Chapter 24: The Return Home

Pacific Ocean, Sunnydale Bay, May 4th, 2008

John checked the charge one more time, then signalled to Caridad that it was set. She waved at him and turned to swim away. He set the timer, then followed her. A remote-controlled underwater detonator would've been better, but the ones he had brought were currently beneath the very hull they needed to move or break, and they weren't something you could buy off the shelf. Certainly not in half an hour in a mall. Brown-Smythe had already managed quite well to get two sets of scuba diving gear and drive to Sunnydale Bay. Never mind more specialised equipment like underwater cutting torches or detonators.

So they had to resurface and then wait out the safety margin. He checked his watch so he'd not screw up the decompression time. Knowing there was a bomb about to go off below you tended to cause mistakes.

That went double for a Slayer, he reminded himself when Caridad swam circles around him. But he didn't let that stress him - nor did he let her swim up before the proper time had passed.

As expected, that meant she was grumpy when they reached the zodiac in which Bartowski and Walker were waiting. "We should've just swum away without resurfacing! That would've been faster!"

"And more dangerous."

"How? Same distance, less time spent waiting."

"More time spent underwater - that's always more dangerous," he reminded her.

She huffed and leaned back, letting a hand trail through the water.

"Uh, so… how long until the bomb goes off?" Bartowski asked.

John checked his watch. "Ten more minutes."

"Ten more minutes?" Caridad had whipped her head around and was staring at him.

"Safety margin," he told her with a grin.

"Imagine if something - like a demon attack - had happened on the way up," Bartowski added before she could say anything.

The Slayer huffed, glared at both of them, and stared out at the dark shore. "I should've just taken an axe to the ship!"

"You can't hack your way through a yacht." And even if she managed, the wreck could shift and trap or crush her. Or she could get entangled in the wreck on the way through.

Walker nodded. "Don't underestimate the dangers of diving," she said.

Caridad huffed again. That was the best they'd get, John knew. But it was as good as it got for a Slayer, judging by what he had heard from others - and by his experiences with the Council. Mr Giles must have the patience of a saint and the survival instincts of a lemming to have lasted so long with that bunch. "How are the others doing?" he asked.

"Uh…" Bartowski checked his laptop - a new one; its predecessor hadn't survived the sinking of the yacht, either. "...The mission in central Mexico ran into some trouble with Cartels. They beat them, but that attracted the attention of the army. So, they're a little behind schedule. The one in Arizona went according to plan. The one in the Yucatan has, apparently, not yet reached the site - some navigation error or something. The team in Costa Rica finished already."

"Yes! We won't be the last team!" Caridad cheered.

"Are you happy that others have trouble?" Walker asked.

"What? No! I'm just happy we're not the last. Vi would never let me forget it."

John shook his head. Slayers. Although, to be fair, he'd heard worse from fellow Marines in joint operations. And what Marine wouldn't like to see the SEALs humbled a little?

A few minutes later, his watch alerted him. "Hold on - the charge will go off in a minute."

"Uh…" Bartowski hastily stuffed his laptop into a waterproof bag, almost fumbling it and dropping the machine into the bilge.

John just gripped the closest handhold tighter.

Then the sea suddenly rose, sending the zodiac away, followed by a short-lived geyser that drenched them right after they slid down the sudden wave. "Yes! Now let's hurry!" Caridad exclaimed, pulling her air tank on.

"No!" John snapped. "We do this by the book." There was no need to hurry and risk mistakes.

The Slayer glared at him, then sighed and rolled her eyes. But she relented, which was what counted.

Ten minutes later, they were on their way to the bottom of the bay. As before, the explosion had thrown up sand and silt, but the water was already clearing. And John could see the remains of the hull - the charge had ripped the already damaged bow to pieces. Pieces they would have to sift through to find the heart. And the remains of Chavez and the demon.

Or not, he thought as he saw Caridad making a beeline towards a particular clump of debris - she must have sensed them. Or one of them.

