A/N: I originally called this Mirage but Mimic seemed more relevant.

Keep sending me M words, I have them in a word bank. In some ways writing this felt like a throwback to 4x20, let me know what you think.

Random facts: Erasmus is a programme where European Uni students can spend a term (semester) or a year in another European country studying as part of their degree, I've seen all the comedies listed and recommend them, DuChamp is the surname of Laz Alonso's (who plays Paul) character in Breakout Kings, Reggie is inspired by a boy I went to school with and Zahra is my tribute to the Muslimahs I went to college with who exposed me to how fabulous and fashionable they were after having a mainly Catholic education. And lastly, Arjen is inspired by a real Dutch donor but I made everything else up including his name.

Credit to Sonmore regarding Shaw's banjo player - it's in one of her jokes - and Ronnie Devoe of N.E. ad BBD for his surname.

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 22 Mimic

Friday 16th September 2016, 10.04pm, Murray Hill, Midtown, New York

Somehow seeing Mrs Devoe slashing Mr Devoe's tyres on a Friday night reminded Joss of the first time they made love. Probably because there was no planning; it was a spontaneous, unexpected event with long-lasting repercussions. For starters, he was still around today and their lives were enmeshed today as their bodies were years ago. Secondly, he'd knocked down a wall that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. And lastly, it was the start of life-shifting events they didn't talk about properly until after the fact. She rubbed her hands together and waited for him to come back with the food, since Fusco was somewhere busy getting his groove back and Shaw always brought back something with so many sides mixed in that no-one else could eat it. Usually she'd caution Mrs Devoe about causing damage to property, but since they were married it was her property too so Joss sat tight and tuned the radio to a pirate station that played music of her youth. The Floaters floated on until John brought back some moussaka for her and large burrito for himself.

"Are you cold?" He asked. She nodded and he turned up the heat. "Taylor sounds better."

She immediately felt a pang of guilt because she hadn't checked-in on him in a week. "Yeah?"

"He knows about Waymart, there's a new girl on the scene and we talked about the house."

"Oh. What's her name?"

"Zahra."

"Well, it's better than moping. What does he think about the house?"

"I don't know; he's thinking about it. I want you to feel as safe with him as you do on your own."

She was taken aback by the accusation. "Where did that come from?"

"The house." He said matter-of-factly, unaware of the trigger button he pushed.

She felt an urge to explain the inexplicable. "John-"

"I'll still wait. But I'd like you to trust me to find a place that's good for all of us." With each word, Joss felt terrible. And sad. He felt her slipping away even though she was still at his side. "Hey, we'll get there."

She nodded slowly. But the damage was done and before she knew it she was crying and John wished he'd kept his mouth shut. She couldn't tell him she felt like she was letting him down because she didn't have the words. He felt like a jerk because there were no tissues in the car, just the sweater from his gym bag. She blew her nose on it.

Saturday 17th September 2016, 11.06am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

The only thing that got Shaw out of her post-coital slumber quicker than the promise of food was the promise of freshly-squeezed juice. Rather than the orange-kiwi-strawberry she was used to, this juice was Zoe-flavoured and came in the form of a handsome dirty-blonde man with a widow's peak that put Anderson Cooper's to shame. She didn't mind doing the walk of shame, after putting in work with the banjo player in the back seat of her Jeep. The Machine pulled up the flight ticket for Arjen Eisink, 48, Netherlands national. His face was slim with a square jaw, his hair was an inch or two too long, but he looked enough like someone they knew for her to pull up a chair and prop her feet up on a desk.

"She is one crazy-"

"Please, Ms Shaw. No profanity before noon. I sent Bear on a play date with a rehabilitated German Shepherd for this occasion."

"Fine, what've we got here?" She scrolled through his donor profile while Finch was a little gleeful he had someone to share this bizarre experience with. "He likes playing Blackjack but not on the tables, he's a Brown Belt in Shotokan…he studied Economics at Maastricht University and has a Masters in International Relations from King's College, London."

