Chapter Text
There are things you can’t be prepared for.
Like John Reese jumping out from the back of an ambulance yelling: “Relax, Hot Shot. It’s the cavalry. Get in.” Or Leon Tao driving said ambulance. Or Fusco sitting on the passenger seat looking like he is extremely uncomfortable even sitting inside of that thing.
It’s moments like this where she wonders if she’s still stuck in simulation hell.
Shaw shakes her head and follows Reese, jumps into the back of the ambulance after him and pulls the doors closed. Reese takes the MP5A3 from her grip and hands her over the same jacket and cap he and Leon Tao are already wearing. The ambulance starts moving again.
She doesn’t even ask. It must be the Machine’s doing. She zips the jacket closed and puts the ridiculous cap on, checking if her gun is still tucked into the waistband of her jeans.
And then she tries to avoid going through the possible reasons why the Machine wanted them in an ambulance.
“Where to now, boss?” Leon asks, sounding mildly agitated.
Fusco side eyes him with his mouth turned down. “You sure you can drive that thing?”
The radio unit cracks between them.
“I drove us here, man. How much more proof do you need, huh?”
Shaw moves to the small window between the two front seats and takes her phone out to interrupt these two. “We gotta get to Root and Finch before Samaritan does. Just follow the red dot,” she instructs them, handing Fusco her phone.
He raises his brows. “What is that red dot supposed to be?”
“It’s gonna lead us to Root’s location,” Shaw says. She turns around and takes a seat next to John while Fusco starts to tell Leon where exactly to go. They pick up speed.
Reese gives her a curious look. “Did you bug your girlfriend, Shaw?”
She shuts him up with a glare.
This jacket is slightly too big for her and she hopes the Machine was just being overly precautious by instructing the boys to pick up an ambulance.
They better won’t have to use that stretcher in front of them.
This is real.
*
It’s Fusco who takes the call for an ambulance through the radio unit. It is dispatched by a cop on a road not too far away from their current location.
The ambulance is for a woman with two gunshots.
Shaw massages the spot behind her ear, wondering if the simulation is now finally catching up with her. Maybe they’re trying to go down a different route?
“Hey, you okay?” Reese hands her a pair of blue surgical gloves.
She stops rubbing the spot and blinks a few times before taking the gloves.
She doesn’t answer him.
*
They arrive at the crime scene with sirens and lights on. The silver BMW is right in front of them, where most cops are gathered. The back of the car looks more trashed than last time she saw it driving away.
Leon stops the vehicle gently and exhales loudly. “Now what?”
Fusco is already climbing out of the ambulance, ignoring Leon’s question. He flashes his badge to be passed through. The slightly chaotic atmosphere around the silver BMW is probably what lets him get away with appearing seemingly out of nowhere.
Shaw slings the emergency case over her shoulder and gets to the other side of the stretcher.
“Keep the engine running,” John says over his shoulder, also shouldering his own bag.
“Understood,” Leon breathes, pulling his cap a bit lower. He looks nervously around.
“We need that small oxygen tank. The tubes and oxygen masks are right next to it. Yes. Okay, come on.”
Shaw pushes the doors open and helps Reese getting the stretcher out. She starts pushing the stretcher once he’s out with the needed supplies and they walk in a fast pace towards the car.
“Just follow my lead,” she tells him, and then the first cop greets them and starts explaining in short, insightful sentences what has happened, what injuries they are looking at and what steps have been taken so far to stop the bleeding.
It’s logical and easy to focus on and for once Shaw doesn’t feel like she’s drifting through another simulation.
And with that relief filling conclusion comes the adrenaline rush that is followed by heavy dread when she finally gets a look at Root.
Shaw hates how pale she looks. She’s unconscious and her pulse is weak but it’s there. She doesn’t have to lift the gauze to see what kind of damage she’s dealing with here. One gunshot wound pierced her side, the other one probably nicked her lung. It would explain the shallow, uneven breathing. No wonder she went into shock.
