Stymied

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Ellie arrived home early in the evening with a couple of hours to get ready for her dinner guests. With an excitement that she realized had been lacking in her life lately, she turned the stove on for pre-heating and began to grab ingredients. This was going to be a fabulous dinner, she enthused to herself as she checked the pork that had been in a crockpot all day. Casey would fall head-over-heels for Magritte – what man wouldn't? – and Ellie would talk to Devon and get things straightened out once and for all. And that should raise enough barriers between them; That Man would be dating her friend, she herself would be engaged, and her issues with Devon would be resolved. Surely all of that together would work to let her mind finally take control of her body and force it to behave. Surely.

"This is going to work," she whispered confidently to herself as she popped into the oven the bread that had risen overnight.

A few minutes before seven, the doorbell rang and Ellie answered it, as no one else had arrived yet. Magritte entered, dressed to kill and carrying a bottle of wine. Ellie put it to chill while Magritte leaned on the counter.

"So tell me again about this guy," she demanded while Ellie went back to work.

"I told you he works at the Buy More, right?" Ellie responded. Magritte nodded while she adjusted the skimpy top she wore. It made the most it possibly could of her smallish amount of cleavage. "So his career definitely won't take precedence over you," Ellie smiled over her shoulder. Secretly, his job was the main thing Ellie kept reminding herself of when she tried to add to the 'con' side of her pro/con list regarding John Casey. Magritte, however, seemed taken with the idea that she'd be his number one priority, and nodded.

"He's kind of quiet, so he won't spend all your dates talking about himself. But he's very sweet. I get the idea he's pretty conservative, but you know those traditional guys." Ellie straightened from the stove top. "Underneath, they're tigers."

"Huh." Magritte looked unconvinced about that. "I'm not so sure. Sometimes stuffy is just stuffy, all the way down."

'Stuffy' was definitely not how Ellie would choose to describe John. A tall dark hunk of wickedness that made her want to play with fire? Oh, yeah. Stuffy ... no.

"Uh, I need to change," she said hastily. "Pull that out of the oven when the timer dings, will you?"

Magritte nodded, and Ellie escaped to her bedroom. She'd laid out a conservative grey sweater and pants to wear. She looked at the ensemble now and wrinkled her nose, comparing it to the gauzy, midriff-baring blouse and low-slung, clingy black pants her friend sported back in the kitchen. Ellie was going to look like used dishwater next to Magritte.

"That's the point," she told herself firmly. And pulled the outfit on. She'd done her hair and makeup before she started on the food, and refusing to allow herself more than one quick check in the mirror, she went out to set the table.

The doorbell rang as she was finishing, and it was John because Devon or Chuck would have just walked in. Her pulse skittered a bit and she took a deep breath, trying sternly to control it.

"He's here," she said to Magritte, and grabbed her friend's hand to pull her along to the door. Magritte's protest at this treatment died as the door opened and John Casey stepped through.

"Whoa," Ellie heard Magritte murmur behind her, and fully echoed the sentiment in her mind, though it didn't, thankfully, make it out her frozen lips. She'd seen John Casey in a suit before; had she been blind then? If so, she was making up for it now; she had difficulty tearing her eyes from him. His broad shoulders filled the classic fit of the charcoal-grey suit perfectly. The light sapphire of his shirt and darker marine of his tie picked up the blue of his eyes and turned them into devastating shards of sky. The pants fell flawlessly down his muscled legs.

What was he trying to do, kill her? Ellie resorted to closing her eyes briefly before opening them wide and pasting a hospitable smile on her face.

"John, it's so nice that you could come," she managed. Proud of herself, she moved to take the flowers he offered her. "Thank you, these are lovely." She backed up to clear his view of her friend. "This is Dr. Magritte Gunnarsson. We work together." She left them standing there to fend for themselves, using water for the flowers as an excuse to get away.

