Spoilers for Series 3, Episode 9
It starts when Shaw sees Carter across the other side of a hotel lobby, pointing at a woman just about to get on an elevator.
No, it really starts when she thinks that she hears Carter say "Better look at that accountant again."
No, it actually starts when she's staring at Carter's coffin as it's lowered into the ground, and *something* rises in her like a scream, something that she can only assuage by hitting someone until they *bleed*.
Hitting someone until *she* bleeds, the bruised skin of her knuckles splitting then scabbing until she doesn't feel anything again.
It's not the last time it happens - sometimes it's just a stray thought of how Carter would have been useful right about now, sometimes it's nothing at all that she can trace.
Not that it really matters. If there's one thing that working for Finch is good for, it's the range of people who are utterly deserving of a little hurt. Or, as she likes to call it in the privacy of her mind, knuckle-based therapy.
Other than that, she keeps herself occupied.
Eating, sleeping, fucking, shooting. The basic necessities of life.
And it's fine, it's completely *fine* up until she thinks she hears Carter whisper, right in her ear, "Better look at that accountant again."
She jerks spasmodically in what's half a twist, half a jump in the middle of a crowded street, because, no. There's no *way* that was Carter speaking to her. Someone barges into her as she stumbles around and she almost draws the gun she has clutched in her hand, almost begins *shooting* she's so off balance.
But, no. She shoves the impulse down, hard, until she can find a more deserving target and contents herself with a quelling glare. The guy shrinks into his coat and scurries off with a muttered apology.
But.
What the hell had that been?
She feels the scream rise in her again, and clamps down on it ruthlessly.
"Finch," she manages. "Did you hear anything just now?"
Finch hums for a moment, clicking away. "Nothing detectable over the background noise of the street you're in. Would you care to narrow down what you thought I should have heard?" Shaw doesn't have to be great with people to tell that his tone is worried, and she bristles instinctively.
"No," she says shortly. "Don't worry about it."
But the words that she thought she heard niggle at her. So far, they've been focussed on the open acrimony between the business partners as a source of the threat.
But what if there's another angle? Someone using the loud arguments rocking the firm as a cover?
Shaw doesn't usually bother herself with these kinds of thoughts. She likes to think of herself as more a fire and forget kind of girl.
"Finch," she says. "Can you take another look at the accountant, and the firm's financial records? See if there's anything odd?"
"Any particular reason, Ms Shaw?" he asks a little hesitantly.
She shrugs, even if he can't see the motion. "Hunch."
"Very well. I'll have Mr Tao look at them."
And it turns out the info is good. It's not quite as simple as some light skimming - it never is - but her intuition, or whatever the hell it was, gives them enough lead time that they manage to resolve the situation without any further loss of life.
Shaw even manages to work some therapeutic violence in, banishing the scream back to where it came from.
It still leaves her in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, idly stroking Bear's head. (Finch hadn't complained, hadn't said much of anything, when she'd walked off with him after the mission had been completed.)
She knows what her medical diagnosis would have been if anyone had presented her with these symptoms. These kinds of hallucinations are far from uncommon amongst the bereaved.
But she's *Shaw* - she doesn't *do* grief. It's just not on the spectrum of things she feels. Hearing Carter's voice would be, well, almost too normal for her.
She's really not too sure what to make of it, but she can feel pressure building up inside again. So she stops thinking about it, and forces herself to go to sleep.
When she wakes up in the morning, it's to find the dried tracks of tears running down her face.
She's not too sure what to make of that, either.
It's not the last time it happens. Not every case… but enough. The information always good, too, even if not always directly relevant to the case at hand.
Shaw knows what the logical explanation is and she's never been the religious type, so she accepts it for what it is - her subconscious picking up on background information and presenting it to her in a suitable format. And it isn't exactly as though Finch and Reese are complaining about her new insights.
And if it leaves her with knotted feelings that she can only express through violence?
Well, the opposition had it coming.
And it gets better over time.
It does.
Less like… it's too much whenever she hears Carter whisper into her ear.
More like…
More like it doesn't matter exactly what's happening.
And it's all good - it's her new normal - until the first time she doesn't just hear her, she sees Carter too, armed, dressed in a leather jacket. Across the lobby of the cheap hotel Shaw's renting a room at, pointing at a woman who's just getting on an elevator.
She freezes for a moment, before her legs start moving automatically in the direction of the elevator. Whatever is happening, whatever new symptom of whatever this is that she's exhibiting, the fact remains that she's been given a new direction, something to act on.
Thinking can wait until later.
She manages to get in just before the door closes behind her. The woman she's been pointed at looks up nervously, shopping bag swinging like a pendulum from her arm. She doesn't look like she's armed, doesn't have the air of someone trained to fight, but still. The woman doesn't seem to be able to keep still. Shaw could just be making her worried - she has that effect on some people - but it could be something else.
Shaw looks her solidly in the face for a moment, letting the brand new glasses that Finch gave her recently take a digital recording of her face before she takes out her phone and sends the best photo she has, with a query:
"Who is this?'
And, yeah, maybe she'd been sceptical about the glasses, despite Finch's promises of increased efficiency, but they're growing on her quickly.
She doesn't get a response by the time the elevator stops at 4 and the woman leaves, still casting agitated glances towards her, so Shaw waits until the doors are closing before she nips out, to give the woman as much lead time as she can. She manages to get the number of the room the woman disappears into just before Finch replies through her earpiece.
