A/N: This is for everyone having one of those weeks. The Team is back.
Random references: Cafe Bombon is half espresso-half condensed milk, Team Xtreme was an Attitude-era team of Lita and the Hardy Boyz, the three letters are DVF and "read her/him the Riot Act" is a British phrase/idiom meaning to tell someone off about their bad behaviour e.g. parent/child, spouse/spouse, teacher/student.
Does anyone else remember the time John and Zoe were married in the suburbs in S02?
As always, enjoy x
Chapter 15: Men
Wednesday 7th September 2016, 11.01am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York
"Welcome back Mr Reese. While Detective Fusco and our overzealous friend make an effective team; it's quite nice to have the genuine article." Finch greeted.
John felt like he was back in uniform; the Glock in his waistband crossed the final T. "It's good to be back, Finch."
"And timely, but before I give you the latest update; congratulations."
"Thanks. Couldn't have done it without it you, seeing as she would've killed me." That statement equally applied to Evelyn and Joss. John took the envelope with suspicion. "What's this?"
"A bonus."
"I didn't know we did that."
"Well, since you gave away most of your earnings and the Detective has a taste for the finer things in life, I thought it might be appropriate."
The finer things? Maybe steak and a nice bottle of wine, but he'd never known Joss to be materialistic. "Was it the mini bar?"
"Actually it was the spa. And the concierge. But the less said about that the better. I suppose you'll be looking for a new abode – I took the liberty of shortlisting some places with laxer street security."
John hadn't thought about where they were going to live, Joss' place was cozy enough for two as long as he didn't use the front entrance. "I guess you own some of these buildings."
"Perhaps. You have something for me?" John puts the doll on the desk. "Ahhh, the Childhood Museum will appreciate the donation. Tell me, how is Ms Morgan?"
John said the first word that came to mind after seeing her face. "Puffy."
Finch poured him a travel mug of coffee. "Puffy?"
"Yeah, her face. She looked like one of those ads on the subway."
"Hmmm." Harold sipped his tea with intrigue, suddenly inspired to change his agenda for the day. "Well, two numbers came up this morning and Team Xtreme are dealing with one already so..." A young girl with plastic barettes in her hair came up on the nearest screen. "Claudette Moore, aged 8. Daughter of Khaliah Moore, a dental hygienist, and Montez Jackson, currently awaiting trial at Rikers for selling marijuana to minors."
"Weed charges?" John asked with disbelief. Most days he'd usually committed more misdemeanours before 10am to deserve a spot in jail than simply selling weed up the street from the local high school.
"Yes, it appears Mr Jackson is being extorted as the drugs in question were confiscated, leaving him indebted to a man further up the food chain known as Kairo."
John knew the coffee was for something. "Where am I headed?"
"The Hole."
"Kidnapping in the works. Nice. I guess we don't have to worry about because there are no street cameras. Which also means you can't track me."
"Well, if it was easy it wouldn't be fun."
"Another day at the office…"
11.49am, Good Dam Donuts, Highbridge, Bronx, New York
For once, Fusco's mission didn't involve washing the dog, being on tiger watch, or the illustrious role as Shaw's human body shield. Instead they were using their brains, fuelled on donuts and coffee; as they kept watch on Lucas Dabrowski, the 23-year-old college dropout, donut shop employee of the month for three months and counting, and part-time hacker.
"I don't trust him." Fusco announced, choosing between the green one with a cream filling or the square one filled with chocolate from the mixed baker's dozen. "I bet he poked his nose somewhere it didn't belong."
"He's too much of a loser to be anything special. If he was that good at hacking; he wouldn't be sharing a studio apartment and sleeping on a pull-out couch."
"Don't count him out."
She stared at him. "Who are you, Coach Carter? His parents kicked him out for a reason, should've stayed at community college on their dime, traded it in for Raid cans and mouse traps. Punk."
He smiled. He never got that kind of straight talk from Hazel. "Some people have to learn the hard way."
"Yeah." She agreed for once. "By getting shot."
4.04pm, 8-ball Pool Hall, Brooklyn, New York
If married life was meant to domesticate John then they hadn't invented a ball and chain heavy enough to slow him down. He figured from recent reports, the kidnapping was a three-man operation and he'd found his driver.
"I'll play you." John kind-of offered.
"Nah."
"50 bucks?"