From the kitchen, she tried to covertly observe her two targets. John and Magritte had shaken hands. What was going on right at that minute, Ellie wasn't certain; Magritte was standing still with a polite-but-puzzled expression while John walked in a circle around her. He was ... well, he was looking her up and down, assessingly. And when he stopped, facing her again, he gave a nod of approval. A rather obnoxious nod of approval, with his eyebrows raised suggestively.

How odd. Ellie had never seen him do such a thing before; he just had more polish than that, ordinarily. This was not making the best first impression. Magritte cast a questioning look toward the kitchen, and Ellie responded, calling her friend to come help arrange place settings.

Happily, Devon, Chuck and Sarah all arrived in short order. Devon and Chuck changed into evening attire while Ellie busied herself putting out the food and Sarah chatted with John and Magritte. Finally called to the table, everyone settled in with cheerful airs, even Devon and John. Ellie had placed herself and her fiancé at the ends of the table, and Magritte beside Ellie because she didn't know anyone else there. To give John and Magritte the best ease of conversation, she'd put him across from Magritte. This also allowed her to manipulate – pardon, guide – their interactions. Unfortunately, it also meant that John was in the chair to Ellie's left, within easy touching distance. She told herself sternly, though, that she could handle his nearness. She just needed to get his attention focused on her friend.

"Magritte and I were in med school together," she informed John as dishes were being passed. "And then we both got positions where we are now, which was nice. Tell John about yourself, Magritte."

Magritte smiled at the handsome man across from her. But before she could open her mouth, John opened his own.

"That's a really great blouse," he told her. He was smiling more widely than Ellie had ever seen him do, which might have been gratifying if he'd only been staring into her friend's eyes. He wasn't. Instead, his eyes were trained on the cleavage that was generously revealed by the article of clothing he was talking about.

"Thanks," Magritte smiled again, cool and poised. She was rather accustomed to guys ogling her.

"Thank-you," John answered, his tone heavy with meaning.

Well. Ellie took a drink of her wine. John continued to stare at Magritte's chest, and his expression had turned into an outright leer. After a few moments even Magritte shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

This was a side of him Ellie had never seen before, a rather unattractive one. She supposed she'd never really seen him around other women before, except Sarah. But her brother was friends with the guy; he was usually a decent judge of character. Since Stanford, anyway. Ellie purposed to talk to him later, but then nixed that idea when she saw Chuck's expression. His brow was furrowed in Casey's direction, and he seemed worried.

OK, moving on. Maybe John was just ... blown away by Magritte's beauty. Sure, that had to be it.

"Magritte is a doctor, but she also has some interesting hobbies," Ellie enthused. "She's a flight instructor."

John nodded his chin once, politely, but said nothing. At least he was looking at his food now – or he did until Magritte smiled at him yet again, the special sweet-but-sexy look that Ellie knew for a fact had been practiced in front of a mirror. Obviously her friend had gotten over the discomfort his staring had caused. Now, however, he was back to the leering. Ellie didn't understand it; this just wasn't the John she thought she knew.

The butter was passed to him, and after plopping a generous amount onto his warm slice of bread John held it out to Ellie. She took it, trying to avoid his hand as she had with the other dishes that had been passed. She must have fumbled the maneuver somehow, because before he lifted his hand away his fingers slid across hers. Sparks jumped along her nerve endings. Ellie contained her shiver with an effort.

Well, that was just pathetic – here he was behaving like a lecherous old man and she was still struggling not to drool over him. How sad.

"Have you ever been up in a small plane?" Magritte asked John. "It's such a rush, especially if you're the one at the controls."

John shook his head. "Nope," he stated. "I'm anti-airplane. Especially small ones."

Down the table, Ellie saw Sarah's head lift. Magritte's face looked puzzled, as well it might.

"I'm sorry," she asked, seeking clarification, "you're anti-plane? Does that mean you have a fear of flying?"

"No," John answered. "It means I have a moral imperative not to waste this planet's precious resources with silly little pleasure-jaunts that serve no purpose except to, as you put it, give someone a rush."