She had found the heart, as it turned out - he arrived just as she finished heaving debris away and revealing the thing, still stuck to a piece of deck with his knife. Caridad grabbed it and pulled, then stuck the heart into the bag she'd brought. She offered the knife back to him, but he hesitated a moment - who knew what being stuck into a demon heart did to a blade. Or to its wielder.

He took it anyway - he'd let Brown-Smythe look it over. And it would probably make a nice conversation piece with Watchers and Slayers.

Then they had to look for Chavez's remains. That took longer. John was about to give up when he spotted a bunch of small sharks gathered around a piece of hull. Feeding.

Well, that answered that question.

"So, he was fed to sharks?" Bartowski, sitting in the zodiac's back next to Walker, shook his head. "That's kind of… fitting?"

Caridad snorted, peeling out of her neoprene suit. "Couldn't happen to a nicer demon."

"Will that affect the sharks?" Walker asked.

"Uh…" Bartowski grimaced. "I'm actually not sure. Some demon parts can affect you, even if they just touch you. Eating a demon… well, a sort of mutated possession… we should ask Phil about that."

"Ew." Caridad frowned. "Let's kill them to be safe."

"I'm calling Phil," Bartowski said, pulling out his phone. "Phil? We've got sharks feeding on Chavez's corpse. Is that bad?"

He nodded. "Ah. I see. Alright. I'll tell them." He sighed. "Phil says to kill them to be safe."

"Right!" Caridad started to put her suit back on.

John picked a hand grenade from his replacement bag. "Let's make it quick."

It still took a while to recover the dead sharks and the remains of Chavez, but at least the sharks had been killed quickly. Shame about them - then again, sharks getting a taste for human or sort of human flesh…

John shook his head as he climbed back into the zodiac, dragging half a dozen dead fishes behind him on a line. He couldn't wait until they left this cursed area.

Literally cursed, he reminded himself. And his ribs ached again.

But they were finally done.

California, West of Los Angeles, May 4th, 2008

"...and we not only recovered the heart from where it had been buried underground and underwater, we also took out the head cultist after he had fused with Coyolxauhqui! So, there!"

Caridad was bragging to the other Slayers over her phone. To Vi, from what John had overheard. She had spent the day in the water with him, hours underwater, fought demons above and below, and she was still fit and roaring to go. She also had gone through a couple MREs, of course.

John felt tired just from watching her. And his ribs were, even with another dose of painkillers, still hurting. At least everyone else inside the SVU Brown-Smythe had rented was exhausted as well - except the Brit. Bane was out cold, no surprise with her wound, and was sleeping with her head on Grime's lap. Bartowski and Walker were sitting next to him, which would have been cramped if the two hadn't cuddled up before falling asleep.

And Caridad was up front with the Watcher, talking a mile a minute. At least she had waited until they had received confirmation that the other missions had gone according to plan and that all body parts had been recovered before taking over.

The mission was a success. The apocalypse had been averted. And no one in his team had died.

John smiled as he closed his eyes and took a nap.

California, Los Angeles, Silver Lake, May 5th, 2008

He woke up alone in his bed. That was to be expected - he had gone to sleep alone, straight from the SUV to bed, with the bare minimum spent on cleaning his surviving gear - but he still felt a pang that wasn't related to his bruised ribs.

And speaking of… He touched his side and groaned. Yes, that wouldn't heal up with another good night's sleep. Damn demon.

But he couldn't stay in bed anyway - they were still in his safe house, there were things to be organised, now that the apocalypse was stopped and Fulcrum dealt with. Loose ends to be tied up. Contacts to be made. Breakfast to be eaten? He sniffed the air - it smelled like fresh coffee and bacon?

"First batch is mine!" Caridad spat as he entered the kitchen and found her buttering up toast next to a full pot of coffee and a pan. Where bacon was frying.

He raised his hand. "I can wait." Never get between a Slayer and food was a rule for Watchers, after all.

"Good!" She nodded, rather sharply, then her expression softened. "How's your side?"

He shrugged. "I can handle it."

She frowned again. "I didn't ask if you can handle it. I asked how your side was."

