A/N: A short one for the heavy hearts, the flabbergasted and the hopeful. Through Stevie Wonder and fics we'll get through it.

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 36: Mess

Saturday 29th October 2016, 8.25pm, Joss' apartment, New York

It wasn't Joss' M.O. to ignore her partner's calls but after shovelling Capt. Noguerra's crap and getting some crucial information for her case, she didn't want to take on anything else that night. Not when she left her son in his solitude that morning and hadn't heard anything from Paul. To her surprise (and relief), Joss was relieved that her son was out of his room on his own volition, and sensed that a smart, pretty girl had something to do with it. He was watching an obscene British teen comedy laced with swear words she didn't know were swear words and colourful profanity she recognised in any accent. "I made pasta and meatballs." Taylor said, after he put it on pause.

"You cooked?" She asked, smelling something that smelt pretty decent.

"It's my house too." He said, stating the obvious.

"Yes it is." She sat on the arm of the sofa and rested her feet on a cushion, facing him. Taylor looked more like her son which meant coming home was good for him. "How's Zahra? I mean, you talked?"

"Yeah we did. She's good." She knew that look anywhere; the poorly-kept secret of a young, new, flourishing love and she knew first-hand what that could do and never underestimated his power. After all, it got them here. "I've been thinking…I wanna be a friend to her like she's been to me."

"That's a good place to start."

"But not just friends."

She expected that because the Friend Zone was the worst place to be – relationship purgatory. "I'm happy for you. Sounds like a great girl."

He barely smiled because someone else was on his mind. "I saw Dad's truck outside last night."

No amount of small talk could smooth the edges off the conversation she had been dreading. "I asked him to come over so we could all talk about you."

"Dad and John in the same room again?" He laughed because he knew it couldn't have started or ended well.

"…Well, our talk didn't go the way I planned and it's my fault."

"Why is it your fault?"

Hearing it from his mouth made her question herself. "I don't know, that's how it's always been."

He didn't understand why she felt the way she did because he never thought it was on her. "Why?"

"That's how I've felt for a long time." Joss surprised herself with her answer. As soon as she said it she wished she could take the words back because she made a point of not exposing her weakness to her son. But it was too late, the scales had fallen from his eyes some time ago.

"Why can't Dad act like a dad?"

She exhaled. "I don't know where to start answering that."

Taylor got a glimpse of why she felt so guilty because his dad hadn't reached out to him since he arrived and he and John barely tolerated each other. "It's not your fault, Ma." Joss didn't have the answer he wanted or needed because she couldn't give it to him. That frustrating game had to end sometime but it looked like it wasn't going to end any time soon. "Hungry?"

"Yeah."

"We're out of parmesan."

"I can live."

9.49pm, 8th Precinct

The very first time John saw Capt. Noguerra, the man who was making his wife's work life miserable, in the flesh, was the same evening Fusco arrested Frankie McElroy for assault for the deliberate and illegal rabbit punch to his opponent's head. Noguerra was wary around his car, because of the unusual things that had been happening lately, and John thought it would be a great time to see the man face-to-face. Why? Because John Something Lastname got an adrenaline rush out of poking the bear and running. With a stolen pair of Finch's glasses, a purple Washington Huskies jacket and dark jeans on, he looked common enough to ask the man whose dog he stole with a tender cut of meat a few questions. "Are you the new Captain? The one from TV?" John asked.

Noguerra beamed, if he loved a photo op then live-action camera time was a sundae with cherries on top. "Captain Preston Noguerra."

"Jake Rice." They shook hands. John blew smoke up his orifice because it was amusing to do so. "You do great work here at the Precinct. Around the neighbourhood I mean."

"We're here to serve."

"It's working; I feel safer already. Anyway, look at the time. It's Lassie reruns and a TV dinner for me. Thanks for your time." They shook hands again and John disappeared around a corner at the end of the street, at a safe distance by the time Noguerra got the hint. Lassie.

Fusco wasn't used to working with someone standing over him but Noguerra was so hot under the collar he couldn't get rid of him. "Jake Rice, about 6'2", wears glasses, white male, late forties, 2-mile radius."

"What'd he do?" Fusco asked, while running a search.

"Just find him." Noguerra insisted, thinking about his three kids who couldn't stop talking – or crying – about their dog Scout.

"No Jake Rice. There's a Jack Rice, Jack Weiss, Jack Rye and Jake Price. Want me to try 5 miles?"

Noguerra's nostrils flared, which ironically was the purpose of Phase Three. "No. Goodnight Detective."

"Cap'n." Fusco watched him leave for the second time, exasperated, but this time he understood what John got out of it and that made him smile.

Sunday 30th October 2016, 9.31am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

Seeing as John helped him wade through his own murky emotional mess, Taylor didn't mind getting up early to surprise his mom with their new home; if she liked it of course. They followed her on her canvas of the property, as she opened every door, looked out every window, ran her fingers across the granite kitchen island, looked in every closet and storage space, switched on and off every light and finally, ran the tap in the rounded corner whirlpool bath that was made for bubbles and aqua sutra. The Dream Team held their breath for her final assessment. What Taylor didn't bargain for was her speechless kiss to his cheek, cupping his face like he was six…or the noisy, enthusiastic wet one she laid on her husband; smearing magenta all around his mouth. The verdict was in; she loved it and they were home.