A/N: This is for everyone who's had a rough week - things have revved up on the work-side, cutting into my writing time. Then our leading lady dropped her book and I lost 4 hours of sleep. Anyhoo, welcome back Opheliablack. While I have tie-ins and OCs from Body Count (for the inside jookes and familiarity), this isn't a sequel.

In the words of Bob Dylan, Times they are a changin'...

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 20: Memory

Sunday 11th September 2016, 10.06am, Turner Hall, Emory University

Taylor wiped the drool from his mouth and slowly opened his eyes to the longest pair of eyelashes he'd ever seen in his life. His roommate hadn't arrived on campus yet so he couldn't fathom why he hadn't slept alone. He couldn't remember drinking that much. After his dad's urging, he went to the sophomore mixer and couldn't recall how he got home. "Uhhh...did we?" He asked, trying to remember where he'd seen her before.

"Have sex? No. You got a headache?" She asked, continuing a game of Tetris on her phone.

He was surprised that she knew. "Are you pre-Med or something?"

"No, I know something was up with that punch though."

He'd never seen a girl who looked like her before; with warm brown skin and green eyes, with no pretence or insecurity. "What punch?"

"You got roofied." She said matter-of-factly.

He tried to remember patches of time that simply weren't there. "What?"

"Roofied, like…you know."

Not believing her wasn't an option because all he could recall about her was she was in his Intro. to Computer Science class last year and her name was Zahra. "Why would someone do that?" She shrugged her shoulders and got out of bed. "Okay, how'd you get to level 87?"

"Procrastination." She answered. "Why'd you go last night when you didn't wanna be there?"

Her question went unanswered. There was something mysterious about her that made him want her to stay. He doesn't want her to go. Something about her made him feel at ease; it was something familiar he couldn't put his finger on. She dressed up in ripped jeans and a thick sweater. Her hair, which was halfway between ringlets and his, was covered by a headwrap that tied into a bun at the back of her head. "Are you a...Muslim?"

"It's pronounced mooz-lum." She joked, pulling the scarf forward to cover her hairline.

"I thought..." He bit his tongue.

"Say it."

There was no nice or enlightened way to say it. "I thought Muslim girls don't-"

"What? Speak out loud or go to school?"

"Stay over."

She shrugged her shoulders again and smiled. "You're a good guy, Taylor."

He could feel a speech coming on. That dreaded 'you're a nice guy but' speech. "Don't say it."

"Don't say what?"

"Before you say it, I'm asking you out." She had a pretty smile; her teeth didn't flash like Bella's did but there was something suggestive about it like she hid a secret in there. "Thursday after Calc."

"You're a nerd." She teased; it didn't make it any less true.

"Pretty much. Thursday?"

She threw her tote bag over her shoulder. "Yeah."

"Are you serious about the roofie thing?"

"I've seen you before – doing the Drake-Emo thing – but I've never seen you wasted. See ya." He wanted to ask where or when, but there was no point; he'd wasted his Freshman year thinking about someone who wasn't thinking about him and giving new girls – decent ones – bad vibes. And then there was this different girl; which something distinct about her that he couldn't pin down. He would later learn that thing was mystery and it would lead him down a meandering, unclear path.

1.21pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Evelyn Taylor-Clement didn't like secrets or surprises; secrets that weren't shared with her exclusively and frustratingly kept from everyone else, and surprises that didn't include gifts of which she was the sole recipient. That was why despite the fact Joss actually attended church and on time and sang Love Divine, All loves excelling about 2 feet from her ear as they shared a hymn book like they did many years ago; she wasn't happy. Leftover Frogmore stew steamed up the kitchen until the condensation set off the fire alarm. Gregory waved the damp rag under it until the shrill siren stopped. "Didn't you notice?" He asked, snapping her out of her daydream.

"Oh, that." She turned off the hob and thought to herself. Something didn't feel right; not the smile on Joss' face, or her unreturned call to her grandson, or her son-in-law who was M.I.A. as usual so she couldn't show him off after service. She was losing control, and if secrets and surprises were barely tolerable; that prospect was completely unacceptable.

Joss joined them in her casual Sunday outfit of jeans and a creamy white long sweater with her hair in an 'that awful bun' her mother hated. Barely wearing make-up, she looked like a college student; young and carefree, reminding Evelyn of that chilling day she said Paul was coming home for the holidays to 'talk' to her father. "You need help?" Joss asked, picking lint off her sweater. Gregory gave his wife a knowing look that translated roughly into 'remember-the-time-you-thought-it-was-a-good-idea-to-marry-off-your-daughter-without-asking-her-what-she-wanted-then-she-did-what-you-thought-you-wanted-her-to-do-and-now-she's-so-happy-she-doesn't-care-what-you-think-anymore?'