"I haven't got a hit from the criminal databases. The civilian ones will take a bit more time. Might I ask what this is in response to?" he asks as she walks back towards the elevator. No point sticking around here, unless she's planning on doing something right now.
Shaw considers telling him the truth for barely a split second, before defaulting to the double-talk she's started using ever since these hallucinations started.
"Was checking into the room I'm using to keep an eye on our number when I spotted her in the lobby. Something felt off. Thought I'd check it out."
The elevator's doors open, and she steps inside.
"I would say something about not relying on your intuition too much, but you seem to have had a remarkable run of success in that regard recently." He pauses for a moment, then continues, "You haven't been talking to anyone recently, have you?"
If she was with him right now, she'd give him the flattest glare she could. As it is, she settles for giving it to the mirrored wall of the elevator, and contemplates sending it to him anyway. "If you have a point, I'd like to hear it."
She just wants to hit something, all of a sudden.
Someone, preferably.
But there's no one suitable, and wrecking the mirror in front of her would be… unprofessional.
Finch sighs. "Very well, Ms Shaw. Let me be precise. Have you been communicating with Ms Groves? Is she where you've been getting your recent insights?"
The contrast between his suspicions and the truth… Well, it's enough that the urge to commit violence subsides, for however long. The elevator pings, and she steps out onto the floor with her room on it, a room that overlooks the apartment of the latest number nicely.
"No, Finch," she says. "Root hasn't been feeding me information." Which isn't to say that Root hasn't been talking to her, as and when, to Shaw's mingled mild irritation and fascination, but she only doled out hints that suited her. And, so far, anything to do with Finch or the numbers has decidedly not suited her.
"Very well," Finch says, still clearly unsatisfied. "I'll follow up on your hunch, and see if it leads anywhere."
It does, of course, just like the rest of clues she'd been getting. When Shaw had broken into the room the next time the woman left, she'd found a child sedated on the bed - a child that had been recently kidnapped from outside a school in Brooklyn. Not exactly their usual fare, but as it turns out, the police are perfectly able to handle the matter once called. Even better, the matter hardly distracts her at all from her actual job of observing the number across the way.
The fact that it pans out does absolutely nothing to stop the considering and suspicious looks Finch throws Shaw.
It's not the last time it happens. She doesn't encounter Carter - or, more accurately, her hallucination - any more than she did before, but now the incidents vary between visual and auditory. Whatever seems to work best for the given situation.
Shaw can appreciate that much at least - the efficiency of the part of her mind that's doing this, the lack of wasted effort.
But still. The fact that her… condition, far from improving, actively appears to be degenerating isn't exactly comforting. Furtively arranged tests for the obvious things - cancer of the brain or other neural degenerative condition - reveal nothing. Her mind appears to be as normal as it ever is.
And… and there's the fact that she *isn't* getting as used to the visual hallucinations as quickly as she got used to the auditory ones. Each time there is… almost an easing within her, followed by a tearing as she remembers.
Remembers that Carter isn't coming back. She has to tell herself that again and again, carve it into her soul with a knife forged of pure anger.
Carter isn't coming back, and Shaw doesn't grieve. She just moves on. It's what she does.
Still, it gets better, slowly. It *is* getting better when *it* happens.
The opposition this time are well trained. Expert. Not as good as her or Reese, but almost. And there are more of them. Worse, whoever is pulling their strings seems always one step ahead of Team Finch.
They've *just* got their break, she's just sneaking up on the mastermind from one angle whilst Reese handles another, when it happens. Carter blinks into existence in front of her, yelling "Snipers!" and pointing at three different positions on surrounding buildings.
Shaw's reflexes take over, just about carrying her into a safe position before she can be gunned down. And that's where her mind should be.
But.
But while Carter appeared in front of her, that's *not* where her voice came from. No, that sounded like it came from just beside her, like always.
Like it was coming from her earpiece.
Shaw glances over her Finch-issued glasses at Carter, just to check. And yes. Yes. She can see Carter through the glasses, but not with her naked eyes.
She's not hallucinating.
She isn't.
"Whatever you are," she says, her voice flat with anger. "We're talking later. Understand?"
The image's mouth snaps shut, and it actually goes a little greyer, before nodding and disappearing.
Abstractly, Shaw has to admire the artistry.
Abstractly.
The rest of her just wants to hurt everything, everyone. She wants to hunt down whoever is responsible for this… *this* and make them pay.
Later, though.
For now, she has some snipers to deal with.
Even with the image's help, Shaw still takes a bullet taking the opposition down. It's possible that she may have gotten a little fixated in making sure that they didn't get away.
The ache helps focus her, though, makes her feel like she's got an extra knife at her side.
"Come on then," she says, once she's in a room rented for the night. "Talk."
The image blinks into existence in front of her. Even this close, even with her critic's eye, even with how well she knows Carter, it still looks disturbingly like her. The only thing out of place, the only thing she can point to and say 'That's not Carter' is the uneasy smile on the image's lips.
She'd never seen Carter nervous, not like this.
Not even…
Not ever.
"Who are you?" Shaw demands bluntly. "What are you?" she corrects. And why do you look like her? She thinks.
The image seems to take a deep breath before replying. "Yeah," it says. "Believe it or not, I am actually Joss Carter. And after I died, I got an offer of a job there was just no way I'd turn down."