“We gotta hurry up,” she tells Reese, applying pressure to the makeshift bandage over both wounds. The other cops have moved aside to give them room.
“On it.” He lowers the stretcher to ground level and helps her getting Root as smoothly as humanly possible out of that car without adding any more damage to her wounds. Once she’s securely strapped on it, they lift it up again. Shaw gently places the oxygen mask over Root’s nose and mouth and connects the tube to the small compact oxygen tank Reese has attached to the stretcher earlier. Then they leave the crime scene, Reese pushing the stretcher and Shaw still applying pressure to the wounds.
No one asks questions.
No one notices that Shaw is wearing the wrong shoes to be a real paramedic.
The bag keeps hitting against her hip with each hurried step.
Fusco finds them at the back of the ambulance and watches how they are pushing the stretcher inside. His face is very serious when he sees Root’s state. “Finch got arrested. I’m gonna go to the precinct they’ve taken him. See what I can do.”
“Call me if you know something.” She hears the worry in Reese’ voice.
“Will do.” Fusco closes the doors with that.
Reese walks past her. “Leon, get us out of here.”
“Alright.” The ambulance starts backing up, makes a U-turn and starts picking up speed again, sirens on and lights flashing.
“Guys? Which hospital are we going by the way?” Leon asks. Shaw barely notices that they are still moving. Pretty fast even.
“Hang on,” Reese says, busy with his phone. He starts a call to some Dr. Tillman to ask for fake medical records for some name she barely gets, but Shaw is already too busy with the next step she has to do.
Shaw turns the compact little ECG on and starts ripping the packages with electrodes open. She cuts Root’s shirt open to have an easy access to the points she needs to place them on. Then she takes the cords out and connects them to the ECG. Her heart rate is pretty high. 189bps. A tachycardia is not her biggest worry right now.
Next she takes a pulse oximeter out and slips it around Root’s left index finger, connecting it with a cord to the ECG as well. Then she waits for the SpO2 results to come up.
She can already tell that Root’s breathing is more and more strained, her skin starts to have a blueish tint. Shit. Shaw goes through the labels on the cupboards and drawers until she finds what she’s looking for. She opens the drawer and gets the small bag out. She doesn’t have to see the SpO2 anymore to know something is very wrong.
Reese is still on the phone, explaining to someone else their situation. She doesn’t listen to his words, ignores him to focus on her task at hand. Everything else just doesn’t matter right now.
She gets back to Root and turns the oxygen flow off for now to switch tubes and mask. Then she gets everything ready and placed in a convenient and easy accessible way. She takes a deep breath and then gets Root’s head into the right position.
“Can I help?” Reese is next to her, looking over her shoulder.
“Hand me the laryngoscope over.”
“The…?”
Shaw grits her teeth. “The long silver thing with…yeah, that one.”
“Ah.”
She takes the laryngoscope from him into her left hand and starts to insert the curved blade into Root’s mouth and pushes her tongue out of her way until she has a good view on the epiglottis and larynx.
She can hear how Reese turns away. Loser.
Next she takes with her right hand the endotracheal tube and starts inserting it into her trachea. Once she’s sure to have done it correctly she reaches for the Ambu bag with mask she previously connected to the oxygen tank and attaches it to the tube, while carefully removing the laryngoscope.
And then she starts to pump with even motions while watching the ECG monitor. The SpO2 is at least stabilizing. That’s good enough for now.
Shaw closes her eyes and keeps her hand moving.
This is real. This is real. This is real.
*
Shaw has no idea what hospital they’re driving towards right now, but suddenly Reese is behind her again and motions to the ECG. “We have to fake her death,” Reese says in a low voice. “I took care of everything important for the moment. You have to sign her in as Selena Miles, got it?”
Her hand is starting to cramp but she ignores it.
Shaw looks down to Root’s pale face, nodding once. “Loosen the cords a bit at the ECG and it’ll stop measuring her heart rate and oxygen saturation.”