"It hurts, but not too much." Only when he laughed was it really bad, but that would sound like something Bartowski or Grimes would say.

"Good." She nodded. "The others are still asleep. Well, those who are here. Phil's in his own home."

He nodded and grabbed the pot to fill a mug. Black, without any of that frilly hipster stuff. "We've got a lot to do," he said.

"What?"

"We can't stay here forever," he said. "It's a safe house, not a…"

"...a home?" She smiled.

He snorted. That sounded too sappy. But then, he wasn't on an undercover mission any more, was he? He would need a real home, not a flat for his cover identity.

He nodded. "Yes."

"You want to go house hunting? But you have an apartment already." Bartowski looked bewildered.

"I have a flat that served my cover identity - which was compromised," John corrected him.

"But Fulcrum's taken care of," the nerd replied.

"Odds are, some of their assets will escape," John told him. They couldn't expect the NSA to sweep up all traitors - they were dealing with skilled spies, after all. "And the cops are also aware of it."

"Oh. But… if we're at risk, what about Ellie and Devon?"

"They're under protection," Walker said.

"Someone wanting revenge could still go after them, though." Bartowski shook his head. "And we'd be safer if we're close to each other - easier to cover each other, right?"

"It's also easier to take out all of us in one go," John countered.

"But if they can do that, they can pick us up individually as well, with less risk. Divide and conquer. Well, kind of - its not exactly the same."

So Bartowski had learned a few lessons at least. John set his jaw. "I took the flat as part of an undercover mission. That's no longer necessary."

"Oh." And now the nerd looked like someone had told him Apple and Microsoft were going bankrupt.

"I prefer a house of my own, instead of a flat," John elaborated. That was the American dream, after all. Picket fence instead of a shared backyard.

"Oh, Bartowski repeated himself. Then he smiled. "That's actually a very good point! If we own a house, we can make it our own." He blinked. "Well, you know what I mean." John thought he did. "We can go house-hunting together!"

John really hoped that didn't mean that Bartowski intended for them to become neighbours again. Well, what were the odds of finding two houses at reasonable prices, next to each other? In Los Angeles?

California, Los Angeles, Central Los Angeles, May 9th, 2008

"Both houses are for sale," the real estate agent, Mrs Willsbury, said for the third time.

"What a coincidence," Bartowski replied, looking around the terrace of the modestly-sized house.

"They were originally bought with others by a Hollywood studio in the fifties," Willsbury explained, "and used to house rising stars, so to speak, before they either made it and bought their own villa, or broke it and were fired. When the system changed, they were used by executives, then middle management. And now the production company which holds the titles is moving to Vancouver for a tv series, and…" She smiled. "I've already sold three of the houses in the street. Good, decent folks, you understand - not some flash in the pan starlet or rapper."

John didn't snort at the claim. It might even be true. But who knew how long that would remain so? This was close to Hollywood, after all.

But it was also a good house. Built when things were built to last. Old-fashioned but not outdated. It had style. And a decently sized yard, too - large enough to hold a barbecue without everyone having to rub shoulders. The pool was small but looked good otherwise. And the previous owners had modernised the house lately, which meant it was in good shape without suffering from the latest fad in electronics.

Most importantly, though, it was a well-defensible location. Few locations nearby offered a good view of the house and yard - or a line of sight for a sniper.

"There's no homeowner's association, either," Willsbury added.

John nodded, even though that wouldn't have been a problem. He had blackmailed his fair share of such busybodies in the past.

"Well, they look good. Location's fine, too," Bartowski said. "What do you think, Sarah?"

"Yes. I like the houses," Walker replied. The spy was smiling at Bartowski as if they were in some family-friendly TV series in the sixties.

"What do you think, Casey?"

He grunted. The house was a great find, the nerd was correct. John would like living here. Having his own place. It was quieter than his current flat, too. Bigger as well. And he could easily afford it, as soon as he got rid of his safe house.

The only drawback would be living next to Bartowski and Walker. They acted like newlyweds, and John knew that the nerd would be bothering him every day with neighbourly activities or something.

