Hey folks! I own absolutely nothing of POI! This is a tumblr inspired fic dedicated to thecanaryandtheanaloginterface. I hope ya'll enjoy!
Reese walked briskly down a busy New York avenue. His sleek Italian suit billowed gently in the wind as he turned onto a side street and continued his effortless, strong gait. The determination in his eyes was the only thing that singled him out from any of the other countless pedestrians on the streets.
He was a man on a mission.
John slowed as he came up to a parked garbage truck in the alley, taking a moment to reach into the breast pocket of his coat before handing a wad of cash to the driver with an understanding nod exchanged between them. With that, the driver pushed a button and the mechanics of the truck began to shift as the back opened to reveal the haul of New York's trash.
"Hey Finch?" Reese questioned with a sharp rap to the side of the truck. "You alright?"
There was a groan from underneath the bags and John waited. After a moment, the pile began to shift and a hand stuck out. He grabbed at Finch's hand and gave a sharp pull, being careful to get him out of the truck without aggravating his old injuries. Finch gave another groan as his feet touched the pavement; this one more disappointed than pained. He pulled his cracked glasses from his face and looked at them with brows knitted together in frustrated appraisal before surveying the rest of his disheveled appearance.
"I have to say that was rather low on my list of preferred escape methods." Finch complained as the pair began their walk down the street.
The escape in question had been from a Samaritan facility. Without the machine to help them, the team had to resort to guerilla tactics to take down Samaritan bases one by one. Today's operation had not gone quite according to plan.
"Sorry, Harold." Reese shrugged with a slight upturn of his lips. "It was the best I could do in a pinch."
"Yes, well…" Harold muttered, removing his glasses and looking them over again, "I suppose there are worse places."
The two walked along in silence for several minutes. Even in the middle of the shadow map, the bustle of the city was apparent. There were utility workers everywhere, the occasional homeless huddled together in the alleyways, and police sirens could be heard in the distance. Ever the protective watchman, John stayed on high alert as they navigated the city's underbelly.
There was an underlying tension there between them; an understanding of sorts. They had been fighting an uphill battle, at best, ever since the machine had tucked itself away inside the briefcase. And with Root's insistence against allowing Harold to use a Trojan horse and expose himself to Samaritan came limited tactical options. That left them with their current strategy of taking out Samaritan one base at a time. It was only by luck that they had discovered Shaw tucked away in the bowels of such a base.
It was evident that she had endured an intense five months in the hands of the enemy, but she had not been broken. Still, she needed to recover, and both Finch and Root remained reluctant to allow Shaw to return to a combat role before they were all comfortable that she could operate in top form.
John sighed. If things kept going the way they were, they would all die trying to keep Shaw safe.
"Pretty close call today, Finch." Reese stated casually, sparing the older man a brief sidelong glance as they continued their walk.
Harold nodded simply. His lips pursed in concerned thought, though Reese was no longer looking. "The closest yet." He agreed. It was supposed to be one of the easier bases, which is why Finch had felt comfortable engaging the compound with only the aid of Reese and Fusco. At his own request, Root was preoccupied running a few errands related to the machine. If they were going to gain the upper hand against Samaritan, they needed to get the machine out of the briefcase.
One thing was still curious. They were cautious; they had taken great pains to gather careful intel. How had they been compromised so badly?
"It seems Samaritan has caught onto our intelligence, Mr. Reese."
They kept moving through the streets as quickly as Finch's handicap would allow. Reese answered gruffly as he jostled a slow moving pedestrian, leaving an apologetic Finch to fix the man with a pitying expression.
"Whatever happened, we can't keep going like this."
Harold did a double take at John as they continued their pace. He'd known it was inevitable. He'd be a fool to think putting Shaw back into the fight wouldn't come up at some point after they'd found her. Still, he wasn't prepared to make that decision, and he doubted that Root was either.
"It's not as if we have a terribly wide range of options."
"We have one option…" Reese pointed out astutely, bringing Finch to stop in his tracks and whip around to face his watch dog. Unfazed at the action, he worked to suppress the small grin threatening to crack at the corner of his lips.
"Are you prepared to make that choice?" Visions flashed through Finch's mind: watching as Carter was gunned down in the street while the payphone rang off the hook, then Shaw, and Ingram. He couldn't sit idly by and watch another friend get hurt, yet it seemed he might have to take that risk or else they all would die. Looking into John's face, the taller man had already come to that conclusion, knowing all too well the ever present danger.