He nods and gets to it. Soon the stretching silence is filled with a long defeating beep that doesn’t stop. The ambulance slows down. “Dr. Enright will be waiting for us. She’s an old friend and she knows about our…situation. She’ll declare Selena Miles dead and then she’ll operate on her down in the pathology.” He takes a small breath, looking down at Root again. “We should put a cloth over her body, right?” He’s already on the move before she can reply.
It’s not a bad idea so she lets him do it. That way Samaritan won’t recognize Root. She hopes Reese is right and it’ll all work out in their favor because there is only 7 shots left in her P226R and evacuating Root out of a hospital in her current state is impossible.
It better be working.
The ambulance comes to a stop and the doors are opened by a woman and two men who look young enough to be at the beginning of their residency program. Stupid interns. Shaw hopes that this Dr. Enright is not planning on letting these two help her operate on Root.
Honestly, Shaw herself is probably of more use than these two.
“What do we got here?”
“Selena Miles, 33, car crash. We’ve done all we could,” Shaw says in an even tone and nods to the ECG. Her hand is still under the blanket and keeps pumping the Ambu bag in small, but more or less even movements. The interns look too disappointed to pay attention to her and Dr. Enright gives her a knowing nod. They get out of the ambulance and march towards the ER entrance, the two interns already racing back inside to get an actual case. Idiots.
“Hey, what about me!” Leon stage whispers behind them through the open window. The ambulance is still running.
“Use the map I sent you and wait for my call,” Reese tells him over his shoulder with urgency in his voice and then they enter the hospital building.
Shaw is grateful for the stupid cap that covers most of her face. Dr. Enright signs Root in under her fake name and declares her dead in the same breath. Nobody questions it.
They follow her down the hall to the elevators. It’s too busy in here for anyone to really notice that something is currently not going according to protocol. And she doubts that Samaritan will take an interest in this case.
Not immediately, at least.
The elevator is empty when they enter it and Dr. Enright pushes the button leading down to the morgue. Shaw uses her free hand to cast the cloth aside and check Root’s pulse. It’s still there.
“How are you, Madeleine?” Reese asks politely. She really has to ask him how exactly he knows her. An ex? “How’s your wife?” Yeah, or maybe not.
“We’re doing fine, thanks. I’d be doing better if you told me why exactly I have to perform another secret open chest surgery, but I guess that’s still a no?” Madeleine doesn’t seem disgruntled or anything. Shaw wonders how often Reese has called her to fix people. “Speaking of, how’s your friend doing?”
Reese makes a serious face. Trying to fake a smile with all the stress he’s experiencing right now wouldn’t have gone over too well anyway, Shaw thinks. Some things don’t change. “He’s recovered well, thanks.”
Oh, so she was the one who saved Elias. Interesting.
Dr. Enright smiles. “I am glad.” And then the elevator stops and they get out of there, following Dr. Enright’s lead. She sounds serious when she speaks next. “Listen, I don’t mind helping you, but there is one problem: I can’t guarantee you anything, because I will have to do the surgery alone unlike last time and I am good at what I do, but I have never done that before completely on my own and—”
“You won’t be alone,” Shaw interrupts her softly. Her hand is really starting to protest from all this pumping. “I will help you.”
“Are you a surgeon?”
“Almost became what you are today,” she simply says. Well, she hasn’t really aimed to become a cardiothoracic surgeon, but whatever. She did study medicine and started her residency program. She was excellent at it. Still is, more or less. Good enough to assist in a surgery for sure.
Dr. Enright eyes her curiously and then looks to Reese for some sort of confirmation. He simply nods.
They reach a door and stop. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
*
The surgery took a total of 5 hours and 32 minutes. They had one close call but Root made it through and that’s all that counts. Dr. Enright is truly an excellent surgeon.