The young man who couldn't have been more than 19 showed a sudden interest. He took off his football jacket. "You break."
John nodded. "Yes, Jaheem, I break." He was quick, but not quick enough to escape the swift swing of the pool stick across his back knocking him to the ground. "Let's talk about the little girl in your van this afternoon."
"What girl?" Jaheem asked, plotting how he could get revenge with the knife in his pocket.
John smiled because of his newfound patience. The same patience he used to ask just one question. "Where did you and two jackasses on the traffic camera take her?"
Jaheem got the feeling this man was a cop, and he might die that day. "Nowhere."
"Sucks to be you, Jaheem." If it wasn't for Shaw's Tang Soo Do lessons, John wouldn't have been so graceful in his movement. This wasn't any reckless beating with a pool stick, this was five calculated hits with precision as John cut the pool stick through the air as though it was made of bamboo. Whacking the wind out of Jaheem's body and triggering enough nerve endings to encourage him to talk. "Now, let's start at the beginning. Who told you to wait outside the Evers School?"
6.39pm, The Nurture Medical Center & Research Facility, Chelsea, Upper East Side New York
Finch found it thrilling to do some sleuthing of his own. He could've used The Machine as the many ringing phones he walked past and the random SMSs indicated, but he needed to feel the fresh autumnal air on his skin and the rush of adventure. He followed Zoe around for the day, and found from cleaning up the Senator and icing his face down from the 'coke bloat' to her speaking conversational Portuguese to a Brazilian ambassador about how to recover from the PR disaster that was the 2016 Paralympics to her arduous and borderline torturous Spinning class; her plate seemed to be very full. But at the last stop, the early 20th Century boarding house turned private health clinic run by the decorated Dr Carver-Bee, a fertility specialist, it appeared her plate might be empty at the same time. He was so lost in this philosophical musing that he didn't notice her waving from the gate across the street.
She got in through the open suicide door. "I've never missed a Bentley in my life, Harold. Especially not the same one, twice in a day."
He couldn't help noticing the puffiness in her face was an accurate description. "Well, seeing as my cover's blown; please join me for dinner."
"I can't. But thanks anyway."
"How about an appetizer or two?"
She thought she might as well, seeing as her cover was blown too. Besides, she needed someone to talk too and she didn't have female friends. Or women wouldn't have her as their friend. Either way, she accepted. "Well now you know my secret; I'd love to."
7.11pm, Alma's Bookcase, Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
Considering the long-held grudge Aunt Cammie kept Evelyn for beating her to the altar in 1968 despite being a year younger (16 to be exact), Joss met her mom at the local bookstore to make peace because she knew what was good for her. She knew she'd find her mother in the fiction section and came bearing gifts from ML Organics. "I got your favourite. Peach iced tea. It's organic, with agave syrup, no sugar. Because we all know how Mr Greg feels about sugar."
The side-eye was a switch blade. "It's gonna take a lot more than that to smooth things over, Jocelyn Hope." Even the cashier had to snicker and cover it with a fake sneeze. Joss felt called out like the one time she cut school only to find her mother waiting at the movie theatre entrance in house shoes to read her the Riot Act in front of her 'fast' friends and insist on driving them all back to school in the ugly maroon sedan parked out front. The only consolation was there was no internet back then. "You have no idea how much it hurt to see you standing there…in that dinner dress like you…" If Evelyn was wearing pearls, she would've clutched them in horror. "…just came back from a cheap restaurant with a doggy bag."
The cashier's silent laughs and shakes produced real tears and Joss was transported to the passenger's seat of that sedan again; face burning from embarrassment and eyes stinging from the mercilessness of it all. To that day, she still would've preferred to cut her own switch. But in 2016, this woman held the keys to her Southern food supply, the well of endless emotional support, and Taylor's mentor. So Joss bent like Simone Biles at the Olympics. "Ma, will you ever forgive me?"
Evelyn cleared her throat. "When my birthday comes around maybe my probationary son-in-law could show his contrition with a tote bag." Joss wasn't surprised. "A nice one. Nicer than Rosie's." Still not surprised. "With three letters on it."
That did it. Joss didn't even have bags with three letters on them and a billionaire just bankrolled her wedding. Not that she was that type, but still. "Really Ma?"
Evelyn had no idea what she did wrong. "What? He's the big spender with friends in high places. Just…showing off for everybody."