"Yes, Harold, I am." And as always, he was accepting of that danger.
He, however, could never be so comfortable.
"And what of Ms. Shaw? We only just got her back. Can we really afford to put her back into the fray when she might not be in top shape?"
"Relax, Finch. She's ready." The started to move down the street again, and Finch was only marginally reassured by the other man's confidence. Every scenario; every pro and con was carefully mulled over as he considered the conversation.
"Besides," Reese continued, "she'll make the choice for us if we leave her sitting on the sidelines too much longer."
When it was apparent that John had nothing more to say on the issue, Finch turned his attention back to the long stretch of sidewalk ahead of them. Try as he might, he just couldn't stave off the ambivalence roiling in the depths of his gut.
One…Two…Three…
Shaw pushed away from the floor as she started a new set of pushups. She'd been working out since shortly after being left alone in the subway earlier.
Four…Five…Six…
She had long since lost track of the time, but the disheveled hair clinging to her face and her overall sweat-soaked appearance spoke of the long hours spent conditioning her muscles.
Seven…Eight…Nine…Ten…
Bear looked on curiously as she continued her exertions with a furious vigor. She was growing increasingly frustrated. The situation she had come back to seemed even more bleak than the way she'd left it some months earlier, and her ire at the whole thing was compounded by the fact that she initially hadn't been in a fit enough state to help—at least not without getting shot all over again. So, she'd been forced back into the old routine of waiting down in the subway and watching everyone go off into danger.
Except now she was ready. She was ready and Finch had refused to allow her to help. She was surprised to see Root take her side on the matter all things considered. Still, if Samaritan didn't end her, she was sure that the restlessness would.
Sweat dripped from her face and onto the tiles as she kept up her pace, not knowing what set she was on now and not particularly caring. She was interrupted when the earwig buzzed inside her right ear just as she reached the top of another rep.
"Ms. Shaw?"
Shaw sighed, deciding to end this work out as she stood and reached for the towel draped over the back of the bench. It wasn't who she'd been expecting, but it was a relief to hear Finch's voice nonetheless. The boys should've reported back by now.
"Harold? Where are you?"
"I'm afraid I have some…business…to attend to. Mr. Reese had to attend to a work matter."
Shaw's brow wrinkled in displeasure at the news.
"So he just left you alone? And what happened with Samaritan's facility?"
Harold knew that restless tone well enough to know that it could usually be staved off with a few breadcrumbs of information. He hoped that would suffice today. There was work to be done in the subway.
"Not exactly." Finch answered cryptically, looking over at the red-headed fixer as they waited at a bus stop to get to the next place on Harold's agenda. "But, suffice it to say, the plan was a bit of a bust."
Shaw opened her mouth to speak, but Finch was not yet finished. "Despite our setback, I was able to get into Samaritan's network. However, Samaritan was able to detect my program."
From its place on the table, Shaw's phone buzzed with an incoming alert even before the man on the other end of the comm link finished his statement. "I need you to check that our network is still secure. I've sent you instructions."
"Sounds hot." Shaw spoke sarcastically, heaving a resigned sigh as she stalked toward Finch's computer station.
"Oh, and please, try not to get crumbs on my equipment." She rolled her eyes as Finch's fretful voice filled her ears for one last time before the comm link clicked off.
With that, Shaw heaved another deep sigh and walked off toward the darkened monitors at the computer station. With the machine crippled, all but one screen was left dark where once there had been surveillance feeds. It was an unsettling reminder of just how high the chips were stacked against them in this war.
Shaw gave a small shake of her head as she plopped herself down in Harold's desk chair and reached for her phone to set about her assigned task.
Bear would, every so often, come over to nose at her leg or whine during the course of the next few minutes. She ignored it for a while until he finally grew impatient and let out an indignant bark that drew her attention.
"Bear…" She drawled sternly, looking at him with an arched eyebrow that only just hid her amusement. "You know it isn't playtime yet."
Bear watched and waited patiently as Shaw turned back to typing at the keyboard. When it was clear that she wasn't going to pay him the attention he wanted, he let out a more persistent groan and pawed at one of her hands, making her miss the keys she had intended to press. Without looking at the screen, Shaw turned back to the dog with an inquisitive expression written on her face. He simply tilted his head in response and looked over at the top of the desk where he knew his treats were kept out of reach.
A smile broke out on the assassin's face as realization dawned. "So that's it, huh?" She spoke, reaching for the jar. Bear looked on with anticipation and his tail thumped wildly against the floor as he waited for the jar to be opened. His mouth watered at the scent of the treats and Shaw smiled mischievously as she held one high above his face. "You want it?"