But it was a really good house, at a great price, and the location fit all his needs.

"I like it!" Caridad announced - from above.

He looked up. She was standing on the roof, smiling down at him.

"Miss! How did you get up there?" the real estate agent gasped. "This is dangerous! And our insurance doesn't cover this!"

"I climbed!" The Slayer's smile widened. Then she jumped down on the terrace, landing gracefully as a cat - and further startling Willsbury. "I like it," she repeated herself, looking at John.

He nodded. He did, too.

California, Los Angeles, Central Los Angeles, May 13th, 2008

John stood in the drive and looked at his house. His, legally, now. He had the title and the mortgage. And a lot of work. The appliances were decent, but there was no security system to speak of - he'd have to install one from scratch. Two, actually - a high-class civilian one, and the real security system that would at least give spies pause. It wouldn't do to have some burglars ransack his home. He hadn't many possessions, but if anyone stole his Lincoln or his bonsai…

He used the remote on the garage, and the door started to descend, then stopped halfway to the bottom with a screeching sound. A few more attempts didn't meet with any more success, and he sighed. He'd also have to fix a number of things that Willsbury hadn't mentioned.

"Hey, Casey!"

He rolled his eyes before turning to face his new and old neighbours. Bartowski was standing at the fence - which needed to be painted - and beamed at him. "Already settled in?"

"Already discovering stuff to fix," he corrected the man, pointing at the garage.

"Oh. I could give it a look later - I already fixed the internet in our home. They had fibre optics, but the ethernet inside the house was completely outdated! That wasn't a bottleneck, but the eye of a needle! It was so slow, even FTP sites would've taken ages to load."

Nerd inside jokes. John stared at Bartowski without changing his expression.

"Uh… anyway, it was slow, but I fixed it. I assume it's the same for you, right?"

"Probably." John hadn't really cared - it was obvious that the Council would provide them with a secure data link anyway.

"Alright! I'll give it a look once we're settled in some - Sarah and Caridad are on the way with her stuff."

John nodded. Another sign that Walker had gone native a long time ago - spies weren't supposed to have a lot of luggage, much less furniture, on missions. Not as much as Bartowski had, of course - half the yard behind the man was taken up by furniture and moving crates.

"So… what about your, uh, stuff?"

"It's already in the house," John told him. Or in the garage, in the case of his car.

Bartowski looked surprised. "Already? Did I miss the van? Or did Caridad help you move in the morning?"

Help John to move a few bags? Oh. He grinned. "I left the furniture in the apartment for the Council's protection team."

"Oh. That's… nice of you, I think. No, definitely nice."

He shrugged again. It was practical. The furniture had been bought by the NSA, after all, and taking it would've felt a little tacky. He wasn't particularly attached to anything, anyway.

"But are you buying new furniture, then?"

"Already ordered the necessities." Bed. Armoire. Table. Arms locker. TV.

"Ah."

Did he think John would sleep on the floor, rolled up in a sleeping bag? Probably, John thought with a mental sigh.

"So, ah…" Bartowski grimaced. What was wrong now?

"Yes?" John asked, a little more sharply than he had intended. Couldn't the nerd speak up clearly?

"So… will Caridad be moving in with you? I mean, this would be a logical move, kind of - if you're already moving into a house, which is rather big. Well, bigger than your old apartment, and she'd got a small apartment, and you've been inseparable - apart from patrols - in the safe house, so…"

John glared at him. "Really?"

"Uh…" Bartowski smiled weakly. "I'll get started on the entertainment system!"

John stared at the retreating man, then pressed his lips together. They hadn't talked about that, Caridad and himself. Moving in would make sense - before all this, she'd been stopping by every evening in his old apartment, and often spending the night. Part of the night - she was the Slayer, after all. But moving in 'officially'?

That wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Bartowski or anyone. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to discuss it with Caridad.

"Hey."

He looked up from where he was installing the TV - he didn't need Bartowski's help for such a basic task - and saw Caridad standing in the door to the kitchen, a bottle of coke in her hand. She was wearing a t-shirt, faded jeans and sneakers. Typical clothes for a moving day.

