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Shaw takes the turn hard enough to throw Elizabeth against the door. Tires squealing against the wet asphalt, the car begins to skid, but Shaw somehow manages stay in control, and they almost miss the lightpost. Elizabeth yelps as the passenger-side mirror is shorn off just inches from her arm with a startling snap.
The black van in pursuit isn't so lucky. Maybe the driver isn't as experienced as Shaw, or maybe the vehicle just doesn't handle as well in the rain. There's a long, drawn-out squeal and then a loud crunch. Elizabeth, who looks even paler than usual, dares to turn around and look out the rain-specked back window.
"Looks like they hit the pole," she says shakily. "I don't think they're going to be following us."
Shaw smirks. "Good thing they drive as well as they shoot," she says, right before she slows abruptly and turns onto the next side street at a more reasonable speed. She drives straight for two blocks, then turns again.
"You okay?" Shaw says to Elizabeth. She spares a glance at her passenger: Elizabeth still looks like a ghost, like freckled alabaster, and Shaw hopes she isn't going to throw up or something. But Elizabeth takes a deep breath and says, "Yeah, that was, uh—interesting."
"That's a way to put it." Shaw reaches up to her ear and taps the earpiece. "Hey, Finch?" she says. "We lost them. Get us a new car to be safe."
"Two blocks forward, three blocks left," Finch says. "A black BMW is waiting on the 2nd level of the parking garage. And might I add, Miss Shaw, your driving skills are impeccable as always."
"Thanks," Shaw says.
Five minutes later, Shaw pulls their borrowed and now slightly dented vehicle into a parking space next to a sleek sports car. They get out. Elizabeth stumbles on wobbly legs.
"You drive crazier than my mother," she says when Shaw comes around the car to join her. "I feel like I should be kissing the ground."
"Maybe you should kiss the driver instead for getting us out of that mess," Shaw says.
Elizabeth snickers. Her cheeks are staring to get rosy again and a grin flickers across her freckled face. "Maybe later. Where are we going now?"
"Uh," Shaw says. A moment later, Finch's voice crackles in her ear again; Shaw holds up a finger to indicate this to Elizabeth.
"I suggest you and Miss Ruben proceed to the nearest of our properties," Finch says. "Maintaining a low profile would be advantageous, considering that your reckless driving has attracted the attention of the cartel and the police."
"My 'reckless driving' saved our bacon," Shaw points out.
"Very true, Ms. Shaw. However, I assume you would prefer not to explain that to Detective Carter's colleagues."
Elizabeth is making blah-blah-blah motions with her hands.
Shaw sighs. "How long should we stay low?"
"A few hours at the least. The Detectives are doing what they can on their end."
"But what if we get bored?" Shaw says. Elizabeth looks like she's trying not to laugh.
There's a pause, and then what sounds suspiciously like a muffled chuckle at the other end of the line.
"I highly doubt either of you will be 'bored'. In the unlikely event that you and Miss Ruben are at a loss for ways to pass the time, I have sent a number of interesting files via the usual channels for Miss Ruben to analyze while I assist Mr. Reese at the Sarif offices. However, they do not require immediate attention."
"Got it," Shaw says. She turns to Elizabeth and says, "Finch thinks we should lay low for awhile; we'll head to one of the safehouses. He's gonna send you some files to poke at while he's hacking into a bank or the Pentagon or something."
"Awesome," Elizabeth says.
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The car eases to a halt outside a row of decrepit, abandoned brick buildings. Shaw cuts the engine and the only sound inside the cab is the noisy patter of rain against the windshield and roof.
Shaw points to a graffiti-covered metal door set within a shallow alcove.
"There's our safehouse," Shaw says.
"Ugh, no awning?" Elizabeth says, glaring up at the sky as though she could evaporate the rain through sheer irritation. "My hair's so gonna frizz."
Shaw snorts. "The only way your hair could get frizzier is if you went full-on 'fro. It's only a few feet. Ready?"
