A/N: Evelyn will not be with us for a while; she's somewhere licking her wounds as Gregory fishes her participation ribbon out of the trash.

It's about time we head back to New York.

FYI: Whale is a casino term or a high-roller/big spender, "How, Sway?" is a soundbite from the megalomaniac Kanye West, and in honour of the High Priestess of Hip-Hop Soul, Mary J Blige, and her troubles; the first line of this chapter is for her.

There's a lot going on in the world that should not be happening, especially for my African-American readers, so hopefully this can make you laugh and smile.

As always, enjoy!

Chapter 12: Mine

Tuesday 6th September 2016, 1.14am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

After 11 days of sacrifice and strife, John decided war was better than facing off with Joss' family. He reflected on how much he'd underestimated the challenge, as he downed two short glasses of bourbon; one to keep him awake and one to put him to sleep with his woman…his wife. He had to remind himself that that was true. Joss was wrapped up in a cocoon of Egyptian cotton sheets with the man in the birthday suit, floating on a bed of clouds as their suite looked out into the New York city skyline. He kissed her on the forehead though she couldn't feel it, not after being on the ropes for that long. John sighed. Finally…home.

8.25am, Aunt Tullie's House, Summerville, South Carolina

Taylor should've known there was more to Aunt CeCe's southern breakfast bonanza than her generosity. She eagerly watched him eat the eggs, bacon, grits, sausage and biscuits because she needed something in exchange. After Big Reggie sped off because 'that crazy bitch with the dog shot me' and she witnessed her son missing the porcelain and throwing up in the bathtub instead; she wasn't up to dropping that particular bomb on him. But she knew someone who could. "Uhh, Taylor…" He knew that tone. It was the tone people often used with him. It was the Taylor-can-I-crash-here-til-my-student-loan-comes-in tone, the Taylor-help-me-out-tell-her-I-was-here-all-night tone, the Taylor-wear-this-cape-and-like-it tone. "Your uncle is moving back home."

He raised his eyebrows in shock and exclaimed, "Home-home?" The only thing that could come of Cousin Reggie and Uncle Reggie living in the same home was fireworks; and not Sydney Opera House at New Years' kind.

"No, baby. Columbia, home. He got at new job coaching the Bulldogs."

He knew where she was heading. This was the lead-in; the set-up for justifying why he should do whatever to save someone else. "I can't tell Reggie."

She sighed, but had no intentions of giving up. "Can't you? He listens to you." He really doesn't. But he couldn't tell her that, because then he'd have to tell her he was her son's designated driver when he got so liquored up he forgot his last name. "Tay, you are very smart. And mature. And you know what it's like to have your father back in your life."

That gut punch landed. "…But this is different."

The upspoken truth was that his father wanted to be a part of his son's life; his normal, everyday, pedestrian, cereal-eating, assignment-writing, mediocre-soccer-playing, teenage-angsting life. Big Reggie just wanted reflected glory…and pizza. "You know what it means to forgive." That one hit Taylor between the eyes. "…If everything I've heard about you and Paul is true."

It wasn't fair; but life wasn't fair. He felt that magnetic pull again, that thing that led to him; knee-deep in someone else's troubles. But he couldn't not help Reggie. "Okay I'll tell him."

"Thank you. You know I hope one day, my Reggies can have what you all have." Taylor believed in that as much as he believed that was really Green Lantern taking pictures at his 8th birthday party. "And there's one more thing; there's a scrimmage next week and I'm sure Big Reggie will be there. Heads up?" She patted him on the shoulder and went out for some air after dropping another bomb.

8.30am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

Joss wiped the drool from her mouth and answered the ringing phone. "We have breakfast for Mr and Mrs Nichols, housekeeping observed a Do not Disturb sign so-"

"It's okay. Bring it up."

Besides the magazine on the breakfast table which she shoved under the pillow and her nakedness which she covered with one of those fancy His hotel dressing gowns, there was nothing to hide. John had no intention of putting a shirt on so he kept on reading the newspaper to catch up on what he'd missed on their so-called vacation. "Hey, what's for breakfast?"

"Chocolate." He replied with a smirk. Those blue eyes could pierce through paper and burn a hole in her skin.

"I'm intrigued."

"You should be."

8.57am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

It wasn't the kind of breakfast or chocolate she was expecting. After putting away two pain au chocolats and washing them down with Italian cappuccinos, Joss was lying on her front, naked, as John painted something unseen on her back. It was warm to the touch until it hardened. Surprisingly, John didn't have a sweet tooth. "Wanna hear a story?"

