A/N: Yes it's coming, that thing you want to happen? It's coming. Next chapter. I promise. Finch's Angels from 3x03 reloaded. For now, R.I.P. Bill Nunn and Credit to Johnny Gill for the chapter title. Keep sending me M words - I'm using them somehow.
As always, enjoy x
Chapter 17: My, my, my
Friday 9th September 2016, 1.35pm, Giovanni's Pizza, Brooklyn
Paul was relieved when his son finally stopped moping because he was a quarter-inch away from telling him how much of a girl repellent that was. Besides, it was his last day off and he had plans of getting in some pizza, Go-karting and an amateur UFC match before he put his only child on a plane the following morning. Taylor's appetite was back, a tell-tale sign she was almost out of his system, as he put away a 5th slice of the "Mass Meat" pizza and slurped down the last of his root beer. "You look better, kid."
It wasn't that simple; Taylor had made the decision to date other girls because the prospect of playing the "just friends" game with wasn't one he could put up with and because he'd come to an simple conclusion. "Everyone does what they want; Reggie, Bella, John, Gram…you."
"Me?" Paul asked, wondering where the hell that came from. "Tay, I don't just do what I want." Yes you do. "And what does that mean anyway?"
"You're getting mad." Taylor said simply, in that infuriating, neutral, tell-it-like-it-is, tone he inherited from his mother.
"I'm not getting mad." Susan once told him using anger to avoid communication was a defence mechanism and six months later he'd realised it was ingrained in him at a young age when he learnt communication and confrontation were the same thing. But they weren't. Paul exhaled. "I don't know what you meant."
"Everyone does what makes them happy. That's what I meant."
"So what are you gonna do?"
"I don't know. Something different, I guess."
Paul tried to make light of it, because that's what he did when he didn't know what else to day. "What's that your mom always says about girls? Date the smart ones?"
"Smart and pretty. It's Emory, Dad; they're all smart ones."
"Yeah, well it's Atlanta so, do the right thing."
"Daddddddd." He groaned, if he had to hear one more safe-sex talk...
"I mean it. You know what they say; you girlfriend's ex-boyfriend's ex-boyfriend. Don't get caught up." He'd heard this all before. Several times. "Or just wait." There went that flashing neon contradiction again, like Taylor didn't bump into Gina in half a silk robe coming out the bathroom around 3am. Or like the dryer wasn't full of their mixed laundry. Or like his dad ever took more than a month to bring his current lady home.
Taylor wasn't the slick mouth type but he was a realist. "Okay?"
"You ever think that's what made you love Bella in the first place? Taking time; getting to know her?" He'd never thought about it that way and it made him quiet for once. "Tay, girls ain't nothing but trouble. Fastest way to complicate your life is to add a girl to it."
"What about Gina?"
"She's a woman. And we're not talking about me." Paul replied, breathing life into the do-as-I-say-i-you-want-to-don't-say-as-I-do-because-it's-none-of-your-business paradox at the foundation of their relationship. "You gotta focus; that's what Bella's doing." For all their similarities, Paul thought his son was a better version of him, with better opportunities and a much brighter future. The kind he could've had if things were different; if his parents had the money for a private education at Hampton instead of having to scrape grants together and buss tables and eat at his girlfriend's sorority house at Milton. But if they had; he never would've met that girl and Taylor wouldn't be here. Such was life.
Taylor had never thought of himself as a distraction to her or vice versa but it made a compelling argument. "Yeah. I guess she is."
"Besides, if you flunk out, I'm stuck with the bill and Joss'll kill us both.
"And get away with it."
"Scot free like Viola Davis."
"Refill?" Taylor asked.
Paul cleared his throat. "2 o'clock."
"Dad, that's so corny."
"What? She's looking at you. Green shirt." Taylor barely glanced in her direction, all he saw was the pinball machine. Paul gave him that look Reggie did. "How'd you still like skinny girls after a year in Atlanta? Of all places."
"Dad, I don't like skinny girls." But like the sayings went; thou doth protest too much and a hit dog'll holler. The truth was; after spending a year constantly assuring Bella that she wasn't fat like she always said she was (she wasn't); he didn't know what skinny or fat even meant anymore or whether it was whatever that particular girl said it was because of what other girls said it was at that particular time.
"Fine, you have a preference then. Everyone does." Taylor sighed. "I like women who know where the gym is, can't have muscles bigger than me though."
Just kill me now. He grabbed both empty glasses. "If I talk to her, will you stop?"
"Finally; you sound like my son." Taylor had overheard that his grandfather, who he had never met for a plethora of reasons (one being, he still called Joss "that uppity bitch that stole my grandson" when they hadn't been related in over a decade), once threw his grade-school aged dad in a pool to 'teach him how to swim'. Considering what ran down that branch of the family tree; being nudged back into the dating game seemed relatively small in comparison.