"Finished moving stuff?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Everything is inside the house. I told them to call me once they are sure where they want everything." She scowled. "I'm not going to keep moving a couch back and forth while Chuck and Sarah discuss the best arrangement for their living room."

He snorted. "How domestic."

"I know, right?" She walked towards him and crouched down at his side, staring at the various cables in front of him.

"Sound system," he told her.

"Ah." She took a large swallow from the bottle. "When's your stuff gonna be delivered?"

"It should've been delivered already," he replied.

"Traffic, I guess. Should've asked Chuck's dad to get them around jams."

He snorted, hoping that she was joking. To ask Orion to reroute traffic so a delivery could be made on time… on the other hand, that could be crucial on a mission.

But getting furniture for his home wasn't a mission. Even though it would be nice to have his new bed delivered before tonight.

California, Los Angeles, Echo Park, May 14th, 2008

"This will be weird," Bartowski said as they got out of the car in front of Bartowski's old home.

"Weird?" John looked at the nerd.

"Seeing others in your old apartment."

"It was just a cover," John told him.

"Yes, but…" Bartowski trailed off after a glance from Walker. "Never mind. Let's go meet Ellie and Devon!"

"We saw them yesterday," John pointed out. "When we moved."

Bartowski gave him a look but didn't reply as he rang the doorbell. John heard Caridad snort, softly, next to him.

"Chuck! Sarah!" Bartowski's sister beamed at them. "Casey. Caridad." She stepped aside without inviting them in - good procedures, even though the sun was still up. "Dad's here already!"

"Oh?"

"Hi, everyone!" Woodcomb greeted them with his usual too friendly and too enthusiastic manner. "So happy to see you could make it!"

"As if we'd miss our own going-away party!" Bartowski replied.

"We'd not miss this for the world," Walker added.

"Well, we would, if the world was at stake, but since we already dealt with this year's apocalypse season…" Caridad grinned as the Bartowskis frowned at her. "So… where's the food? Never mind, I can smell it!" The Slayer dashed past the two residents and made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Caridad! Wait!" Dr Bartowski yelled after her.

"Uh… let's go to the living room and secure some food for us before she eats everything?" Bartowski suggested with a weak smile.

"Oh, we made enough for everyone!" Woodcomb beamed at them. "This ain't our first rodeo ya know," he added in a horrible fake Texan accent.

"It would've been easier to prepare if you hadn't moved on such a short schedule," Dr Bartowski said as they entered the living room.

"Sorry, Sis."

"We had a unique opportunity and had to seal the deal quickly," Walker added.

"Very quickly," Woodcomb commented. "I don't think I've seen a real estate deal come through that fast, ever!"

"We were lucky all the documentation cleared," Bartowski lied. "So the bank handled the mortgages very easily."

"Ah. Well, it's sad to see you move out, but awesome to see you move into your own home," Woodcomb replied. "We're looking forward to your housewarming party."

"Uh, sure, once we're settled in, but… I thought Dad was here already?" Bartowski looked around.

"He and Fred are in the office, using our computer," his sister told them. "Dad! Fred! Everyone's here now!"

"Fred?" John asked.

"Winnifred Burkle. She's an old friend," Bartowski explained. "Physicist, and, uh, former member of Angel's gang. I didn't know she'd be here."

"She came to visit Gunn," his sister added. "We invited her, of course."

"Of course."

The woman who entered with Orion in tow didn't look like most physicists John had ever met. Until she opened her mouth and started explaining what she and Orion had been doing on the computer.

"Don't worry," Caridad suddenly whispered behind him - she must have had snuck up on him while Fred was still explaining, "no one else gets what exactly she's doing, either."

The Slayer was holding a plate with half a dozen sandwiches, John noticed as he turned to look at her.

She immediately moved one hand over the food when she noticed his gaze, then smiled a little weakly. "Want one?"