"Sure." She replied. "One I've never heard before."

"Okay. In my Zack Morris phase, I got into a fight and that's how I ended up in the Army."

"I know; the judge said boot camp or prison."

"Well, what you don't know is what caused the fight in the first place. At the group home, there was a lot of hazing except we didn't call it that back then."

"John-"

"Not for me because I smashed an egg on one of their heads in my first week."

"I see."

"Anyway there was a new kid who was about 13 and we were all about 16, 17. 3 jackasses teamed up on him, messed with him, and I couldn't take it so I lifted a wrench from the toolbox and hit one of them in the head. When he fell down and didn't get up, our home leader thought I killed him and called the police. He had blurry vision for months. So the court wanted to charge me with assault with a deadly weapon but the judge decided the Army would straighten me out and here I am."

"Yep, straight as an arrow." She joked. "Is that why you chose Morris? 'Cause under all that craziness is a trigger-happy good guy?"

"When you put it like that…"

"John, I don't care what they think about you. My mom thinks you're an ex-U.S. Marshal turned Private Investigator and my son respects you; that's enough for me. Now, why'd you tell me that story instead of saying how beautiful I am from your view?

"I wanted to tell you something you don't already know."

She smiled into her pillow. "You got all the lines huh, John?"

"Uncle Sterling called me a smooth talking bastard.

She threw her head back at him, whipping her hair around. "Really? That means he likes you."

He blinked with surprise. "Guess I did something right. You think he'll get over the doe?"

"The less we talk about that, the better. What happened to the little guy?"

"I don't know. It's not like I ever went back. I wanted them to stop messing with him so I hope it worked."

"Me too. What are you painting back there?"

He took a picture on a polaroid. "Never mind."

"John, I have a right to know. What if the picture gets out?"

"No-one's gonna identify your ass but me, Joss. Lie still. For the record, the only lines I have are the ones I'm gonna lick off you right now."

11.22am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina

Reggie tried to show his face, even though his head was spinning. He saw the girl who looked like a nerdy version of the hot girl in Sin City on Taylor's tablet, over his cousin's shoulder. "Want me to pour you some simp juice?"

Taylor knew he shouldn't be looking. Especially at that weird white guy in cosplay in her pictures. He wondered if she was dating him or if he was just hanging around in the friend zone biding his time. Or if he was a study partner like he pretended to be until she told him to 'stop looking at her like that'. Either way he hated him on sight, even if his Sarutobi Asuma costume was on point. Reggie sat next to him on the sofa, because that helped the walls to stop moving.

"Uhhh…your dad's coaching at SC state this season and moving back here. Well not here-here, but you know what I mean. And your mom left you a plate." Reggie nodded silently and Taylor naively thought he was taking it better than expected. Until he said something under his breath that rhymed with buck that trigga. "Reg." Taylor tried but his cousin didn't want to hear it.

Reggie's nostrils flared. "I knew he wanted-" He sucked his teeth and had a conversation with himself and there went that 4-syllable M-word that his grandma Cammelia would've cut a switch for if they were just a few years younger.

"So what are you gonna do? 'Cause you can't get wasted, go off at the scrimmage and keep your scholarship."

"I know. I'll handle it."

"How?" Taylor was fascinated because if he meant to continue the way he'd been going; he was headed somewhere terrible.

"What are you, Dr Phil or sum'n?" Reggie tried to change subject. "Aleesha's having this thing tomorrow…"

Taylor knew nothing good could come from going back to the pot pourri apartment either. "No."

"Why not?"

Taylor bit the bullet and said the thing that was obvious. "'Cause you can't use Aleesha as 'someplace to go'."

Reggie blinked at the light of truth. "But I don't-"

"You do."

"Come on, Sway."

"Yeah, you do."

"But it's not even like-" When Taylor stopped arguing and gave him a meme face of disbelief, he knew it was true. "So what am I supposed to do?"

Taylor knew he wasn't not ready to admit his feelings for Aleesha if it took him a year to admit he was missing his ex-girlfriend. So he went the humorous route. "Not Aleesha?"

Reggie considered it for about four seconds. "What about-"

"Please don't say Alijah or Ebony. They're nice. And they're roommates."

