A/N: Guys, work is really cutting into my writing time but I'm pushing through.

This is for Opheliablack who nailed it re: Evelyn and the 7-letter C word that means so much to her. Couldn't have said it better myself and your comment inspired the scene with Gregory below.

Still collecting M words - This one's called Mathematics because everyone's confused by what's happening in their lives and life is one complex and confounding equation. Oh and Hidden Figures.

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 33: Mathematics

Wednesday 26th October, 9.27pm, Marcus Garvey Park, Harlem, New York

When John was a pre-teen, his junior-high school counsellor once told him he could excel if he applied himself; that was precisely why he and Shaw were hiding out in the park where they'd followed Frankie and his uncle and legal guardian Charlie to. His guidance counsellor also advised him to stay busy so he could keep out of trouble and get some work done and it was in that spirit that John put Phase Two of his hands-off plan for Noguerra in the works before he clocked on for Finch. For a while there was nothing to see, as Frankie and Charlie ran three miles side-by-side in under 30 minutes, but unlike Tuesday night, this evening wouldn't end with a meal of brown rice, beef and spinach and an episode of Family Guy. After their stretch in the cold, a tall, weedy man with square glasses approached them. Shaw could barely get enough signal to clone phones and listen in, but she and John recognised the universal sign of money exchanging hands as Charlie took an envelope without glancing at it and Frankie tied his shoelaces.

10.03pm, 8th Precinct

As the saying went, 'A watched phone never rings.' Fusco knew this as well as his partner should have because she was waiting for a former working girl turned paid NYPD informant to return her numerous phone calls about the case that no-one wanted and it seemed, no-one wanted to help her with. He couldn't watch her beat the dead horse any longer and refused to leave until she did but they didn't make it to their cars without catching the scene out front; Captain Noguerra was yelling for the Police Aide who was already home, and at any passing officer as someone must have seen something. From the outside, his car was clean, waxed and detailed but on the inside, the stench of a urine-soaked floor mat in front of the driver's seat was enough to make him almost forget about his precious, missing Rough Collie.

10.17pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

For the first time in a while, Brock was back at a decent hour and they were alone in the same room saying nothing. Taylor had enough to deal with; though he still saw Zahra often he didn't know what he could or couldn't say to her and though he didn't think any less of her, there was no question his newfound knowledge made him view her differently. The question was how. And that was a question he didn't have the answer to. Brock was folding his clothes and didn't turn to face him when he asked a question out loud that didn't appear to be directed to anyone. "What?" Taylor asked, taking off his headphones.

Brock turned around, cleared his throat, and rationalised talking to his lukewarm-flip-flopping-fraternising roommate because it was for his education. "Ever been to Sleurben's office?"

"No." Taylor kept a healthy distance with Professor Sleurben, Co-Head of the Math department, because of her formidable reputation. "From what I've heard; if she ignores you, you're doing something right."

"What if she asks you to come to her office?"

When Taylor tried and failed at pledging his dad's fraternity because he didn't 'do' groups, a fellow cockroach called Ben went to her office and he hadn't seen or heard of him since. "Don't know."

Brock knew this conversation would go a lot better if they were friends but that wasn't allowed. But they could be friends, if only Taylor knew where he was going wrong. So he extended an olive branch. "There's a cross-campus event coming up with music."

"The Rock Vox thing?" Taylor asked, because it wasn't his scene,

Rock music wasn't allowed and Brock didn't know what a vox was. "It's called R.U.M.M.A.G.E. The Righteous Upstanding Ministry for Men's Annual Growth Experience. I can get you a free ticket."

"No." In that moment, Taylor had never been so thankful that his dad came through with the plane ticket just in time and a nice pair of headphones last Christmas with a stream of Kendrick Lamar flowing into his ears. "They call Sleurben's office the Snake Den."

"You're kidding."

Taylor shook his head. "She's been here for 20 years. 100% pass rate in Calc. That's how she keeps it; kicking people off the course before they flunk."

"She can't."

"She can."

"But…but I'm passing." Brock said unconvincingly because he hadn't logged onto the portal in weeks.

"You sure?"

He blinked and thought of the last 2 pop quizzes he missed and the classes. So many classes. "I'll pray about it." Taylor said nothing because they told him not to argue. "It'll be fine. I'll explain and she'll understand." Brock knew he shouldn't be talking to him, as Hugh said people like Taylor were there to fill his mind with doubt when he should have faith. But the temptation for a solution to his problem was greater. "What's she like in person?"

"No idea." Taylor was quite happy for the diminutive figure of mathematical force to ignore him 'til graduation.

In that moment, Brock realised he didn't know much about Taylor at all. "Are you on Scholarship?"

That question had a particular sting to it because it provided an invisible divide all throughout high school and the only person he could relate to at that time was somewhere at Princeton probably dressed as a throwback cartoon character writing competition-winning stories about how he blew it. "Partial. You?"

Brock swallowed. "Full."

