A/N: This is for everyone who needed rest this weekend like their breath.

Credit to songbird11 for the chapter title. Still collecting M words :D

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 51: Mellow

Saturday 3rd December, 11.39am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

John knew his wife was hungover because he knew her tells; she never overslept, much less with her clothes on and her mouth wide open, and that adorable staggered snoring he wanted to record so badly still made him laugh because Mrs John Harvey Nichols was a lightweight. And she needed eggs and hash browns for breakfast chased down with two painkillers and juice. "Morning." She yawned from the back of her throat and scratched her neck. "When'd you get in?"

"A couple hours after Shaw brought you home in a wheelbarrow." He smirked, handing her the juice and aspirin. "Shame I missed it. I heard you really put 'em away. And a box of hot wings."

Joss downed her meds and yawned again. "Why? I shoulda known better." Then she smiled because it reminded her of high jinks with her sorors. "Hell, it was worth it." She looked at the time on the oven clock timer. "My appointment." She groaned.

He took the tray of hash browns and waffles out of the oven. "Janelle said, come at four."

A wet, well-deserved and uncoordinated kiss was planted on and around his lips because hungover Joss was sloppy and courageous. So courageous, she called her son on speed dial before John could stop her. "Tay…how you doing hun?"

"Ma?" He thought she sounded so mellow she reminded him of the pot-smoking pacifist who sold green brownies guy down the hall. "Good, are you okay?"

"I'm great, kid." Her pitch was so high he knew she was tipsy. "I wanted to talk to you about Christmas."

Taylor was confused. "You mean Thanksgiving?"

"No Tay, Christmas." She sat on the grey diner chair at the kitchen island and put her phone on loud speaker. "Dad told me about Jeremy and the house." She expected his silence because he hadn't mentioned it to her at all. Taylor didn't expect the next sentence to come out of her mouth that decade or ever. "And when he told me what he did, I realised I couldn't do it anymore. I thought I was helping, that I could help him…but I can't…so, we're not friends anymore. If you call it that."

Taylor was quiet, not because he was shocked but because he thought she would always try even when his dad didn't. "Are you okay?"

Joss was surprised by his question. "I'm good. It's a change, but I'm getting used to it. Why'd you ask?"

"'Cause you sound sad and you shouldn't be. Ma, you tried. Maybe too hard?" John felt that fuzzy feeling he couldn't name again, the same feeling that washed over him when Taylor hit a dangling paint bottle with a .22lr and specks of green went everywhere.

"I just wanted to make things better for you. Time, the time you lost…"

"Ma, things just…are. And Dad's gonna do whatever he wants anyway." He reassured her because he needed reassuring himself; that though he wanted to make things better for Zahra he couldn't make her feel safe in her own skin because he wasn't equipped to do so. He could love and care for her, however, in the ways he knew how, because that was all he could do.

"I hope you guys work it out, I really do. So about Christmas, I don't wanna see him so-"

Taylor hadn't giving much thought to his holiday plans beyond eating coconut cake and listening to Reggie's Time Square jokes about the ball drop at New Years'. "Ma, it's okay. Don't sweat it."

John rubbed the small of her back for support. "How's Zahra?"

"She's okay, still the same; up and down."

"I understand. If she ever wants to talk, there's a helpline. For you too." She reminded him because he needed to hear it.

"Ma, I'm covering for someone so I gotta go." He lied, because he didn't want to talk anymore.

"Okay Tay. Speak later?"

"Yeah."

Joss ate her breakfast on autopilot because she was worried about how her son was handling things, especially if he was as much like her as everyone said. Instead of fixing things, John cleaned up around her and let her eat in as much peace as she could muster. Focusing on a simple task helped him to manage his anger somewhat, as he was sure the next time he saw Paul Carter face-to-face it wouldn't be in the spirit of reconciliation; more like retribution because his wife wasn't the only one who had reached their limit.

12.07pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

For Brock, the Doomsday Hugh and the rest of R.U.M.M. always talked about came in the form of Sleurben's upcoming Calculus final exam which he had to get a B minus on just to stay on her course. Being on suspension from the oppressive group gave him clarity; he could finally see the big mess he'd made and the tall mountain to climb to fix it. He'd overhead Taylor's conversation with his mom but he wasn't interested in whatever his dad did; Brock had his eyes on Taylor's notes and finally had the guts to ask again. "Can I…please copy your notes? I can scan 'em, take pictures, whatever. Please." Taylor ignored him and started looking for his gym bag so he could relieve the tension. Brock continued to lead his case. "I shouldn't've stopped being friends, you don't know how it was, how…" The middle child in him felt like giving up because he couldn't shout loud enough, but in his mind, his future depended on it. "Okay. I was a jerk. And I'm sorry. I just wanna be a research scientist and the IICS: the International Institute of Creationist Science. That's why I came here in the first place. I don't get this stuff and I know you do. Taylor, please. I need your help."

Taylor stuffed his running shoes in the bag. "No."

"Is it about Zahra? 'Cause I can apologise."

"Now you know her name?" The 'great to be a Gamecock' towel was the only clean one left and he wore it around in neck in place of a scarf. "You weren't an asshole 'cause Hugh made you do it; that's all you. And this thing with Sleurben; that's all you too. So deal with it…and stop whining."