Finch filled in the gaps while opening a bottle of artisanal water from a small Pacific island. "Arjen also plays squash recreationally and camped every summer with his family to the age of 23 when he moved out. He's never been married, though a relationship of 6 years ended in a broken engagement on her part. He can't cook well but according to his social media; he makes a nice frittata."

"Eggs." Shaw scoffed.

"And he's a polyglot; speaking fluent English, Dutch and Flemish, and conversational Spanish because of a year in Granada on the Erasmus programme."

Shaw saw this attempt as clear as day. "Where did he serve?"

He smiled, because it was always more fun with someone who could keep up intellectually. "That's where it gets interesting, while Mr Eisink was never in combat he served as a Researcher and Translator for the Dutch Army in Iraq for three years."

"And who does that sound like?" Shaw asked and answered. "Blonde John Van Damme. Check out music collection."

Finch hesitantly confirmed her suspicion. "Whitesnake. Led Zeppelin. Oh my, Jeff Beck. He is indeed Blonde John Van Damme."

"Thank you. Now we agree calling Zoe a crazy bitch isn't profane; it's the accurate assessment of an off-the-books medical professional." He muttered something in agreement and she felt vindicated.

1.28pm, Koffee Brown Café, LaGuardia Airport, Queens, New York

Although she'd read his stats back to read his stats back to front and watched the testimonial videos, Zoe still felt quite nervous being with someone she'd never met. Even the gentleman, Arjen was used to it and offered to take her out so she'd feel relaxed. To the other patrons, they were a good-looking couple; he'd even worn a waistcoat and tie to meet her. But she knew the most important thing they shared were numbers; 180 million sperm count per ml, 87% motility and 7 reported offspring of which he kept in touch with 4. The other 3 children were from married couples. Arjen was unaware of the number of unreported offspring but it could be as many 27 – not counting multiples. "So you work in communications?" He asked, taking a decaf latte with brown sugar.

"Well, it's public relations and image consulting."

"You're nervous." She pulled her hair back behind her ear and nodded, feeling bashful like a teenager on her first date with the quarterback. "Then let's see a show."

"A show?" She hadn't been to the theatre for fun in over a decade. Now, coordinating the Mayor's visit to a community theatre programme for underprivileged kids was more up her street.

"It might help you to relax." He sipped his latte. "Zoe, I don't rush or force things; the more relaxed you are, the more receptive you'll be."

"That was blunt."

"I prefer to get straight to the point. If you don't like theatre, perhaps a movie?"

"Theatre is fine. Really"

He smiled. "Wonderful. That's a nice necklace." She clutched the blue quartzite pendant on her necklace and looked into his green eyes, feeling something she couldn't describe.

2.12pm, Murray Hill, Midtown, New York

To the surprise of absolutely no-one, the Devoes' divorce mediation quickly went to hell in a hand-basket with Mrs Devoe being escorted from the building. But less than an hour later Mr Devoe emerged from a taxi, seeing as his car was still parked in the same spot with its tyres slashed and they commenced to arguing; with him on the ground and his couldn't-be-sooner-soon-to-be-ex-wife berating him from the 3rd storey apartment. Fortunately, Joss had watched a minibus collect their children earlier for one of those 'take-the-kids-out-the-city' programmes. John looked at her. "Aren't you gonna do something?"

"I am doing something." She replied. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" He asked.

"That." A pile of bleached clothes fell from the 3rd storey. Joss put on a black denim jacket. "Assault. You take the back; in case she runs."

"Got it."

4.16pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

Taylor felt better than he had in months, so much so that it didn't set him off when Reggie asked if he'd 'hit that yet' in their webchat. According to him, the scrimmage went well and his dad stayed out of his way seeing as he coached the other team. Taylor noticed his cousin was rubbing his chin as he told him that, just like Uncle Reggie did when he was asked how long he was staying. But Reggie didn't need judgement, he needed a listening ear about how Aleesha was 'playing him' by seeing 'some prick' even though he never gave her a title or acknowledge there was a relationship to speak of. "Just kill it on the field, you're Reggie "da Champ" Duchamp, remember?" Taylor advised, giving him a much-needed ego boost.