"No, I'm fine. Let's sit down," John said. Unlike a Slayer, he could ruin his appetite with snacks.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Burkle was still talking, and even Bartowski seemed to have trouble following her. Woodcomb looked lost and Dr Bartowski annoyed. "...and so I asked Stephen for some assistance with the computer modelling. Did you know he optimised multi-dimensional modelling?"

"Uh… no?"

"Why not? It's very exciting! Groundbreaking, even!"

"It's all very interesting," Dr Bartowski cut in with an expression that told everyone that she lied through her teeth, "but we should really start the barbecue."

Burkle nodded excitedly as she jumped up. "Oh, yes! I've been dying to show off my new grill!"

There was metal monstrosity in the backyard, next to a tall black man. A bit overdressed for the evening, John noted as they stepped outside. His jacket was hiding a gun and other weapons. Since Caridad didn't react, he must be one of the protection team the Council had hired, then.

"Gunn! Did you prime the grill?" Burkle asked.

"Yes. I think so."

"Oh, it's really easy, isn't it? I wrote down all the instructions! You just need to follow them. Let me check!"

The thing looked more like a futuristic steam engine than any grill John had seen before. He wondered if that was a Texan or physicist thing.

The several feet high flames that shot up from the thing once the woman started fiddling with the controls were very impressive, though.

"It's OK!" she claimed. "That's just the preheating phase!"

The rest of the people present reacted with remarkable calm to the pyrotechnical display - then again, John reminded himself, a lot of them probably regularly used flamethrowers against demons; he didn't think the Council would hire security that had no experience with fight vampires and other monsters. The man - Gunn - certainly had the look of someone with combat experience. The blast of fire hadn't fazed him. Not a veteran, though, in John's opinion; the man didn't feel like a former soldier. Well, perhaps he had been Air Force. Or Navy.

John approached him, and the man turned his head to stare at him before he got close. "Casey," John said, nodding once.

"Gunn." The man returned his nod.

"You're the head of the protection detail?" John asked.

"I own the firm. I won't always be in the field myself."

"As long as you have capable people on the job."

"If they weren't, they'd be dead."

A little on edge, John thought. As if he had to prove something. Quite different from the Watcher he had met. Although… Caridad had mentioned that the Council had bailed out 'Angel's gang' from trouble they couldn't handle. Those people they had hired were supposed to be OK with it - but, perhaps, Gunn wasn't quite as OK with getting saved as the others thought.

Well, John could understand that, even if it was unprofessional. Even for a veteran spy like himself, it hadn't been easy to come to terms with just how much more powerful a Slayer was in combat. And Gunn was in his mid-twenties, at most.

"So… are you done with your manly exchange of grunts? I'm hungry!"

Of course, Caridad's flippant attitude didn't help. John saw Gunn tensing and forcing himself to smile. "You're still a bottomless pit, are you?"

"Hey! I'm burning more calories than anyone else here!"

"Don't worry! We've brought enough meat for everyone!" Burkle tried to play peacemaker. "And my grill will handle everything just fine!"

"As long as you can stand waiting a bit," Gunn added with a toothy smile.

"Gunn!" Burkle chastised him with a frown. "Then again, perhaps we should have made steak tartare..."

"Oh! Yes!" Caridad was beaming. "That's a very good idea - we can take some of the steaks right now!"

And she was off to the kitchen.

John wasn't sure if Burkle had managed to defuse a brewing row or if they had just lost most of their steaks to a hungry Slayer. Or both.

"So! You're Casey! We've heard a lot of you!" Burkle turned towards him.

"Caridad's new boyfriend," Gunn added.

John grunted in reply, which made Burkle roll her eyes for a moment. "I heard you stopped an apocalypse a few days ago."

The team had done that. "We were part of a Council mission," he told her. Gun tensed again, but Burkle kept smiling and nodding.

"And no one died!"

"None of us," John confirmed.

"That goes without saying," Gunn added. "How long have you been a Watcher?"

"Three weeks." John bared his teeth. If the punk was trying to score points for some reason, let him try.

Burkle blinked. "Oh? But that was your apartment Gunn's people moved into, right?"

"Yes." John nodded.

