.
Thank God I've got shit to get done, he told himself as he made his way to the stereo and started loading the compact discs. One more smile like that from her and screw this mission, I'm breaking down her door…