Right now, Shaw is standing next to Reese, still dressed in her scrubs, her clothes folded away in that plastic bag to her feet. She’s dead tired. Her feet are sore from standing so long with no shoes on at an operating table (her own shoes just weren’t fit for a surgery). Her back could use some rest as well.
Reese hands her a cup of lukewarm hospital coffee. “How did it go?” He is sipping his own coffee and seems a little more relaxed than hours ago.
Shaw looks at Root’s form that is once again hidden under a blanket. Her tube is connected to a portable oxygen ventilator that the hospital has begun to replace with newer ones. Dr. Enright said they could take it, no one would notice right away that it was missing. She’s currently upstairs packing a duffel bag with meds and supplies they will need for the next few days.
Shaw checks her pulse before answering. “The internal bleeding from the side wound wasn’t too bad, but the damage to the lung was pretty bad. We fixed it. The next 48 hours are important and that means we have to get her somewhere safe and quiet.” That’s a problem she’s been nursing over ever since they got out of surgery.
“The subway is still safe,” Reese says slowly, as if testing waters.
Shaw looks at the disgusting coffee swimming in the cup, tensing a little. She takes a deep breath. “I have to stay with Root, in case there are complications,” she mumbles.
Reese says nothing, doesn’t prod any further. He knows that was a no. She can’t go to the subway. “I’ll think of something, don’t worry.” He is silent for a moment and then he shifts and looks at her again. “So,” he starts. “Where did you bug Root?”
She smiles faintly at his obvious try to distract her. It’s working. “Her leather jacket.”
“That’s smart.”
“Had a feeling I could use it.” Her voice doesn’t betray how the cold prickling feeling on her neck while bugging the jacket has almost changed her mind. It’d happened far too often in the simulations, but the intense urge to be able to track Root if need be has won in the end.
Reese wouldn’t understand, because he doesn’t know about what exactly happened to her. He has never asked or made any attempts to find out what happened and she’s grateful for that.
But she’s slowly feeling a little light headed from being confronted with so much and having so little time to process it. Today was…just a lot to take in. And it’s not helping that Root found the worst possible way to catch up on some overdue sleep and leaving her alone to deal with all of her issues.
They hear how the elevator doors slide open around the corner and Shaw reaches to the back of her pants where her P226R is, Reese is already holding his gun.
But it’s just Dr. Enright dressed in her casual clothes with her own bag slung over her shoulder and a big black duffel bag in her hands. It seems to be heavy judging by her stance. “Here,” she says a little breathlessly, handing the bag to Reese. “I put everything inside you could possibly need. But call me if you need anything else, alright?”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Reese says with an awkward smile, putting the bag down.
Dr. Enright smiles back. “You saved my wife, John. The least I can do is do you some favors. Even if it comes with a lot of paperwork about missing things,” she says, pointing at the bag. “Does your friend know where to pick you up?”
“I texted him where to go.”
“I hope you will return the ambulance, though.”
“As good as new,” Reese promises.
At this point Shaw is convinced this woman also helped them borrow that ambulance Leon is driving around.
Dr. Enright laughs softly. “Take care!” And she walks back to the elevator.
Once Shaw is sure they’re alone again, she asks: “Any word from Fusco?”
Reese sighs. “Looks like you aren’t the only one who’s good at breaking out,” he says. “There was some black out at the precinct they brought him to and all the criminals in custody got loose. Finch is missing ever since.”
Shaw gives him a confused look. “Finch bailed himself out?”
“Or the Machine helped him,” Reese thinks aloud. “We have to find him.”
“You should go then,” she says, wondering why he even stayed so long. And then she remembers that Root and Reese are friends now. Right.
How is this not supposed to make her feel like she’s stuck in some really loopy simulation?
Reese shakes his head. “We have to get Root somewhere safe first.” And suddenly his face looks a little less worried. “And I might know a place you two could stay at.”
*
Shaw is positive she won’t forget Zoe Morgan’s face when she opens her door and finds them standing there any time soon.
