A/N: Hi guys, I know you want to know, I want to know too!

FYI - a Medianoche is a Cuban sandwich made of pork, swiss cheese and sweet bread.

Thanks for reading!

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 64: Medianoche

Saturday 11th March 2017, 3.33pm, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens

It started with a laugh Paul recognised but hadn't heard in a long time. It was Taylor's, and he was happy. Too happy for his own good. Only a girl could be responsible. The head of caramel s and z curls, the Game of Thrones t-shirt and the floral Doc Martens on the footrest had this transformative effect on him; the old-old Taylor was back, goofy laugh, cockeyed stare and greasy lips from a medianoche. Trouble was a 5-foot-8 girl who looked less bookish than before, and fatherly warnings were futile. Taylor was gone – again – and no-one could stop it. "Hi Mr Carter." Bella greeted, taking her feet off the footrest and wiping the grin off Taylor's face.

"Hey Dad," was delivered with the deadpan tone that said, you're cramping my style.

"You know, Bella, you can call me Paul. I mean, that is my name." Taylor shook his head and along came the inevitable awkward silence with this little speech that never landed. "Anyway, how's Princeton?"

"It's okay. Better."

"Good." Paul knew his son wanted him to find the nearest well and disappear down it for a while but there was family business to take care of. "Tay, when you're done pack an overnight bag."

Taylor was just as confused as his "just a friend" ex-girlfriend. "Where're we going?"

Paul cleared his throat because he hadn't told him the truth yet. "Norfolk."

Another awkward silence followed. Bella looked from son to father and back again, and something told her it wasn't for a fun trip.

6.07pm, L'emphase, Chelsea, Upper East Side, New York

Finch was concerned when Zoe was late for their standing dinner date at the snooty French restaurant that charged its monied patrons through the nose for sausage made of entrails. He didn't care if whatever they shared was misunderstood, so long as she kept their weekly appointment. They enjoyed a mutual understanding of whatever-this-was, and that seemed to be enough for him. The waiter interrupted his thoughts. "Excuse me Sir, there's a call for a Mr Harold Arundel."

Finch smiled and took the cordless phone, it was unlike The Machine to intrude on his dinner dates. There was no string of alphanumeric codes, just a cynical tone he knew so well. "You're slipping."

"Good evening to you too, Ms. Shaw. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Zoe's about to pop. And her assistant's on Spring Break. So you're about to become Billionaire Baby Daddy for real, all because…you're slipping."

Finch sighed. "She's 31 weeks, and as a physician, bedside manner notwithstanding, I'm sure you're aware of the risks associated with-"

Shaw cut him off. "Why'd you think I called?"

He recognised this was her version of compassion. "Where is she?"

"Manhattan Island, I'm hightailing."

"I greatly appreciate your efforts."

"Yeah, whatever, Grandmaster Flash-Drive. Bring me a doggy bag, I'm hungry."

11.23pm, Leanne Carter-Webb's house, Portsmouth, Virginia

Paul didn't have answers for his son because he couldn't talk and think and reason and drive at the same time. Without seeing it for himself, he knew the house was gone and didn't know what to do about it. Maybe that was why he insisted on driving instead to flying, because he wanted to cross state lines without the accountability. Or maybe that was why he convinced Gina to stay home and rest, instead of coming along. He occupied a grey area, between past and present, between knowledge and confusion, between anger and sadness. And then there was hate. If Jeremy burned the house down to prove a point, he would surely hate him forever. Even if that same hate ate him up from the inside.

Taylor didn't need to ask questions. The fatigue was written all over Leanne's face. She was still in her car home zip tunic, hadn't slept and was sipping coffee to stay awake. Whatever happened was bad, maybe worse than the police tape around the house up the street. Though they were cousins, Leanne and Paul didn't hug as a greeting. "I didn't think you'd come," she said upon opening the door. Two company mugs of coffee later, they sat quietly in the living room. There were pictures on the wall of people Taylor never met, people they never spoke about; family members who died and others who just left. "You're getting tall."

"Oh, umm, thanks." Taylor replied.

"You still taking Math?" He nodded. She smiled. "Got that from your daddy, don't let no-one tell you different." Taylor was old enough to detect a pot-shot at his mother, even if it was subtle. "There's something I didn't tell you on the phone. Couldn't tell you." Paul took in a sharp breath, because Leanne had the subtlety of an 18-wheeler, so big and fast his chest protruded. "Uncle J's in the hospital. Sentara. Burns Unit."

