It was unfortunately not the first time Detective Joss Carter had walked into her living room to find a dog she didn't own on the couch.
She stopped in her tracks and stilled, listening for hostile activity around her—force of habit. Unnecessary, since by now Bear could only mean one thing: John.
Joss relaxed her hands and glanced about, thinking. Then she headed toward the kitchen. John was probably amusing himself there. God knew why he didn't flex his rusty domestic muscles at his own place, wherever that was.
Bear had leaped almost noiselessly off the sofa and was now keeping pace with her. As she rounded the corner and came to a stop, he trotted ahead, perfecting the scene that unfurled in front of her.
At her kitchen table sat John. In front of John, on the table, sat a cake. At John's feet sat Bear, tongue dangling in a grin.
She took one look, lifted a hand and turned away. "This is not happening. You are not sitting in my kitchen with a birthday cake."
"Happy birthday, Carter," he said. It was his best soft, buttery, I-like-you-do-you-like-me? tone.
"John." She wheeled back around and fixed him with a stare. "Remember when we talked about boundaries?"
He tilted one shoulder up slightly. "I remember you mentioning them."
"Well, boundaries mean you don't show up unannounced to my house with a cake for this… househusband act of yours whenever you feel like it."
"Oh, I'm sorry." He lowered his shoulder. "Next time I'll ask Shaw to bring my grenade launcher. That doesn't qualify under 'househusband', does it?"
"There is gonna be no next time," Joss said firmly. Since he didn't look like he was about to get up any time soon, she strode forward and took hold of the cake. Gingerly she slid the plate off the table and carried it over to the counter, muttering, "What am I going to do with a sixteen-inch cake…"
"Eat it?" When she turned back around, John was holding up a fork.
Her fork? "Yeah, you go right ahead." She walked over to her open cutlery drawer and nudged it shut. "Just not in my house."
"You got a ban on cake, Detective?" He spun the fork between his fingers. "And it's your birthday, after all."
She squinted at him, then shook her head. "I honestly have no idea what goes through your head when you spring this kind of thing."
"I was just thinking of you," he said innocently. "Wanted to see how you were." Likely story. "How is the new guy? Austin, right?"
"Austin's fine—" She paused, then narrowed her eyes again. "Do I wanna know how you know about him?"
He met her gaze and quirked a corner of his mouth.
Joss looked to the ceiling. "Didn't think so."
"I'm happy you decided to start dating outside your work pool, but…" He considered the gleaming metal of the fork as he spun it. "Austin Smith, accountant. A little boring, don't you think?"
"Not looking for or interested in your judgement." Joss swept the flyers he'd evidently brought in with him into the recycling and grabbed her car keys from their hook. "You can let yourself out the way you broke in. Take your cake with you. And your dog."
Bear, who'd been watching her steadfastly, let out a short whine.
John stopped the fork's spinning and rose from his chair. "When will you be back?"
"When you're not here anymore," she said, giving him another pointed look.
His mouth tipped downward in half a pout. "You should try some of the cake before you go," he coaxed. "Start your date off on a sweet note."
It was hard to keep being annoyed with him. When she lost that battle, she always fell back into exasperated fondness. "How about you take it back to your secret base and share it with Harold and Shaw, all right? In my honour."
John approached the counter and pulled the cake toward him. He looked down at it, then looked up through his lashes at her. "All right."
Joss examined his expression suspiciously, but there was no time to make sure he followed through. She was supposed to pick up Austin in ten minutes at his place, and John wasn't a good enough excuse to be late.
"Don't be here when I get back," she said, pointing her car keys at him, and left.
A disappointing two hours later, all her lights were on when she pulled up to her house.
Joss considered just backing up and driving away, letting John wait all night and going… where? No way she was hiding out with Paul. (Besides, he had Taylor for the weekend and she wasn't about to explain to her son why she wasn't sleeping in her own home.) And going back to the precinct after hours seemed a little too pathetic, especially given the day.
She really should've taken up her girlfriends' offer to celebrate with drinks, instead of taking Austin out for another test date. Nothing wrong with a good ol' cop bar once in a while.
Her front door opened before she could decide. In the light stood a small shadow that most definitely was not the silhouette of a former assassin.
Never mind, it was the silhouette of a former assassin. Just not the one she'd been expecting.
Shaw walked down the steps, head turned in Joss's direction. Even though it was dark, Joss was pretty sure Shaw could see exactly where she sat.
In a few quick steps, Shaw was right beside her window. She knocked and spoke through the glass: "Hey Carter. You should come in. We've got booze."
With a sigh, Joss cracked open her door. "As good as that seems," she said, less irritated than she sounded because she had a soft spot for Shaw, "I'm not really in the partying mood. Sorry."
"Are you in the mood to look at firearms?" Shaw stepped back, reached behind her and pulled a gun from seemingly nowhere—the back of her dress, probably. She tilted it into the damp yellow of a streetlight for Joss to see, a smile sneaking its way on to her face.
Despite herself, Joss opened the car door and stepped out. "That's your Beretta Nano, isn't it?"