Chuck and Sarah exchanged silent glances while Magritte sat her wine glass down with a thump. Ellie didn't need to see her face to know its expression, because it said exactly what Ellie was thinking; what the hell?

In over two years of knowing him, Ellie had never got the impression that John was any kind of environmentalist, much less the type militant enough to attack someone over dinner for their un-green activities. Come to think of it, not too long ago he'd driven an older-model Crown Victoria; that thing probably got something like ten miles per gallon.

"I ... see," Magritte said, and there was quiet for a few moments. Ellie slid John a sideways glance. He was tucking into his food, his expression bland. There was no way he didn't know his little rant had gone over like a wet balloon, Ellie reflected. It was almost as if he was doing these odd things deliberately.

A change of subject was definitely called for.

"How was work, sweetie?" Ellie asked Devon, the first words between them that had been spoken since he arrived home. He looked up from his food to smile vaguely down toward her (though not at her).

"Fine, no problems," he said cheerily. And went back to his food.

Thanks, Devon, that was so helpful. Silence again.

"Chuck?" Ellie asked desperately. He grinned over at her, sensing her anxiety.

"Work was interesting," he provided. "We got a whole shipment of blenders that were damaged. Casey was stocking the first ones and kept hearing tinkling sounds, broken stuff shifting around inside the boxes, you know, so he opened one. And then Big Mike was on the phone forever because the company didn't want to accept return shipment; they said something must have happened in transit that they weren't responsible for."

OK, so what passed for interesting at the Buy More wasn't the most scintillating dinner-table conversation. Ellie turned her eyes to Sarah, thought, yogurt shop, and groaned.

Maybe John saw that she was struggling. He made a contribution to the foundering conversation.

"Yeah, that was really obnoxious. I had to stay after an extra thirty minutes. Believe me, the Buy More isn't a place I want to hang around any more than I have to."

Margritte eyed him warily. Which was to be expected, after their last interaction. "Why do you stay in that job, if you dislike it so much?"

John shrugged. "It's pretty much a loser job, yeah, but it's too much work to try to find something else."

Now he was a guy with a 'loser job' who was too lazy to look for something better? Ellie couldn't understand what was happening here, but this was really not how she'd imagined the evening going. Valiantly, though, she gave it another effort.

"What about you, Magritte? I didn't see you today. Anything interesting?"

"Sure," Magritte answered agreeably. "Life in pediatrics is always interesting. Today a little girl with leukemia, who's in the foster care system, asked to come home with me. That was sad, of course, but it felt good to know I'd made that much of a positive impact in her life."

Ellie cheered inwardly. She raised an eyebrow at John, to communicate see what a great person she is? She likes children, and they like her back. Even sick ones. Isn't that sweet?

But John was shaking his head. "And you didn't set her straight?" he asked in an aggressive tone. "Kids in the system have to learn early on that they're stuck with what they've got. Raising false hopes like that, it's cruel."

Now unable to contain her frown, Ellie saw Sarah set her knife into her pork with more force than necessary. She remembered Chuck saying something in the past about his girlfriend not having the greatest childhood. Had she spent some time in foster care?

Magritte was staring at John with a puzzled expression, and Ellie felt the same. First he'd painted her friend as a selfish Earth-hater, and now as an unfeeling taunter of children. What was wrong with him?

Then Magritte looked down at her plate, and John's eyes slid sideways toward Ellie's and he winked at her. Winked. Audaciously, smugly, infuriatingly.

And she knew what he was doing. He was purposely sabotaging her plans! Why would he do that? Didn't he see how this would help them both?

"I myself," That Man proclaimed, stabbing his fork into the salad in front of him, "think we seriously need to consider a one-child policy in this country. Mandatory sterilization might be a really good thing, too. All kinds of people who should never be parents are churning out kids left and right, and they just take up space and resources the rest of us need."