Reggie nodded, pumping himself up. "Yeah. I am. I bench-press 290."

"2-90." Taylor repeated for emphasis, humouring him.

"Anyway I gotta suit up."

"The gym?"

Reggie shook his head. "The place you go; the library. You still work there?"

"Yeah." Taylor bit his tongue, there was no need to tell him girls actually went there to study, not today. "Beats retail."

"Got a date with a tutor." He rubbed his hands together like a certain record label executive.

Again, Taylor swallowed his initial response; with a secret 3.4 GPA Reggie didn't need a tutor. "It's not a date."

"It will be." He replied with confidence. "Besides, we're a team; if one of us has a tutor, we all have a tutor."

It was that kind of groupthink that made Taylor drop line while pledging Kappa Lambda Nu earlier that Spring. He didn't 'do' groups. "Okay, wait 'til they find out the academic probation thing's a lie."

"They're not gonna find out." He chucked up the deuces and left.

Taylor knew the thing about social media was it wasn't real. The guys 'humble bragging' in front of cars they supposedly own were in a parking lot somewhere and girls gave themselves artificial 'enhancements' just by sitting on a sink. But when Bella's new avatar, of her as a tree monster, popped up he couldn't pretend he didn't notice her. When she called, he answered.

"Hi." They said in unison.

Her hair was in a braided bun on top of her head, which she did when she deep conditioned it. "What's up?" He asked.

"I'm good, actually really good." Her teeth were flashing so she was either joyful or excited. "You."

"I'm good." She knew it was true, he sounded better; more self-assured. "So what's new?"

"Rota Publishing House just launched their annual competition for short-stories. The deadline's in November but I was wondering if you'd read my submission."

"Sure." He said, with ease. Maybe that's what Mr Gregory meant when he advised all she could give him was friendship.

She raised her eyebrows; she was under the impression she'd left a sour taste in his mouth (which was true) but she should've known better. "Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that. Send it over."

"You're still a good guy." Taylor had had his fill of 'good guy' speeches for the year; if Bella was going to friend-zone him then he really was better off seeing someone else.

"Hey, I gotta go. But, send it soon, yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

5.06pm, Rockwood Hall Park, Pleasantville, New York

Arjen was a gentleman in an old-fashioned way; a door-opening, hold-the-umbrella and take-off-a-lady's-coat-at-dinner kind of way. And sure enough, Zoe started to relax. She let herself believe it was real, after all, she'd hand-picked him to make her urgent and pressing dream come true. They decided on Show Boat, because it was one place that had Stalls tickets still available for the 7.30pm show and because she'd always liked Hammerstein. He told her a story about hunting a goose for dinner on a camping trip as a teenager and his younger's disappointment that there wasn't a golden egg inside. She found it charming and actually laughed. Someone didn't find it so funny.

"Gimme a bucket." Shaw told Finch, as they listened in from the café 200 feet away. Bear lay at her left foot as she rubbed his belly with her right.

"Ms Shaw. I thought we were here to investigate. And ensure Ms Morgan was safe?"

"Since when? I'm here 'cause it beats playing Whack-a-mole and the banjo player's at practice all day." She grinned, and it frightened him.

"Well, I for one would like to be nearby just in case Mr Eisink turns out to be less than a gentleman."

"Fooey Vuitton John slings baby batter for a living, how classy."

Even Finch had to smirk at that one. "Where is Detective Fusco? He removed the battery from his phone and he's not at his apartment."

Shaw wasn't one to snitch but she saw it as a victory on her part. "Probably washed it off at the gym and took Happy Gillmore to the mall for a zoot suit. He'll resurface."

Finch didn't know what to make of their unholy alliance. "I have to give Ms Morgan credit; she is one persistent woman."

