For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. Additionally, the titles in this chapter come from the song by Albert Hammond. No copyright infringement intended here either.
Very quickly, I want to thank again my dear friend Cindy Ryan, without whose imagination, this story wouldn't have been possible. Thank you for your generosity and your kindness. I'm so glad the fic community is a "small world" sometimes. : )
And, I want to thank all of you for going on this journey with me, Casey, Ellie, and a little adopted kitten. And what a journey it's been. Now, without further adieu...
Here's a couple things you might need to know or maybe you just forgot: Casey and Ellie spend their first Sunday in the laundromat together in a long time, but it's not what either expected.
It Never Rains in California...
He watched as she stood at the open door. She leaned casually against the jamb, one finger hooked in the back pocket of her jeans. She looked heavenward, at the swirling clouds.
He couldn't help but notice it was a nice backside. He knew full well that she was taken, married to another man, but that didn't make him blind to her beauty. It didn't suddenly erase the sound of her laughter or the tender touch of her hands or the softness of her hair from his memory.
There was a definite difference between noticing her attractiveness and acting on it. He might've crossed a line or two or twelve when he'd tried to protect Kathleen, but that was different. Kathleen had been in danger. While it had been personal, it had been for good reasons.
But, even as he was committing the treason he was later dishonorably discharged for, he knew the ends never justified the means.
Ellie was taken. By, begrudgingly he would admit, an "awesome" man. More her age, having similar interests and, of course, the same job. What could he offer her anyway?
Downy jumped from his empty hamper as a distant thunder rolled through the air. She crossed towards Ellie, sitting on the ground between Ellie's feet.
He could offer a cat, apparently. And companionship on otherwise dull Sundays. Most importantly, he could, had, and would continue to provide the most important gift he could: undetected protection.
While initially it had been a way to keep the Intersect under control and placated, it transitioned from a distracted, impersonal duty to compassionate concern for a friend. The line had blurred until it had vanished completely.
He knew very well that he was playing with fire. And while it may have been cliché, it was that way because, so often, it was true. He was bound to get burned.
He had done it to himself. It was intentional self-flagellation. It might've been because he felt guilty for all of the morally ambiguous tasks he'd done under orders, without question.
Someday, it might be another regret to add to the list, that he'd been so close to someone he found himself caring for, deeply, and yet doing absolutely nothing about it. But, someday wasn't today.
Today was laundry day, an afternoon to spend with Ellie and Downy in the calm, safe Echo Park apartment complex laundromat.
"It's coming quite a storm."
He glanced up, pulled from his thoughts as Ellie looked back at him. "I'm sorry?"
Her smile was tender. "Lost, were you?"
Was he ever. "Apparently."
"Hear that wind?" It howled through the palm trees. Off his nod, she continued. "It's going to be a bad one."
Casey pushed himself off the folding chair, moving to look out the open door with her. He braced his hand against the jamb. The vicious wind she'd talked about blew into the room. It was cold, chilling, but it smelled so sweet. Like lavender and vanilla.
She backed into him, into his chest. "Sorry," she murmured, offering him another small smile.
He couldn't help but notice that she was practically in his arms, or that it was she who smelled like lavender and vanilla. Or how much he suddenly wished he really was holding her, watching the storm blow up around them, sheltering her from it.
She rubbed her bare arms, and he could see the tell-tale goosebumps spread and multiply across her skin. While, rationally, he knew it was because of the weather, secretly, selfishly, he had hoped part of the reason was his closeness. His proximity.
He wanted, desperately, achingly to reach out to her, to rub his strong hands over her skin, to warm her up.
But, that wasn't his place. That wasn't his job.
The desire, though, was nearly overpowering. What was better-or worse-was that she hadn't moved yet. She was still right there, in his space. She hadn't moved around him, either forward or behind. She was still right there.
It started sprinkling. A few gentle drops of rain spattering across the sidewalk. But, it grew quickly into a steady but gentle rain. Lightning danced across the sky, in and amongst the silver-gray clouds, followed by resounding thunder.
The wind picked up again, as the rain fell harder, faster.
Damned if he didn't feel like the weather was mimicking his feelings. His heart beat in his chest so loudly, he wouldn't be surprised if Ellie could hear it, even over the storm.
He knew he should back away. He should leave. Remove himself from the temptation. But, where could he go? Out into the quickening rain? Or further into the tiny sanctuary of the dry, warm laundry room?
It all seemed so small, so encompassing. He'd give anything to know if she even remotely felt the same way about him that he felt about her.
There was only one way to find out: to ask. The words swirled in his head. They refused to get in line, to form a coherent sentence. He'd never been particularly good at talking, but it had always seemed so easy with her.