"What?!" Chuck had been keeping it together until this point, but he couldn't keep that exclamation back, and Ellie didn't blame him. Mandatory sterilization – wow, where had he come up with that one? Devon let out a gurgle of surprise, and Magritte just stared. Ellie's lips firmed together in exasperation. OK, so John might not agree with what she was doing, but this seemed a little extreme. Couldn't he have just expressed polite disinterest?

She shifted in her chair, and a second later felt a knee against hers. A big blocky male knee. And after that, a shin, also big and male. Urk. Despite her annoyance with him, the contact was electric. She jerked her leg away. John's face was impassive.

That had not been an accident. Ellie gritted her teeth.

"You're a doctor. You gotta agree with me, right Woodcomb?" John was drawing her fiancé into the disaster of a conversation. Well, maybe Devon could rescue it. She aimed a pleading, hopefully subtle, expression at him. She was apparently too successful with the subtlety: he didn't see her look, but he did try to smooth things over in his usual manner.

"I'm not the only doctor here," he pointed out, quite sensibly, and in a single sentence tripling the number of words he'd contributed to the conversation since they had all seated themselves.

John shrugged. "They're women." He waved his fork around with a pompous air. "They don't count."

At this blatant arrogance, Sarah and Chuck exchanged glances again. Ellie observed them with deep suspicion. Her exasperation was starting to boil over into wrath. Oh, when she got either of those two alone ... Chuck appeared distressed, but Sarah seemed, incredibly enough, amused. She picked up her knife with an intent expression and began to saw, that was the only word for it, at her meat. The loud scraping sound as the blade hit the ceramic plate made Ellie wince. The blonde paid studious attention to using her fork and putting the piece of meat into her mouth, as if she needed to occupy it, or she'd be saying something she might later regret.

"Can't say I do agree with you," Devon was continuing, "but to each his own, buddy." He must be on a role; that was his third whole sentence.

"How many kids are you and Ellie planning on having?" John asked, in an abrupt change of subject. Ellie was swallowing, and coughed a little as the bite lodged in her throat. John reached over to give her a thump on the back, and then, to her distress, left his arm lying casually along the back of her chair. Which was as out-of-character as everything else he was doing tonight. Ellie shrugged her shoulders aggravatedly. He seemed not to notice. She did it more aggressively. He laid his hand directly on the ball of her shoulder and rubbed it with a conspicuous absent-minded air. Ellie froze in her seat.

"We haven't discussed that lately," Devon was saying blithely, apparently attaching no significance to where John's hand was. Devon was kind of a touchy-feely guy, though, so maybe he expected other men to be, too. For her part though, Ellie was irate enough with John that her usual pounding-heart, dry-mouth, clenched-abdomen reaction to him was diminishing.

Huh, it could be That Man had struck on a solution that was better than hers. If he did a good enough job acting like a bastard, maybe she just wouldn't feel attracted to him anymore.

"Actually it's something we don't quite agree on, yet," Devon was continuing. "Ellie's been pretty stubborn. But I'm confident I'll win her over to my point of view."

Ellie's displeasure enlarged itself to more fully encompass its second-most provoking target. Why would he tell everyone something that personal? And his self-assurance was grating.

"I see," John nodded. "So how's the sex between you two been, then?"

Magritte gasped. Ellie choked on her food for the second time in five minutes. Again, John thumped her on the back while smiling suavely at Devon, who'd finally caught on to the fact that something wasn't right here. He frowned at John with fuzzy irritation and obviously no clue how to respond to such an outrageous question.

"Hey, bro" – he began, only to be cut off by his future brother-in-law.

"Uh, what are your plans for the weekend, Magritte?" Chuck inserted a trifle loudly, trying to help the situation. He also eyeballed the male arm that was still on the back of Ellie's chair, a bit more alert to some of the vibes dancing around the table than was Devon. Then he shared a look with Sarah that was fraught with some hidden meaning, but some of which Ellie believed was I told you so. That was confusing, unless Chuck had known John planned to act this way – in which case her brother was most definitely in for it after everyone left tonight. And Sarah offered an I'm confused, but also enjoying myself and what can we do? expression in return. So they both knew something was up with John, and possibly with Ellie. Great, that was all she needed, for either of those two to be linking John and Ellie together in their heads.