They must be a funny sight: Reese and her standing there with a stretcher between them, where a sedated and still very pale Root is resting. For a moment the beeping of the ECG and the mechanical intakes and outtakes of breaths are the only sounds in the empty hallway in front of Zoe’s loft apartment.
“We had nowhere else to go,” Reese finally says with an apologetic half-shrug.
Zoe closes her mouth after taking this all in and looks at Reese. “Do I even want to know?” She keeps smoothing down her red dress. Judging by her make-up she either just returned from work or is about to leave.
“No.”
She sighs deeply and rubs her forehead. “Well, then. Come in.” She holds the door open for them and steps aside to give them space.
And damn, that’s some nice loft apartment. A wide, open living room greets them that seamlessly leads into an open kitchen. Dark wooden floors, expensive furniture that fit to the brick walls and wide windows are what Shaw notices first. This is without any doubt Zoe’s place.
“I like your new place,” Reese notes.
Zoe just nods distractedly and looks at Root’s face with an unreadable look on her face. “What happened to her? Is she another number?” She’s looking mainly at Reese when she asks this. “Don’t you guys have your own safe houses for situations like this?”
“We ran out of places to go, to be honest,” Reese says, avoiding to give an answer to her first question.
Which Zoe notices and responds to accordingly. “So, who is she?”
Shaw keeps herself busy by making sure none of the tubes are tangled up and checks the numbers on the ECG screen. Everything’s fine so far.
“She’s not a number,” Reese says slowly after a little pause. His struggle for a simple explanation is very evident on his face. “But we need a place for her where no one will come looking for her. Shaw will stay with her and take care of everything.”
Shaw shoots him a dirty look because out of all the ways he could’ve worded this he went with this version.
But Zoe is still staring at Root’s face, slowly nodding. She seems lost in thought. And then her face changes. As if she remembered something very important last minute. “Isn’t that the woman who pretended to be a shrink and tricked you all? Who abducted Finch?”
Uh-oh.
Reese looks at Shaw. And Shaw just closes her eyes and lets it happen.
“Her name’s Root. She’s with us now,” he says in his warm, soothing voice, and Shaw relaxes a little. “She’s our friend. And I know this is a lot to ask, but—”
“You will have an eye on her?” Zoe turns to Shaw, ignoring Reese for the moment. “I mean, she doesn’t look like she could do much harm now anyway, but—”
“No, I get it. She…” Now it’s Shaw who tries to find a way to sum up Root but all she can come up with is she grows on you like fungus. “She’s changed,” she opts to say instead in a soft voice.
Zoe looks startled at the change of her tone and gives her a long searching look. “Alright. She can stay. And you, too, of course. It’s good to see you again, Shaw. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, looking away.
Zoe pushes her hair back. “Then it’s settled,” she says, probably to Reese.
Shaw keeps her eyes trained on Root’s face.
Reese lets out a deep breath. “Good. I have to go now. Shaw? I will bring some of Root’s things when I get the chance to pick them up, okay?”
“Sure.” That’s actually not one of the things on her list she has to worry about right now. But she has a feeling this is Reese’s way to tell her that he will take care of things she can’t—like going to the subway and picking up some clothes for Root. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she warns him when he’s already reaching for the door.
He turns around and gives her a half smile. Then he leaves.
“The living room offers the most space so you should set everything up in here. She looks like she’ll be my houseguest for quite some time.” Zoe doesn’t sound really bothered by that.
Shaw nods slowly. “You could say that,” she agrees, not elaborating further. She pushes the stretcher a bit closer to the couch in the middle of the room. That will be her new bed she decides.
“Well,” Zoe makes and then checks the time. It’s dark outside but Shaw has honestly no idea what time it is. Probably has something to do with a very screwed up perception of time in general. “Shit, I have to leave. I have to meet a client and I probably won’t be back until tomorrow. You will be alright here?”
Shaw takes the stolen paramedic jacket off and pulls her gun out. “I’m good.”
