This chapter covers a lot of time quickly.
Ghosts that Haunt—31
A honeymoon with a security detail in tow wasn't exactly what Casey had had in mind, but it was what he got. When they arrived at the secluded resort Walker had found, Riah was tired, and so was he. After settling her in their cabin, he had personally scouted the area and examined potential threats. He told the head of the detail what he expected—primarily that they stay out of sight and only check in at scheduled times unless something happened—and then he rejoined his wife.
Riah slept, so he removed his shoes and joined her in the roomy bed.
It was dark when she woke and, as a result, woke him. Casey stretched his legs out as she rolled over to face him. "Bailey," she mumbled.
For a split second, Casey thought she was talking about another man in her sleep. Fortunately, he realized she had reopened negotiations for a baby name, and Casey was amused by her adherence to the alphabet. "Boy's name," he growled before he kissed her. Searching for an alternative, he realized the only girl's B names he could come up with were Brenda and Barbara, neither of which he found acceptable, especially not Brenda given what had happened with Riah's wedding ring.
"Beatrice," she said, and nibbled along his jaw.
His lip curled. "Too girly."
Riah stopped what she was doing and leaned back so she could see him. "So no boys' names but no girly names for our daughter," she deadpanned.
Taking the opportunity to nibble on the parts of her breasts the neckline of her dress failed to cover, he considered her statement. "Something dignified," he said.
"Beatrice isn't dignified?" she asked.
Knowing he couldn't win that one given it was a name that ran in one of the Scandinavian royal families, he caught her mouth, teased her lips open, and when he released her mouth, she added, "I'm on to you, Colonel."
"Not yet," he assured her, since she wasn't on him at all. He gave her a small grin. "It works." One of her brows shot up, and Casey could tell she wasn't buying his explanation. He, on the other hand, knew he held the high ground. She wasn't at all on him, and it did work to deflect her—whether she wanted to admit it or not.
"Belinda."
"No," he told her. "Belle."
"Hell, no," Riah said. Curious at her vehemence, he waited, nearly smiled at the blush that crept up her face. "Disney. No Disney princess names."
"Beth," he offered softly, wondered if she would accuse him of what he was really after—getting Elizabeth into consideration through a back door.
Apparently, though, she was preoccupied. "Maybe," she said, and then she effectively stopped the list by tugging his shirt off and going to work on the rest of his clothes. It seemed she was more onto him than he'd thought if she could co-opt his strategy as effectively as she did. That mouth of hers began meandering over his body in ways that had him appreciating how things Canadian tended to migrate south. She barely let him get them naked before she foreclosed on and then took possession of his body.
Sometime later, she murmured, "Boudicca."
Casey gave a sleepy snort. "Warrior queen might be appropriate," he agreed, stroked his fingers lightly down her shoulder and arm, "but I don't think so."
Each morning while Riah was in the shower, Casey checked in with Walker. Finley had, apparently, gone to ground. As a result, the security detail V. H. had insisted on stayed in place. Casey didn't mind, especially since he and Riah seldom left their cabin. She seemed content to stay close. He found it odd, though, to be at loose ends, a feeling not made easier since Finley couldn't be found. He made a quiet call to V. H., who told him they were looking and to watch out for Riah.
He and his wife continued to work their way through the alphabet, though neither of them found much in the C's or D's that appealed to them.
It was on the next to the last day of their honeymoon, though, that she surprised him. They sat on the padded loveseat on the cabin's porch, Riah curled into him, when she announced, "I want to quit the Buy More."
One of the things that had irritated the hell out of him was what she had been asked to give up to marry him. Admittedly, Riah seemed not to mind that she had had to quit the job she had trained hard for, had fought hard for, but he had hoped he could find a way she could keep some form of it. He'd told her father that she needed a little more seasoning, but she was good at it—and she was.
Riah looked up at him when he didn't answer and told him she wanted to stay home with their child.
He was simply floored. She hadn't seemed the June Cleaver type. Part of him wondered if it had anything to do with her previous miscarriage, but he bit the question back. It was a good thing he did. She continued, told him, hesitantly at first, that she remembered her childhood as a series of goodbyes, prolonged absences, and all-too brief hellos on her parents' parts. She told him she used to wish she was an orphan because then, at least, she could have been adopted by someone who would always be there when she needed them. She looked up at him. "I want our child to know one of us is always there."