1.51pm, 8th Precinct, New York
Captain Preston Noguerra was brought in to clean up the 8th Precinct and its image after HR was dismantled in 2013. With 16 years' experience in Organised Crime it was thought that his presence would improve the integrity of the Badge in the district but in the last three years all Joss had seen was his ability to work the camera and take great pictures hugging kids, while each incident of police brutality even outside the city made it harder for the public to respect that they would or could obey that same laws they swore to uphold. He was a strategist and quite corporate and unyielding in his approach; but because of the company she kept, Joss was more flexible on the job than she'd been in her whole life. "I wasn't expecting you back until Monday, Detective."
"I wanted to get a head start on what I'd missed, Cap'n." She'd avoided this man quite successfully, only coming face to face with him twice a year; she didn't need or want to be on his radar.
He nodded. Beyond what he'd read and heard about her in the briefings, he hadn't seen enough of her to get a read on her; as though she was avoiding him. "How was your vacation?"
"Great. Family, food, and I got married with a string quartet and lots of fireworks."
He blinked. "I've heard about your offbeat sense of humour."
That's what I get for being honest. "I'm ready to get back to work, Cap'n. If you don't mind."
Not at all. In fact, good, because the Canuto cold case has been re-opened, thanks to your discovery." John's discovery, but who cares? "The body you found belonged to Aaron Canuto."
She raised her eyebrows. "I thought it was Dylan. Aaron Canuto's been in prison since 2013."
"That's what we thought. Dental records prove otherwise."
"So Dylan went to prison in his brother's place while his body lay cold in the ground?"
He gave her a stack of green folders. "Find out what we missed the first time around. I got you into USP Canaan on Wednesday. You can ask Dylan Canuto yourself, seeing as his lawyer will be there to discuss the new identity fraud charges."
"Waymart, Pennsylvania." She read aloud.
"Is that a problem?"
"Not at all, my son heads back to college tomorrow. Shouldn't be a long drive to Waymart."
"Good." His smile did nothing to put her at ease. "Welcome back, Detective."
"Thank you, Cap'n."
2.28pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York
When Finch asked his creation to show him something impressive it replaced the turquoise and golden Malaysian sunrise with the moving image of vocal sound wave frequency.
"John, it's Zoe. Good morning. I need to see you…soon. Very soon. Call me?"
"Hi John, long time, no see, ummm, how've you been? I've been good and I'd like to get back in touch. Uhhhh, it's Zoe."
"Good morning. This is Calista Reid calling for Zoe Morgan, of ZCM Consulting. I'd like to arrange a meeting with John Reese and Ms Morgan by the end of this week. Please email me at at ZCM hyphen C-o-n-s dot com or call back on…"
"John, the Senator wants a rematch on his turf. Call me and I'll set it up. It's Zoe. Bye."
- Option #9: Hold voicemail messages in transit. Send or delete?
Finch took off his glasses and held the end of one of the arms between his teeth in thought. "This would be easier with a risk assessment."
- Send voicemail messages. Risk response: Accept. Impact: High
- Delete voicemail messages. Risk response: Avoid. Impact: Medium
He put his glasses back on to read. "Well done. I see. Delete."
- Confirmation: Voicemail messages deleted (4 of 4).
- Status: Amber Alert.
"And if I chose to send?"
- Hypothetical status: Orange Alert
"What would I do without you?"
- Implode.
Finch chuckled. "Yes I would. Any updates for me?"
- Lucas Dabrowski. Threat level: Imminent.
The screen changed again from typewriter font text to an access pass from the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections with Joss' name and portrait on it. "Detective Carter is going out of town. And she will not have access to communications during her visit. Oh dear."
- Prospective status: Orange alert
"What we need is an intervention." Joss' access pass was swiped to the left and replaced with a picture of a scowling Sameen Shaw. "No. Not Ms Shaw." The Machine didn't provide an alternative. "But she lacks tact and Ms Morgan's situation is rather delicate. I can't imagine what she'd say if given the opportunity to-"
- Hypothetical status: Blue alert
"That low?"
- The Homeland Security Advisory System classes the Blue alert level as the general risk of terrorist attacks otherwise referred to as 'Guarded'. A Green alert level is considered low-risk.
"Thank you for the clarification. Now is there anyone else in the United States who could dissuade Ms Morgan?" Shaw's picture didn't budge, which was timely because she came in unannounced.
"Now that – is one good-looking chick." She approved of her own image. "Does that mean I get my Hollywood Star?"
