A/N: Hi guys, Chapter 69 already? Thanks for sticking around.

Thanks for reading!

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 69: Marshal

Friday 7th April 2017, 9.46pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

It turned out John Harvey Nichols could be social after all – since the deer story was entertaining to everyone but his wife. After seeing Wade and Deborah's response to his superb shot and dazzling blue eyes, even Joss started to see the humour in it – not that she'd ever tell him that. It took forced contact with people who didn't know about The Machine for him to see she deserved to be taken out more often, and maybe Taylor's asking, "When are you taking Ma out on a date" had merit. The elevator ride back to the apartment was short, shorter than her dress. "Look at you, buttering me up so we can go home and have married people sex." Joss teased, kicking off her heels and massaging the balls of her feet into the carpet.

"Married people sex? Like twice a year?" He asked, looking for the zip in the back of her dress.

"And on your birthday." The scent of jasmine was quite hypnotic, drawing him in until the vibrating phone in her clutch stole his attention. "It's Fusco. We're on."

"So much for being normal." John said with resignation.

"According to you; normal is overrated."

"It has its perks."

10:29pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

- Admin is unavailable.

J`ohn knew it was true; from the dejected state his friend was in, to Shaw's exasperation, to the inexplicable pink in Fusco's face. He'd blown it with Vonnie – again – on the night he was supposed to be making things up to her. They'd had the dreaded "don't treat me like an option when I'm making you a priority" conversation and the Other Woman in his life wasn't helping. "Just tell her you fell off the wagon." Shaw suggested to a silent room. "What's wrong with that?"

No-one had an answer, not even The Machine, so Carter tried. "Looks like we're in the dark until Finch is…back in the zone."

"What does that mean?" Shaw asked.

"It means we're on the beat. That includes you, Bam-Bam." Fusco wasn't looking forward to sharing a car or another evening with her and her offensive suggestion.

Shaw was over the line and didn't even know it. "So, I get a badge?"

Joss never thought she'd uttered those words. "No, you get a star."

10:41pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

John failed at making Sencha tea four times until he settled for Japanese beer instead. Finch hadn't moved but his jaw was less tense since company left. "They say it gets easier; that's a lie." John popped the cap off. "What they really mean is you manage the pain better, or numb it better, or replace it with something better." Upon his words, Finch accepted the drink. "I know what she means to you, Harold. And I know it's killing you." Finch's eyes pierced through him. "So, what do we do now?"

Finch uttered one word to his creation, not his friend. "Scenarios." And The Machine responded with pop-up animations of 57 selectable scenarios of his going back to Grace; each categorised by outcome, ranging from Acceptance to Indifference to Rejection to Horror. Rejection was the most likely. "Holy sh…I mean, you put a lot of thought into this."

Finch's knowing half-smile had a sadness to it. "I'm in the thinking business."

11.21pm, Downtown Flushing, New York

The Ride Along with the newly appointed Marshal Jennings was going as well as could be expected; Fusco was grinding his molars down and Carter had the pleasure of explaining what she could and couldn't do – mainly couldn't. "…No, you can't put him in a chokehold just because…"

"Why not?"

"It's bad for the optics." Fusco murmured, realising he'd have to go back into the dating game or online to find another woman he liked enough to get to this point with. "And unethical."

"What's up with you? Someone ate the last curly fry?"

"It's gonna be a long night."

"Domestic dispute on 1048 Marvill Street…"

11:37pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

"Harold-" John protested, it wasn't healthy for Finch's pining to descend into self-loathing.

"She'll think I'm a monster…and I am. I've been selfish. She hasn't been free. She's had no privacy. All this time."

"You can't control everything, Harold. You built this Machine. You trained it to think like you."

Finch blinked. "I trained it to reason. To see variables unseen and unconsidered."

John tested it out for himself. "Should Joss be with me? Or is she better off alone?"

- Better off alone.

"See?" John reasoned. "Sure she'd be safer without me, probably married to some square with a stamp collection, she might even be a Judge or a Lieutenant. But that's all on paper. The Machine can't tell you about the semi-automatics, the 911 calls, the deer, a steak sandwich or a slice of coconut cake. The things that matter. If you want her, Finch, go get her."

"How can I…how will she ever understand?"

"No idea."

Finch chuckled. "You and The Machine, both. I'll have you know it prompted me to befriend Ms Morgan in her time of need. I seem to have misplaced some feelings and for that I'm rather embarrassed."

"Transference."

"Perhaps. She's in need of a female companion. Preferably a mother."

John's scepticism was warranted. "Good luck with that, Shaw's a real mother."

"I meant in the biological sense."

"Joss won't go for it, something about the Girl Code…and spermgate."

Finch had an impulsive idea. "Thank you for your company, Mr Reese. I think I've got it from here."

John didn't know what to do with a "free" evening. "What about the numbers?"

"The Machine has a mind of its own, Mr Reese, its very own." And with that acknowledgement, it started running again.

Saturday 8thApril 2017, 5.04am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan

Joss washed the dried blood off her hands, wrist and forearm. Finch's upset triggered a delay they couldn't make up for; they weren't there to prevent the domestic dispute on Marvill Street from escalating to a calculated stabbing in the chest. The scorned woman going after the side chick was quite routine, but aiming for her implants wasn't. It wasn't easy stopping the blood while Shaw called them 'inflatables' and placed an order at the all-night Shawarma spot. John had failure written on his face, and she didn't ask a question he didn't want to answer. The evening had started off so well, as good as she she deserved, and descended into something they'd be living out for the next decade; highs and lows in quick succession.

"What keeps you here?" He asked, brushing against her in their pristine en suite bathroom.

"The same reason you came to Summerville. Because I love you John, and I see you when you think no-one's watching. The Hobo in a Suit." She knew something was brewing but didn't push. "I'm gonna wash it off.

He took that as a challenge. "All the more the reason to get your hair wet."

"It's not your birthday, John."

He gave up for the moment. "Married people."

While Joss showered in peace and washed away the residue of the evening as thought dinner with their neighbours never happened, the alarm went off on her smartphone. John cancelled it as she'd already done a double shift, but he couldn't ignore the missed call and voicemail from Paul at 1.30am. The temptation to hear it was worth violating her privacy, or so he thought. "Hey Joss, it's me. Ummm…it's been a while. I don't…I know it's…Look I need to see you. Meet me at the Diner?"

John had already decided he would be there to see Paul in the flesh and find out what he wanted to drag her into next.