Magritte was answering Chuck with strained politeness. Chuck was nodding back. John chose that moment to move his arm. Which would have been most welcome, except that he did so by skimming his large hard hand along her shoulder to her sweater's neckline, and then across her bare skin to slide sensuously beneath her hair. He drew his strong fingers caressingly up the length of her neck before continuing to pull back.

The glide of his skin against hers was more than Ellie's stretched sensibilities could handle. Pulse fluttering madly, breath coming in a harsh gasp, she jerked forward in her seat. Too forcefully. She bumped the table with a hard jar, and plates and serving dishes clattered. The half-full wine glass in front of Magritte tipped over, spilling a pool of red liquid across the table and onto Ellie's friend before she could move out of the way. With a screech, Magritte jumped to her feet, her lap full of wine.

Ellie leaped up too, distinctly hearing John Casey chuckle. He didn't even try to pretend concern, or fake an apology. But he did at least move his napkin from his lap and offer it across to Magritte. She took it without looking at him and began to mop at her pants. Ellie herded her down the hall to the bathroom, supplied her with club soda and a washcloth and towel, and left her there. She came back out to where everyone else had remained seated.

Sarah and Chuck were leaned in to each other, whispering inaudibly. John had his fork and was swallowing a bite, the only one still eating. Devon rose when Ellie appeared.

"She alright?" he asked solicitously, giving her a one-armed hug. It was as annoying as John's arm on her chair had been, and nowhere near as sexy. Ellie shrugged him away and spent a few minutes mopping up the wine that had reached Magritte's chair.

"She's fine. A little wine isn't going to kill her." She turned to glare pointedly at John as she sat back down. She's my friend, and she's too tough to get upset that easily. He must have understood some of that, because he dipped his chin. And then he waggled his eyebrows at her, cockily.

Arrgh.

Magritte came back to the table, sitting down somewhat gingerly with a wet lap. Determining that she wasn't going to knuckle under in defeat, Ellie brought the desert in from the kitchen. Chuck continued to eye John with suspicion while his sister served everyone. And, clearly, he came to the conclusion that she needed defending. Which was sweet, but quite unnecessary, especially as what he proceeded to do was put the finishing touches on the destruction of her dinner party.

"You're not the only one with hobbies, Magritte," he said cheerfully into the strained silence that dominated the room. Magritte said nothing in reply, just paid studious attention to what was on her fork. Smart woman. Chuck plodded on anyway. "Casey's got some pretty interesting ... interests."

Ellie didn't know where he was going with this, but Sarah and John were exchanging glances that looked ... dangerous. Sarah must have done something to Chuck under the table, because he winced. But that didn't stop him.

"Yep. Ask him anything about any science fiction show. He can quote you character and episode. Big sci-fi geek, our Casey."

Science fiction? Ellie didn't know about anyone else, but she was feeling like she'd gotten caught in an episode of the Twilight Zone, tonight. John's face, which had been pretty much a permanent smirk the entire evening, became a snarl aimed at Ellie's brother.

"Can it, Chuck. Any little factoid gems that might have gotten stuck in my head are only there from hearing you and Morgan drone on and on about that stuff ad nauseum," he asserted.

That sounded odd to Ellie. "I don't remember you ever hanging out over here when they're doing their, uh, science fiction thing," she mused. "Do you all go over to Morgan's?"

"That's kind of weird, actually," Devon contributed. "I've wondered about that myself. Older – sorry, mature - guy like you, hanging out with kids like Chuck and Morgan? What's that about?"

John's scowl became even fiercer. "I have never," he asserted, "been to that little slimeball's house."