"Salutations Ms Shaw. Would you like an English muffin? Perhaps with sausage."
"Hey. Don't distract me with brunch. What's up with that?"
He wanted help but The Machine had made up its mind and he had to comply. "Well, we have a situation involving Ms Morgan."
"She still wants to swing from his jock strap? I thought that was old news."
He didn't understand how one could swing from a jock strap and frankly, didn't wish to. "It's actually more complicated than that."
"She wants Carter, too? Jeez. At least let her finger go green from all that fake jewellery, first."
Finch knew better than to indulge her. "Ms Morgan wants a baby with Mr Reese and is undergoing fertility treatment to achieve her aim."
Shaw nodded and thought like a physician. "Aim is the right word. Like when Carter swings her foot back and aims for Zoe's assssssssssssssssssssss."
Finch wiped his brow, because he knew she was right. "That's what I'm trying to avoid. Among other things."
"There's no avoiding it, Charlie. You need to get them in the same room asap, and I'll play referee." She thought about that black and white striped shirt she had, and how it was so useful now.
He stared at the screen. "Is this what you meant?" He asked aloud.
- Affirmative. Hypothetical status: Blue alert
"See, Charlie, even the motherboard knows the only way to avoid this explosion is to light our own fire and put it out."
"And your recommendation?"
- Intervention. Risk responses: Share/Transfer/Reduce.
- Share: between Carter and Morgan.
- Transfer: from Morgan to Carter to Morgan to Carter to Morgan.
- Reduce: overall.
- Multiple outcomes: 60% positive, 30% negative, 10% neutral. Impact: High
- Hypothetical status: Blue alert
"So when Nintendo says it you listen, but when I'm standing right here-"
He gave her what she wanted. "You were right, Ms Shaw. Ms Carter will be in Pennsylvania on Wednesday so if you could arrange a face-to-face-to-face before then I'd be most grateful for your assistance."
She scratched her neck, somewhat satisfied. "Thank me with that breakfast muffin. I like my butter warm."
2.40pm, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York
Calista Reid was a Junior at CUNY who became Zoe's assistant through insistence rather than a normal hiring process; she wasn't even looking for an assistant when the pushy 20-year-old with the bad ombre dye job ambushed her at the Carlito's Coffee stand with a colourful resume and a suggestion for her barely-there business Facebook page. Although she talked too much for Zoe's liking – she couldn't deal with enthusiasm until she'd finished her coffee – she'd become indispensable when other staff members jumped ship because of Zoe's fluctuating hormones. Calista was young, green and flexible enough to ride the progesterone wave with her boss for $12 an hour, and proved her worthiness that morning by bringing her late lunch to the apartment. "I cancelled your Body Combat class. You didn't sound up to it." She said casually, plugging her laptop in at the counter and sitting on a swivelling diner chair.
"I didn't ask you to. And can't you use a desk like normal people?" At least she got my order right. "Have we heard back from Senator Campbell about his speech?"
"He wants it to sound more cutesy." Calista read. "And appeal to parents of pre-school kids. Campbell: for your family."
Zoe rolled her eyes at his cheesy slogan that she came up with. "I don't do cutesy. I went to college."
Calista could tell it was going to be a very long day. "That's what he wants. I think we should throw some Yo Gabba Gabba references in there. Ask the kids to sing the Snowflake song or something."
Zoe had no clue what she was talking about. "Yo what?"
"It's a show for kids, bands come on, they sing, puppets, costumes, that kinda stuff. I used to babysit these terrible triplets in High School but it worked every time."
"Okay. Do it."
She wasn't used to it being that easy. "You want me to-? No offence, but you never let me write."
"Today's the day. Run with it. Make it cutesy; make me puke."
Calista knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Sure. Anything else?"
"Have you heard from John?" Calista shook her head. She'd never seen the man but she knew must be something special if he ticked all the boxes. Zoe looked dejected. "I've got a headache, I need rest. Divert the calls from the office and answer the phones."
"Sure." Calista would've said something nice but she'd made that mistake once and never again; Zoe couldn't stand sympathy.
7.08pm, Rope-a-Dope Boxing Gym, Manhattan, New York.
Shaw always thought Carter was at her best without the soldier Ken at her side. She belonged at her side, doing badass things with her friends; like plotting, cleaning each others' Barettas while trading war stories and firing off 16-gauge shotguns in the air to ring in the New Year. As she tossed the ropes and turned them into waves with her forearms, Shaw almost forgot what she was doing there until she remembered the matter of Zoe, the baby batter and the oncoming homicide. "Carter."
Joss looked over at the woman in black by the vending machine and realised her workout was cut short. She wiped the sweat from the face and dabbed across her hairline, wondering what the evening would descend into.