Taylor started to connect the dots in the two-way conversation. "Why are you telling me now?" Paul asked, feeling blind-sighted even though he was leaving Taylor in the dark.

"'Cause you're here now." She explained. "And…double shift."

"Any more surprises?" Paul asked, feeling Taylor's stare on the right side of his neck.

"He asked about you. About two weeks ago, maybe three." The steely silence signalled the end of that line of conversation. "Where's Gina?"

"Home."

She shook her head. "I thought she was a keeper. We're family too, you know."

"Here comes the guilt trip." Paul replied, wondering if it was too late to find a motel for the night; it was.

"Uncle J always said you…" She saved that monologue because of Taylor's eager eyes. Joss' eyes staring back at her with intense curiosity. "Never mind. You going over there? Sentara. Burns Unit. Norfolk." She repeated as though he needed reminding.

"The house or the hospital?"

"Both."

He shrugged his shoulders. "That's why I'm here. I appreciate the call, Lee."

She shrugged her shoulders, mimicking him. "Family."

"Yeah…family."

11.34pm, Prospect Park, Brooklyn

It wasn't often that Mr and Mrs John Harvey Nichols enjoyed a Saturday-night stroll in the park, if ever. But they weren't alone. With Shaw on the South entrance with Zoe's preterm labour cries ringing in her ears worse than a Taylor Swift song on the radio, Fusco making a last-ditch effort with Vonnie at the Ice Cream stand on the West – hoping to be a hero, – and earpieces in place, Joss thought life was pretty good and they'd finally found the balance. There was room for romance, even if the main course was preventing a teenage girl's stabbing over a stolen boyfriend, subliminal tweets and other social media. Across town, Finch was witnessing the other side of Zoe, a side to her he didn't know existed.

"…Maybe not Scranton. Maybe Montana." John suggested, revisiting the idea of retirement.

"Montana?" Joss repeated.

"Yeah. Horses. Nature. The outback." John explained.

"Sounds more like Brokeback." Shaw said out loud, making Fusco burst out laughing to Vonnie's bemusement. She didn't think her 'no eating glue' class rule was that funny.

"And who's gonna do my hair in Montana?" Joss asked.

"We'll find someone." John's blue-eyed promises were the last thing she needed to hear when they were on duty.

"You're just saying that so you can shoot all the game you want and not have to hear about it."

John knew bait when he saw it, he was a hunter after all. "I'm saying that because…it's something to look forward to."

"Uncle Sterling didn't call you a smooth-talking bastard for nothing, John." She said with pride.

Sunday 12th March 2017, Sentara Norfolk General Hospital, Norfolk, Virginia

"All giants fall like Goliath, Paul. It's in the Good Book, so it must be true."

Paul heard his mother's words as Jeremy lay in the hospital bed, bandages across his heaving chest and around his arms and hands. As two of the few visitors to the Burns Unit, no-one stopped them from reading through Jeremy's file. He had second degree burns from the fire, from his escape; some on his chest from where his shirt caught fire. The question of who and what started it hung over their heads like a cloud. Even though there was an IV attached to his arm, Paul didn't know what to say to his father. "They got cable?"

"Just network TV." Jeremy replied, barely paying him any attention because he was fixated on Taylor, through the small window in the door. "Can't change it. Can't watch the fight or a good movie."

"Yeah. Like The Mummy." Paul said without thinking.

Jeremy was somewhat amused. "You got jokes?"

"When you gettin' outta here?"

"Don't know. Maybe never." He looked him up and down. "So Taylor's here?" Paul nodded. "Must be proud." Paul didn't know where he was going. "Took a stand. Didn't sign. Now there's no more house. Your house, Paul. Mmm-hmm. Proud." Jeremy shook his head with disapproval. "Kids."

Paul was confused, if Jeremy did it why would he make himself homeless? Why would he-? "You got insurance?"

"Pffffff. Obamacare. No telling how long that's gonna last,"

Paul needed air, not because he was light-headed but because it was become evident there was no point in asking about the house. It all seemed so pointless. Even his anger. "Later Jeremy."

"It's been real." He said sarcastically. "You came all the way here, just to run."

"I'm not running. I'll be back later." Jeremy nodded with scepticism. "Like you said, it's nobody's house now."