"So that's what we're calling it." Shaw was disgusted by the double standard. "Say there's a guy, wants a hot girl way wayyyyy out of his league. She blows him off, rejects him, and if she does get with him it's just for money or gifts or…flight tickets, right? So when he gets the memo he'll never really be with her, he goes out and finds a little replica with a bad haircut, or low-self-esteem or a monobrow. He even dresses her up like her and one day he gets her pregnant to trap her 'cause he thinks that'll keep her and that'll show Bitch #1 I could've had her; that's sick as hell. So why is it okay when Uptown Barbie does it?"

"I thought the purpose of gender equality was for women to decide what they wanted to do with their lives."

"Even being a bigger asshole than a man who has a biological advantage? Present company excepted."

He was surprised. "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't care about Zoe; I just think it sucks when people have kids they don't really wanna take care of."

"May I ask where this is coming from?"

She looked him dead in the eye. "I kinda hacked Gen's ChatCloset. They're bullying her at the Rich school 'cause she's got a deadbeat benefactor for a guardian."

"I asked Miss Ghirova what she wanted to do for the summer and she suggested the Italian exchange programme. If she's not happy, I can find a friendlier environment."

"That's not the point. Gen's tough – she's gonna make it 'cause she knows what it felt like to be wanted. This spawn of Zoe is just a trophy so she can measure up to Carter." There wasn't a big enough mug of tea in the world for Finch to sip on that one.

7.19pm, Joss' apartment, New York

After booking the Devoes at the local Precinct so they could cool off for the weekend, Joss thought a dose of normality was just what they needed. So she did what she knew how, cooking up some lamb chops, sweet potato mash, southern greens and gravy that would've made her mother proud and would keep them eating leftovers for a week. She figured conversation would go down better on a full stomach. And red, red wine; lots of it. John ate like a caveman, clearing and piling bones and ploughing through each lump of mash with no mercy. Eventually; it was the greens that almost knocked him out, bringing on pre-Itis jitters. After her second glass of cabernet went down, she said the thing that had been on her mind since the previous evening.

"I first moved here because I was afraid Taylor would come home one day and see his Dad had killed himself. And it took a long time to feel safe here but when I did I swore no man could ever make me leave. Not HR. Nobody. And then you said you wanted to me to feel as safe with you as I do by myself; the thing is I don't know if I can feel as safe as I do here, anywhere else. Not even Summerville. And we know nothing happens there 'til you show up." She smiled. "I guess what I'm saying is; I need your help."

8.43pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

Brock Jeffers, Taylor's green roommate from the tiny town of Jasper, Arkansas just about understood the concept of Watchflix 'n' Chill so as soon as Zahra appeared at the door he made himself scarce. She had added rhinestones to the lilac pashmina she covered her head with and took it off when they were alone. "What's this? Chinese?" She asked, referring to the white and red takeout boxes. She'd never seen brown prawn crackers before.

"Thai food. Pad Thai, yellow penang, tempura."

"Why Thai?"

"I'm used to it. There's this place three block from home called Thai-Phoid."

She raised her eyebrows. "You eat at a restaurant named after a disease?"

"It's smart; wordplay."

"That's like my Uncle naming his place Somalian-ella."

He liked smart girls, not just because he was raised to but because he liked the subtle humour that came with it. They usually liked gross-out movies too, which was a bonus. On Thursday, she told him she was born in Bosaso, Somalia but had faint memories since her family moved to St. Pauls when she was 8 and the culture shock made her memories hazy, that she'd never met Prince or been to Lake Minnetonka since everyone asked after that fateful day in April, and that after 10 years of Saturday Arabic School her mom had given up on her ever improving beyond 'satisfactory'.

"So, I was thinking The Inbetweeners, Inbetweeners 2, and Kevin and Perry Go Large."

She chose the one she hadn't seen. They agreed Brits made better comedies. "The last one."

"Cool."