Series Title: The Masquerade
Chapter Title: The Aftermath - Agony or Ecstasy
Author: jellie_rayneluv
Beta Reader: brandywine00
Rating: PG 13 to R-ish. No explicit content.
Spoilers: none that I know of. Maybe season two finale, as it never happened in my : I don't own anything, except some OCs that may present themselves.
Authors Note: John's POV. He wakes up a few hours "after the loving" and is conflicted over his actions.
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It was four a.m. in Los Angeles. As most of the city's pretty party people were stumbling into their beds, John Casey was waking up.
Lying on his back, he could feel a warm, lush, womanly body pressed against him. His eyes fluttered open and he stared up into the darkness. Taking a few deep breaths, he allowed himself to bask in the afterglow lingering in the recesses of his mind.
"Ellie," he sighed in relief to discover that he had not dreamt the encounter between them. It had been very real, as evidenced by the beautiful enchantress sleeping peacefully at his side. He laughed quietly as he also realized that he had managed to not wake up hand-cuffed and alone in the bed, gagged and wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.
He raised his head and shoulders up from his pillow as much as he could without disturbing her. His eyes had adjusted to the dark room enough to see her in the dim light that was creeping in from the balcony. She was curled into the fetal position, splayed partially across his chest. One shapely long leg was entwined in his and her dark hair covered her face like a blanket, obscuring his view of her countenance.
He carefully smoothed away the offending locks with the back of his hand so he could study her. She was breathtaking, even in repose. Her lips were parted slightly and her eyelids, trimmed in dark, lush lashes fluttered as she dreamed. He wondered if she was dreaming of him.
She looked so serene, so innocent. He ran his fingertips across her full rosy lips, fighting back his desire to kiss her, as his touch brought forth a moan from his sleeping beauty. But he didn't want to wake her. He was content just watching her in this unguarded moment , enjoying the contact of their bodies.
He could feel the steady strum of her heartbeat against his chest and it soothed him. Every once in a while, her hand would rub, involuntarily, against his chest, or her foot would glide up and down against his knees. He knew it was not purposeful, but he didn't care. He liked the way Ellie touched him, even in sleep.
He could have stayed there for hours watching her. Giving her body butterfly light touches. Enjoying the calmness of this moment. But it was not to be, as he felt the 'call of nature.' He carefully extricated himself from Ellie and padded into the bath room.
He splashed some water on his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. There should have been a very happy guy staring back at him ... but something was amiss. Where there should have been brightness in his eyes, there was darkness. Guilt. Doubt. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and shook his head.
"What is wrong with you?" he growled at his mirror image. No answer was forthcoming.
He needed to get out of his funk, deciding the best course of action would be a drink and a cigar. If he could have some Neil Diamond playing in the background, the scene would be perfect for contemplation.
John went back out to the bedroom and quietly searched his bag for the things he needed. He pulled on his pajama bottoms and robe, deciding to leave the shirt on the bed for Ellie, in case she woke up. As he tossed the silk shirt on the bed, Ellie stirred in her sleep, rolling over to clutch his pillow closer to her and scooting over to 'his' spot.
John smiled as he knelt beside the bed. He wanted to touch her, but just held his hand over her skin, hovering so close as he traced the outline of her body. She whispered in her sleep and his heart skipped a beat.
"Love you, John." She reached out to him in her sleep. "Don't go."
He kissed her bare shoulder and pulled the sheet up to cover her. "Shhh. I love you too, darlin'." He swept her hair back from her face once more. "Go back to sleep now. I'll be right here," he vowed even as he got up and left her side.
He poured himself a scotch and gathered up his smoking supplies. Just as he was about to step out the French doors to the balcony, Ellie spoke out again in her sleep. If the first three words she had murmured made his heart falter, these three words turned his blood to ice.
"Who are you?"
He froze midstep, turning to study the woman who slept peacefully, even if her mind did not. "Who am I? Now, there's a question for the ages," John told the early morning wind as he returned to his original path, stepping out to greet the coming dawn.
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John was reeling as he stumbled out onto the balcony. He felt like he had just been sucker-punched. His chest tightened, feeling like someone had put his heart in a vice and was slowly tightening the screws.
He set his glass down on the railing with shaking hands. His ashtray and cigar box were unceremoniously tossed onto the small table in the corner, along with three more tiny bottles of scotch that he'd stashed in the pocket of his robe.