That was the moment Taylor saw the line for once; Brock's problems weren't his problems and he'd be damned if he lay on that bed any longer and listened to someone who made a point of treating his girlfriend like crap because of whichever coloured 12" by 60" pashmina she used to cover her hair that day because of her own religious beliefs. Their room was getting smaller by the minute so he grabbed his gym bag because he knew it'd be empty. "Later."

Thursday 27th October, 2.12pm, The Respect Recreational Center, Crown Heights, Brooklyn

Outside of church, Gregory freelanced around the city with different musical programmes for kids and young people of different ages. Although he would never say it, he found most adults far too inflexible to learn music because they didn't let themselves enjoy it. The method acting group had left a number of props behind in the room so Evelyn helped him straighten things out for his 1930s to 1960s class for teens from a local school; most of which thought those old love songs were too corny and soft to perform in public. Out of nowhere, Evelyn made an announcement to her audience of one. "I want to renovate."

He knew where it was coming from; with Taylor away most of the time and Joss' random early exits and absences she was losing her grip on them and wanted to redirect that energy into the condo. Saying no outright never worked, she had that much in common with her son-in-law, but Gregory was proficient at dissuading her. "Winter's coming. Imagine not having heat or hot water…or electricity."

Evelyn wasn't built to live without modern comforts, probably because since she moved out with her first husband at 16 she'd always had a TV and never had an unwanted roommate. "Maybe we should get a dog."

"A dog's for life, not just the season." He advised, quoting a dog rescue charity.

"What season? Christmas."

He pulled up a chair for her and a crate for himself and took the box of props off her hands. Evelyn had seen this before and she didn't like it when he sat her down to tell her things she didn't want to hear. "This season of change. You know, the one you've resisted." She didn't like how he knew her better than she wanted him to know her in this very moment and used that information against to prove a point. "I know it's hard, but Joss'll be alright. And hey, Taylor's here. So you can bake the coconut cake and find out more about his girlfriend." She nodded, she always get a fix from her grandson. "Just be sensitive."

"Why? I thought he was over Bella, finally. I even crossed it off my prayer list."

"Because Zahra is a Muslim."

She coughed. "Excuse me?"

"You know, people have interfaith relationships all over the world. With very little conflict." She coughed again to clear the persistent frog in her throat and he rubbed her back, coaching her through it. "From what I hear, she's a very nice young lady…and that's all we want for him."

"I need rosary beads."

"You're not Catholic."

"I am today." She gasped at a frightening thought. "What if he converts?" She asked with horror.

"Technically they don't convert, they revert. But anyway, I don't think that's on his mind."

"Well, you're just full of answers today, huh Greg?"

He sighed because he expected her reaction. "I'm telling you so you'll be prepared."

She shook her head. "World's gone crazy. Left is right, up is down, East is West, I just can't today…" He was used to her melodrama. "I need something for my nerves. A sweet tea, please."

As a badge-carrying officer of the Sugar Police, that wasn't happening anytime soon. "One green juice coming up."

"I said-"

"With berries." He patted her on the back and made a swift exit to the café on the corner.

"I can't win for losing."

5.22pm, I-95, New York

At his age, Taylor should've known there was no way he could get back in the state of New York without his mom knowing. But he was very relieved to see her waiting at the gate, because although she was terrible at mathematic equations she had an uncanny way of figuring things out and making them make sense to him. And Joss had time to talk, because she hadn't managed to pin down a contact yet for her case and Noguerra was literally up in arms in his office at the now-widely-known dognapping and the pissy carpet so he didn't see her leaving. Instead of driving uptown, Taylor found they were going down the I-95 towards Jersey City. "Uhh, Ma? Where are we going?" He could smell something comforting.

"For a loooooooooooong drive. I've got a full tank and you've got something heavy on your chest." She kept her eyes on the road. "I always find out Tay."

"Is that..." He sniffed again. "Cantina Nueva York?"

She smiled. "Sin duda, mijo. So, what's going on?"

He didn't know where to start. "Uhhh…it's kinda…this is hard."

"Okay, how about you eat, I drive, and you tell me what you can. It's shredded beef. And Julio said Que pasa, homes."

7.40pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens

For the last seven years, Paul attended CBT counselling almost every Thursday night and someway or other the conversation always led to Taylor. Susan observed that when he was first referred to her in 2009 by the VA and she took him on as a client because he wrote in response to Why are you here?: "To see my son." For the most part he was a willing participant, although defensive, and sometimes she got the feeling he was trying to outsmart the counselling process by pre-empting what she would say next. But as she wrote in her notes multiple times, it was a deeply-engrained defence mechanism from someone who tried to keep a lot of order in his life to reduce anxiety. Case in point, he always had a romantic partner because he felt a man his age 'should' have a woman in his life so filling the void took priority over who to fill it with. "When did you last see Taylor?" She asked towards the end of the session.

"Before school started. He's here 'til Sunday though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He sounded…different on the phone. So he's with his mom, working it out."

