Guess who's behind the counter!

"I needed a job. They gave me one. Cute little place, isn't it?"

Bella digs the heel of one hand into her eye. "It's adorable." And she goes, grumbling softly, to the bulk bins and the pick-a-crystal bowl to scoop up what she needs.

"Yes," she says, "that's the plan." She stuffs her purchases into a an old shopping bag from a clothing store sufficiently upscale to have opaque plastic.

"In that case, I will see you then."

Sherlock is cooking. The entire house smells delicious.

The food is delicious, but Sherlock barely serves himself any; he does, however, make a pot of equally delicious-smelling tea and have a cup of that.

Sherlock drinks his tea, which is delicious. If he has a reaction to Bella's suspicion, it's not an obvious one.

Angie asks Bella to stick around a little longer, after eating. Renée agrees on the phone to come pick her up after dark - this is a stupid precaution, considering, but Renée and the Webbers don't know that - and she hangs out with Angie in the living room, talking about miscellaneous things - their friends, their classes, the upcoming USADI recruitment drive for the senior class.

Sherlock makes another cup of tea after dinner; he pokes his head into the living room to ask if Angie wants any.

"Oh, yes, please. It's a pity you aren't a tea person, Bella, John has such good taste."

"Oh well."

"One cup of tea, coming right up," he says, giving them a whimsical bow and retreating into the kitchen.

"Thank you," calls Angie. "Do you want to come sit with us?"

"I might as well," he calls back, and he pours two cups of tea and brings them both out, handing Angie hers before he sits down.

"Thanks," Angie says again. "Anyway. I wonder what sort of person is most likely to be affected by one of those recruiting drives? I don't think I'd go work for the USADI; I'd be afraid."

"I wouldn't like the organizational structure," says Bella. "But some people don't have clear pictures of what they do want to do, I guess. I could see Mike going for it. Maybe Jessica if they promised her a desk job."

"Far too exciting for me," comments 'John'. "I intend to be a chef."

"Do you."

"I would go to that restaurant," says Angie.

"Perhaps I'll open it here."

"If I want to be a teacher I'm going to have to live out of the enclave for at least a few years, for school," frets Angela. "But then I think I'll move right back. Unless there aren't any jobs at the time here..."

"There are other walled enclaves," says Bella. "But the competition for work inside of them is probably pretty fierce if you aren't from there."

"You can work at my hypothetical restaurant," laughs Sherlock.

"I want to be a teacher, though," says Angie wistfully. "Elementary school. Little kids like Isaac and Joshua."

"Besides, to make hiring decisions you couldn't just be the chef, you'd have to own or at least manage the place," says Bella.

"If I hypothetically open one here, I hardly think anyone else will be stepping up to own and manage it for me. Unless you'd like to."

"So you don't want to just be a chef, you want to be a restaurateur - you and what startup funding?"

"We're sixteen," laughs Angie, "can't we talk about what we want to be when we grow up without wondering how we'll fund it?"

"I'm with Angie," says 'John'. "Practicality is depressing."

"What about you, Bella, are you still on 'maybe a witch, maybe a doctor'?" Angie asks.

"Yep," says Bella, "that's about the size of it."

"And do you have a lovely practical plan?"

"Student loans will probably be involved."

"I imagine that of the two, witching is easier to get into without a formal education."

"Yes. But probably harder to retain a decent relationship with my parents."

"I'm sure you'd do wonderful things as a witch," says Angie, "and your parents would understand eventually, even if they worried. It's not as though Charlie's job is the safest."

"Do your parents disapprove of witching, then?"

"Charlie more so than Renée," says Bella slowly, shifting in her seat. "Risk of draft, risk of botched spell, risk of addiction and magic accordingly taking over one's life."

"I suppose a career in medicine carries none of those risks."

"They have better luck at enticing doctors into the USADI with mere large amounts of money," says Bella. "And the obsession symptom is a temporary feature of medical school, and if you botch something, that's what malpractice insurance is for."

He laughs.

"But the scale and flexibility of a halfway decent witch are better." She shrugs.

"I'd be scared to even try a spell. Some things are just - bigger than me," says Angie, shaking her head. "Bella's brave," she adds in a stage whisper to Sherlock.

"I noticed," he murmurs back.

"I have confidence in my own - meticulousness, when things are important," says Bella. "I assess things and then follow through on trusting my assessments even if the thing I have to do still isn't great. I don't think that's the same thing."

"It's a kind of brave. Maybe not the only kind."

"Better than some others," says Sherlock.

"Such as?"

"Bravery is a complicated concept. Sometimes it can mean - a kind of recklessness. And recklessness is nobody's friend."

"I wouldn't ever describe Bella as reckless," says Angie.

"Nor would I."

"No, sometimes I do get in over my head," says Bella. "I just make sure I have a good reason to take the chance first. I don't think that's factored into the definition of recklessness."

"I think taking chances without making sure you have a good reason to is exactly the definition of recklessness."

"I think Bella has a point, though. If somebody goes into a burning building to save somebody else and they're wrong about whether they can, and they die, they might get called reckless. But if they had a good chance of being right, then there was a good reason to take the chance."

"I wouldn't call them reckless, if I knew why they made the choice."

"I would call them reckless if there were precautions readily available that they didn't take," Bella says.

"But you never saw a precaution you didn't like," teases Angie, "so I guess you aren't reckless, then."

Sherlock laughs.

"You look like hell," Sherlock comments. "What can I get you?"

"Ugh, I don't even know, I was going to just fix the sink but Renée called a plumber before I expected her to get around to it," growls Bella, scratching irritably at her scalp. "I could make another charm but who'm I going to give it to, you?"

"Keep it. Who can't use a little more luck?"