Willingly Shaw handed it to her. "I've been meaning to bring it over to show you."
"You added night sights?" Joss took it carefully and examined it.
"Three-dot is so civilian." Shaw grinned and began to walk back toward the house.
"And we are definitely not civilian," Joss said to herself, following Shaw.
But even ambiguous assassin superheroes apparently liked to throw parties. The instant Joss stepped over her threshold, Bear barrelled over to welcome her with a bouquet of crepe party streamers wrapped around him.
"Down," Shaw said, crouching to untangle him. "Sorry about the mess," she said over her shoulder. "I didn't make it."
"…Yeah." Joss looked around, dread and amusement conflicting in her. It took her a few blinks to recognize her place. Streamers hung five layers thick over every railing in sight; a disco ball was propped against her coat rack; and all the lampshades were covered in wrapping paper.
She turned a full one-eighty degrees, then looked to Shaw. "How did you guys do this in two hours?"
"Oh, I just brought the booze," Shaw said brightly. "Speaking of which, it's this way." She led Joss and Bear past the living room and into the kitchen.
There, they found Harold and John engaged in some kind of orchestration requiring candles, icing and timing. Just as Harold said, "No, you've got to wait for my signal," John caught sight of them.
He dropped his icing tube and moved toward Joss. "Carter," he said. "Back so soon?"
"Not late enough, considering you're still here," she tossed back, raising her eyebrows. "Why is that travesty of a cake still in my house?"
"Detective Carter." Harold pivoted, looking dressy in a bow-tie, and bestowed a small smile on her. "Many happy returns. I apologize for our sudden invasion—I assure you it was well-intentioned, before it…" His gaze flickered around, landing on the wrapped lamp shades. "Got out of hand."
She managed a semi-smile in return. "You know what, I can believe that."
"I brought Shaw and her Nano," John said, bringing her attention back to him. "That balances out the cake, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, nice try." She side-stepped around him and went for the bottles of wine that Shaw held in both fists.
"You know," Shaw said to John as she readily handed Joss a bottle, "you really shouldn't have ruined the surprise by showing up with the cake before Carter left."
John leaned against the table, ignoring Harold's attempts to hand him the icing tube. "I just wanted to wish her luck on her date." He shrugged.
Joss rolled her eyes, then tipped the bottle back.
"Yeah, how did that go?" Shaw glanced over at her.
Joss swallowed and tilted her head to the side. "As you might expect."
Shaw considered her, then narrowed her eyes. "You didn't even tell him it was your birthday, did you?"
"I—" Okay, Joss had no idea how Shaw made her deductions. "What does it matter?" she muttered, and took another swallow.
"You didn't tell the accountant it was your birthday?" John eased off the table and moved closer. "Carter, I'm surprised. You, less than forthcoming?"
Shaw ignored him. "Your lipstick isn't smudged," she explained to Joss. "Men get so overtly affectionate over dates. Would've expected your date to lay one on you."
Which was why Joss hadn't told Austin. They weren't too serious yet; she wasn't sure she was ready for it to be serious, anyway. John's boring comment had stuck with her, as clichéd as it was. Cal had been… very not-boring.
She was pulled out of a potential sad spiral when John's slow steps brought him into her space. "That's fine," he said to her, "just means you've got more time to spend with us."
In response, she made eye contact with him, then motioned pointedly in the direction of the front door with the wine. He caught her hand in his, gaze serious, and slipped the bottle out of her grip.
"Detective, if I may be so bold." Harold stepped back and motioned for her to approach. "I know you have very discerning taste in sweets, so this cake is from the bakery you've frequented the most during your time in New York City. Although Ms. Groves couldn't be here, she analyzed your purchases over the past ten years and ordered a cake which she believes is algorithmically calculated to best suit your tastes."
She couldn't help reluctantly smiling at that. "Algorithmically calculated, huh? Somehow, I'm not even creeped out by that." She looked down and considered the message in icing: Happy birthday dear Detective Carter. "Aw. Thank you, really," she said, and looked up at Harold. "I appreciate it."
He gave a half-smile, half-wince that was appropriately half-pleased and half-embarrassed. "Most of this was Mr. Reese's doing," he said, motioning to her current décor.
"Right." She nodded and looked around, taking in its wildly colourful state once more, her teeth slowly gritting behind her smile.
"Hey." Shaw sat down at the table, wine bottle still firmly in her hand; Bear sat down on her feet. "Like I said. Overtly affectionate about dates." She toasted Joss, then tossed back another swallow.
Shaw's words sunk in, followed by the realization of whom Shaw was referring to. Eyebrows raised, Joss turned to look over her shoulder at John.
He hovered at the counter, eyes hopeful, appeasing.
She sighed. Then she turned back to the cake. "All right. Get a knife. Let's cut this cake."
"Got one."
Joss looked to Shaw. Shaw held up a bayonet.
They were all silent for a moment.
"Perhaps," Harold said, "we could start with a kitchen knife."
"Good idea," Joss said.
Shaw shrugged. "Your loss."