At least, until now.
He'd never been scared of anything. He'd always been prepared, he'd always relied on his training. But, standing there with her, trying to sort through the thoughts in his head and the feelings in his heart, it was downright frightening. He wasn't sure he'd ever really understood the phrase "scared stiff" until then. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even breathe.
...Girl, Don't They Warn You...
She moved to stand in the open doorway, hooking a finger in the back pocket of her jeans. Sitting next to him, talking to him, being close to him... she felt more and more conflicted. More and more confused.
One of her best girlfriends from work had told her that it was perfectly normal to think about other men from time to time, even as a married woman. It could add to the spice of a sometimes humdrum existence. Her friend had asked her, point blank: how else do you think Johnny Depp makes the bank?
While, yes, he was great at what he did, he was also undeniably handsome. And he had the amazing ability to be a chameleon. Not impressed with his Captain Jack swagger? What about his Cry Baby attitude? His Edward Scissorhands tenderness?
While her friend had made valid points, Ellie kept coming back to the fact that there were several John Caseys. There was the seemingly un-driven green shirt. There was the sharp dressed man who showed up for dinner parties and events. There was the protective bodyguard for Chuck. There was the kitten adopter. There was also the fearlessness in the face of danger bravado. There was also the man who would kick in a door when he knew the woman inside was in trouble.
He was all of those things. But, even in the vastly different personas, he was still this tall, ruggedly handsome man. He was someone she was finding herself more and more attracted to as the weeks went on.
Downy joined Ellie, standing between her feet, looking out at the world outside the safety of the laundry room.
She smiled down at Downy a little before looking up at the sky, as the clouds continued to swirl and darken. She couldn't help but feel it mimicked her emotions. She was confused. How did she feel about John Casey? How did she feel about Devon? She didn't know. She couldn't decide.
She'd never seriously thought of another man, not since she and Devon had become serious. The thoughts never crossed her mind, not until recently. And they seemed to manifest themselves in one John Casey.
There was always an air of mystery around him, one of danger. She found herself drawn to that, to him. Like a moth to a flame.
She knew it was trouble, but she knew she was going to get burned. She just couldn't help herself.
The silence didn't help. "It's coming quite a storm," she said as she glanced back at him. She watched as he was pulled from his thoughts.
"I'm sorry?"
Her smile was tender but she couldn't help but wonder where his thoughts had taken him. "Lost, were you?" Somewhere dark and mysterious, she guessed. Just like him. Her heart beat a little faster as she saw a hint of something play in his eyes.
"Apparently."
"Hear that wind?" It howled through the palm trees. Off his nod, she continued. "It's going to be a bad one." Her breathing increased as she saw him push himself to stand.
There was something about the way he carried himself. There was a purpose. A determination. A focus. There was power restrained, but ready and willing to be released at the right time.
He stood behind her, looking out the open door, at the growing storm clouds. He braced his hand against the jamb.
When another burst of the cold wind blew in and amongst them, she backed into him. "Sorry," she murmured, glancing up at him.
There it was again. That something in his eyes she couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it flickered from the surface to being buried so deeply again so very quickly. She was desperate to know what was in his head, what he was thinking, what he knew. Because, he had to know something. That something had meaning even if she didn't understand it yet.
She was practically in his arms. She couldn't help but think that she would love to remove the "practically" part from the equation. She'd been there before. The first time was after watching that horrible horror movie. She remembered well, how his strong arms had encompassed her, how he'd held her against his chest. But, then, there had been the Fourth of July. Dancing on the deck of the Queen Mary, fast numbers, slow songs. She'd been in his arms for hours that day. The fireworks in the sky had paled in comparison to the ones she'd felt between them that day.
Idly, she rubbed at her arms. While her skin felt cool to the touch, she knew that the weather wasn't the only reason for the growing, spreading goosebumps across her skin. She couldn't get the memories out of her head.
She was a married woman for crying out loud. She was taken. There was no reason for her to be that close to him, there was no reason for her to want those things from him. Her heart, however, seemed to veto the thoughts in her head.
He was too good of a man, though. He was too honorable. He'd never want her, not while she was married. She couldn't blame him for that. But that didn't stop the thoughts. It didn't stop her heart's wildest, secret desires.
She closed her eyes, desperate to try to erase the images that her heart created for her. While enticing, while lovely, while perfect, she knew very well her reality. She was married. To Devon. Devon who was good and strong in his own right.
In some respects, Devon was surrounded by mystery.
But he didn't carry it the way Casey did.
In some respects, Devon was dangerous.
