disclaimer: not mine.
The chains clink and the lock clicks, securing the door of the makeshift library cage. He pockets the key and turns around to find Ms. Shaw behind him.
She still seems a bit wired, her stare intense.
"You sure this is a good idea?" she asks, indicating the cage with a nod of her head.
He regards her for a long moment, tension radiating off him, then limps past her without a word. She throws a sideways glance at their captor-turned-captive.
Root gives her a small smile in return. "I think he's jealous," she offers an explanation. It's a conspiratorial half-whisper but loud enough for Harold to hear.
Shaw just stares at her blankly, then turns on her heels to follow him. She catches up easily but he keeps on walking as fast as his limp allows it. He doesn't even glance at her.
He doesn't seem particularly keen to address the elephant in the Faraday cage and it irritates her. He hasn't said a word to her since they got back. It seems Root isn't the only one being punished by silence and the fact that it forces her to start a conversation only angers her more.
"So I heard you took a gasoline bath," she says but he doesn't react. "That must have been fun."
"You and I have vastly different opinions on what constitutes 'fun', Ms. Shaw," he remarks in a dismissive tone and he still won't look at her. It's just as well because she's had enough of this passive-aggressive crap.
Its passive part, that is.
Suddenly, she steps in front of him, immediately and effectively halting his steadfast march along the corridor. His body roughly collides with hers and he staggers. She quickly grabs his suit jacket, pulling him towards her to keep him on his feet, forcing him to make eye contact and to finally, properly acknowledge her.
She succeeds. Now she has two handfuls of fine suit material and his undivided, piercing attention.
His face registers a mixture of stunned surprise and fear with growing but still controlled anger lurking underneath. His grip is instinctive and surprisingly tight on her forearms but she doesn't mind. Her fingers remain tangled in the dark fabric of his jacket and she can feel the wild hammering of his heart. Her eyes narrow. He is different somehow.
Something has shifted. He has been in some sort of haze ever since she showed up with her guest.
He glances down at her hands. Despite her firm grip, her knuckles are still red and raw from knocking Root unconscious.
"Harold...?"
Lips pressed into a thin line, eyes flashing intensely, he raises his gaze back up.
But now he won't speak.
"You better say something, Harold," she says but he doesn't budge. "Either lock me in with her or start pulling me back to your little world because this silent treatment is really not working for me."
Tense, throbbing silence ensues but Reese's calm voice soon cuts through it. "Is... everything okay in here?"
"Just peachy," Shaw replies but keeps her eyes - and hands - on Harold. She's not letting him go until they talk. The irony isn't lost on her but she's been jerked around enough for a lifetime and today has been extra special.
Concerned, Reese looks at him. "Harold?"
Harold hesitates for a moment. His grip on her loosens and he looks up at John: "It's all right, Mr. Reese. We're just..." he trails off and his attention shifts back to Shaw. "... having a conversation."
Reese nods but he's not convinced. "Okay," he says, unsure, studying the 'conversing' couple and their rather hostile entanglement. "Well, I'll be just around the corner in case you..." he's searching for the right words but can't seem to find them. "... run out of things to say."
"That's very nice of you, John," Shaw remarks wryly, without looking at him.
Reese glances at Harold for confirmation.
"And if you be so kind as to feed Bear, Mr. Reese, that would be much appreciated," Harold says, his casual tone sharply contrasting with the situation he's in.
Reese regards the pair for another long moment, trying to make sure it will indeed be fine to leave them alone, then: "Sure," he says and reluctantly turns to leave.
"So what's it gonna be, Harold?" she asks after John's footsteps fade.
He takes his time with the answer. He briefly studies her face - the dark brown of her irises, the light freckles on her nose, the shape of her lips. "You could have contacted me," he says at last, then quickly adds: "Or Mr. Reese."
It takes a degree of willpower not to roll her eyes. "You know, this is why I don't date."
"You are in a relationship, Ms. Shaw. You are part of a team now and we are less effective if we don't communicate."
"I was busy."
"As were we and things would have been a whole lot easier if we hadn't had to worry about tracking you as well."
She glares at him. "Well, Harold, I'm so sorry I was kidnapped by your crazy stalker to run errands for your Machine."
"Well, from what I've gathered you weren't exactly an involuntary participant."
"I-"
"You," he says, firmly cutting her off, "and Ms. Groves worked together."
"And we saved someone's life," she counters. "Isn't that what we do?"
"Yes, that's what we do," he agrees and she feels his grip tighten at we. 'We' apparently still doesn't involve Root. Was she right? Is he really jealous?
"Well, your Machine doesn't seem to think we are exclusive, Harold," she says, teasing. "Do you wanna go exclusive?"
He hesitates, studying her. "I want to know that I can rely on you, Ms. Shaw."
"'I'm here. I am communicating," she says. "And I brought Groves back, didn't I?" He remains silent. "What more do you want?"
He seems to consider her question, then opens his mouth to say something but she doesn't let him. "If you invite me for tea again, I will hit you."
"Fair enough," he says. "How about some wine?"
He doesn't lose his nerve easily, that's for sure. She thinks about it, then takes a step back. Her fingers release him and slide down his chest, smoothing out his suit jacket. "Some wine?" she asks.
"There's a full case."
She straightens his pocket square and meets his gaze. "Now we're talking."