Lionel Fusco, an unsung hero. This is for all the people going back into L-word (including me), all the E-word workers, and everyone who's H-wording their kids. Let's escape together.

As always, enjoy x

Saturday 2nd December 2017, 6.58pm, Lionel's apartment, Lenox Hill, New York

Years ago, back when Lionel Fusco was a decent hockey player like his son, his older brother Charlie told him he was hopeless with women. This statement was said in jest, along with the analogy that he was as clumsy as a hockey player with two left feet, but it stuck. His ex-wife Jean always said he was a poor communicator and that he'd rather hide in a bottle than face the music and talk. That was why, although he had been teetotal for years and the smell did something to him, he poured Martina a large glass of red wine. Up in the Air was playing on the TV. George Clooney made him want to suck in his gut and eat a donut hole at the same time. Some echoes from NBA Live '16 periodically came from Lee's room. "So Lionel, anything in your family tree I should know about?" She asked, folding her legs on the sofa.

"Besides the monkeys?" She giggled and snorted. "Nah, we're a strong bunch. I'm not so good at this thing."

"Talking?"

He eyed the wine glass. "Yeah. What do I need to know that you couldn't tell me earlier?"

She cleared her throat and looked his way. "The boys have Aortic Stenosis. Tino did too. It started with the murmur, we knew when they were born. The doctors say wait and see to everything. I don't know what they will or won't get to do, if everything will work out fine, or if…" He knew she was thinking about their father. "And I don't what it means for me and you."

That glass of wine looked pretty good to him, so did the bottle, so did a liquor-filled IV. He scratched his forehead. "I don't know what to tell you right now. I mean, I need to think about it. You good?"

She chewed her bottom lip. "I don't know. It's hard."

"I don't wanna tell you what sounds good in the moment. Let me think about it?" She understood that what he was saying was fair but that didn't make it easier to hear. He gave her the remote. "Ladies' choice."

7.02pm, East Broadway Station, Lower East Side, Manhattan

John What's-his-name spoke way too soon when he said working with Leon would be tolerable until Bear made a full recovery as the subway ride to an undisclosed destination was just the beginning of his attempts to recover money for Lady Emmeline. But the people after him didn't want money, they wanted blood, and the shell of bullet casings to follow would prove it.

"Where are we going?" John asked through gritted teeth, as the train jerked and sent everyone left.

"To see some people who know some people who might have some money." Leon replied with a smile.

John knew it would be a long night, a very long night, and Finch didn't pay him enough to put up with someone who's face was so punchable.

7.16pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn

It wasn't like her mother to be quiet. It wasn't like her mother to sit still. It wasn't like her mother not to give her the Saturday night shakedown: when would she do something with her hair, where was John, why didn't she want to get highlights, or would she be a good daughter and but her mother a purse with three letters for Christmas. For once, there was no hinting, prodding or strong suggestions and Joss didn't like it one bit. "What's going on, Ma?" Joss asked.

"Nothing." Evelyn said, in her sing-song voice, as she cut another slice of sugar-free coconut cake for dessert. "You want cream with that?"

"I want you to tell me what's going on. And where's Mr. Gregory?" It was obvious he was avoiding their confrontation by making himself scarce. About five blocks scarce, playing dominoes at his friend's house. Evelyn slid two printed flight confirmations in front of her. "London? Port of Spain?" Joss checked the dates two, three, four times over. "December 14th to January 4th? Tay won't be back by the 14th."

Evelyn sighed at her only child, and the only child of her only child. "I know."

She stated the obvious. "That's Christmas and New Years'."

"I know, Jocelyn."

"You haven't spent the holidays outside New York since-"

"Afghanistan, 2002." They shared a moment of silence at her first deployment, the one Evelyn would never forget. The one she spent distracting her grandson with movies with talking cartoon animals and answering difficult questions about where his parents were. "That's a long time, Jocelyn. Try to understand; Taylor's not the only grandchild we have. We're getting older. They're growing up. And Greg needs a break."

She realised she didn't think much about how their status quo affected him. "Okay, I got it. You need time away. Together."

Evelyn knew it wouldn't go down well. "You want more cake?"

She nodded like a five-year-old as Evelyn cut her another slice. "Why didn't you say something sooner, Ma?"

"Because you're sensitive, Jocelyn. Because of all the holidays we spent without him. Time we can't get back. And you were alone then. I couldn't leave you behind."

"It'll be cold in London…"

"The Islands will make up for it. New Years' in the Sun." Evelyn watched her daughter eat unhappily. For once, cake didn't make everything better.

"I wanna be happy for you. I really do."

"I know. We all need this. You have John now. And Taylor's finding a better way of dealing with things. And so will you, Jocelyn."

11.24pm, Lionel's apartment, Lenox Hill, New York

The unwelcome sight of Shaw loading a cereal bowl with bacon flavoured pretzels, broken mini-Snickers bars, turkey jerky, and gummy bears was met with the same response to his Scooby Doo pyjamas - indifference. "How'd you get a key?" Fusco asked.

She stated the obvious. "Kenny's Key Cutters."

"No customers tonight?" He asked, swigging the last milk from the carton.

"They're all plotting." She smirked. "What's up with Polly Pocket? She looked weird when she left."

He wondered how long she was out there. "You ever heard of Aortic Stenosis?" The disgusted look on her face was warranted. "…'Course you have."

"So you remembered I'm a doctor and a surgeon? Mr Two Years at Community College."

He attempted to clean it up with a compliment. "I never forgot. You're better with a scalpel than a 9. and that's saying something." Her finger, which she stuck into a tub of marshmallow fluff and swirled around, showed her forgiveness. "What am I dealing with here? Keep it simple."

She shook her head. "Too easy. The blood flows from the left ventricle to the aorta through the aortic valve. Aortic stenosis is the narrowing of that valve, the restriction of the blood flow. It tends to get worse over time, Lionel. On the upside, it could just be chest pain or breathlessness after sports…"

"And on the downside?"

She lost all tact and professionalism with her next sentence. "It killed their father. Sudden cardiac arrest."

"Crap."

"And then there's the money. They need specialists and they need check-ups, at least every year. That's if they don't need surgery one day; valve replacement. My point is: those fifth-graders have a tough road ahead. And if you stay with her…with them; so do you." She gave him a much-needed reality check. "The Machine would tell you to cut your losses."

He scratched his neck. "You asked it, didn't you?"

She shrugged her shoulders and chewed on some gummy bears. "Hare-Bear says; it considers the variables and predicts an outcome, blah, blah blah, I'm so smart."

He held back laughter due to the seriousness of the situation. "What do you say?"

The pretzels crunched between her molars as she thought about it. "I say…it's pretty gross watching you go all gooey for Polly Pocket. And…what happened to the Tollhouse cookies from last time?"

"You happened." He reminded her. "Thanks. For the doctor thing…and the friend thing."

"Yeah, I'll be somewhere puking. What've you got for me to wash this down with? Not diet soda?"

He mourned the loss of his snacks and possibly his budding relationship. "Bleach."

"Back atcha, Pumpkin Spice."