I have been trained, extensively, in staying calm under pressure. In looking pain in the eye with indifference, and death with daring. The lack of fear has been familiar to me for years. I see it in people's eyes, but I've forgotten what it felt like. To have it pulsing through your veins, blurring your senses, dulling your wits. I forgot what it felt like to afraid, because I would never let myself.
Yet here I am, it gripping my heart with it' s wretched claws, and my body has been snapped to maximum tension. They taught dignity, even while powerless, but here my desperate grab for control is uncalculated, and I'm lost without the instincts. The sting in my shoulder bitterly taunts me, Kara's voice. 'It's your fault Reese. You're not allowed to be distracted.'
Finch's back is just in front of me as we scramble down the metal stairs, but not before giving me the same look I gave him when I realized the danger was present, this time at my shoulder. There was a long time I had no one to protect, but even further a foreign sensation, that anyone would protect me. 'We're all alone Reese. And no one's coming to save you.'
Just before we slip out the door I hear shots ringing, in a quick glance I spot 4 shooters, and my muscle memory whips around and kneecaps at least 2. My heart's pounding in my throat, as if I didn't deal with dangerous situations like this everyday, as if that wasn't my job, as if I hadn't been so experienced with them I could navigate a minor basic assault team in my sleep. I secure the door and keep up with Harold, turning into the alleyway and spotting a black van that revs to life as soon as we appear in line of sight.
Harold climbs in first, and I follow him, taking note of the shooters just clearing the corner, and the wheels start to spin on the gravel. "What was it this time?" The driver shouts, sounding slightly amused. Well, she would be. Her small but powerful build and focus of a sociopath make her nothing short of a firecracker on adrenaline. She's an independent force in the city, still curious about the work we do, but she knows enough from her previous days with the agency.
I try to oppress my heart rate to slow, my fast breaths from panic more than exertion, and the other two could catch it right away. "Good to see you Shaw." I glance at her narrowed brown eyes in the rear view mirror but she's not focusing on me. Our past work, expertise and experience lead to a mutual understanding of how the other will generally operate. And of the majority of people I would be able to fool completely, these two in the car aren't necessarily part of them.
Finch is examining my left shoulder, and gives me a look of concern that I can't withstand. I break eye contact and find bandages in the bag, and place them in his unsteady hands while I grit my teeth and get the tweezers. Treating gunshot wounds in a getaway car, fast but bumpy under Shaw's hands, isn't ideal but I've faced worse. That's what I tell myself, as I shut the fear and the panic away, much worse. Harold looks away as I pry it out.
"Dare I ask where your information came from?" Finch addresses her, already assuming the answer.
"Same place you get yours from." She keeps one hand on the wheel, and hands a cell phone back to him, never taking eyes off the road. "Besides, I was in the neighborhood." Natural under pressure. Detached from the world perhaps, but a lot more familiar. A state of safety no matter what the circumstances. 'Control starts with you, you must always be in a position of focus, observing and acting in kind.' That was the gruff voice of an instructor, not long after I had joined the military. When the prospect of gruesome war scenes seemed the most of my worries. I took it to heart. I did.
I got hold of the bullet and exhaled as I pulled it back out of the flesh, blotting out the pain. A catch a glance of the phone in Finch's hands. No number, just a text with an address. Of course. He drops it on the seat next to him, and turns back again to my wounds. He's not medically trained by any definition, the sights still make him uneasy, but he's bound up a few more of my injuries that he's getting better at it. Well that, and the illegally downloaded medical database I've spotted on one of his computer screens one day. Clear procedures and steps of action, breaking down the human component down into steps, like lines of code.
Harold Finch is a genius. He won't put claim to it, won't acknowledge any truth to it besides a small twitch in his facial expression – I think it's become involuntary. He built the world's first artificial intelligence, coded an entire universal database to teach his child how to understand human behavior. A private person with a list of aliases, agendas and ideas to all come together for one purpose. His usual field of expertise may be in converting the human element to the informational, computational, but the motives are completely counter-intuitive. What makes him astounding is his ability to transcend the computational back into the human, teaching his creation morals and operating as he his, because everyone is relevant. He may not be able to help people through classic methodology, but everything he does is because he cares too much.
This took a long time to learn, but through time it's become so evident I can't see anything else. And yet, like myself, he's mastered focus amidst the chaos. To act and play the roles, to shut out the stakes and work on the problem. To have the resolve to try to make greater moral standards when such issues as relevant and irrelevant are unprecedented. So curious, to find someone with barriers like that. I used to think I had them too, that I would put up the facade to do my job, disconnect from the doubt and the conscience that used to be me. 'I love my work.' It's a sore of regret as I hear the rasp of my voice, as I left myself behind. I didn't just shut it out, I murdered it. I didn't just set up a wall to protect myself, I became the fortress, living to follow orders. And that was it.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a fan fiction – thank you in advance for your understanding. It's not a natural point to stop, but I needed more time to think through how the story could continue – which may or may not happen we'll see. Regardless, in my humble opinion this turned out okay, so I thought I'd post!