A/N: Again, thanks for hanging in there.
As always, enjoy x
Tuesday 19th August 2014, 6.02pm, Finch's Townhouse, Greenwich Village, New York
Joss pondered Nate Dalton's assertion that all people hate their exes when, having read through 40 pages of acrimonious text messages and statements from the mediator at their daughter's drop-offs, Captain Vega decided to charge him for his ex-wife's murder despite her hunch that he didn't do it. Between that and the newlywed murder that bled through the airwaves while she and John were making the most of her kitchen counter that Saturday, her caseload was growing but she was barely making progress. She was hopeful when she received a text on her burner phone from Finch. On her arrival he learnt two new things about her; she was on level 37 of Ms. Pacman on her phone and it was difficult to work under her occasional expectant glare.
"Would you like some tea? Herbal, fruit, traditional?" He asked, eyeing the empty armchair in the corner of the room. If she could just move over there…
"I can take a hint, Finch. You can't find any more intel and I'm in your way."
"I wouldn't use those words exactly." He sorted through the tin box. "I recommend Forest Fruits."
She gave in and dunked the bag until the water was stained red and the perfume scent of hibiscus danced under her nose. "What are you thinking?"
"There's a new number."
She sipped, despite the smell it tasted like pink pond water. "That's a statement of fact, not a thought."
"Touché. I have a location on Elias."
She sighed with relief. "That's the break I've been waiting for."
He looked unnerved like he was waiting for what she would do next. "However-"
"You don't wanna give it to me 'cause you think I'll go out raising hell with a 12-gauge?"
"Not exactly." Yes, exactly.
"I'd take it as a compliment." Shaw commented, unceremoniously butting in to their conversation. "It's about time something interesting happened around here." She threw a chewed-up rope toy across the room for Bear to catch.
"I suppose that means crisis averted." Finch printed off a newspaper article.
"Yeah, the girl with the thing on her face lives to scare small children another day. What's this I hear about a 12-gauge? I'm fascinated."
"I was speaking hypothetically." Joss noticed she only ate the red gummy bears and today she was doing something uncharacteristic, almost smiling.
"Okay, so hypothetically my offer still stands, Carter. If you ever need an assist…"
"I'm sure your working styles are too different from you to work together effectively. Not to mention your ethics."
Shaw rolled her eyes. "Call me. Hypothetically."
Finch cleared his throat. "About that number…Andrew Price, 47, just moved into the Welling-Shield development in Brooklyn, he's under threat of assault."
"Any reason why?" Joss briefly contemplated taking her up on her offer.
He read from the article. "Nate Corday, older brother of Michelle Corday, victim of a car accident in '09 that left her paralysed from the waist down. Mr Price was the driver."
"Was he drunk?" Joss asked, thinking if she gave him her time he might be more forthcoming with Elias' location.
"He was under the influence of steroids. Andrew was sentenced to 18 months for reckless endangerment but due to prison overcrowding he was transferred to a diversion programme for substance abuse."
Shaw filed her nails. "So he never did time. And the brother's got his pitchfork out. Can't blame him though. He's gotta be good for at least a broken arm."
"That's not the way to deal with it. Going vigilante is ill-advised." Finch reminded her.
"How? What's wrong with forming a one-time-ass-kicking-army?
"You can't right every wrong, one ass-kicking at a time."
"You can't?" Shaw was genuinely confused. "Then what are we doing here?"
Thursday 21st August 2014, 8.49pm, 8th Precinct
Fusco knew it was futile but he advised her anyway. "Let it go, Carter. You read the texts. He called her a terrorist." He pressed the sugar button on the coffee machine three times over, his urge to drink was still there but he suppressed it with sugar.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I still say he didn't do it."
"It's a lost cause if you ask me." They locked eyes and she picked up on his double meaning. "Did Glasses come through?" She nodded. "It's a trap, Carter. And you're walking right into it."
She knew deep down she ought to listen and take his warning more seriously but she couldn't bring herself to do it. All she had to do was make one phone call and she'd be headed down the highway out of state.
Thursday 21st August 2014, 10.04pm, Port Morris, Bronx
John's dark grey minivan was parked near a Charter School, just where he said it would be. The half empty pizza box sat on the dashboard as he tweaked the radio knob for a decent station.
There'll never be a better, never be, be a better love…What the world needs now is…at the Copa, Copacabana…Well if you told me you were drowning…I'll set fire to the rain…Oh-Oh, I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien, I'm an Englishman in New York…
"Perfect." She made a face. "Come on, everyone loves Sting."
She conceded because it wasn't her car. "How's the new place?" He looked at her with surprise. "What? You think I don't know you moved out of the apartment? I don't need a Machine to find that out, Conrad Bridges."
"Just staying mobile."
"If you say so. I still live in Manhattan, in case you were wondering."
"I know where you live." Even though she hadn't seen him in a few days it still made her feel bashful. "So, this Kill Bill campaign you've got going,"
"I'm not trying to kill Elias. I wanna know if he had something to do with it."
"So you can do what?"
"Get clarity."
"On Simmons?"
"I can't describe it; it's like an itch I can't scratch."
"There's lotion for stuff like that. Last location on him was Newport, Rhode Island. Are you sure you wanna do this?"
"Of course. Why? You scared, John?" John changes the station back.
Gonna take a lot to keep my away from you…there's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do…I bless the rains down in Africa…Gonna take some time to do the things we never had…