"What did you do before?" she asked. "The security system in the apartment was state of the art!"

"That's classified," John told her.

"Classified?" Now both Gunn and Burkle were frowning at him. "What exactly were you doing?" the younger man asked.

"As I said: It's classified." John bared his teeth. As if he'd tell tales to a civilian who wasn't even part of the Council. He might have quit the NSA, but he wouldn't betray his country. "The Council's aware, of course."

He shouldn't have rubbed it in like that - Burkle was frowning even more at him, and Gunn was grinding his teeth - but they really should've known better than to press him. What did they think he was, some teenager?

Fortunately, Bartowski arrived, carrying a huge tray full of meat for the grill. "A little help?" he asked, grimacing. "I had to save the meat from Caridad."

John took the opportunity to leave Gunn and Burkle and went to help the nerd. Although he had to admit to himself: As annoying as it was to have to deal with petty rivalries and overblown egos again, it was somewhat comforting to know that the Council wasn't one big happy family who just happened to fight demons. Like the van Helsing-Brady Bunch or something.

California, Los Angeles, Central Los Angeles, May 14th, 2008

Caridad collapsed on the new couch as soon as she reached it, loudly and exaggeratedly groaning as she held her stomach. "I ate too much!"

John scoffed. "No, you didn't." The Slayer had eaten more on missions,

"My stomach disagrees." She twisted and put her feet up on the couch - fortunately after kicking off her shoes. The couch had been a little expensive.

"That's the special spicy hot sauce," he told her as he sat down in the equally new armchair across the low table. "Shouldn't have used so much of it." Or any at all.

"I had to - it was a challenge," she replied, turning her head to look at him. "And I won!"

He snorted in return. "And now you're suffering." Whatever Burkle had put into that 'homemade sauce', it was probably illegal in a few states. A whiff of it had been enough to put John off of the idea of tasting it. Even without Bartowski and his sister trying anything but shouting to warn him off. He still couldn't tell how Caridad, with her enhanced sense of smell, had managed to eat so much of it.

"But I'm suffering as the winner! Can you imagine how the losers are suffering?" She chuckled, then groaned again.

"Burkle wasn't suffering," he pointed out. And it had been the physicist's recipe in the first place.

"She didn't really try to win," Caridad retorted. "But Gunn did! Did you see his face when he had to stop?"

John nodded - he had seen less painful-looking grimaces on people who had been gutshot. The man really should've known better than to challenge a Slayer.

"I hope someone took a picture!"

"The security system should've covered it," John told her. "You could ask Orion."

"Good idea!" She smiled as she nodded, then grew more serious. "Say… why are you calling him Orion when talking about him?"

"Because 'Bartowski' is already taken," he told her.

"You could call him 'Chuck'. Everyone does."

Everyone but him. "Everyone calls me Casey."

"You don't like it?" She shifted to prop herself up on one elbow.

He did like it. It was professional. "It's my name." Now, at least.

"That doesn't answer the question." She pouted. "In fact, it sounds a little weird, calling you Casey, when we're, well…" She shrugged with a grin.

He got it. "You can call me John."

"But do you want to be called John?"

Did he? Did it matter? He shrugged. It was the best he could do. "I haven't really thought about it," he confessed. There had never been a reason for it. There had never been anyone who could've asked that question. The last woman who might've come close one day had turned out to be a French spy, her own name just a cover. Like his own.

"Well, you should!" She pouted at him. "You're not a spy anymore - well, not just a spy any more."

He grunted in reply. What mattered was doing your job. Your duty. Everything else was secondary.

Now more than ever, what with fighting apocalypses in his new job description.

California, Los Angeles, Downtown Los Angeles, May 16th, 2008

Caridad spotted the vampire before John did. That was to be expected, of course - she could sense the demons. But John pegged the thing before she reached it. It wasn't particularly hard, either - the demon was pale, dressed in outdated clothes and looking at people in the nightclub as if they were food. Of course, he wasn't the only man matching that description - but they tended to look at pretty women like that. Not at everyone.