She knew Evelyn had no problem with showing off as long as she was the one doing it, but at that moment there was nothing in the world Joss wanted but to make it stop. So she caved like a Greek excavation project. "I'll see what he can do."
Evelyn clapped with excitement. "Wonderful. You look very nice."
"Thanks Ma. It's the facial." She neglected to mention it was a facial with fresh seaweed imported from Japan because that would've thrown gasoline on a containable grease fire.
"You know what you need?"
Highlights. Joss feigned ignorance. "No, what?"
"Highlights. That's how I got Gregory."
"That's now how, Ma." Joss could've said about nine years ago, her mother made a beeline for St Luke's new organ player and edged out Ms Esme, Ms Tonya and Ms Paula with a fat slice of her famous 6-layer coconut cake and an unrefusable offer to lunch at her house where she dropped enough gems to place herself head and shoulders above any competition, fished for all the vital information, and forced so much food down his throat his appetite only returned 72 hours later. But like every Miss America before her, Joss only wanted World Peace. "It was your charm."
Evelyn's voracious appetite for compliments was back in full effect. "You think so?"
"I know so."
Evelyn beamed because that shot of power went down straight, no chaser, and the world seemed normal again. "Help me find that book about the women in the space programme, will you? In the Shadows or something."
Hidden Figures. "Yes ma'am."
8.08pm, L'emphase, Chelsea, Upper East Side, New York
Although she was on a strict dairy and caffeine-free diet and a daily exercise regimen, Zoe couldn't stop herself once she started with the cheese fondue. She'd always preferred male company, arguably more so once her father left, but Harold Finch was just the right mix of conversationalist and asexual to put her at ease.
"…I understand your need for discretion." He nibbled another pork rillettes.
"The last thing I need is my clients hearing the great Zoe Cassandra Morgan wants a baby."
"Well, life is never short of surprises."
She sipped the café bombón. "But it won't take. So the next step is another round of AI. Whoop-dee-doo."
"I wish you the very best with your endeavour, Ms Morgan."
She raised her eyebrows. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Great, because I need your help."
He went into a coughing fit. "With?"
"It's really hard to find a man who meets my profile and has a low number of reported offspring."
He needed water. Badly. "Profile?"
"Above-average intelligence, at least 6 feet tall, athletic ability, excellent medical records, bilingual, no known history of mental illness and," She lowered her voice even though they were in a homogenous environment. "White."
Because he had no investment in this whatsoever, he was surprisingly pragmatic. "I see there are a number of competing variables making your quest difficult."
"Mmmmmm." She replied, finished off a small plate of salmon trout tartare with caviar and capers. "I've been reading this book about getting out of your way and it says you shouldn't be afraid to ask for what you want."
Finch cleared his throat and devised an extremely polite apology. "Uhh, Ms Morgan, I'm 5 foot 11."
She smiled. "I said bilingual. You're a polyglot, Harold. An overachiever." His cheeks flushed from her compliment. "I was thinking more about…John."
A glaring diamond-encrusted obstacle came to mind. "But Ms Morgan-"
"I know we haven't been in touch like we used to be-"
"I think you'd rather not. Mr Reese won't be able to fulfil your request."
She understood his agenda. "I don't expect him to raise the baby, I'm doing this on my own. I don't want to interfere with his life -or your work- I just-"
"He's married." Finch blurted out without his usual tact.
She was puzzled. "The ring. He always wears a ring. He gave me a ring-"
"It's different now." His tact took a nose dive into her Spanish coffee and drowned instantly. "It actually means something. He married Det…Joss on Monday."
She turned a paler shade of white more suited to a tablecloth than a dinner guest. "I never knew he was engaged."
"It progressed rather quickly. The fact remains Mr Reese is incapable of granting your request and I think you'd do well not to ask him." He saw the cracks in her face, like an ancient porcelain doll, so he tried to comfort her. "Have you considered candidates overseas?"
"Just South Africa, the UK, Australia, Canada and France."
She reached her his aperitif and he didn't stop her. "I see. Perhaps you could revisit your profile, after all there's a wonderful French nursery in…"
"If I could just talk to him, maybe he'd understand." The fact that she was so persistent, despite the potential risk to her health (because of the stress) and her life (because of what Joss would do to them both), showed him how much she wanted it. And Finch knew there was precious little a man could do to come between a woman and her heart's truest desire.