A/N: This is a throwback to Body Count, Chapter 5. Careese in an almost-empty room with no distractions.

No, Jeremy's not going anywhere for a while, and yes, Paul's going to counselling next chapter.

Oh, and yes I'm still collecting M words :D

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 40: Marvel

Saturday 5th November, 10.11pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

Joss should've known something was up when Janelle whistled as she took an extra-long time on her hair; from the hot oil treatment to the pre-conditioner to the deep conditioner to the large roller set (which Joss had to be talked into) to the new essential oil mix she made for the special occasion and down to the scalp massage that Joss thanked the Lord several times for. Even Kim-Lee got in on the action – turning her pedicure into a jet spa, mud scrub and gel polish affair. The inspiration for their diligence and overexertion came from a suited and booted man referred to as White Chocolate who was paying them both by the hour to keep Joss occupied. And when she was presentable – save for her casual autumnal woollen sweater dress, thermal leggings and platform boots – John picked her up in the black Rolls Royce. She hoped it wasn't some weird 'anniversary of the shooting' affair as that particular date in November was actually the 19th and she'd rather forget. But Joss should've taken the 5 years they'd spent together as a hint to have a deeper and more open sense of imagination.

Sometimes it was the little things that caught her off-guard; like watching him turn the key and unlock the door like a normal person or the pour the cabernet in actual red wine glasses instead of some chipped mug from whichever studio apartment he was squatting in at the time. Though they didn't have any real furniture yet; they had a beige and warm-red bruyere rug on the living room floor, a mounted electrical fire on the wall, and a kitchen island which seemed to be enough for them…until John raised the bar.

Joss was already feeling tipsy after a glass and a half, but it didn't affect her reading. She knew what the words "Deed of Sale" meant any day and thought the wet signature on it was the prettiest chicken scratch she'd ever seen. J.H. Nichols had outdone himself this time and even though her heels and a sorority t-shirt were across town; Joss had enough nerve, Dutch courage and appreciation to wear out a thousand rugs on her knees while John gave her 7 reasons to burst into song throughout the Uptown streets about the man who made her soul sing out with joy, gave her security when no one else could and make sex excited and adventurous again. There was something about him that made her free and unguarded in her own naked skin, maybe it was his tongue…or just his affirming, truthful eyes of blue crystal salt attentively taking her in. He was the bubbles in every glass of champagne she ever said no to; the crazy rush of a wild ride she never dared to take before. "I love you." Joss said freely, picking a ball of lint out of her hair. "Thank you."

"For what?" He asked, turning down the fire before returning to their blanket-less sleeping spot on the carpet.

"For loving me, wild and free. And my son." She chuckled. "And Ma and St. Gregory."

He smiled, because they were his family; as nosy and meddling and loving and generous as they were. "Joss-"

"No self-deprecating tonight, John. You did good, you can own it at least for tonight."

"Joss…" He never got to say what he wanted to; that he loved her without limits and across state lines, that home was where she was, that love was her and she was love, that no matter what she would always be taken care of, that if Noguerra gave her any more trouble Scout was coming home pregnant with mutts, that Taylor would probably be a Mayor one day but never president because it was too far away from the people, that even if Taylor never asked him and Evelyn never prodded him he could've married her every day of the week…just not in Summerville because her family was crazy in the nicest possible way…

But that never happened; because for the first time in their relationship sex too good had John Reese, Fighter of Crime, knocked out like a light before she was. And in one more way, Joss won.

Wednesday 9th November, 2.45pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

On the 10th day Brock missed morning canvassing, Hugh visited him to set him straight, after all a founding principle of R.U.M.M. was collective responsibility. While Taylor thought it was ridiculous that Brock could practically pee on command if Hugh told him to, the information on the student website backed up his mom's advice that there was no fighting a group unless the (non-)friend wanted out themselves. The conflict was showing on Brock's increasingly-pink face, even though he couldn't hear their conversation over Michael Kiwanuka's Black man in a white world, he read body language better than most. The letter in the brown envelope was an invitation for Brock to apologise to the regional leader for his absence; a written warning that was supposed to bring him back into the fold. The issue was; Brock couldn't afford to be in the fold and stay in school, unless he wished to return home to Jasper, Arkansas and tell his parents who sold their car to transport him and his possessions to campus in the first place. Hugh noticed he wasn't as receptive as usual and blamed the present company; Taylor's occasional hums were a distraction.

When Brock was a sufficient shade of salmon, Hugh left, giving him time to swallow his pride. Taylor took off his headphones because he knew that face. It was the same face Reggie used when he needed help getting out of the same trouble he was going to jump right back into the following week. "What's up?"

"Jenny's study group is the same time as this meeting."

"What meeting?"

Brock swallowed. "The meeting where they decide if I'm still in or not."

"And?" Taylor asked, thinking he wasn't going to make the decision so he could turn around and blame him for it later.

"If I go to the group I can pull up my grade, but if I don't go to the meeting they'll kick me out."

Taylor stated the obvious. "Sounds like a tough decision."

Brock bit his lip. "What'd you think I should do?"

Study, obviously. "I don't think anything." Taylor lied, because there was enough going on with his grandpa Jeremy who was staying at his dad's house and making his voice shaky on the phone.

"Can I read your calc notes?"

You treat my girlfriend like crap, you let Hugh come over here and punk you, and you're about to flunk outta school but you want my notes? This guy… "No. Deuces." Brock knew he was heading to the library hours before his shift started, just to get away from him, and that drove home the idea that either way; he was alone.