She nodded and made a note. "It's a good sign that you asked for help."

"For Taylor." He added.

"And for you?"

He smiled that barely-there smile he used for his first and last wife. "Joss was always better at that kinda thing."

"What do you mean?" She probed,

"She likes to talk and get to the bottom of stuff, where all the muck is." He explained.

"I see. So what are your plans for the weekend? With Taylor I mean."

He rubbed his chin. "Maybe an MMA fight, or a boxing match, maybe the arcade. Pizza, Say it, Susan."

She smiled because he was doing it again. "Say what?"

"That thing you always say about distractions. I'm not avoiding talking to my son; I'm just smart enough to know I'm not good at it." He said in the exact same tone he used to explain why he and Gina were never getting married.

"What if Taylor doesn't expect you to be good at it? Or smart enough? What if he just needs a listening ear?"

He knew there were five minutes on the clock. She always did this to him towards the end. And he always came back. "Can't we talk about Gina? Of course we can't talk about Gina 'cause that's avoiding the issue." Susan was used to him trying to out-counsellor-the-counsellor. "Look, the way I see it; if he thought I could help him he'd ask me."

"And when he doesn't?"

"That's what Joss is for."

She made another note and pulled a worksheet on communication from her clipboard. "I'd like you to complete this and bring it to our next session."

"Great. Homework." He grabbed his jacket and folded the worksheet in half. "Thanks."

"Thanks for coming. I'll see you next week." He gave her a mock salute and left.

7.59pm, Elizabeth, New Jersey.

Although she hated the sound, Joss didn't mind when Taylor slurped the last of the strawberry Mirinda soda because at least he was talking. While she was disturbed by his account of his girlfriend's revelation and taken aback by the idea he was growing up and having a "young adult" relationship instead of a "high-school teenage" one, she was relieved that he was handling things the best way he knew how. "…You do understand she was violated, right?" He nodded. "Does she?"

He exhaled. "I don't know. She says it makes her different, and it does, but…I don't know what she thinks about it. And I can't ask her 'cause…you know."

"I see. And what about you? How'd you feel now you know?"

"I don't know. I think it's weird and wrong and I don't get how she's not as mad as she should be. They're her parents; and that's what they wanted. I don't get that either."

She put another spin on it, because she could. "Zahra truss you enough to say something and that's huge. There's nothing greater someone can give you than their truth. Because lying is easy. And so is hiding."

He got the feeling that one would sit with him for a while, and since he was being honest it didn't make much sense to let her find out later. "Promise not to freak out."

Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, she didn't know exactly where they were other than it was getting very residential. "I promise."

"My roommate's in a cult and he's gonna flunk out of school."

When that bomb landed, she cleared her throat and tried not to crash the car. When she'd regained her composure, she managed to say, "A gang is a gang is a gang. Keep your distance."

"I am."

She wasn't convinced because he was her son and they were usually one foot in some mess; they couldn't help it. "And don't get into any intellectual debates with him. It's not worth it. He'll see the light eventually."

He raised his eyebrows, because from what he saw Brock was staring at the sun. It just so happened that that particular sun shined out of Hugh's orifice. "You think so?"

"Tay, something's gotta give; either his money, his health or his GPA. And for the record; rescues almost-always backfire because it's the psychological gun to the head that counts not the physical one."

That confused him more that Kendrick's line about how the one in front of the gun lives forever. "What'd you mean?"

"If you try to pull him out, it'll feed into the 'us against the world' rhetoric and he'll run back even faster. I know it's hard, but you have to back off, don't fight, and wait it out."

It made a lot more sense when she said it. "I'll try. Really."

"So, where'd you and Zahra go from here?"

"I don't know."

She made an observation. "You care about her."

"…I just don't get why." He groaned. The feeling he couldn't shake was frustration.

"Some things aren't meant for us to understand. Don't drive yourself crazy trying to."

"How'm I supposed to turn it off?"

"By knowing no answer will ever make it make sense. We find out the truth, just to know it. Not because we expect it to make us feel better."

"I think it's sick."

"Can't argue with you, Tay. I got this case that's making me take four showers a day. Just be kind. And take it slow." Here we go. He shifted in his seat because he knew what was coming. "I mean it. Despite her parents' decision and her culture and her regilion, Zahra has the right to discover sex on her own terms. Not theirs and not yours either."

"But I'm not even-"

"Tay, as much as it hurts me to say this to you; sex is normal. It's not something to be scared out of or pressured into or used to control people. Maybe Zahra's parents don't realise that but I think she does."

He was thrown for a loop. "How? How'd you know that?"

"Because I'm a woman." When she was satisfied he was mortified, she headed in the opposite direction. "Aren't you glad you ate first? We should talk more often."

"Can you…pull over? Now…"

"Was it the U turn?" She asked, looking for the nearest spot.

"Nope, just the talk." He shoved the car door open and emptied his stomach at the mouth of a cul-de-sac.