When he offered no objections, she told him she could afford to stay home, so she'd like to quit the Buy More when she got closer to her due date. It would play hell with their cover, he knew, and she admitted as much. Casey's objections were mainly because he knew few of their coworkers would believe they could afford to halve their income with a baby on the way.
She predicted his response, though, told him, "It's no longer a cover, John, and after the wedding, Big Mike and some of the others have to know I come from money."
That, he couldn't argue with. Big Mike and Grimes had both been shocked to realize who Riah's mother was. It hadn't taken long for word to spread, he'd bet. He and Riah could truthfully admit she was a trust fund baby if they were questioned.
For a moment, Casey considered the kinds of comments the Buy More menagerie would aim at him for having married a rich woman. His hand fisted simply thinking about the Idiot Twins and what they would have to say.
On the other hand, he knew he would be the one coming and going from their child's life, and he understood why Riah felt as she did. As a result, he pulled her closer and agreed that if she wished, she could leave the cover job. After all, as she'd pointed out, it was no longer her cover, and there was little reason for her to continue putting hours in at the Buy More—unless she wanted to, and he simply couldn't imagine anyone choosing to do so. While Riah could legitimately continue to help safeguard Bartowski, she had no legal standing to do so.
She rewarded him for his support, and he smiled, rubbed his hand over her stomach gently. He wasn't sure he would make much of a father, but he felt certain Riah would make a good mother.
His wife shifted closer to him, and her arm slipped around his waist. This, this was a position he especially liked, Riah sprawled partly across him with her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her hair, and she pressed a kiss of her own under his jaw.
Moments like this had been a bit of a luxury for them. It was rare they had time, just the two of them, and even more rare for them to have quiet time that would likely stay that way. Casey found the idea made him uncomfortable even as the reality settled in. She felt good against him, but the second he acknowledged that, he wanted to deny it.
It had been far too long since he'd seriously considered the idea of forever after, so it was hard for him to adjust to the possibility. He thought of the numerous nights they had spent together since he asked her to stay the year before. He thought, too, of the equally numerous nights he spent away from her. He missed her keenly when she wasn't beside him. Sitting there in the morning light, though, Riah's warmth leached into him, and he wondered how many more nights would be tallied in those two columns.
Still, the subject he'd been unable to raise with her loomed.
Despite the fact they hadn't been married long, despite the fact he had every intention of seeing that he was there when she needed him, he knew his life could be turned upside down in a second. Beckman could decide to send him back to his unit. She could decide he was needed somewhere other than Los Angeles. He could find himself in another country, another city, with another name pretending to be someone he wasn't because his country needed him to be that someone else, to find something or someone it needed found.
Before they learned Riah was pregnant again, he would have been glad to have any of those jobs, but things changed the night Riah told him she was pregnant. He studied he woods before him, ran a light hand over Riah's arm and shoulder to mold his palm against her cheek, and remembered the twin emotions that had coursed through him in that moment: joy and terror. Admittedly, terror had been the predominant one, and not entirely because Riah had a panic attack when she saw the positive result of the home test. He still felt both terror and joy. He didn't trust either emotion.
Perhaps he only felt that way because he didn't want to leave her, not yet, not after what had happened the last time. He knew he could do nothing to prevent another miscarriage, knew Lydia thought the chances were good nothing would go wrong this time, but he didn't want Riah to have do this alone because he had to leave her. He pressed another kiss to her forehead. He wouldn't let her do it alone. He thought of that ultrasound image, thought of the idea of being there when their daughter was born, and he wondered what he would do if orders came though that would prevent that.
"Eloise," she said softly.
Gathering her closer, glad to have something to distract his thoughts, he heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Too French."
Riah's head came up and her eyes met his. "Eloise," she said emphatically.
Okay. She was obviously serious about that one. He thought about it, tried it out in his head: Eloise Casey. He didn't really object to the name, but it niggled at him for some reason, made him think of pink. He barely quelled the instinctive shudder. "On the maybe list," he finally conceded, "but only if you put Elizabeth on with it."
After several long moments, she grumbled, "Fine."