"Ready!"
They open the doors simultaneously and run for the alcove. Elizabeth gets there first. There's a nest of telephone utility boxes next to the door; she opens each one until she finds the one with the keypad. Shaw wishes she'd move just a little bit faster; there's no room to stand in the alcove and if she's not mistaken, the sky is even more determined to baptize her now than it had been when they'd stolen the drug dealer's car earlier that day.
Elizabeth taps a code on the keypad. A moment later, the door clicks and she shoulders it open. Eager to get out of the damn rain, Shaw follows her inside—until Elizabeth gasps and jumps backward out of the doorway like she's been shocked, backing straight into Shaw.
"What's wrong?" Shaw demands. She moves fast. With one hand, she grabs Elizabeth's shoulder and pushes her out of harm's way, shoving her aside; with the other, simultaneously, she yanks out her pistol and aims it square at the doorway, her eyes probing the darkness beyond for threats. She doesn't see any. For a few seconds, she stands there in the pounding rain with her gun pointed square at the doorway.
Nothing happens.
"It's dark," Elizabeth says, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
Incredulous, Shaw turns to stare at her. Elizabeth looks pale again and she's staring down at the wet sidewalk, her arms crossed.
"It's dark?" Shaw echos. "That's why you jumped like a bat out of hell?"
Elizabeth nods, and she has that little frown on her face, the tiny scowl, the tightened lips. It's the look, the expression that's frustrated and frightened and determined all at the same time, like she wants to cry but she's trying really hard not to, and it makes Shaw feel all funny inside. Shaw doesn't see the look very often, but when she does, she knows Elizabeth is seriously freaked out.
Shaw scans the doorway again, then steps inside with care, feeling around on the inside wall until her fingers find a light switch. Florescent lights flicker into life at the top of the stairs. There's nothing dangerous anywhere, possibly excepting a wobbly wooden stair or two. Shaw sighs, puts the pistol away, and pokes her head out into the rain, motioning for Elizabeth. "Come on," she says. "I turned on the lights."
Elizabeth follows in silence. The door at the top of the staircase is locked by a second keypad. Shaw punches in the combination and opens the door, clicking on the lights as she moves into the loft apartment.
It takes awhile to get settled in. Elizabeth shrugs off her coat, kicks off her shoes, and goes straight for the teakettle, shaking her head to dislodge the rain from her hair, while Shaw heads for the bathroom to towel off. They have their priorities. A few minutes later, they're both sitting at the kitchen table. Shaw is looking at Elizabeth and Elizabeth is looking at the table. Elizabeth's hand trembles around a teacup, sending little ripples through the beverage, but she doesn't drink.
For awhile, neither of them speak.
"John's told me you don't like the dark," Shaw says to break the silence. "But I didn't know it was that bad."
Elizabeth nods, barely. "I've been like that ever since he rescued me," she says. "The container was pitch black inside." Her voice is tiny and pathetic and Shaw doesn't like that. "That's why there's nightlights in all the bedrooms. I can't sleep at night without them."
Shaw long ago noticed the tiny lights in each of the team's safehouses and apartments, but she never realized just how much Elizabeth depended on the gentle glow they emitted at night.
"I'm sorry," Shaw says, but even though she's really trying, it doesn't come out sounding as sincere as she'd like.
"I wish I wasn't," Elizabeth says. Her eyes are still focused firmly on the table. She sniffs once. "I really do. But I always freak out when it's really dark. Or when I see handcuffs. Or needles."
"Phobias suck," Shaw says. She hopes Elizabeth isn't about to start crying. Not because Shaw has a thing against crying, but because she's still pretty lousy at the whole comforting thing and she just doesn't know what to do when Elizabeth breaks down, and that makes her nervous. "But you can kick 'em, given time."
Elizabeth perks up by the tiniest amount. "How?"