Zoe hums in that half amused way of hers and walks to the wide dinner table, where her coat and a black leather handbag are waiting for her on one of the chairs. “Feel free to eat whatever you find in the fridge. There is a guest room down that hall, first door on the right. The bathroom is across the hall.” She puts her phone and keys into the bag.
“The couch is fine.”
“Well, you find pillows and blankets also in the guestroom.” Zoe smiles, puts the coat on and walks towards Shaw. She casts one last look at Root. “John never mentioned her again after what happened to Finch,” she muses.
Shaw rolls her eyes. “Before I left he didn’t even like her much.”
Zoe shakes her head while walking towards the door. Then she stops and rummages in her bag to fish her business card out. “My phone number, just in case.” She leaves it on the table next to the apartment door. “Goodnight!” Her high heels clatter on the wooden floor when she walks out, the closing door echoing in Shaw’s head.
Shaw can feel the beginning of a growing headache.
*
It takes Shaw a good hour to make sure everything is ready to her satisfaction around Root’s bed. She sets up the suction device Dr. Enright has packed into the bag of stolen goods, and attaches Root’s chest tube on her left side to it. The remaining fluids and blood will hopefully get sucked out that way within the next few days. Then she checks twice the intubated tube that is still connected to the portable oxygen ventilator and she also makes sure the stitches haven’t ripped during their trip to this place. And just for good measure she also checks the pupillary light reflex.
Next she gets the portable IV stand out which she unfolds and places between the couch and Root’s bed. Then she gets the last small device left in the bag, an IV pump and attaches it to the pole. Once she’s done with that, she reaches for the two IV bags: the bigger one is filled with electrolytes, the smaller one is filled with morphine. The first one will be the primary IV drip, the bag with the morphine will be hooked to the IV pump. Then she inserts the tube into the already set cannula in Root’s hand. She adjusts the roller and makes sure the settings of the IV pump are right, so the injected amount of both won’t overwhelm her body and makes sure the cannula is taped properly to Root’s skin.
Her fingers linger a little longer on Root’s hand, before she steps away from the bed.
All things considered, Root is doing fine so far.
Shaw sits down on the couch and leans back, staring at the ceiling. A part of her is tempted to hope this is just a cruel simulation to weaken her resolve. What better way to get to her than to hurt the one person she couldn’t hurt herself? But then she remembers the things that Root said during the shootout, before everything went to shit. Even if she still doesn’t really get Root’s rambling, it is kind of comforting, even now. Root never rambled in the simulations, not like this at least.
She touches the spot behind her left ear. There is no scar of an incision, no little bump of a chip under the skin of her fingertips.
This is real.
Shaw gets up again and decides to check out what the fridge has to offer. She should probably also shower at some point. And sleep.
She is so damn tired.
*
Shaw wakes with a start and covered in cold sweat. She’s out of breath and the gunshot from her nightmare is still ringing in her ears.
With a pounding heart she sits up and tries to focus on something else than her own ragged breathing. The even beeping of the ECG and the soft hum of the oxygen ventilator calm her slowly down. Shaw can barely see anything in the dark that is only illuminated by the ECG monitor.
Root hasn’t moved an inch.
Shaw feels something tight and heavy in her chest, a sensation that has followed her around ever since she’s seen Root’s injuries.
Her index finger grazes softly Root’s hand.
It’s warm.
A few minutes later she lies back down and allows Root’s heartbeat beeping through the dark to lull her back to sleep.
*
Next time she wakes up is to the smell of scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee. Shaw sits up and rubs her eyes, immediately looking to the side where Root’s stretcher is. Nothing has changed, she’s still in the same motionless state. Which is good, because her body needs the rest to recover.
Shaw removes the empty IV bag that has been filled with electrolytes and reduces the amount of morphine once more. Then she makes sure there is no blood on the dressings of Root’s wounds or around the chest tube.
Root’s temperature is a little high though. Shaw reaches for her the bag and gets out a syringe with antibiotics. Pneumonia or anything similarly nasty is honestly the last thing she could use right now.