When she didn't suggest other names beginning with E, he pressed a kiss on her temple. "I never wanted you to have to give up your job with ISI."
Riah met his eyes again. "I would have left ISI sooner or later," she told him, and it wasn't hard to read the truth of that. "I was never going anywhere with the organization. Dad made sure of that, and I'm not sure how much longer I would have waited for an opportunity he would probably guarantee never came."
There was no bitterness behind her words, but Casey was surprised she didn't know her father any better than that. He might have protected her, but V. H. had had ambitions for his only child. It wasn't Casey's place to interfere, and he wasn't about to do so.
"I know what it means to make choices, Riah, choices that mean you turn your back on everything you think you wanted for something you think you want more." He stopped, considered his next words carefully. "Sometimes, you get exactly what you bargained for, and sometimes it simply isn't enough."
Her eyes searched his. "I fully understand the choice I made, John, and I fully understand what I've given up. I simply want what I've chosen more."
Because he wanted to believe she'd made an informed decision, he dropped it, rewarded her for an answer that made him comfortable, but that night, lying beside her while she slept, he wondered if she truly had any idea what she'd done, what she'd turned her back on, what she'd committed herself to when she chose him instead of her career.
He hoped like hell that if she ever came face-to-face with the full ramifications of her choice, that she remained easy with the one she had made.
On the day they left to return home, Casey couldn't say he was eager to do so, nor did it appear his wife was any more eager than he to go back to Echo Park. They were quiet on the drive, and Casey wondered if she was already reconsidering what she had chosen. He hadn't lied, and he worried that she might well come to resent being left behind, knew that each time might turn out to be one time more than she was willing to tolerate. He wondered what would happen if that day ever came.
They unpacked, and Riah went to start laundry while he checked in with Beckman. There was still no news about Finley, and Beckman told him she'd need to send him and Walker to Barcelona in a couple of days. Rumor had it a Ring cell was planning a meet, and Beckman's team on the ground had identified a possible route in. She told Casey Larkin's name had come up in the surveillance of one of the participants. Casey silently considered whether or not Walker should be included since the wound from the man's death was still raw.
It wasn't his call, though, so he said nothing. Walker couldn't be babied, and, he realized, neither could Bartowski for much longer. The enemy kept circling closer and closer to the kid, and if Beckman was about to send him and Walker around the world chasing shadows, then Chuck would need to know how to defend himself.
As casually as he could, he asked Beckman if she intended to send the Intersect with them.
His boss removed her reading glasses and frowned. "I think Mr. Bartowski should remain where he is for the moment. I'll have to give some consideration to what we're going to do with him. His father has become reluctant to continue contracting with us on a new Intersect, and while we have scientists and engineers who can probably take Stephen Bartowski's work and move it forward, it would be best if he were cooperative." She sighed. "He insists his son not be part of this, but the younger Bartowski is proving to be equally stubborn about being included."
It was a given that Chuck wasn't going to voluntarily quit. It amused Casey to realize that while Bartowski wasn't into adventure sports the way his brother-in-law was, the kid liked his own version of life-threatening adrenaline rushes. Bartowski wanted to be a spy, and with a couple of exceptions, once the kid set his mind on something, he went after it.
Before he could offer an opinion, Beckman said, "I think we should give training him another try."
Casey wasn't going to argue. The kid had a lot to learn. He was smart, and if he could settle in, could learn what he needed to survive, could find a calm center so he could learn to control the Intersect, too, he'd be formidable.
Their boss sighed again. "Training him separately didn't work, for whatever reason. I considered sending him to the Farm, but I suspect he'll only draw unwanted attention if the Intersect kicks in, and we can hardly inform his instructors while we still don't know who all the Ring's players are. Given we also have some Fulcrum remnants lurking in several agencies, I think I'd like to try the Prague facility one more time."
Sincerely doubting they'd have any more success this time, Casey kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his decision, but he had considered a kind of on-the-job training for the kid. Neither he nor Walker had bothered since Chuck wasn't supposed to be part of their missions beyond delivering needed intel—preferably while he was in a safe location far from danger. It had long been obvious to Casey, though, that Chuck was becoming more and more a field agent whether any of the professional spies wanted that or not.
And the kid certainly wanted it.