"Therapy," Shaw says. "Gradual exposure in a safe environment. You start small, like being handcuffed in a dark medical storeroom filled with syringes."
"Thanks," Elizabeth says wryly. She finally looks up at Shaw with a lopsided grin. "That's really the mental image I need right now."
"Couldn't resist," Shaw says. "But really—it's all baby steps. The more you face it, the less the phobia affects you."
"I dunno," Elizabeth says, averting her eyes. "I've tried that a few times...every time I turned off the lights, it felt like I was gonna die."
"Were you alone?"
"...yeah," Elizabeth says. A flicker of hope appears in her eyes. "Why, you think it'll work better with somebody else with me?"
"If it's somebody you trust," Shaw said, shrugging.
Elizabeth barely hesitates. "I want to try it," she says, and there's the headstrong Elizabeth that Shaw admires. "I'm tired of freaking out at the dark."
"I'm game if you are," Shaw says. "But we should probably do it another day. It's been a rough afternoon."
"Yeah," Elizabeth agrees. She finally takes a sip of her tea, and Shaw is pleased to see that her hands aren't shaking as badly as they were a few minutes ago. "So...how about those files Finch wants me to look at?"
Shaw, without missing a beat, says, "They're uploading really slowly. Won't be done for an hour or so."
"Oh," Elizabeth says, and a sly grin appears on her face. She sets the teacup down. "Well then." She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. "Whatever should we do with our sudden and unexpected free time?"
Shaw matches her pose, quirking an eyebrow. "Hmm, I dunno," she says. "But I have a few ideas..."
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The next few days are chock-full of Numbers: a single mother struggling to make ends meet and went to the wrong people for a loan, a college varsity athlete who got too big for his britches, a corporate whistleblower who was about to blast the lid off an industrial accident cover-up that left nine people dead...
Some of the cases are ones Elizabeth can help with. Other ones are suited more exclusively to Shaw's particular set of skills. But all of them are a pain in the ass and Shaw is amazed that the cases keep ending up with nobody dead—sure, the athlete needed a few stitches by the time John and Shaw pulled him from that shitty apartment, and John was gonna be feeling that bruise from the lady's handbag for a day or two, but it sure beat being being six feet under. (Although John's wounded ego would say otherwise.)
But finally, there's a morning where Finch hasn't gotten any SSNs at all from his pet supercomputer. Shaw arrives at the library chamber to find Finch is sitting in front of his half-dozen monitors (Shaw sometimes wonders if he's compensating for something) and Reese lurking in the dark corner like a bat. Reese nods to Shaw when she enters. Finch turns to face her and says, "Ah, good morning, Ms. Shaw. The city does not need our services at the moment. Perhaps you should take the day off?"
There's no question that "you" means "you and Elizabeth".
She doesn't argue—a day off sounds really good right now. "You and John are good to handle it if one comes in?" she asks.
"Yes," Finch says. "After yesterday's tumultuous events, you've certainly earned a break. As has our esteemed Miss Ruben."
"John got thrashed pretty bad too," Shaw points out. "We all need a break."
"Mr. Reese elected for you to take precedence," Finch says.
"You can cover for me another day," Reese says.
"Fair enough," Shaw says. She nods at Reese and says, "Call us if things get too crazy," she says, and she leaves, sneaking out through the service tunnel.
Shaw has her cell phone halfway to her ear before she remembers to check the time—7:03AM. She's learned the hard way that Elizabeth cherishes her beauty sleep, so she puts the phone away and decides to kill the next hour or two, starting with breakfast. She hits up her favorite diner, a little place run by a couple that've been stuck in the 70s for the past few decades and have the place decorated to match. Shaw decides that it has been too fucking long since she's tasted homemade french toast, so that's what she orders, along with an extra side of hash browns and bacon and a coffee. She goes to town with the powdered sugar and butter on the french toast because fuck, it's been too long.