She shuffles to the kitchen when she’s finished.
Zoe is standing at the stove, finishing up the scrambled eggs. She turns around when she hears Shaw’s steps. “Morning, Shaw. Or, well, it’s actually almost noon. I hope you don’t mind some late brunch?”
Shaw shakes her head. “When did you come back?” It alarms her that she didn’t wake up when the front door was opened and closed by Zoe.
“Two hours ago. I had to sleep at the hotel because my job took longer than expected. I was there to make sure someone didn’t leave behind scandalous trails, the usual.” She shrugs and then sobers up a little when she notices Shaw’s face. “I was extra silent when I opened the door. I didn’t want to wake you up.” She hands Shaw her plate.
“Thanks,” Shaw says to both gestures even if she’s still a little unnerved. She walks to the table and sits down.
Zoe places a mug with coffee in front of her and a moment later she sits across Shaw. “How’s our patient?” she asks while putting some sugar into her coffee.
“Stable,” Shaw chews and puts some more eggs into her mouth. “She should wake up soon.”
“Hm,” Zoe makes, starting to eat as well, just in a much more paced manner than Shaw. “What exactly happened?”
Shaw licks her lips and takes a sip of her coffee. “I don’t really know,” she says forcefully into her mug, welcoming the burning sensation in her throat with the next huge sip. She isn’t sure at whom that anger is directed at.
Root for being so stupid to get almost killed?
The Machine for doing a shit job at protecting Root?
The sorry excuse of a human being that almost killed her?
Maybe all three of them.
Isn’t the Machine supposed to protect them? How could it not see this one coming? She puts the mug back down onto the table with much more gusto than necessary.
Zoe watches her but if she noticed anything odd in her behavior she says nothing about it.
*
Reese comes by in the afternoon with a bag and backpack filled with Root’s belongings. He hands her both and asks her about Root’s state.
“No complications so far,” Shaw says and sits down in her usual spot next to Root’s bed, putting both bags aside for now. She’ll have a look at them later on. “By the way, where’s Bear?”
“He’s with Fusco right now. I thought we could use him to maybe track Finch down the old fashioned way.”
She thinks about it for a few seconds until she gathers what he’s implying. “You think he’s hiding somewhere in the city?”
Reese blinks. “His cover is blown,” he says slowly, already considering all the options where else Finch could be. It’s been only one day that Finch went into hiding. Maybe he hasn’t left the city yet .
Shaw watches Reese sit down in the armchair across from her. “Do you at least have any new leads on Finch’s location?” she asks.
Reese shakes his head. “Nothing. I asked the Machine, but—nothing. All it said was that he’s safe.”
Open system, right. Shaw remembers Root gushing about her favorite all seeing friend that is now running on some PlayStation 3 consoles.
“So it knows where he is?” she asks, not sure if she likes the new Machine. Withholding information is not really the working protocol the Machine was supposed to follow. Right?
“Yes, but I guess he doesn’t want to be found. He must’ve told it to keep his location secret,” Reese says and looks out of the window for a few beeped heartbeats.
Shaw is confused. “Since when is he talking to it?”
Reese looks to Root and she follows his gaze. “Maybe since it can’t talk to her right now,” he mumbles. “It did help him to get out of the precinct. Fusco said they still have no clue what happened that night. So whatever happened, maybe they bonded over it?”
Shaw looks to the side, inspecting the sunlight glowing outside on the opposite building. “Does he know Root made it?” she wonders, not looking away from the sunlight.
Reese says nothing at first. “It has to know Root is alright. So why wouldn’t the Machine tell him that she’s alive? I’m sure he knows.”
“Maybe it told him but only after he went berserk at the precinct.”
“He didn’t go ‘berserk’, Shaw,” Reese defends their friend in question.
Shaw lifts a brow. She didn’t even mean it as an insult, but she doesn’t point that out. “You gotta admit, for Finch’s standards that was a pretty big deal. Something pushed him over the edge.”