He gripped the edge of the balcony, so tight his knuckles turned white, as Ellie's question reverberated in his mind. "Who are you? Who are you?" On and on it went. John reckoned that Poe had it right when he wrote about the 'tolling of the bells, of the bells, bells, bells.' A thing like that gets stuck in your mind, it could make you a little crazy.
As he gazed, unseeing, at the hotel grounds, his thoughts turned inward to try to find an acceptable answer to that question.
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Who am I? Colonel John W. Casey. Army Ranger, NSA agent.
What Am I? A burn-out, some would say. A spy. Trained assassin ... killer. Ruthless. Calculating. I am darkness, death and destruction. I am secrets and lies.
People think I'm made of steel. Stone cold. Emotionless ... except for anger. Never forget the anger. But I'm not a machine, I am a man. I do have feelings. I hide them well. Maybe too well.
I am a soldier. I follow orders. I remove obstacles. Threats. Traitors. I am efficient at my tasks. I don't always agree with everything that's asked of me, but it's for the 'greater good.' That is my creed.
I never wanted more than that.
Until her.
Ellie.
She makes me want for more out of life. To be more. Can I be more? God, I want to try for her sake.
Can she understand the things I've done? The things I've had to do to protect and defend our country? Could she even imagine? Would she see a man of principle who is doing his duty, or a monster?
Who is she? Doctor Eleanor Faye Bartowski. Good neighbor. All American Girl.
What is she? She is sweetness and light. The quintessential girl next door. America, baseball and apple pie. She is a dream, I never knew I had.
She is open and honest. She wears her heart on her sleeve. A friend to all. Warm. is an optimist, seeing the good in everything. Even in me.
She is a healer. Nurturer. She saves lives, she doesn't take them. 'Do no harm.' That is her creed.
Can we work around these differences? Differences that she doesn't even know exist between us. Relationships are supposed to be built on love, respect and trust. Aren't they?
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John downed his scotch in one gulp and winced at the burn, but poured another nonetheless. Lighting up one of his best 'Cubans' he returned to his musings.
Do I love her? God help me, yes I do.
Do I respect her? Of course, I do.
Do I trust her? Undoubtedly, I do.
But, I know everything about her. Every last detail of her life. All those things: love, respect, and trust come so easily where she is concerned.
She, on the other hand, only thinks she knows me. She's never even met the real me. But then again, maybe she does suspect something ... deep down.
Isn't that why her subconscious brain asked that question in the first place? Her mind is sorting through events; things she's seen or heard that her conscious mind has yet to recall.
AMd when she does figure it out, what then? Will she stay or go?
She will figure it out. She's a smart one, Ellie. No push-over there. So do I tell her first? Or let her discover it on her own, and hope the fallout isn't too bad?
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John rubbed his face roughly with his hands, looking up at the sky ... as if there were answers there. There weren't. He rubbed his temples. He could feel a headache coming on as he thought of another problem. Danger. He could be putting Ellie in more danger than she already was.
Well, John. Real bang up job you've done with this one.
Couldn't I have thought of that before taking her to bed? Before she got so far under my skin that there's no removing her?
Before I made her a potential pawn in these spy games ... leverage to be used against me and the Intersect.
I've been tortured. Been to the brink of hell and back again. I survived. I'm trained for that. Conditioned. She's not. She is strong, yes. But not like that. How long would she last? Not long.
And if someone kept on hurting her long after she told what she knew, or they figured out she really didn't know anything? If someone put his hands on her, cut her, maimed her, defiled her ... God, stop thinking about that!
If something were to happen to Ellie because of me ... I don't think I'd recover from that. There'd be a bloodbath to be sure. A lot of dead bad guys. Killed with extreme prejudice. I'd enjoy that.
Then what? I'd be an empty shell, again. Much worse this time. No coming back. Write a letter to my mother, say my goodbyes ... then so long Johnny boy.
John tried to silence his brain; to stop all these now morbid thoughts from invading his mind.
He should be reflecting on how lucky he was that a quality woman like Ellie Bartowski would even notice a man like him. He tried to wrap his brain around that idea, but was finding it difficult, so he stopped thinking at all.
He silenced the voice in his head and stood like a sentinel, keeping a watch of the grounds below him, un-shed tears pooling in his deep blue eyes.
And that is how Ellie found him.