When Shaw is done making love to her plate, she pays—casually tipping the kind but overworked waitress about 1000% of the bill—and heads out. It's still early, so she meanders the neighborhood. It's been weeks since she's had free time, and it feels good to be wandering New York without having to worry about tailing a Number, dodging bullets, or pulling somebody's ass out of the fire.
She crosses over into West Village and does a little window shopping, because she has free time and again, it's been way too long since she's been able to do whatever. There's a store that's dedicated to selling geeky paraphernalia, and in the window is a flash drive Shaw just has to buy for Finch so she can watch him squirm. (It's shaped like a tentacle, and when plugged into a computer it wiggles in an disturbingly sexual manner.) Then there's the pet store next door (Shaw can't resist a squeaky toy for Finch's guard dog and a nice rawhide bone for Bear) and next to that, nestled a little ways back from the sidewalk, is an understated sex shop.
Shaw makes an immediate ninety-degree turn and heads inside to find a surprise for Elizabeth.
Shaw's been in this place before; the proprietors are friendly and it's well stocked with high-quality products, not the cheap stuff that falls apart immediately. The prices are higher than most places, but with Shaw's wallet, that's no problem, and besides, Shaw's willing to pay just about anything if it'll bring a smile of delight to Elizabeth's face.
She browses through the various sections of the store, not looking for anything in particular. She passes the wall of vibrators (Elizabeth has enough of those even without Shaw's help, and it's hard to top the wireless prototypes from the TriSoft case anyhow), spends a few minutes browsing the outfits (and imagining Elizabeth in a particularly striking black leather corset, leather boots, and elbow-length gloves), pauses to admire the Sybian on display towards the back (she wonders if Finch would notice the $1000 charge from her credit card—probably not, but it doesn't seem right at the moment as a gift, so she passes it up), and finally moseys down the aisle with the bondage gear.
A third of the way down, she stops and considers the items on the shelves.
Blindfolds.
Shaw and Elizabeth have never used blindfolds in their bondage play. Shaw likes being able to see how round and dark Elizabeth's eyes get when she's in subspace and a blindfold gets in the way of that; as for Elizabeth, she's never asked for one. Now that Shaw knows just how much Elizabeth fears darkness, she understands why.
Shaw chews the inside of her lip, recalling the conversation about Elizabeth's phobias. A blindfold could be a good way to help Elizabeth cope with her fear of the dark—a more comfortable and intimate method than a dark room and a light switch—but they'd have to be careful, patient.
It's worth a try.
Surveying the selection, Shaw picks out a blindfold she thinks Elizabeth won't find frightening: a fine, lightweight silken mask in navy blue, shaped to fit the face and stay where it belongs without slipping. A long ribbon trails from either side to be tied together at the back of the head. It's simple, but more importantly, it's something Elizabeth can adjust and remove quickly if she wants to, unlike some of the fancier leather blindfolds that are held in place by a harness that wraps around the head.
Shaw wanders the shop awhile longer, but doesn't pick anything else. She pays for the blindfold and steps outside.
Finally, Shaw calls Elizabeth.
"Hey, Shaw," Elizabeth says when the line connects. She sounds resigned and more than a little tired. "Who's dying today?"
"Actually," Shaw says. "We have a day off. Are you in the mood?"
There's a pause, and Shaw can hear the grin spreading across Elizabeth's face. "Hell to the yes," Elizabeth says. "Been needing to blow off some steam for days. Where at?"
"The Belleville loft."
"Oh, I like that place," Elizabeth says. "It has a fiber-optic Internet connection."
"You sure you're not Finch's little sister?" Shaw teases.
"Shush. It has a really nice bed, too. And no nosy neighbors."
"That's more like it. Be there at ten, yeah?"
"Hell yeah. See you then."
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A/N I wanted to write something happy after that last story. This one should be about 3 chapters or so. Then it's back to work on Feature Creep!
Reviews are love!
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