Silence grows between them.
Before they can continue exchanging theories on what exactly could’ve pushed him over the edge, Zoe’s bedroom door opens and seconds later Zoe is standing behind Reese. “John,” she says with an amused tone.
“Zoe.”
“I have to pee,” Shaw says promptly and leaves them alone to their weird verbal…whatever.
*
Zoe is once again out. Some work related crisis she has to avert, but she hasn’t elaborated further on it and Shaw hasn’t asked either. Having the loft for herself (or, well almost, but Root doesn’t count currently) isn’t too bad.
She just finished dinner and watches now some inane cooking show. Or actually, the TV is running on a cooking channel as background noise, while Shaw is inspecting the bag and backpack Reese brought earlier today. The backpack is filled with a laptop, some cables and drives in the first compartment. In the other one are two guns, lots of ammo and a charger for their phones. (Her phone. Root probably got hers confiscated.) Nothing unusual, really.
It’s the content of the bag that makes her furrow her brows and second guess reality once more. Apart from the normal part, meaning the pair of jeans, underwear (she can literally feel how much Reese must have cringed packing these) and some simple shirts, she finds a pair of white bunny slippers, a lava lamp and a black bat plushie that takes almost half of the space inside. She puts the three items on the coffee table and stares at them.
“What the hell,” she whispers with disbelief. “Who is this woman?”
Reese has to be fucking with her. Or did he accidently pack Bear’s toys? But since when did dogs play with colorful lava lamps?
She stares at Root’s pale face as if her glare alone could wake her up.
It doesn’t.
Shaw puts everything back into the bag, except for the bat plushie. And if she uses it later on as a pillow then only because it has the right size for her head and not because it smells like Root’s stupid lilac shampoo.
*
It occurs to her only seconds before truly falling asleep that this thing smelling like Root’s shampoo means that Root slept with that bat plushie more than once in one bed.
Honestly.
*
Shaw wakes up with a start in the middle of the night and it takes her a few seconds to realize that this time it’s not because of another nightmare or a head splitting headache.
Root is moving on the stretcher, making small noise in the back of her throat.
Shaw jumps off the couch and turns the lights on above the dinner table, feeling a little dizzy from moving so fast. Then she moves quickly back towards Root who blinks at her and whimpers.
“Don’t move. Everything is fine. You are safe,” Shaw says in the most soothing voice she can manage right after being ripped out of sleep. “Hang on a sec,” she says and gets the stethoscope out of Dr. Enright’s bag. Her free hand pulls the blanket away and she looks at Root’s bandaged chest. She listens to Root’s breathing sounds and decides that it’s time to get the tube out of her thorax.
A hand grips hers.
Shaw stares at it, absorbs its warmth and stores it away. Then she looks up again. “I know. I’ll get it out, you just have to relax.” She throws the stethoscope back into the bag and gets to work. Now some more light would be nice, but she doesn’t want to overwhelm Root’s senses so she works with what she’s got.
Root coughs and gags and then the tube is out.
“Don’t talk,” Shaw warns her when she sees Root opening her mouth. She throws the used tube into a plastic bag. “Your throat will be sore and it might hurt to talk right now, so you might want to take it easy.” Then she takes an oxygen mask out of its wrapper, connects it to the oxygen tank and puts it over Root’s mouth. “You’ll have to use it for a while, so you get slowly used to breathe on your own again.” She turns the no longer necessary ventilator off and sighs.
Root has dark circles under her eyes and she’s still burning up a little but at least the temperature hasn’t climbed up any higher in the past few hours, so that’s a good sign.
She can see a glimpse of Root’s dazed smile under the mask before it is fogged again with the next exhale. “Go back to sleep,” she tells her and waits until Root listens to her and her eyes flutter closed.
Shaw’s shoulders sag down a little when she allows relief to flood her.
Root is alive and for now that’s all that matters.