His vehemence made the whole thing weirder. And was the name-calling really necessary? Chuck concurred with his sister's thoughts about the slur made against his friend, because he continued his attack.

"Oh, come on, Casey, no need to be ashamed. You might as well just come out of the closet," he soothed in a voice fraught with mock concern. "It's OK, we're all friends here."

Ellie never knew whether he did it accidentally or deliberately, but Devon misunderstood that statement. Deeply.

"Oh," he said, with the dawning light of realization on his face, "that's what's up with you and Morgan, Casey. Never saw that coming, man. Wow, Ellie, were you ever barking up the wrong tree tonight! Hey, Magritte?" He had a good chuckle. He had it all by himself, because the rest of the table couldn't quite manage laughter. Magritte's eyes had closed. Ellie's chest was clenched in some kind of vise; had her fiancé lost his mind? He'd just taken the atrocious behaviour of their guest, and then her brother, and one-upped it.

Sarah had one hand to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at John as though she thought he might explode.

But John was, contrarily, the opposite of explosive. "Sorry, Devon," he said as smoothly as any arch-villain in a movie, calmly picking up his wine glass. Only his eyes betrayed that he was hugely enjoying himself, at the expense of everyone around him. "I don't play for that team. If I did, Morgan would be about last on the list of eligibles."

Sarah dropped her hand. Relief at this mild reaction was written large on her face.

"Hey"- Chuck started, getting even more annoyed at all the insults his best friend was enduring. Sarah put a quieting hand on his arm. That worked until Casey moved his wicked, deliberate gaze to his coworker.

"If anything, I've always thought maybe Sarah had something to worry about in the Morgan department. You guys are awfully close. Chuck." His tone was sugary and suggestive and acerbic all at once. Not a soul believed what he'd said, but no one could believe he'd said it, either. After a moment of silence, Chuck gurgled. It seemed that was all he could do.

"On the other hand," John continued casually after a sip of wine, "if I did swing that way, I might give Ellie a run for her money. You're much more my type, Devon." And he leered again. This time at her fiancé.

Who just stared back with his mouth open.

Ellie had no words. No movement, either. Magritte did, though; she stood to her feet.

"I'm going to call it a night," she said steadily to Ellie, ignoring everyone else at the table. Ellie nodded jerkily, and managed to get her feet moving as well. An odd feeling of resignation, and an insane desire to laugh like a hyena, crept over her. She mused that there was only so much discussion of the sexuality of strangers that one individual could take. Her friend had stuck it out as long as any sane person could be expected to. She'd been a trouper, really.

Magritte left, mumbling about needing to soak her pants. She also said she'd see Ellie tomorrow, which came out sounding more like a threat than a promise. Ellie nodded helplessly.

Chuck made a move to pull John outside; Ellie hoped it was to give him a lecture about his behaviour tonight. She herself wanted to take a pot to the side of That Man's head. But Devon, awakening belatedly to the idea that Ellie might be in need of a little support, insisted they all help clean up. Ellie wanted to shoo everyone out of her kitchen, but knuckled under with a sigh. At least with that many hands, it was short work, and then Devon hinted broadly until Sarah and John left. Ellie didn't see them to the door - she didn't quite yet trust herself not to do bodily injury to John.

Thankful for Devon's intervention, Ellie felt her displeasure with him lessening. By the time Chuck went off to bed, she was enough in charity with her fiancé to give him a full hug. He grinned at her as they separated.

"Let's never have that guy over for dinner again, OK?" he laughed.

Ellie returned his smile. "Agreed," she said fervently. She set her hands on his shoulders.

"Devon," she began, reluctantly, not really feeling up to the discussion they needed to have. He raised a hand to cut her off.

"I know we have to talk," he said, stepping back from her. She let her hands fall to her sides. "I'm just not ready. OK? Soon, Ellie. But not yet."

"Soon," she repeated. And then sighed again. She was just so tired, for many reasons. Too tired to deal with whatever was going on with Devon, right now. "All right, Devon."