"Just the bowls and spoons." Gregory advised because his wife was speechless for once. "And you sounded lovely today, Joss."

Joss thought her mom looked like she needed a pick-me-up from that queasy look on her face. "Thanks. Ma, sweet tea?"

10.02pm, Good Dam Donuts, Highbridge, Bronx, New York

No-one could ever say Lionel Fusco didn't try, even when the odds were stacked against him. For instance, he was in the unenviable position of trying to keep three women happy and prove his son still needed him. For the first time in six months, Lee wasn't the issue; in fact, he wanted his dad to take him shopping for an outfit to Homecoming. The issue was the dark haired woman in the passenger seat, because when she drove it made him nauseous, and the mousy brown haired woman on the other end of the phone. "…I don't…would you…if you just…Hazel…" He sighed, it had been five minutes and the conversation hadn't gone anywhere. Shaw was oblivious to their conflict, and the fact she was the cause of it. "For the last time; no, there's no one else…'cause I'm a cop and I told you what it was like…I know…"

Shaw grabbed his phone and hung up on Hazel. "Not you too. First it was Eggs over easy shaking down the Red Power Ranger for face cream. She's too vanilla to have you whipped, Miracle Whip. Just dump her already. I can be Nina Sigales again, and we can pick up chicks at the Yoga Studio."

He knew he wouldn't get any peace that evening with her latest stunt. But those yoga ladies were flexible. "You wanna be my wingman?"

"Anytime."

He knew something was up. "What's got you so happy? You been hanging people off the Brooklyn Bridge for fun again?"

She pushed the crow bar under her seat with her foot. "Nothing. What if Mucus won't talk?"

"For the 982nd time, you can't bake a cake with broken eggs. Won't stand up in court. Get it? Stand up?"

Lucas Dabrowski wound down the shutters as they'd seen him do at least 10 times since his number came up. He made a point of wearing the corny half-hat until his shift ended, something that Shaw wrote off as the ritual of a loser. Fusco got out of the car solo and he could've been wearing a siren for the subtlety of his request. "It's time to tell the truth, Lucas." Fusco stated, flashing his badge. Lucas pretended he didn't hear. Instead he secured and double-checked the padlocks like he did every night. "It'll follow you everywhere you go. What you did and what you didn't do."

"I didn't hurt her." Lucas replied, not making eye contact.

"But you know who did. And it won't go away. 'Cause you're wearing it."

"I don't know who she is-"

"You know she didn't deserve it."

Lucas looked around and lowered his voice. "They're gonna kill me."

"What'd you think I'm here for? One day they'll make good on those threats so do the right thing for her and you." The shots Shaw fired off indicated one day was that night. Deep down, she enjoyed using her fists and metal bars bent to shape almost as much as the firearms. Finally, all that surveillance was paying off.

Wednesday 14th September 2016, 12.44pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

John would never forget the day he first prized Joss' fire escape door open and she sarcastically greeted him, with an invitation to 'make himself at home'. But just when he had, as much as he could anyway, he was asking her to leave her stability behind. For people like Joss, a home was more than bricks and water; it represented family, time, memories. Like the memory foam pillows they'd thrown out after a year or so of good use; no-one would know how much passion they endured, by finding them in an alley. And though it may have seemed like something frivolous, John finally understood his wife's hesitation and if there was one person who could help her feel at ease he was somewhere probably getting into someone else's trouble because he couldn't help it.

"John?" Taylor sounded confused. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I can call when nothing's happened."

"Okay…"

"I've been talking to your mom about looking for a new place."

"Oh."

"I know how much this place means to her and you-"

"But you wanna live somewhere else."

"I want what's best for all of us. Our home."

Taylor didn't know what sense to make of that proposition. "Uhh, John? I'm in Atlanta. I can't help you from here."

"Think about it, and what you want."

"Yeah, sure, I gotta go." Between the dialtone and the clink of Finch's spoon against his china teacup, John was increasingly sensitive to sound. "What, Finch?"

Harold decided not to confuse him with Zoe's synced diary entry that marked 17th to the 22nd of September as her ovulation time. "Tread lightly, Mr Reese. We all know what happens when you take the heavy-footed approach. Like the time when you…"