A/N: In the spirit of Thanksgiving, Shirley Caesar deserves better. #Younameit

Credit to Jhill88 for the prompt - you'll know it when you see it.

Off to write Thanksgiving high-jinks at Evelyn's and we all know about those family dinners...oh you don't, where've you been? ;)

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 42: Mirror

Tuesday 15th November 2016, 4.07pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

'When it rains, it pours' was a phrase Brock's grandmother Ada was fond of using, along with 'bad things come in threes'. And she was proved right on both counts when 5 hours after he missed his disciplinary meeting the R.U.M.M. regional officer for the Atlanta branch, Brock received an Temporary Exclusion email for non-compliance, an invitation to discuss his academic performance with the Student Funding board that managed his scholarship, and a notification from his bank that he didn't have sufficient funds to cover a recent transaction. A few unreturned text messages to Hugh and calls set straight to voicemail indicated that his exclusion was in effect immediately and the authoritative voice and dominating presence in his life was gone.

Taylor and Zahra's laughing didn't help as they watched 'online daredevil fails' together through a headphone jack splitter and although he couldn't hear the cries of pain and motorbikes revving up, Brock thought they and the rest of the world were laughing at him. Broke, nearly-flunking and shut out of a group he gave at least 70 hours a week to all semester; Brock felt like his life was over because he was left without enough money for the bus tickets home for Thanksgiving. Even though he refused to speak her name or acknowledge her presence, Zahra knew there was something wrong when Brock ran from the room with his hand over his mouth to puke a few doors down and didn't come back 10 minutes later.

"What are you doing?" Taylor asked, as his girlfriend turned detective and read the letter on Brock's bed.

"Oh this is soooooo sick." She shook her head and gave it to him to read.

"They kicked him out. For 30 days? Non-compliance…Forbidden from maintaining contact…this is like a restraining order." Taylor explained, due to the similarity in language.

Zahra raised her eyebrows thinking her boyfriend had more secrets than he let on. "How'd you know that?"

He sighed and told her something he'd only told his former roommate. "My mom's a cop. A detective…homicide."

So many thoughts rushed through her head; like if that was why he didn't flinch when she told him she was cut, or how he could afford to fly home when she heard cops didn't make a lot of money, and if that caused his parents' split. "Wow." Was all she could say.

"Yeah, so…it's weird."

Zahra nodded because that would make anyone feel like a misfit, something she was very familiar with. "Are the shows real?"

He shook his head. "It takes longer than 40 minutes to catch a criminal."

"You ever shot a gun?" She asked, because secretly she'd like to learn. He nodded. "Are you good?"

Taylor hid his true abilities from everyone, even from John who sensed he was holding back but assumed it was his conscience pricking him. "I'm…average."

"You're lying." She said perceptively, but knew he didn't want to answer any more questions. Well, except one. "Pizza?"

6.38pm, 8th Precinct

In the 30 hours since Detective Joss Carter arrested an unassuming Dave Prewitt three bites into his BLT sandwich, and the case landed directly at the top of District Attorney Winters' files, she planned to charge him with Sexual Assault of a Minor and First Degree Murder due to the compelling evidence on the cold case that exposed the shortcomings of the foster care system and exploitation of a minor that was ward of the state. But D.A. Deniece Winters wasn't content with just taking legal action, she wanted to understand why the Special Victims unit wasn't brought on board to assist the reopened investigation considering its sensate nature; a question Capt. Noguerra couldn't answer honestly without dashing his reputation further. "Well, I believed Carter had enough resource and she didn't request additional support."

D.A. Winters shook her head and he felt his leadership being questioned silently. "I heard something through the grapevine about a lost dog…"

"I insist, it's a vicious rumour." Although she wasn't convinced, she didn't pursue it further and left with a firm handshake. Noguerra still didn't trust Carter but realised she had more support in unsuspecting places than he realised. Her request for leave around Thanksgiving sat on his desk untouched and he used that as an in to pick her brains. "Have you given any more consideration to her future here, Detective?"

Joss wasn't stupid enough to reveal her next moves so he could thwart them for her. "I haven't had much time to think about anything, but now I can let the case go and spend time with family." Just looking at him turned her stomach because she couldn't respect him even if she tried.