About to suggest he or Walker—and Casey preferred it be Walker—should be part of the training this time, Beckman got there first, though she admitted she would rather not tie Casey up for six weeks. "I'll give it some thought," she finally said, "but I suspect you will want to stay closer to your wife."
There was a bit of rancor under her words, but Casey ignored it. It was true, after all. He didn't respond since he was certain his answer was obvious.
She moved on to other matters, and Casey noted what needed to be done.
That didn't mean he stayed home. Bartowski was shipped back to Prague, Walker in tow to get him settled and manage his emotions. They were on the outs again, and Casey was glad to have them away. He wasn't idle, though, since he had a couple of Beckman specials, and even when he was home, there were always things to do. They weren't getting far with the Ring, but they had begun to realize it was patterned on the old Communist model of decentralized cells loosely networked. Casey knew that made it harder to trace, unlike the centralized Fulcrum.
One afternoon in the Buy More, Riah sat alone at the Nerd Herd desk. She hadn't quit yet, and Casey figured that had more to do with the idea of sitting around waiting than anything else. As he watched her, she suddenly looked up and across at him. He dropped what he was doing, alarmed by her expression, and crossed to her.
Before he could ask what was wrong, she took his hand and laid it against her stomach.
Something pushed against his hand from inside, retracted, then did it again. "Doesn't that hurt?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She gave him a soft smile and shook her head. "It's just uncomfortable."
He left his hand there, tried to figure out what body part pressed against his hand, and wondered what it would be like to have something squirming inside him like the alien in those Sigourney Weaver movies (so he'd seen them as a young man—no need for Bartowski to ever find out). "That happen often?"
"I've only noticed it a couple of times," Riah told him. "She's decided to be far more active today." She took his other hand and placed it on her other side. "She's stretching."
Casey knew he wore an idiot grin.
Weeks passed. He hunted Ring agents, and now and then he caught some. Other times he killed a few. Just after Labor Day, Riah quit the Buy More. Big Mike had found Casey on the sales floor after she went to clear her locker on her last day. "Babies are expensive, John. You two sure you know what you're doing?"
This wasn't the first time in the past two weeks since Riah told their boss she was quitting that the man decided to have a talk with Casey about his wife's decision. Tempted to ask if Big Mike was more worried he was losing one of his few employees who took her job seriously, Casey just said, "Riah wants to stay home. We can afford it—if we're careful."
"Her momma might be rich and famous, but trust me, John, you don't want to have to rely on your mother-in-law's charity." The other man suddenly frowned, and Casey waited to see what he would add. "This wouldn't be about you expecting the little woman to be at home, now would it?"
Casey unclenched his jaw. "My wife told me when we got married she wanted to stay home with the baby." He cut off the instinctive Moron. "She doesn't have to work, and she's chosen not to." He didn't add he was surprised she had stayed on at the Buy More this long. He decided if the other man kept it up, he'd tell him he had a military pension that provided further income. That turned out to not be necessary.
Over dinner that night, he realized Riah was on a mission of her own, and he wasn't sure what his part was. It began with her telling him Emma was coming in at the weekend for the baby shower. He had things he'd be doing, so he wasn't sorry to not be present. "Mum's bringing your mother and sisters," she added. Casey held back his own sigh. It would be nice to see them again, but he suspected baby planning might make Riah as crazy as wedding planning had.
She changed the subject, talked about how glad she was to be out of the Buy More, chatted about Ellie and Devon, managed to get him off talking about a new piece of weaponry they had just been sent.
When she told him, "You and I need to make some decisions, and we'll probably need to do some shopping," he realized his wife had unsuspected skills at lulling a man into a vulnerable position.
"What kind of shopping?" he asked, and he could read her expression enough to tell she meant baby shopping.
She could do the shopping, Casey decided. That was a level of hell he preferred to avoid at all cost. While he sought a diplomatic way to tell her his decision, she told him they needed to think about baby furniture, about clearing the room she'd moved his work materials to for their daughter, about painting, about paint colors, about cloth or disposable diapers.
Somewhere in her recitation, Casey wondered if he could get himself sent to Afghanistan. Beckman, he was sure, would let him go. They hadn't found bin Laden yet, and Casey had some ideas about where to look.
On the other hand, there was something vulnerable in his wife's expression, some uncertain note in her voice, and he knew he wasn't going anywhere—except baby shopping.