"They'd be redundant with each other, somebody'd notice if I had an extra -" She starts scanning the shelves, biting her lip. "Fucking plumber, I could've done it, fucking Charlie, Renée'd be fine with it but he's worried and him being fucking worried only gets me into worse trouble, good job, father of the year - are you guys still out of potion-quality sage?"

"Yes, we still are. I could give a charm to Angie and pretend I've had it all along," he suggests.

"She'll insist you keep it. I don't want you to have one, I don't like you, worst fucking night of my life when I met you."

"Tape it to her locker signed from a secret admirer with forged handwriting," he suggests next. "Or is that too convoluted?"

"Pretty fucking convoluted and her dad's a suspicious ass sometimes, might get it looked at, might trace it - why don't you have any fucking potion quality sage, I could just make a healing potion, I like those, they're useful, they're a good dose, is it that hard to keep the damn stuff in stock -" She stalks up and down the aisles, scowling.

"The shipment was delayed. You could scry to see why," he says whimsically.

"You are so fucking smug," she snaps, but she grabs a bottle of scrying water from the endcap and stalks to the register.

She stays inside the shop. She paces. "Ugh. He's going to find out eventually anyway - I should've stalled you a little longer till my alarm went off, he would've found you and I'd give him and a team halfway decent odds."

"I wouldn't," says Sherlock. "I like how it turned out much better."

"Of course you do, you have me exactly where you felt like putting me, you're invincible, you're up to whatever you're up to and it's all going according to plan, why would you give a shit about me," she says, and then suddenly she's not scowling, she's crying, sitting on the floor of the shop hugging her knees.

"...My impulse is to hug you but I don't actually expect it to help," he says. "D'you want a tissue?"

"Why the hell," she sniffs, "would you have the impulse to hug me?" She doesn't comment on the tissue either way.

"Never fucking mind," he mutters.

"Seriously, what the hell, you - what the hell, why. Would it be interesting to see what I'd do if Recurring Nightmare Star hugs me, is that it?"

"No."

"Maybe I've done something to fucking offend you and you suspect I wouldn't like it and your vindictive streak is operative and you could've had plausible deniability about it so I wouldn't call the US fucking ADI on you, come on, tell me," she says, rubbing at one eye.

"I cannot meaningfully answer the question because if I told you the truth you would not believe it. Form whatever theory you like. It will be wrong."

"You know what," she says, checking for the car again, finding it still parked, "take the scrying water back, I'll buy mint oil and - and a divining lens -" She gets up and puts the water bottle on the counter. "And then you can prove it, if you want." She has named the ingredients for a lie detection spell.

"Fine," he says. He processes the return of the scrying water.

She collects a little bottle of mint oil, and a green scrying lens, jaw set, shivering occasionally.

Sherlock sells her those items instead.

"I like you, as ridiculous as that is. I am upset that you're upset and I want to help. Vampires can form meaningful personal connections, we just usually don't with humans because most of us think of you as ambulatory juiceboxes. I was never going to kill you, and while I'm at it I also don't mean to kill anyone else in this town, or on this planet, or ever again if I can help it. Is that enough truth for you or would you like some more?"

"Brilliant," he says dryly. "I'm on a roll, why stop now. Losing Tony felt like being messily deprived of all my vital organs and it did not stop feeling like that after I woke up. I went after the Gem of Amara because in the year since that time I've regularly contemplated killing myself and the only thing that puts off the urge is having something interesting to do with my time. For reasons that escape me me, this business with going to high school qualifies as worth living for, but it probably won't do that forever. You're a far likelier prospect but if you find my company that distressing I might just prefer to leave town. Questions?"

"Did you expect me not to find your company distressing, considering?"

"If I'd been in your place, as a human or otherwise, I wouldn't have been especially upset. I didn't realize until now how much you differed from that."

"I don't recall ever lying to you," he adds, "and I don't especially intend to start. The only lie I have to keep up at the moment is John Escott and you already know all about him."

Bella lowers the lens slowly.

He shrugs.

"...Thanks," she says after a silence.

"You're welcome," he says dryly.

"How exactly would I constitute something to stay alive for?"

"At the risk of having another circular conversation about it - you're interesting."

"If I cease to interest you, what happens?" she asks, lifting the lens again.

"How the fuck should I know? Maybe I leave. Maybe I give the ring back and set myself on fire. I don't expect it to happen."

"Why don't you expect it?"

"It would be like expecting Angie to stop being nice. It would contradict your fundamental nature as a person."

"My name is John Escott and I lost my parents in a vampire attack just a few months ago."

Bella winces at the flare of green light. "Okay, it's working," she mutters.

He shrugs again.

"...Does this mean that if for some reason you no longer get to experience my interestingness regularly you hare off somewhere and kill yourself?"

"Well, I hare off somewhere and try to find some other way to pass the time," he says. "But when I run out - yes."

"While you have the lens going, is there anything else I'd need to say to convince you that I won't be secretly eating people if I take a weekend to go hunting in the woods? I won't be eating people."

"I probably should have been wondering this earlier, but what will you do if a person finds you while you're hunting non-people? It does get likelier if you're out for longer."

"It hasn't yet and it won't now. And I suppose I'd either talk my way out of it or leave."

Bella chews her lip. "I won't freak out if you're gone for a weekend."

"Although I suppose placating the Webbers will be another matter."

"Yes, probably."

He shrugs. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I can manage to stay out a day without causing alarm, at least, I'm sure."

"Probably."

"Any more burning questions?"

"Of course you would," he says, but he puts in the order.

There's really no point trying to hide what she wants it for from this guy, is there. "Someone could get the gem away from you," she points out, "or you could decide to return it and go capering off into the night."

He snorts. "Yes."