A/N: This has not been a great week to say the least but writing this gave me a chance to release.

"Relax, relate, release" - Debbie Allen

Credit to TheRegal1 for the M-word "Marzipan" - I hate it, it's disgusting and it describes how _ is/are feeling.

Still collecting M-words and getting them in where I can. Air kisses to Killer Mike's Biggest Fan aka Diaz Dakota who's officially back at the Carter.

And yes, I see no end in sight so let's see if we can top LFYL with 59 chapters... :D ;) :s

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 34: Marzipan

Friday 28th October 2016, 2.35pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

Taylor didn't know chipper John; he knew badass John who appeared from the shadows and had a bullet on a golden necklace. Chipper John, in his chipper mood, woke him up at 1.30 in the afternoon to show him something worth getting out of bed and showering for. Since the long car ride home, Taylor still hadn't regained his appetite because of his fragile emotional state consuming just enough mint tea to stop his headache. From the subtlety of the building, that blended in with other corporate buildings on the not so busy street, and the park nearby, Taylor was comforted by the proof that John was taking good care of his mom, even if she did have dark circles under her eyes from worrying about him.

Instead of giving a tour of the three-bedroom split level apartment with the spiral staircase that made it feel foreign and much bigger than it was, John opened the door to a bare large double room with white walls and a light grey carpet. "I thought you'd want this one, so she can't hear you coming in or out. There's another but I had plans for that." By plans he meant guns.

Taylor didn't know what to say. "Thanks."

On a further look, he spotted the kitchen island in the kitchen and a guitar on the living room wall about 8 feet from the electric fireplace she said she wanted every time the boiler acted up. "She'll love it. It's perfect." John wasn't used to receiving the stamp of approval, especially on a place he wasn't supposed to have the keys to. There was something hollow about the grasshopper even in his croaky voice. "So she told you?" Taylor asked, feeling guilty because he'd slept through Zahra's call.

John nodded. "Look, this is way out of my depth. But if you like her, then, hang in there. What are you hiding?"

"What are you hiding? You're all happy and stuff."

John decided to give him something that might make him feel more comfortable. "Your mom's Captain gave her a hard time, so I stole his dog."

"His dog? His dog, John? What kinda Jedi mind trick is that? She's gonna kill you when she finds out."

"Add that to the list 'cause you're next in line. And she's not gonna find out 'cause we aren't gonna tell her." John smirked but it wasn't returned.

Due to the exhaustion, the hunger and the heaviness of it all, Taylor decided to throw his burden on the fire. "I got roofied. That's how I met Zahra. And I didn't wanna tell anyone because it's…it's embarrassing."

John put his hands on his shoulders, if there was any sign that he'd been assaulted it would've been Defcon 1 at Emory University in 45 minutes. "Embarrassing is mistaking Vicks for Vaseline. What happened to you was…" And there went Reggie's favourite 12-letter M word. It was nice to know he cared. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"You know this is your home too, right? You can come home whenever you want."

Taylor tried to nod but he knew what was about to happen and he couldn't stop it; even biology said so. His tear ducts filled up and his head swelled with so many things to cry for; he hadn't felt that helpless in a long time. Squeezing his eyes shut didn't help, it just made the tears run down the side of his face faster. He bit his top lip and tried to at least be quiet about it and control his breathing somewhat but he couldn't because the lump in his throat wouldn't let him. And John wass there, with his hand on his shoulders as he tried to be a man about it until he couldn't try anymore and he was weeping like a little boy – the one that lived inside every man though he was too young to know that particular fact of life. John wondered how he missed it; how the eyes and ears on campus missed it when all they saw was the math major with the girlfriend making solid Bs in calculus and linear algebra. Because if they missed it then they all missed it, and he had to do something to keep him from slipping away.

8.16pm, Joss' apartment, New York

For the first time in years, Joss invited Paul in and offered him coffee, juice or water and a seat on the sofa like a guest. He'd come to pick up Taylor before and even come in to get his luggage for a trip away but hadn't been treated like a guest…ever. The only time he'd seen the green and blue kitchen was when he filled up a bottle of water for the car. Joss was always beautiful, not because he was attracted to her, but just because she was and always had been. He thought she looked tired, like she'd been working long hours which was almost always true. But he didn't know she was up half the night talking to John about their son and his troubles. For once, John was on time. Granted, he was waiting for Frankie's match on Saturday and Finch was keeping watch on Frankie and his uncle Charlie at practice with two dogs in the back seat, but he was there.

"Paul." John greeted.

"John." Paul sniffed.

"How's Gina?" Joss asked, because it was the thing to do. Secretly, she was relieved he was with someone his own age.

He noticed two things; Joss' knee was touching John's and the blue rock on her ring finger was unmissable. "Good, she's at practice. So, what's up?"

"We're worried about Taylor." It sounded different coming from John's mouth that it did from Joss', seeing as this man had moved in on his territory – his relationship with his son. For that reason, Paul wanted to ball up his fist and sock him square in the nose as he'd done with a playground bully out for his lunch but his ex-wife was a cop and she didn't play that. "He's going through a lot right now."

