A/N: I was supposed to write something smart/funny/random here...

As always, enjoy.

Monday 7th March 2016, 10.11am, Dexter's Lab, 52nd Street, Theater District, Times Square, New York

Shaw knew something was wrong when she started humming along involuntarily with the reconditioned 1992 Addams Family pinball machine. Bear smelt her from the entrance, and sniffed around her trenchcoat pocket until she produced a stick of beef jerky.

"Harold, did you feed Bear today?" She asked, since he hadn't greeted her in months.

"Sirloin, thinly sliced." Finch replied, not taking his eyes off the game.

She thought it was a good sign that Bear was getting something better than kibble. "And Ken-Doll, where is he?"

"Mr Reese is somewhere, not in imminent danger, according to The Machine."

"How long have you been playing that?" She asked, reading G-R-E-E-D opens the bookcase over his shoulder.

"Well, I started with 50 dollars in quarters and a quarter gives roughly 6 minutes of play so if you multiply that by-"

"Harold. You can't live like this."

"As far as I remember this is my Penthouse. And that means I can."

"But-"

He put the game on pause, realising his back needed a break from standing for so long. "We need to discuss boundaries. I assure you my mental capabilities are intact, and as for your other idea; frankly, I found your suggestion quite filthy."

"Filthy?"

"Yes, like 3-day-old milk on stale cereal." That was an example she could empathise with. "So unless there's something you need, besides another cadaver removal for which Mr Reese is better suited, I suggest you leave me in peace. Lurch was so unappreciated."

She stared at him, since it happened she thought she and John had done a decent job of keeping it a secret. "You know about Alan?"

"And his former comrade, who would do best not to enter the country unless he wants to be extradited? Yes I do. They called him Aslan, which translates to Lion, which is also the name C.S. Lewis used in the Chronicles of Narnia."

"For who?"

"The lion. As in; the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." He explained. "What I don't understand is why you had such a drastic reaction to Mr Siedal when you saw him. What took place in your loft that resulted in his demise? It clearly wasn't premeditated."

She didn't know how to take him. "You know what? I think I'll take Bear for a long walk."

11.41am, Joss' Apartment

Taylor always knew when John was up to something, because he became really calm and rational just before he did something that belonged in a 3-hour action movie. Like today for instance, was his mom's 45th birthday and besides the stack of waffles they couldn't finish, everything seemed pretty normal. John was reading across multiple newspapers at the kitchen island and tearing out articles of interest, but he had no idea why.

"You think your mom would say yes?" John asked casually, scanning the sports pages.

Taylor's eyes grew with a combination of suspicion and confusion. "You're gonna propose? Today?"

"Maybe."

Taylor smiled at the masterful work of the puppetmaster. "Gram got to you, huh? How? Coconut cake?"
"Island rum cake. Twice soaked." Taylor tried not to laugh. "But it's not about that, it's about us."

"If that's what you want…"

John looked up at him. "You need to be more direct. It'll help when you jump line."

"Drop line...Getting married doesn't mean you're gonna be there for her, or the twins. 'Cause if it did…anyway, if you want to, I guess you should do it."

"That's not exactly a vote of confidence."

"I thought you wanted me to be direct."

"Touché."

"So what'd you get Ma for her birthday?"

"I thought the ring was the gift." Taylor shook his head. "Guess not. I'll think of something."

"Good luck."
"What'd you mean? You're supposed to help. You know what she likes."
"Someone's gotta keep Gram away for the day. That's my gift."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. I'm pretty low on cash but sanity is priceless. So try getting her something she can use."

If Joss could see herself, she would've known her tank top was a few inches too short at the front and her hair that didn't make it into the lazy bun was hanging down her neck. But she was too distracted by the oncoming train that was Evelyn on the phone. "...Because I don't do shotgun, pistol or rifle weddings 'cause I'm not ashamed and it's not 1969, tell Aunt Cammie that...yes...I love it, so thank you...yeah you do have the best taste…not yet...I don't know...The roof is leaking?...Yes I'll make a donation...not that big...What'd you mean John's good for it?...Ma?...Okay love you too. Bye."

Taylor noticed she was going through the cupboards absent-mindedly. "I put the chocolate turtles in the fridge."

"I'm looking for the crackers." They knew better than to tell her she'd eaten the box already. "You look better, Tay."

"It's the sleep..and the food."

"And the girl with the fridge magnets on her face?" She pried, while looking in the fridge for something she'd already finished.

"They're piercings. And she's-"

"Absolutely, positively, not your girlfriend. Right?"

"She's not."

John wasn't buying it either but he wouldn't say it. "I thought you were sleeping in."

"I was. What's up with you two?"

"Nothing." They said in unison.

"If I find out you've been leaping tall buildings with my son when I specifically asked you not to-"

Taylor zipped up his jacket and ran for cover. "Gotta go."

She wrapped some cheese in a slice of pastrami and scanned him with her eyes. "What are you up to, John Reese?"

He tore another cutting from the newspaper. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"What did she mean by John's good for it?" He shifted in his seat. "The stuff, all that nursery stuff that was on you?"

He tried to explain. "Joss-"

"I wasn't into the seaside navy theme at first but I get it now. She shook you down."

"She didn't." She did.

"How much?" She insisted.

He cleared his throat. "Three grand."

"Three grand! Of course she spent three grand...the matching blue and white cribs...and the dresser. The Ainsley collection. That's so her."

He tried to throw her off with a question. "So...you like it?"

"You're on a string, John. Evelyn Geppetto got you good this time. Careful before she makes you dance."

"I don't know how she does it."

"It's an art, John. Never taught, just perfected over time and used against unsuspecting victims." Her eyes flitted between the articles. "What's going on?"

"It's your birthday. And I've got something special planned."

"No you don't." She said cynically, trying to skim-read as much as possible. "All I want for my birthday is you in one piece. And ice cream cake. But make sure there's no-"

"Almond flakes on it. I know you're allergic."

"You're gonna make an interesting dad, John."
"Don't you mean exceptional? I prefer exceptional."
"You're full of exceptions but that's how I like it."
"Why?"
"I gave up predicting what's next the day I started working with you guys. What's going on?" She asked, referring to the newspaper clipping. "Is this some Finch pattern where they're related but not related at all?"

"You, are a born cop." He kissed her forehead. "And a bored one. There's nothing for you to worry about…except your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" She asked, poking him in the chest.

"I'm taking you somewhere tonight."