He wanted to ask her outright if she wanted to be Captain one day but the timing was off. "Detective Mantega can cover you. Your leave is Approved."

"Thank you." On her way out, he couldn't figure her out, if she was irrepressibly happy or just smug, devious or just that damn good.

9.26pm, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens

With Thanksgiving just 9 days away, Gina knew the bubble of tension would burst, hitting the fan and covering them all in crap. In preparation for her team's morning performance in a community Thanksgiving parade, she held extended practice making her arrive home too late to cook dinner or get home in time to sedate Jeremy with a Redd Foxx DVD. She could hear the yelling down the street and groaned as she opened the front door. Jeremy wasn't the type of man to dial his anger down in mixed company, quite the opposite. "What's going on here?" Gina asked.

"Sumbitch." Jeremy said disapprovingly, abbreviating 'son of a bitch' with a twang.

She looked to Paul for answers. "Errr, hello? What's going on here?"

Paul sucked on his bottom lip to stall. "He just found out Taylor's not coming here for Thanksgiving."

That was a given, Taylor always spent holiday meals with his mom and grandparents because Evelyn was the best cook and Paul always appeared at some point to grab a to-go plate and take him home. "So what's the problem? You can talk after." Her simple solution was met with grunts because it wasn't that easy. "I need to talk to you." She told Paul, thinking this wasn't working at all.

"Sure."

"Now." She whispered, and like that he followed her upstairs to reveal what sparked the argument in the first place.

Behind a closed bedroom door Paul took a few deep breaths before confirming his first instinct was right. "He wants to sell the house. My mom's house. Some developer wants to knock down all the houses and put up a new set of apartments and a mini-mall. But she left her half to me, and I signed it over to Taylor and that's what he wants; a signature. That's why he's here."

Gina finally understood the battle of wills and she knew this was too much drama for her and the turkey wasn't even on the table yet. She sat on the bed and the first person she thought of was her gay assistant choreographer who she could stay with, since she gave up her rented apartment to move in in the first place. "I've been waiting for you to stand up to him."

"I have."

"You haven't. You can't fight fire with fire with bullies, Paul. I've been waiting for you to take a stand, not strut around acting like Jeremy 2.0 while you ignore Taylor, your son, who by the way is walking into this mess this week. I've had it."

Paul didn't want her to leave, not when she had fast become his backbone. "Gina."

She tapped her foot because she wasn't playing. "Call Taylor. Now. And, finish the worksheet…acting like you know better than Susan…."

10.43pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

John was very pleased with himself, more so than usual, when Joss finally saw the results of his pet project. To match the custom 8-foot-wide bed frame that hadn't arrived yet, he wasted no time getting a 6-foot-wide mirror installed on the ceiling since they weren't the kind of couple that taped themselves in actions. "So…what do you think?"

Joss felt a headache coming on; it was ridiculous, it was dangerous, it was oh so indulgent and yes, it was very, very John. But like every good wife before her, she didn't want to undermine his efforts. Especially not before his first proper Thanksgiving at Evelyn's as her husband instead of her 'friend'. "It's…something. You've outdone yourself this time, John of Hearts." It was strange seeing the top of her head from that angle but she played it off. "So this is what it looks like when you put your mark on a place?"

"I try." He gave her that 'slap me if you want' smirk. "Come here. I wanna show you something." She bit her own lip for a change but it wasn't an invitation. He led her to the closet that would inevitably be two thirds hers and pulled a leather briefcase off the top shelf.

"Let me guess, there are documents in there." Joss joked, but the HK MP5 grenade pistol inside was so recklessly Alpha and life-threatening that it gave her an adrenaline rush. "What the…?"

"I was thinking Taylor could step it a notch, using something with more power."

Joss kicked herself for thinking it was her illegally gotten gift, instead it was a thoughtful, illegally-gotten gift for son to 'graduate' with. And the fact he even took the time to plan quality time with her son touched her deeply…even if it was the most adorably irresponsible thing she'd seen in a long time. Again, she swallowed it for the sake of the holidays. "You're just…firing on all cylinders."