But, it was mostly a danger to himself as he was an adrenaline junkie.
She glanced at Casey, at the tightness in his jaw, at his eyes, locked on some fixed point out in the distance. It took a moment, but she realized he wasn't breathing. He was standing perfectly still. "John...?"
...It Pours. Man, it pours.
"John...?"
He looked down at her. His hand was still braced against the door jamb. She was still practically in his arms. He still wasn't breathing.
"John, take a breath. Please."
Casey knew if he were to inhale, he'd be surrounded by that scent again. Lavender, vanilla... her... Something he couldn't have. Something he shouldn't want. Something he was desperate for. He tilted his head slightly but made no moves to actually do as she instructed.
She turned, careful not to step on Downy, who moved further back inside. With trembling fingers, she reached out, placing her hand flat on his chest.
Her touch broke the spell and he took a ragged, deep breath. He tried to remind himself that he could breathe through his mouth, that doing that might prevent more longing for her, but it was too late. He inhaled through his nose first. "Ellie..."
She recognized a hunger in his voice. And when she looked in his eyes, she saw that look again and realized that was what it had been all along. Hunger for her. "John," she murmured in return.
He finally lowered his hand from the door. He put his arm around her properly, his hand finding the small of her back.
His touch was tender, electric. She felt like they were lightning, just waiting for the right moment to strike. Feeling her heart quickening like the rain, she reached up slowly with her other hand, touching his face, watching as his eyes closed at her touch.
He kept telling himself he didn't want this, he didn't need this. Something about her skin on his felt right. It was something he couldn't deny, no matter how loudly he screamed at himself. He craved more contact.
Ellie watched his face, as his expression melted from tension to relief. Her fingers trailed lightly over his jaw, his chin. They dared explore the softness of his lips.
It was at that tender touch that he opened his eyes again. She was watching her fingers as they went on their expedition. There was a curiousness in her eyes, a desire of her own. If he'd thought he'd been playing with fire before, he knew he was now. He felt consumed by it. It seemed to fuel his recklessness, standing there at the open door, holding another man's wife in full view of the entire apartment complex, two security cameras he himself had placed, along with the government spy satellite tasked to follow the Human Intersect Project at all times. He didn't care because he knew now, for certain, that she felt the same way.
His fingers began their own dance across her back. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to mask the sensations.
She was desperate for more, but she'd never ask. She'd only take what he gave, how ever much he decided to. She looked up at him, in his eyes. Suddenly, she felt trapped by them, pinned right there. Thank goodness she didn't want to move, because if she had, she never would've been able to.
It was agonizing, the fact that time just seemed to stop. He didn't feel the rain anymore, or the wind from the storm. He didn't hear the washing machines as they hit the spin cycle. He was always acutely aware of his surroundings but, at this moment, the only thing he was aware of was Ellie, how she felt in his arms, how he could feel her heart pounding, how stunning she was, how much he was dying to know what her kiss tasted like.
She could still feel the energy around them, between them, within them. The storm outside couldn't hold a candle for the one inside to go by. She knew it was coming. It was unstoppable. The only question that remained was when, not if.
Neither seemed surprised by the bolt of lightning that hit close to the apartment. Neither jumped at the crack of thunder that followed nearly instantly. Neither acknowledged that they were now standing in the darkness when the power went out.
All he knew was how much he craved her.
All she knew was how much she wanted him.
He simply couldn't resist. He pulled her tight against him, both arms around her, as his lips descended, finding hers.
She rocked up on her toes, desperate to meet him, hungry for his kiss.
It wasn't like what either thought it would be. It was everything and its complete opposite, all in one emotion. It was soft and demanding. It was fiery and passionate yet tender. It was intoxicating and sobering. It lingered forever but took no time at all.
When they finally stopped to catch their breath, they looked at each other, still holding the other close, tightly. Everything was different now. It was better and worse all at once.
"Ellie, I..." He hadn't meant for it to happen but he'd dreamed about it for so long.
"It's okay, John," she managed. It was everything but okay, but it would be eventually.
It was symmetry, he realized. Finding Downy on a rainy Sunday afternoon all those weeks ago. Finding Ellie on a rainy Sunday afternoon now. It felt like it was meant to be, like it was supposed to be, like fate.
She realized that the rain was blowing in on them. It hadn't even registered, that they were getting wet standing there. It didn't seem to matter. It had been something else, something bigger going on, something far more important.
The bridge was burned. There was no turning back. There was no ignoring what had happened, what had gone on between them. There was no denying that they wanted more. She could feel the electricity start to build again, the burning desires growing. What else could they do but succumb to the forces of nature?
End.