A/N: The somewhat calm before the storm...

Chapter title from songbird11.

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 53: Microscope

Thursday 8th December, 3.05am, Turner House, Emory University

Taylor knew that sniffling sound anywhere from the times his mom cried behind a locked bathroom door, like when Cal died, but those times were fewer and farther between with John around because he knew how to make her laugh like they were playing a secret game of puff-puff-pass. But these were the sniffles of his roommate in the wee hours of the morning, cutting off his sleep, so Taylor flicked on the lamp by his bed. "Come on, man; don't say Hugh's in your head again."

Brock shook his head. "I flunked."

"You don't know that, it was yesterday."

"I do." He replied resolutely. "I couldn't remember…just so much…" Brock exhaled deeply because his head was pounding. "I only wrote half."

Taylor ate his words yet again; there was no question Sleurben had an ugly flat boot reserved for kicking his ass off her course and probably all the way out the math department. "So what are you gonna do now?"

Brock shrugged his shoulders. "I can't win. If I join the Outreach programme, I can't go home for Christmas. If I go home for Christmas, my folks'll lose it. And I can't stay here 'cause I'm gonna lose my scholarship."

There were no sufficient words of comfort or consolation because the damage was already done, even if he dedicated as much time to studying as he did to a group that promised him friendship, fraternity and spiritual growth; Brock wouldn't be able to get back on track. It was unspoken but obvious; his best chance of forging ahead was to pack his bags, go home to Jasper, and start all over next year with spiritual guidance from a reliable source instead of a twenty-something megalomaniac who didn't know any more than he did. So Taylor flicked off the light and listened to Kendrick Lamar until he went back to sleep.

7.09am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens

Paul was still reeling from what he perceived to be a betrayal. When Susan asked if his partner could come along to a counselling session, he envisaged her rubbing his back or holding his hand while his counsellor made her pointed observations about why he did what he did when he did it. Instead, Gina launched a missile at him; attacking his parenting style and exposing Jeremy's tough man approach to raising him all in one fell swoop. He couldn't figure out if she knew he felt blind-sided or if she just didn't care. Either way, the question came out over breakfast. "Pass me the sugar."

"Why didn't you tell me what you thought about me?" He asked. "You could'a said it some other time."

Gina was puzzled. "Some other time than counselling? Your counselling? That you invited me to? What better time was there?"

Paul didn't have an answer because it didn't matter. "You can't just say stuff about me and Jeremy; you weren't there, you don't know what happened."

"I know enough, 'cause you wear it everywhere you go. I guess I'm not getting any sugar this morning." She wasn't talking about affection; her rooibos tea was going cold.

"Wait, what? What'd you mean I wear it?" He asked, a bit too forcefully for her liking.

"Can you hear yourself snapping? 'Cause I don't do snapping."

Her glare was inescapable. "I'm sorry, I'm stressed."

"No, Paul. You're not stressed. You just don't want people telling you what you don't wanna hear. Not from women, anyways. And what's up with all the secrets? I don't have to know what he did to you to know he did something to you." She reached for the sugar and he was stunned because it was too early for these revelations.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head because she was exasperated and still felt unusually tired. "I mean it. I know you're trying to help me. And I know I need to fix that mess with Taylor. But Jeremy…I don't wanna talk about all that."

She stated the obvious. "There's no way around it. Can you take me to the doctor? I'm too tired to drive."

"Sure."

1.13pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

Shaw was in a better mood than usual thanks to a banjo player and an assignment that actually used her medical know-how in action rather t`han diluting it down to the 5th grade instructions she gave John in his left ear when he talked to Dr Mark Jessops' patients. Back in Medical School, her research skills were well-known as was her keen eye when it came to identifying bacteria. During John's midnight break-in to their current Number's apartment, he found 800 pages of research and 5 folders of X-ray images. With Joan Baez singing Shaw's personal anthem – It ain't me babe – on a loop, she was sure of what was going on and why Dr Vanessa Lockett's number came up. "It's Helicobacter pylori." She observed the blank expressions on Reese and Shaw's faces because they were clearly less intelligent than they looked. "Otherwise harmless bacteria in your stomach that can cause stomach ulcers by attacking the stomach lining. Instead of giving her patient antibiotics to kill the bacteria, she's giving him a placebo which backfired 'cause the chronic inflammation from the H. pylori infection is causing what looks like stomach cancer."

"Cancer?" Finch and Reese, or Laurel and Hardy as she liked to call them, asked in unison.

"Yep. Crazy bitch." That diagnosis was less of a medical opinion and more of a psychological one.

Finch knew not to argue. "So the violent crime in question is-"

"Murder." John finished his sentence. "Unless we stop her."

3.51pm, 8th Precinct

In the run-up to Christmas, Captain Noguerra had more on his mind than tree decorations and the perfect gift for his wife. At the top of his agenda was a troublesome Detective the higher-ups had decided was less dangerous within the NYPD than outside it, and although he didn't trust her he had no choice but to make a proposition. Carter refused his offer of a drink and every now and then her eyes would flit to the door which wasn't unusual for a veteran. He cleared his throat and said the words he was under strict orders to say. "We'd like to make you an offer…"