A/N: Hi guys, thanks for welcoming me back. You always get me pumped to write. Shout out to TheRegal1 for a prompt they didn't know was a prompt months ago and everyone who still reads this - it's amazing. Oh and Erykah Badu for bringing Common and Talib Kweli on stage last night.

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 61: Minuswell

Thursday 23rd February 2017, 7.21pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens

Despite Paul's anxious hand-wringing and work stress, Susan was heartened by the Reflective Listening worksheet he'd completed about Taylor that she took as a sign that he was trying to improve their communication. "How is Taylor?" She asked as she doodled on a clipboard.

"Pretty good. Got a new roommate…making good grades…girl trouble, you know, usual stuff. I've been thinking about the house, fixing it up for him."

"That's new." She made a note. Trigger.

"Tell me about it. I never thought he'd wanna live there but if they're fixing up the block I guess it's the least I can do. You know, might as well."

"And how does Jeremy feel about that?"

He shook his head at a conversation he hadn't had and hadn't thought of having. "He's not a 'feelings' kinda person. He's a "what they doing in my yard, don't make me get my gun'-type."

She let out a short nervous laugh but didn't think he was joking. "I see. And Gina?"

"I'd be lying if I said she's not…convincing." Gina could convince him to give up meat with enough encouragement and the right pair of dance shorts on. "She said being mad at Jeremy just gives me a headache, so I might as well do something."

Susan's quick scribble came out as minus well. "What do you want to do?"

He sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, aware of her latest tactic; reframing. Nevertheless, he sighed. "The right thing; whatever that is." Susan didn't write and he didn't speak. And after five minutes of quiet or, as Susan like to think of it, mindfulness their session was over. She validated his parking and he didn't know if it was helping, hurting or doing nothing at all. "See you next week."

11.07pm, 42nd Street, New York

"It was a clear black night, a clear white moon, Warren G was on the streets, trying to consume some skirts for the eve…" Fusco felt the bass pulsating through the leather seats of the most-likely-stolen black Escalade as Shaw half-ignored his presence like he hadn't sped through traffic to get there. As much as he thought she was and always would be Wingman of the Century; he didn't have the words to tell Vonnie that as nice as she was, nothing thrilled him like the quasi-illegal adventures only one woman could bring. "What you got, Sporty Spice?" He asked, as she watched a video of python eating a springbok whole, "Beside a permanent chip on your shoulder."

"A pain in my ass and an itch in my-"

"Thanks for the image. Jeez." He forced the smile back down. "So you need backup?"

"More like clean-up." She replied, switching screens on her smartphone from nature at its finest to a surveillance feed of a sub-level parking lot.

He shook his head at her cryptic clue but couldn't help looking forward to whatever high-jinks the night would bring. "What's the damage?" She simply grinned in response and slammed her foot on the gas, whipping his head back.

10.47pm, Turner Hall, Emory University

"Tay, girls ain't nothing but trouble. Fastest way to complicate your life is to add a girl to it." – Paul Carter, 2016.

Taylor thought his only problem was being kept up last night as his third-year film student roommate, Wilson from Philly, spliced scenes together from Suicide Squad to make a music video just because. But after swallowing several chapters of Mathematical Modeling of Biological Systems and turning yet another R.U.M.M. letter into a paper airplane, all he wanted to do was hit up the House Party house party on campus and let off some steam. Fate, or whatever he called it, had other plans. He knew that scarf. Usually it was draped over her shoulders as a makeshift poncho or tossed on his bed when she took off her hijab and sat cross-legged on his bed or appropriated as an umbrella when she ran from the library to the dorm in the rain. But today it was just a scarf, wrapped as tightly around her neck as the tension between them. She stood awkwardly at his door, unsure of what to say. "Hey."

"Hey." He replied, followed by a longer-than-usual silence. "Just tell me what I did."

"Nothing." She meant to say nothing wrong but didn't because then he might has thought that she though he did something wrong. Which he didn't.

"Then why'd you freak out?" He asked, suddenly aware of the tightness of his grip on the door.

It wasn't a conversation to be having in the corridor of Turner Hall, even though the few people around were in their own insta-worlds. Not that she had the words to say regardless. "I-I ju-I don't know!"

Taylor also knew that look, and the voice crack. There was something about having lived with a woman for so long that made him more aware of these things. And he didn't want her to leave in tears again; not for her feelings, and not for his image either. He rubbed her right arm, maybe to console her or pacify her. Maybe both. "Okay. It's okay." Zahra couldn't explain how torn she felt; how much she wanted to run all the way to Minneapolis and hide but why she was at his door inches away from burying her head in his chest. And as for Taylor, those Senior year tension headaches were coming back but this time it wasn't the pressure of pleasing everyone; it was the weight and the guilt and the confusion of breaking her virginity and the weird energy that created. It didn't feel as light as it did before. They weren't laughing the same. She didn't know where she stood. And because of all of that, he couldn't leave her. "Come in."

Friday 24th February 2017, 10:19am, 8th Precinct

Fusco knew when his partner walked out of Noguerra's office and headed straight for the locker room without a word twenty minutes ago, that Joss was passed over for the promotion and had eggs benedict on her face. The voice of the Best Wingman Ever a.k.a. Sporty Spice a.k.a. Hell on Wheels spoke to him, and told him to put sugar in Noguerra's tank when no-one was looking. She was quite the influence on him; his secret smile and constant invitation to mischief. He was distracted doing from the simplest thing like reassuring his partner that he had her back because Shaw was on his mind and in his head like an earworm from a car radio. Damn that Shaw.

The tap was still running after five minutes despite all the water conservation posters on the walls from the Municipal Water Efficiency Program. Joss tried to regulate her breathing and curb her cursing but she was hurt. It was at times like this that she felt like her father must have in the Army, except he could blame it on the times. In 2017 Josiah Taylor's daughter was passed over for her loyalty and the inerasable stain of breaking code to uphold the badge. The City of New York would never forget so forgiveness was out of the question. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. And it hurt. It all hurt.

10:26am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

"You should know, whether you like me or not, Joss, you're not alone." The Man in the Suit, 2011.

Those words were just as true as he watched her through the concealed camera in the photo frame on her desk. John's first instinct was to cold-cock Noguerra between the eyes but Finch had other plans for him. "My commiserations to the Detective." He said, offering a black coffee which John shook his head at.

"Thanks Finch."

Finch sipped his Sencha tea and broached an uncharted topic. "I know it's bad timing but even The Machine believes there's no time like the present."

John braced himself for news of a proposal, because Zoe had that effect on men – even for a week in the boonies. "Shoot."

Finch took a long inhale like the refined orator he was. "Well, it appears that Ms Morgan has been filling…a void in me."

"A void?" John repeated. The law of biology said the man 'filled the void' unless he heard a euphemism where there wasn't one.

Finch nodded. "Yes, and I've been selfish; more concerned with filling the void than what the void is filled with. You see you'll remember that life was very different without sunshine, like an overcast sky of the longest winter." John resisted to make a joke about Zoe's 'warmth'. "It is abundantly clear, I'll never love another as deeply as I do Grace, and I'm content with that. Temporary sweetness is still sweet, though maybe fleeting."

John neglected to mention that Zoe was artificially sweet like boiled candy fresh out the wrapper with artificial flavouring. "Gotcha."

Finch grinned, as though he had just completed level 57 of a game on the Sega Mega Drive. "I'm glad we understand each other. Now, about the Detective; it seems there's a Sergeant position going at the 28th Precinct. My trusty calculator here says she has a 64% chance of success, if new scenery is what she's after."

"You're a class act, Finch, but I know what'll make her feel better…"