Ariel lent her home for the shower, and Casey was glad his presence wasn't required. He spent the day analyzing intelligence reports for information on local Ring cells. The reports were largely anonymous—hardly surprising since some clearly included inside knowledge—but some of the information was more speculative than Casey would have liked. They were blind here in ways he was not used to being, and he could use Bartowski.
The kid had washed out of training yet again, probably because Walker hadn't stayed long, was labeled a lemon, and was now making his sister insane while he rotted on her sofa and ate cheese balls. Casey knew because he still monitored the feeds in the Bartowski household. He also knew because Ellie vented to Riah who told him what she had to say.
He still wasn't convinced the kid didn't have a place, and he'd lobbied Beckman a couple of times. "We've wasted millions on Chuck Bartowski already, Colonel," had been her sharp retort the last time he raised the issue before she began laying out his next mission. She hadn't, he noticed, completely closed the door yet, though.
As he started through the reports again, hunted the key that might unlock the Ring, and hoped he was finished in time for dinner with his wife, mother, and sisters, he read more slowly and more carefully. Emma was coming along as well, he knew, though he wasn't sure about Ariel.
When he got home, it looked like a baby store exploded in the living room. There were tiny garments, toys, and things he thought might make effective torture devices piled on various surfaces. Emma MacKenzie paused at the foot of the stairs and grinned at him. "My sister is taking a nap," she said quietly. "I thought I'd sort through some of this for her and take it upstairs."
He wound up her pack mule. For the time being, she was putting things in Riah's old room. After the first load, he'd left her to fluff, fold, and store while he looked in on his wife. She was curled on her side dead to the world.
"What did you do to her?" he asked, downstairs once more, as Emma handed him a pile of what looked like tiny folded shirts.
His sister-in-law wore a close replica of one of Riah's meaner grins. "Tortured her for information and then made her open more presents than any one baby can surely use."
Given the piles of things still left to carry upstairs, he figured the last part was correct.
"Our mothers say she's at the stage where everything makes her tired," Emma told him. "Mom wants her to hire a nanny or at least a housekeeper."
Casey considered the logistics of either. His wife didn't want the first—or at least he assumed that she didn't since she'd quit her job to stay home with their daughter—and they didn't need the second. On the other hand, she might need some help when the baby first came, but he didn't think it was worth the background checks and clearances for someone who might only be there a handful of weeks.
Then he remembered he was taking family leave to be that help.
"Mariah told her there was no need," Emma continued, gathering up several stuffed animals. She turned a speculative gaze on Casey. "You haven't done or said something to make her think she's supposed to turn into some fifties sitcom mother have you?"
Uniquely phrased as it was, it wasn't the first time someone had asked if Casey had insisted Riah become a housewife. "She made the choice."
A brow cranked up. "Did you limit those choices, Casey, or did it come from her?"
In that moment, he wondered if his wife had made her decision because she thought it was what he wanted. He wondered if, somehow, he had given her the impression he expected her to turn into some stereotypically perfect little wife and mother. Then he remembered that conversation during their honeymoon. "I never asked your sister to stay home with our daughter," he told her. "Riah says she wants her to know one of us will always be there for her."
"From what Dad says, no one was consistently there for Mariah when she was growing up," Emma conceded. "Mom thinks Mariah should have something else to do other than just raising a baby and taking care of you."
"If it helps, Emma, so do I," he confessed. "I didn't want her to have to quit ISI." Okay, that wasn't entirely true. She had to quit ISI, but Casey couldn't help feeling she shouldn't have been pushed out of her career entirely, and he told Emma so.
"I know Mariah was frustrated by her inability to get anywhere," her sister told him. "She had begun talking about changing agencies or doing something else before she met you." She shrugged. "Maybe she'll be happy, but if she isn't, you'd better be supportive of whatever she decides to do instead."
It was easy to agree since he felt the same way.
As they climbed the stairs, Emma asked if they had chosen a name yet.
Casey wondered if she would let him put his body armor on before he answered that. "She didn't tell you?"
Emma shook her head.
"Victoria."
He could see it coming, had known he would never hear the end of it.