It was good to have confirmation, of course - it wouldn't do to stake a man by accident just for being slightly out of date with current styles and swinging both ways. Though seeing how the vampire looked at Caridad dancing near him, John wouldn't mind a little accidental stabbing, vampire or not.

She got the thing hook, line and sinker even before she turned and flashed a smile that hinted at being a little tipsy. Caridad wasn't trained like Bane - or Walker - but she knew how to act like a clubbing girl looking for a good time and not being particularly picky.

He clenched his teeth as she started dancing close to the thing. Not just because of the flirting with the corpse - knowing that the thing would be dusted soon put things into perspective. But standing in the club, surrounded by teenagers and people barely out of college, John was aware of his own age. He was old enough to be the father of some of the kids - if he had been irresponsible in his youth.

Frowning, he took another sip of his soda pretending to be a whisky cola. He wasn't old. His sense of fashion wasn't outdated - he just had more taste than the kids. Besides, he was a spy and knowing how to fit in was second nature to him.

The song changed, and Caridad nodded towards the side exit. The vampire nodded eagerly to whatever she was saying - the idiot probably thought it was going to get lucky.

John snorted, finished his glass, and started towards the exit himself. They had found the vampire preying on guests here, after all. No need to linger.

It wasn't his scene anyway.

He stepped out into the side-alley just in time to see the vampire fly through the air and crash against the wall. Stunned, the thing barely got to its feet before Caridad was on it, leading with a stake. A moment later, the vampire exploded into a cloud of dust.

"Hah!" Caridad brushed some ash off her minidress, then turned towards John. "Did you see that?" she asked. "Idiot tried to get fresh!"

"I only caught you throwing him into the wall," he admitted. "I was a little too slow."

She shook her head. "Naw. I was too fast. It was too eager."

But if it had been a dangerous vampire, John might've been too slow to help. He'd have to work on that. Even if he wasn't supposed to be her Watcher.

"So… what do you say, mission accomplished?" She grinned at him as she walked towards him, hips swaying in a rather distracting way.

He nodded. "We'll need to confirm that it was present at the time the other guests disappeared, but I think we're done. At least for tonight."

"Good!" She grabbed his arm, then hooked her own into his. "I need something to eat."

The way she grinned at him, with her side pressed into his arm, she wasn't just hungry.

He smiled. Who said he was old?

California, Los Angeles, Central Los Angeles, May 17th, 2008

She rolled off him with a satisfied sigh and stretched out next to him. A moment later, she cuddled into his side, an arm strong enough to break him in half reaching across his chest.

He snuck an arm around her shoulders in return, pulling her into his side, then planted a kiss on the top of her head.

She squirmed a little in return, sighing again.

They stayed like that for some time, without saying anything. Just enjoying their closeness. John liked those moments very much. Almost as much as what usually happened before them.

"Say…" She broke the silence.

"Yes?"

"I've been sleeping here pretty much since you moved in…"

Ah. He hadn't expected that, but he had been thinking about it. "You want to officially move in?" he asked, as casually as he could. Neither of them was the domestic type, after all.

"Yes." She turned her head, craning her neck to look at him without releasing his body. "If I'm living here, I might as well do so officially, right?"

"Yes." It wasn't just that, of course. But he wasn't about to mention it. He was happy with what they had. He wasn't a nerd who needed to talk about everything, whether or not it was working just fine already. Although…

"Do you want me to?" she asked.

"I love it," he replied at once.

That made her smile.

No need to talk any more about this. Yet… perhaps there was something to talk about. He hadn't talked about it with anyone. He wasn't even sure if anyone knew about it - the Intersect might have told Bartowski, but the man had never mentioned or hinted at it. Orion might be aware, of course. But it was time to talk about it. With her.

He took a deep breath and squeezed her shoulder. "There's something I should tell you."

He could feel her tense in his embrace. "Yes?"

"About my name."

"Oh?" She relaxed a little - and rolled on top of him, to look into his eyes.

"I wasn't born John Casey. I was born Alexander Coburn, and I faked my death when I became a spy…"

...to be continued in "The Burbank Wedding".