Reggie sighed and scratched his neck because the idea of cutting off from Aleesha was giving him anxiety. He didn't know what drew him to her was the same thing that drew his father to his mother and the habit of coming back over-and-over empty-handed was something that would fill the pockets of a therapist in the future. "Okay," He rationalised. "Brandy." Taylor hid his face in his hands from frustration. "What? I'm trying." Taylor shrugged his shoulders because he actually was, which is more than could be said for Uncle Reggie.

10.57am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

"I did not fall asleep, John." Joss insisted, determined to win this argument. If you could call it that.

He wasn't interested in putting up a fight, not when she was walking around in the His robe; ignoring the fact the arms were too long. If it was up to him the monogram would've read Mine. "Okay, the time just ran away from you."

She yawned again. "Blame it on the family. They can really wear you out, huh?"

He didn't need reminding. "You think?"

Joss poured two flutes of champagne. "What made you come down there in the first place? Besides the arm-twisting and the cattle-prod coercion and the Chinese burn from Ma."

Taylor's face flashed in his mind but he would never give him up like that. He'd heard Joss was quite creative with her son so he foresaw lots of noodles and cereal in the poor college student's future if he did. "My sense of adventure."

"Yeah, right. Montana's more your speed; if you wanted to hunt you could've killed a moose. Really, what made you come?"

She never got her answer because John's burner phone went off. The third party in their marriage raised his head above the parapet so there had to be a decent reason why. After all, he'd landed on the helipad on the roof so they could have something of a honeymoon. "Finch?" John asked, drinking half a glass.

"Good morning Mr Reese…Morris…Nichols. And congratulations."

He dodged Joss' eager ear. "Thanks."

"I know it's not the best timing,"

"But?" John prodded. Off-days weren't his thing and he'd spent more time in Summerville than he's had off since they first met.

"There's a high-stakes poker game taking place later on, on the 18th floor."

"How much is it worth?" Joss raised an eyebrow; she hated being kept out of the loop.

"There's no money involved, just high-priced goods. I got you a seat at the table for the princely sum of a Feregham Sarouk Persian rug."

John didn't know what that was, only that it probably cost a fortune. "Gotta dust off the old hand. It's been a while since I played."

"Actually, John, I'd like you to lose, just lose. This is not a doe, a deer situation."

John stared at Joss and put him on loudspeaker. "They told you too?"

"Ms Tulip is delightful, she understood your need to overachieve is rooted in insecurity."

Joss snorted. "Excuse me?" John asked.

"It meansh she knowsh shyour gun'sh shmaller than mine." Shaw's muffled voice – her eating voice – made sense. She was scoffing down venison stew on bruschetta while Bear gnawed on the tough steak on the floor at her loft.

"And then there's that pesky matter of Ms Morgan." Finch broke the news to a larger audience than expected.

"Zoe?" Joss asked, thinking this was not the day to hand her husband over to Legs, as Fusco affectionately called her behind her back, before the ink was dry on their marriage certificate.

"Ms Morgan's client will be playing today. Senator of Michigan, Raymond Campbell. You can beat him. He's innocent. But you must lose overall."

"Who's the whale?" John asked.

"His Royal Highness Prince Farazmon Shaveer or Faz as he's affectionately called by his colleagues at Cornell University. He's 20, full of hubris and will be playing for an illegally-trafficked white Bengal tiger."

"Can't he just buy one?" Joss asked, as Taylor had showed her a Big Cats of Instagram mini-doc once.

"Well, I did say hubris." Joss downed a glass of champagne. The news went down better that way. "Faz suffered a heartbreak last semester; the pain of unrequited love. It was the first time in his life he couldn't have what he wanted."

Joss remembered how Taylor has moped and snapped and moved around in a mannish fashion of all year over Bella and there wasn't even another guy on the horizon. Not that she knew of. "Who's he gonna feed to the tiger, Finch?" John stared at her, amazed she skipped all the steps straight to homicide, even on their honeymoon.

"Nasir Chehna, 21, also Iranian-born, raised in Dearborn and Detroit, Michigan. He thinks he's been invited to Faz's off-campus "kickback". For one."

Joss sighed. "Fine. I wouldn't want my son served up as dinner."

"But you hate Zoe." Shaw said out-of-turn.

"I don't hate Zoe." Joss said, convincing no-one and fooling no-one at all.

"I can hate her for you." Shaw offered.

"I think you should stick to hating Big Reggie. Appreciate it though. And your aim." Shaw felt the closest thing to fuzzy inside, like she just bit into one of those electric cable sweets.