A/N: "See you are, just to good to be true, snd I hope there's not some kind of mirage with you..." Credit to Keith Sweat, Ol Skool and Xscape for the title (Am I Dreaming). A song that really nails Joss' state of mind right now. If you remember the big reveal in the video and Left Eye's blonde hair let me know :) More ADW references because I can.

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 23: Mirage

Sunday 18th September 2016, 12.02pm, St. Luke's Methodist Church, Brooklyn, New York

If there was one place John thought he wouldn't be on a Sunday morning, it was church. Jail felt more familiar. But he loved Joss, and while he didn't know how to give her the help she asked for, he thought about asking the person who knew her best. Even if that meant volunteering to be shown off, bringing Evelyn and Gregory red wine, and ending up in the Reverend's office. Reverend Harris was quite young, in his late thirties, but had the presence of a man who had walked the Earth for much longer. John couldn't tell if it was an ambush, but seeing as the man in the white collar also had a wife, he figured it couldn't hurt.

"I'll be honest, Jocelyn, we would've loved to host another wedding here at St Luke's, but I have to give a man credit for honouring the extended family." He extended his hand and shook John's genuinely. "Most people forget their roots."

John nodded. Some people need to forget their roots. "They do."

"Well, I just wanted to say my door is always open, 16 years in and I'm still learning."

John thought this neatly-shaven man must've gotten married in the 8th grade, Joss hadn't initiated the 'black don't crack' conversation with him yet. "16 years?"

"Yes, of compromise, ups and downs, and some…serious discussions."

Joss squirmed in her seat. "Thank you for your time, Reverend. I promised I'd help Ma get started with lunch."

"Before you go, we'd like to sincerely thank you both for your generous pledge to the after-school programme. I assure you, the children will put the computers to good use. Let us know if you need help collecting them."

John looked over at Joss, completely blind-sighted. What computers? "The computers…yes, you're welcome." She mustered. Clearly Ma wasn't through punishing them.

1.19pm, Swann Hotel, Manhattan

Zoe chose a hotel because of the exit routes and emergency facilities nearby just in case Arjen wasn't who she thought he was. Despite her nerves, she couldn't bring herself to drink last night after all she'd read about fertility. The blonde man woke up before her for 45 minutes of calisthenics; she couldn't remember John's early-morning routine because he was either gone or he had left already. Her Spanish was poor but she could've listened to him translate random phrases into Dutch all night, and because he put her at ease their first two attempts at conception had gone easier than she expected.

"Do you have a preference?" Arjen asked over lunch. She had mushroom tagliatelle with extra cream because dairy made her happy. He chose a rump roast with potatoes and peas.

"Preference?" She repeated, confused.

"Would you like a boy or a girl?" He clarified.

"I suppose a girl…or maybe a boy. I guess not." The truth was she didn't have names picked out or clothes. Her goal was getting pregnant.

He nodded. She felt a connection to this man she hoped would make her a mother although these were questions he asked everyone, even married couples who enlisted his services. And time was running out, he was going back to Vlissingen on the morning of the 18th. "Please don't take a test until I'm gone." He said intuitively.

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it's a process and any stress may inhibit your chances."

He was right, because of his experience. Fate was having a field day with her when Calista called with an emergency that Senator Campbell went on a coke binge in Detroit and was spotted looking sick at a fundraiser. "Take the company credit card and fix it even if you have fly there to do it…Release a statement, blame it on a viral illness, change of season or whatever…you can do it." She rolled her eyes because she wasn't a supportive boss by nature. "You're better than you realise, Calista."

"You really think so?" Calista asked excitedly, in the same tone young women used that gave all their power away to unavailable boyfriends.

"Prove it. Oh and if you're not, you're fired." Zoe hung up. "She's not really fired."

Arjen smiled. "How about some music? I like Classic rock myself."

"Mmm, I like pop and easy listening mainly. Like Daniel Bedingfield and John Mayer."

1.43pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

After Gregory clarified that Evelyn pledge 4 computers to the neighbourhood kids for the homework club the church ran for kids needing a quiet place to study, and apologised profusely for it, he volunteered to play sous chef while Joss caught him up on her son's progress. He finely chopped the red cabbage which Evelyn hated but he always convinced her to eat. "How's the youngblood?"

"Better. There's a new girl but he hasn't said anything to me about her."

Gregory knew that sleuthing was an inherited trait. "That's a good sign."

"Yeah, hopefully he can focus more this year."

"I meant for John. But that's also true."

"Yep – the Secret Army that plots in the night in their virtual man cave. No girls allowed."

Gregory smiled. "John's a good influence then."

Joss thought it was probably the first and last time in life John would ever be called a good influence. "Yeah, he is."

"Try to worry less, Joss." He said, knowingly, since he was bald and kids lived across three continents having taken their fair share of his follicles with them.

She sighed. "I try."

"And sing more. It's good for stress you know, relieve the tension."

She rubbed her neck as she stood over the simmering pot of chickpeas, brown lentils, butternut squash and coconut milk and thought about the request she'd made the night before. "You're right."

On the balcony, besides the comfortable loveseat garden bench; there was a small pepper plant and a potted pear tree because Gregory wanted to grow their food like his family did back in Trinidad. "Let me guess, she's giving you headaches already?" Evelyn said knowingly, as she broke off a small wispy branch months before pruning season.