One bark…two barks…
Shaw threw the treat across the platform and Bear was off like a shot, scampering after it with his nose to the ground. She smiled at the sight and watched on for a moment. Just as she moved to turn back to her work, a sound from the monitor drew her attention.
"When you told me to stop looking for Shaw, I did."
What the…?
At the sound of Root's voice invading her ears from Finch's computer, Shaw whipped back to face the screen with surprise and confusion written all over her face.
"But now I need you to help me. I can't do this alone."
Shaw realized she must've inadvertently opened a saved surveillance file in her preoccupation with Bear, but the 'how' was quickly swept aside by the 'what' as she took in the video feed. It was apparent that Root and Harold were on a rooftop somewhere downtown—Shaw could just make out a skyscraper reaching up into the sky beyond Root's shoulder. She also noted their faces and postures. Harold looked more flustered and nebbish than usual while Root looked more determined than Shaw had ever seen; she was a woman on a mission.
Oh.
Root's words at the start of the feed registered with Shaw and she realized that this must've been what happened after she was able to get in touch for those brief few seconds. She looked on curiously as the feed played out before her; eyes widening just as much as Harold's when Root started her climb up onto the ledge.
"What the hell, Root?" Shaw growled out under her breath, feeling a surge of protective anger permeate her being.
"…I wonder if he ever taught you how to play chicken."
Shaw watched the scene unfold with a strange anxiety in her gut. Her hands and her jaw clenched tightly with anger, though she wasn't she where exactly to point it. She wanted to fault Root for her own actions because she damn sure didn't get shot down for the other woman to go playing with her life like that, but she knew that would make her a hypocrite. She knew that she'd do the same if the situations were reversed.
Again, she shared a reaction with the Harold from the video as they both flinched at Root's near fall. Root continued to goad the machine while Shaw subconsciously inched closer to the edge of her seat. She knew that Root was still alive and here, but just seeing this stunt was more nerve-wracking than she would ever admit. The last few seconds felt like an eternity and then some.
"Thanks for playing."
At those words, Shaw let out a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding, but her stress and anxiety did not go with it and she still sat on the edge of the chair clutching the armrests with a white knuckle grip. And then the sound of Bears toenails excitedly clicking toward the door could be heard, followed by the familiar sound of Root's high-heeled boots moving across the tile. It was as if she'd been summoned.
The clicking came to a stop just behind the computer chair, but Shaw didn't acknowledge her. She just sat motionless.
"…Shaw?" Root's voice was heavy with concern and she put a hand on the back of the chair, turning Shaw to face her. The look that greeted her was not one she expected. Shaw sat uncharacteristically pale-faced, still clutching the armrests, but her expression was a very different story. The smile on her lips was an eerie expression reminiscent of the most fearsome apex predators, and her eyes were alive with a gleeful fury. Root backed away at the sight as if she'd been burned. This definitely wasn't good.
"Sweetie?" She hoped a little well placed flirtation could dig her out of whatever hole she was in. She hoped…
Shaw chuckled grimly. "Don't 'sweetie' me, Root. When were you gonna tell me about your little game of chicken with the machine?"
Root's eyes widened at the mention of that rooftop faceoff. In all honesty it had been pushed to the back off her mind in the rush of events that followed. And she would've told Shaw, really she would, she just hadn't remembered.
The hacker's jaw opened and closed several times as she attempted to find a suitable explanation before finally landing on a question. "But? How did you…?" Her eyes strayed just over Shaw's shoulder to the monitor where that same rooftop was on display on the archived surveillance feed. "Oh."
"Busted." Shaw nodded in agreement and the predatory glint in her eye gave way to something else that Root found interesting. Pride.
She felt a teasing smile tug at her own mouth as she reached into her coat under Shaw's curious gaze. "Hmm, well I was going to give you this." She produced a brand new Baretta M92FS and Shaw's lustful gaze instantly locked onto it. She always was a sucker for a nice firearm. "But, if you're really upset, then maybe it would be in my best interest to hold onto it for now."
Shaw gave a sudden growl, and Root yelped as she was unceremoniously yanked down into the shorter woman's personal space. They sat mere inches apart locked in a heated staring contest for several moments as their hot breaths fused together in the short space between them.
The moment was broken when Shaw gave a playful roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.
"Just give me the damn gun."
That's all folks! Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it! Please R & R!