A/N: This is an homage to their date in Body Count Ch50, namely because I don't think they would actually go on dates. #SexyTime #BengalTiger #MemoryFoam #Berries #Eggs #OystersandWine #Jasmine

As always, enjoy.

Chapter 13: Mammal

Monday 5th September, 11.12am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

After Finch's call, Joss declared that they had until the clock struck 12 to make the most of their short-lived crazy-sexy-cool honeymoon until she turned into a poker-playing pumpkin; especially since it was on Finch's dime. While Mrs Nichols lounged on the chaise longue in the His robe making orders and booking spa treatments on the phone; in came the tray of berries, oysters and red wine from the concierge while Mr Nichols lathered up and shaved.

"No eggs?" He asked, with the same look in his eye that wore out the memory foam pillow.

Joss posed a philosophical question as the His robe dropped to the floor. "Who needs eggs when we've got berries?"

From that fateful night in November 2013 when Joss lifted her top to reveal her IED scar to the time that followed, John had become acquainted with all of them; the crescent shaped Caesarean scar on her lower abdomen, the bullet wound scar in her chest courtesy of the not-so-dearly departed Officer Simmons and the faint glass cut scar on the back of her neck for jumping in one of John' signature all-hell-breaks-loose pool hall brawls. But today was different because it became clear he was the one who'd be leaving with scars. He always credited Joss as an enthusiastic lover, and didn't mind that possessive lip-biting as long as she didn't break the skin, but her rounded manicured nails were dragging down his back like a punishment. Ironically, the man who coined the phrase, "things that feel good and hurt at the same time," was killing her softly with his strokes; drumming her back into the chaise longue and practically through the ceiling into the suite below. Why? Because 12 o'clock was nigh.

1.49pm Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

Joss snatched all the cards impatiently; John had just thrown down three jacks even though he promised to throw the game. Over Eggs Florentine and pancakes she tried the simple approach of teaching him the worst hands as he obviously knew the best ones. But that didn't work because his name was John. "Have you ever heard of losing? It's like winning but not."

He grinned because she was annoyed and her nostrils were flaring involuntarily so he couldn't take her seriously. "Okay, let's try again."

"If you pull out two Aces I'll…" She reconsidered the punitive approach because pain wasn't a deterrent for him. "…D'you know what? I won't cause you'd like that."

"I'd like…you to get your hair wet."

She resisted the temptation. "I am; in the bubble bath I'm having while you play. Now throw the game, John. It's not that hard."

He sighed. "It really is."

"That's your big…fat…ego talking."

"I thought you liked my big…fat…ego."

She didn't have a snappy one-liner to outdo his, especially when his big fat ego looked good to her right now, so she dealt their hands instead. "Let's focus, 'cause we all know you need practice…"

The faux-pas at Eastatoe Creek lingered over them. "Are you ever gonna let that go?"

"Pssshhhh. We're married; I'm gonna hold onto it for life and use it my advantage."

"So when's the next trip to Summerville? I vote 2020."

She laughed because that was one year less than she wanted. "2020 it is. See? 6 of Spades, 6 of Diamonds. I probably lost. Now you try…" He shook his head. "Come on, it can't be that bad."

"4 of a kind." John said with victory, putting down a 7 in each suit and the Queen of Clubs.

This guy…

5.02pm, East 141st Street, Bronx, New York

Fusco tried his luck at the local convenience store with some lottery tickets, scratch offs and snacks Shaw's sedan on the corner blew his plans of a nice evening to dust. "What's on the menu, tonight?" He asked, sliding into the passenger's side.

"Bacon cheeseburgers, curly fries and possible death."

"Who's our suspect?"

"Some college kid with a girl-sized chip on his shoulder." Shaw fished through his brown paper bag, underwhelmed by his chips. "Flaming hot? Sissy." He wished he could give her a scotch bonnet pepper. "How's Raisin?"

He corrected her for the umpteenth time. "You mean Hazel. She's fine."

"You didn't bring her to Bummerville."

He scratched off his tickets, saving the strawberry one for last. "I woulda had to explain who the groom is, who you all are besides Carter. Anyway I heard you got some action in the garage."

Shooting Reggie was the highlight since she didn't like music that didn't have shrill, 2-minute electric guitar solos. "I was the action in the garage. Ever been to the circus?"

He thought it was an odd question, but he went with it. "Once, when I was a kid. A neighbour took all of us kids; I'd never seen an elephant dance before."

"Hmm. How about a bear?"

"Don't remember, why?"

She sped off. "No reason."

6.17pm Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

It had been a while since John last saw Zoe, and she didn't know if the wedding band on John Hayworth's fourth finger was real or part of the cover. But underneath the cologne she picked up on a scent that she was fond of; jasmine. "Senator Campbell, John Hayworth. John's an art dealer, impressionist mainly, but he has a great appreciation for Middle Eastern art. Senator Campbell just secured a large investment for a regeneration project bringing 300 jobs to Detroit." She neglected to say the Senator was caught with his pants down just a year ago.

6.18pm Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York

Joss was sensitive to one man's touch but this woman was working all her kinks out on the massage table. "Mmmmmmmmmmmm." She groaned, letting out the tension of all her relatives as Hirai kneaded her back with her knuckles. "Yesssssssssssssss…"

9.59pm, Cayuga Prime Apartments, Cayuga Heights, New York

Although she drove him nuts when she used his body as a shield, Fusco didn't mind having Shaw as a partner as long as she filled him in. Sitting through her jarring playlist had eroded his patience and understanding. "We've been here for an hour and I'm all outta Cheetos. Who are we waiting for? 'Cause I can't see any college kids affording this place."

She turned down the music. "We're waiting for Kibble to show up."

"Kibble?"

"Yeah, and the Prince. Oh, and Paws." The blank expression on his face showed she wasn't the facilitator. "The prince hates Kibble 'cause Kibble stole his never-was-never-will-be girlfriend so now he's gonna set Paws on Kibble 'cause he's a sore loser. And a big loser. Just a loser in general."

Surprisingly he understood her. "Paws? A cat? What is it? One of those fancy hybrids? Half-cat, half-leopard?"

"No, just half-Bengal tiger and half-Bengal tiger." She explained.

"You gotta be kidding me." The last Bengal tiger he saw was Shere Khan at the movies with Hazel just because she thought Idris Elba's voice was sexy. A $35 snoozefest is what he called it, to himself of course.

"Oh, and it's black and white not orange."

"One day, you're gonna call me to go catch a tiger or free a felon or break into a federal bank and I won't be there." He informed her, ripping open a pack of gummy bears from her glove compartment out of spite.

"You know what, Lionel? You don't have to be mean." She replied, taking the food violation personally. "And yes you will 'cause Raisin's as boring as Nursing Home TV…" She made a snoring sound for emphasis. "Deep down, you love it 'cause you're just like me…just five years behind the curve at the gun range."