"How'd you know?"

"She's my daughter." She looked up at him. "And she used to spend a lot of time with me." John knew she must have been referring to the first 18 years of her life because the homicide detective didn't spend a lot of time with him and they worked her second job together. "So what's the problem?"

"It's not a problem, it's a puzzle."

She smiled. "With moving parts?" He nodded. "Then you really are married. What's wrong? Is she not being a team player? She was never good with teams; starting with netball."

If only you knew. "We can't decide where we want to live."

"I see." She pulled off a weak looking pepper and decided to cook it that day. "Look John, even though I think you'd be better off in Brooklyn where I can keep my eye on you, I don't think the place is the issue. It's getting Jocelyn to 'up sticks'. So, in order to make that mountain move you have to do for her what she can't do for herself." John looked confounded and Evelyn felt at last she was winning.

2.31pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

After falling asleep around 6am after leaving Zahra at Douglass with grossout scenes etched on her brain, Taylor woke up to an inquisitive roommate and an email with a short story attached. "If you're a Christian, why are you with a Muzz-lum girl?" Brock blurted out in his country twang, already in his freshly-ironed church clothes from that megachurch that advertised on buses and billboards all over the city.

Taylor didn't know much about the green, small-town guy except his dream was to work as a researcher for the International Institute of Creationist Science. "'Cause I don't care about labels, God is God. And for the record, Muslims believe in Jesus." Brock shook his head disapprovingly. In Jasper they referred to guys like Taylor as 'lukewarm' and 'led-astray', even though he was the same guy who told him to stop leaving his wallet in his back pocket and walking around with wads of cash. For the most part, they peacefully co-existed so Brock ignored Taylor's exclamations as he read Bella's short story, Jumping through Hoops.

First of all, he knew it was about their relationship: Isabella was Carmen the trainee neurosurgeon and protagonist while Taylor was Connor the inner-city basketball coach. He distinctly thought she was using it to get back at him, like the climax where Carmen threw a basketball at his chest, because he wouldn't respond to her in an argument no matter what she said, before he left her alone on the court and broke her heart. And then Carmen went into surgery and nearly paralysed her patient due to her fragile emotional state (Taylor figured if art imitated life, Bella probably got a tragic grade like a B or something). And then Carmen was headhunted by a private clinic in California while Connor was stuck in Baltimore until he called her five years later to ask her how far she was from the airport. That 4-letter M word Reggie was fond of was on the tip of his tongue when he decided to call his dad instead of ripping her work to shreds because she couldn't handle criticism and it would hurt her feelings.

Paul and Gina were waiting for their stacks of pancakes to arrive; she was happy because the choir sang her favourite song – When the saints go marching in – twice. "…And you're sure it's about you?"

Taylor read for proof. "While Connor was never the best basketball player, that didn't matter because he made up for his passing performance with enthusiasm. You know we were 4-2-7 in soccer."

Paul understood how he felt because he spent waiting at the sorority house to ask Joss why she wasn't talking to him or who that jackass at the newspaper was who bought her lunch twice or where she and her sorors went for Spring Break when he 'needed space'. "Don't react."

"What am I supposed to do? Tell her how I feel?"

If he was his father, Paul would've responded to his son's sarcasm with some insensitive rebuke about whining like a little girl. Or a white girl. Or a little white girl. He mouthed an apology to Gina who didn't mind; after Charmaine's lamentations about being a single mom to her beloved Lance Jr, she was relieved her man was a father to his son. Paul took the pragmatic approach; even though Joss wrote a sports column at Milton, she never highlighted his fumbles even when they weren't on good terms. "You said you'd read it, right?"

Taylor wondered where he was going. "Right?"

"Well…you read it." Paul thought on his feet. "Now you can give her feedback like you promised."

"Dad-"

"Tay, you promised. So you're gonna do it…In 10 words or less."

It wasn't a bad idea at all. "Is that Susan talking?"

"I'm hearing, thanks Dad for stopping me from making an ass of myself like last year."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. 10 words Tay, you can do it."

It seemed like the only choice he had. "Okay. 10 words."

"And how's the new girl? Zaria?" Paul still watched reruns of The Parent'Hood amongst other sitcoms.

"Zahra, like the store but with an H. And she's good."

"Good."

"Say hi to Gina."

"I will. Keep your head up, Kid." Paul hoped and believed his son could show more finesse than he did in his youth, despite the temptation to hurt because he was hurt.

Even though he did it with an attitude that showed he was still 19 years young and had a lot of growing to do, he managed to produce a three-word review.

- Needs more work.

5.34pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Outside her mom's building, Joss' car was gone and a Triumph Trophy motorbike stood in its place. "What are you doing?"

He put the blue helmet on her head and opened the front. "Do you trust me?" She wondered where they were going, if they had snacks, what would happen if Finch called, whether they were crossing state lines, if they had water and enough gas, when they would get home, if he'd ordered the designer tote bag for her mom's upcoming birthday, just how smart and pretty Taylor's new girl was and whether it would rain; all while John secured her purse in the helmet lock. "Do you?" He asked again, before taking his spot in front. With a moment's hesitation, she became his passenger for better or worse.