Riah had doggedly stuck to alphabetical order, and by the time they reached the V's, he'd wondered what would happen if they made it through to Z and still hadn't settled on something. He'd nearly suggested Valerie, but stopped just before he let it come out of his mouth. He'd quickly substituted Virginia. Riah had shaken her head and countered with Veronica. Casey vetoed that and offered Violet. He'd thought she was considering it when her face blanked, and she softly suggested Victoria.
"They'll all think I'm making you name her after my car," he'd complained, but couldn't think of another name for the letter. He was about to suggest they move on to W, but she stopped him.
"I've always liked the name, and I definitely didn't have your car in mind when I said it."
"Riah—"
"We won't call her Vickie or Tori," she said, and she leaned into him, pulled him down for a kiss. "She stays Victoria."
"Your father—"
"Doesn't get a say," she told him firmly. "I like Victoria Casey."
The trouble was, he liked it, too, but he'd liked Olivia as well. And Elizabeth. He was about to protest, what was beginning to look like an executive decision on her part, but she kissed him again, and her hands started pushing the clothes off his body. He liked the fact that pregnancy seemed to have increased Riah's sex drive the last few months, and despite the fact that it was getting harder to fit the parts together, his wife proved fairly resourceful at finding solutions. She had him on his back and her mouth working over him in very little time.
Then he realized she'd learned a thing or two about exploiting his response to her when, after she had him in her mouth and had begun using it to make him powerless, he found himself moaning, "Okay, Victoria it is." That triumphant look clued him in, but it was already said. When she finished her reward for his capitulation, though, he told her, "But her middle name is Reagan." She opened her mouth to protest, but he shut her up with a thorough kiss. "No arguments, Mrs. Casey. You just seduced me into agreeing with your choice, so I get to provide her middle name."
His wife was unrepentant. "I think I need some persuasion of the physical kind."
He had returned the favor.
But Emma didn't need to know any of that, so he simply said, "Your sister chose it."
Thankfully, she let it drop.
His mother and sisters, though, didn't when they told them over dinner, especially when Riah admitted the full name they had agreed on. "Victoria is a lovely name," was all his mother said. His sisters were the ones who accused him of naming his daughter for his car and his beloved former President. Riah told them with a smile that they were naming her for the Queen. Casey's eyes narrowed, and he considered whether or not that had influenced her at all. Then she added with a grin he found suspect, "I think if we have more children, I'll have to consider a Canadian premier's name to make up for his persistence in giving her an American president's name."
It distracted his sisters, but Casey knew that wouldn't be the last of it. He dreaded what V. H. would have to say. On the other hand, he realized, he could simply confess why he'd given in to his wife when she suggested Victoria.
Riah hunted for a crib, but she had trouble settling on one. Casey didn't see the problem since their daughter would only sleep in it a couple of years, maybe, before she graduated to a bed. He was smart enough not to say so, remembered Riah's frustration over a wedding dress. He did, though, begin to wonder if she had a perfectionist streak he had not previously noted. She finally came home with a cradle, told him they still had time. He looked at her distended stomach but didn't correct her. The next week she bought a rocking chair, one he doubted he'd find comfortable since it sat low to the ground. It was in the same mission style she had chosen for the furniture downstairs, and he realized the cradle was, too.
His wife hated pink, he learned. It wasn't a favorite of his, so it didn't bother him that she looked at greens and yellows rather than the cliché. She must have said something to their families since there wasn't a bit of pink in the majority of things they'd been given.
They were in one of those upscale baby stores when she finally found a crib. He mostly wished he could be anywhere but where they were, and to keep from feeling too out of his element, he ran through, yet again, the most wanted list and known details, tried to strategize ways to locate and neutralize them when he saw something in the corner. He guided Riah toward it, and she smiled happily at him. The crib matched the cradle and rocker, and to his relief, she bought it.
Now he just had to figure out what to do with it.
Riah insisted all along that Lydia had the due date wrong, but as that date approached, Casey got nervous. When the date came and went, when Riah hadn't yet gone into labor, he worried. She reminded him that many pregnancies went past their due date, and Casey called her aunt Lydia to check.
His wife gave him crap because Lydia, of course, called and checked on Riah and told her about his concern. It still made him uneasy. He hated when things didn't go according to schedule, and as he lay in bed with his wife that evening, he groused to Riah, "I hope this isn't an indication of things to come."