"He's 19; he'll figure it out. That's why he came home in the first place." Paul replied, breathing through his nose.

They shared a look that Paul wasn't privy to, communicating a message about him he sensed wasn't good and, putting him on the defensive. See what I meant? The wrinkle in her brow said. John wasn't going to let him dismiss her that night. Not after what he'd heard and had to tell her. "Figure it out like you did?" John made a strike, not to wound but to get his attention and make him take their concerns seriously.

Paul rubbed that spot at the back of his neck where he felt the most tension, a technique that was supposed help him manage his anger; something that was increasingly challenging in John's presence since they never talked beyond greeting for a reason. Several, actually. "Nice, Joss. Real nice."

She didn't know what she'd done wrong; his issues weren't a secret especially since she had to tell John to talk him out of confronting her ex of leaving the heavy lifting to her too much for his liking. "I-"

John rubbed her knee to prevent her from defending herself, because he was tired of the 'poked bear' act and seeing her give in just because she didn't want Paul to react. There was something about watching this game play out in real time on their home turf that made him want to throw Paul off the fire escape. "It's no secret; it's why we're here. And speaking of secrets, good going with not telling us about the cult."

"He's not in it..." He missed off jackass, because he still had restraint.

"That's not the point. He has to watch someone suffer every day, knowing he can't help them. What'd you think that does to him?" Joss was impressed, because he had been listening to her even when she thought he was just holding her for comfort. "And there's more…"

8.29pm, Rope-a-Dope Boxing Gym, Manhattan, New York.

Though Lee preferred hockey to boxing, Fusco still brushed up on his skills from time to time so he could teach his son self-defence for the subway and the park. His skills of deduction needed no refining as he knew Shaw was in his car before he got to it. "What's the latest from the A team?" He asked, putting on his seatbelt. For once he couldn't smell fast food to negate his exercise with.

Shaw uncrumpled a flyer and flicked the overhead light on. "Cupcake decorating tomorrow at noon. North Bronx."

"Uhhh, I hit it off with Vonnie. Second date on Sunday, remember? The whole point of this…whatever it is."

She ignored him. "First 10 in get a free bag of frosting."

"Why'd you care?"

"I like frosting."

They locked eyes long enough for her to transport an image into his mind he didn't want there. "Ugh, don't tell me. Just don't tell me."

She smiled with sadistic glee. "You can't put all your eggs in one basket. Not with your luck. Get it? Eggs."

He sighed and hesitantly agreed. "Alright, I'll go."

"Good."

"You happen to know anything about the missing Rough Collie?" He asked.

"What's that?"

"You know, a Lassie dog.

She continued to ride the ignorance train. "What's Lassie?"

"A TV show. Lassie's got a star on Hollywood Boulevard."

"Were there guns in it?" She asked.

"Don't remember."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Neither do I."

"Whatever it is, keep it from Carter."

"Aye-aye Popeye." She opened a beer-coloured soda.

He knew she was in on it, but he didn't want to know for sure that he knew because he couldn't deny it later. "No point asking you about the carpet, huh?"

She thought for a moment. "Since you're asking I prefer Shellac, but then again winter's coming so I can't discriminate."

He closed his eyes only to confirm that that mental image had registered. He sighed because he couldn't beat her at this game. "What's on tonight?"

"Mayweather v Pacquiao at Casa Carter, my audio feed is delayed but we have playback. And I waited for you, hacking the Bluetooth and all."

He wished he was above listening in on someone else's domestic conversations but he wasn't and the edited versions Carter gave him weren't juicy enough; he'd never spoken to Paul in person but he thought the idea of them facing off was better than watching TV. "Fire it up, Princess Peach."

She grinned and cracked open a tray of yum yums. "Anytime, Luigi."

8.41pm, Joss' apartment, New York

"So now we all know what we're dealing with, what are we gonna do?" John asked, even though it didn't work like that.

Joss appreciated his support because she wasn't used to being supported that way, not with her son, and not from a man who cared so deeply about him. But she'd seen that look on Paul's face before. He sat with one hand over another, rested against his mouth with his elbows on his knees; in his eyes there was nothing to be found because he had disappeared. Paul didn't show his fear or anxiety because he'd mastered his poker face; the appearance of being in deep thought was an illusion because he'd withdrawn. Joss knew before he opened his mouth that he was already halfway out the door.

Paul shook his head. "I can't do this." Between the cult and the bullying, the FGM and the encounter with a date rape drug, his head was spinning. His brain was on overload and he still had inviting visions of punching John in the face. Small apple, big tree. He balled up his car keys in his hand and stood up. "Joss, tell me what you need and I'll pay for it. Susan probably knows someone."

Paul didn't acknowledge John on his way out, not even with his monosyllabic name or a grunt. He simply left and that made the hairs on Joss' arms stand up because she didn't know how she'd explain it to their son if he walked out of his life again. And that made her cry in John's lap.