She had laughed, pulled him closer for a kiss, and then said, "Not everything goes according to plan, John."
He'd had months to think about this. He'd had months to prepare. He'd read her pregnancy books and read material online. He'd talked to her aunt, to her mother, to his mother, much to the latter's amusement, and to Ellie Bartowski—Woodcomb. He knew how it was supposed to work. In reality, though, the idea of Riah giving birth scared the living hell out of him. There were so many things that could go wrong, and all of them were beyond his control. Casey was used to being a fixer, despite his crack to Bartowski about breaking things, but this was something he couldn't fix if it went wrong.
Riah had been amused by his checklist, by the fact that he had plotted several routes to Westside where she would deliver and had driven trial runs to time the drive at various times of the day and night and on various days of the week so he would know which route would be best on which days and at which times, but she had submitted to it. It made him feel better to know when they went to bed at night that if their daughter decided to finally arrive, he was ready. Riah, though, had thrown him a curve by asking what it might be like on a holiday.
To his irritation, she had continued to insist their daughter would arrive on Veteran's Day—which she persisted in calling Remembrance Day—but she had told him that all along. Each time he raised a concern about Riah being past her due date, she would smile and tell him their daughter would make sure he didn't forget her birthday by being born on an American holiday important to him. Casey had taken to telling her he hoped their daughter made her appearance a day earlier than the one she insisted on—the Marine Corps' birthday.
He had to work on the tenth but not until the late shift. He got up that morning, but Riah rolled over and dropped off again. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, the baby keeping her awake in addition to her seeming inability to find a comfortable position. She had kept Casey awake as well, but he supposed, as she had said the night they realized she was pregnant, he was in this, too. He'd simply have to sacrifice his share of sleep. He got his shower, dressed, filed some reports for Beckman, and then kissed Riah before he left. She roused and caught him, pulled him back for another kiss. "Call me if you need me," he told her before he left her where she lay.
As the day wore on, he began to feel restless. It was the kind of restlessness he got when something was about to go wrong. Casey dismissed it, finally, as just apprehension because of Riah's insistence their daughter would be born the next day. He nearly took Lester Patel's head off when the weasel snuck up behind him. The little Indian was now sporting a nasty bruise where Casey's elbow had connected with a cheekbone. He had acknowledged to Chuck who was once more back at work, that he should apologize, but Patel wasn't letting him get anywhere near enough to do so.
Barnes had offered to anesthetize his friend, but Casey had passed. However, he was fairly sure he now knew why his chloroform kept disappearing. He made a mental note to figure out how that half of the Idiot Twins was getting into his locker.
He went to Castle for his dinner break and called Riah. She told him she was fine, and they talked for several minutes. She sounded tired, and Casey wished he was home with her. He had filed the family leave paperwork with General Beckman, but they had agreed to leave the start date open until Riah went into labor. He considered calling Beckman and telling her he'd changed his mind and wanted to start his leave immediately.
About half an hour before the store was to close, Walker called. Casey was reluctant to go on the recon with her, but she insisted. He was about to give in when a white-faced Chuck walked up. "Mariah's trying to get you," Bartowski said, and Casey, without thinking, hung up on his partner. There was only reason his wife might call him.
Okay, there were a lot of reasons—break in, kidnapping, Finley turned up, Laurance made a jailbreak, Ariel was doing her diva routine again—but he suspected it had more to do with Riah finally going into labor.
Oh, hell.
They were having a baby.
They were having a baby now.
He grabbed Chuck's phone, and almost before he got her name out, Riah told him to come home. His mind went into whiteout. He couldn't focus on anything other than the baby was finally coming. The cellphone in his left hand was ringing, and he knew it was Walker. He pulled himself together, decided his priority. He shoved his phone at Bartowski and told Riah he would be there as soon as he could get there. He had driven the Vic to work that day, and he figured he could use the light and siren. It was a genuine emergency, he thought, and he told her to hold on.
Thrusting Chuck's phone into the kid's chest, he headed for the front door. Once he was out it, he went into a dead run for his car. Bartowski caught up with him as he wrenched the door open, and he handed Casey's phone to him. "You might need this."
He grunted his thanks, and then he drove.