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Chapter 11:

It was madness; pure, insane, messy disaster. If the intense gunfight they'd been weathering before was controlled chaos, then this was an inferno of pandemonium. The operatives had scattered as soon as they realized the gas seeping in through the vents was lethal. By now, it was a poison fog hanging heavy in the air and the remaining operatives had completely forgotten their grudge in the effort to vacate the toxic building.

Shaw, Reese, and Gabriel navigated through the fumes carefully, guided by Gabriel's knowledge of the layout. Shaw struggled with Root's dead weight and remained intently focused on keeping the sleeve clamped securely over her mouth and nose. Worry settled in her veins as she monitored Root's shallow breathing. She was keenly aware that Root was in need of proper medical attention, and in need of it quickly.

They eventually made it out of the building where the scene was equally chaotic. ISA agents were attempting to apprehend Anarchy Council members. Where they weren't trying to capture, they were killing. There was a series of gunshots close by on their left and they turned to look as Reese aimed his gun. It was Lambert. Only, he wasn't shooting at them. He was shooting at a man Shaw recognized to be agent Grice. The pair exchanged fire briefly before Lambert was gunned down by Grice's partner. He had been the last of Decima's operatives to fall.

The group made it all the way to the car with relative ease. They'd been forgotten in light of a larger threat, it seemed. Given the circumstances, they were more than happy to keep it that way. They had accomplished their goal and there was no reason to stick around any further. John did notice something that piqued his interest just before driving away, however. Around the back of the building there was a group of AC agents hurriedly shoving large bags of something into the back of a truck. He tucked the information away in his brain to be referenced later.

With Reese's lead footed antics, the group arrived to the subway in minutes. The worn out trio was greeted at the bottom of the steps by an overly enthusiastic Bear and Harold, trailing behind and moving as quickly as his limping gait would allow. He was elated to see that they had all managed to get back safely. What he was hearing of their ordeal was less than promising.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all back." Relief settled in partially as he followed them over to the subway car, appraising their haggard appearances. Reese and Shaw were both missing the coats they'd had on before and the sleeves had been ripped off. Shaw's hair was coming out of its usual ponytail and she sported several cuts and scrapes. Reese was in similar condition, the top buttons of his dress shirt were undone and it had been rendered translucent with sweat. He too sported several grazes. In short, they looked like hell.

"Oh dear." Finch's eyes widened as they wondered to a vaguely conscious Root where she lay across John's arms. She was by far the worst. He could make out one wound to her shoulder; there was no telling how many she had that he couldn't see. The most serious one, however, was the wound to her leg.

"How bad is it?" Harold asked at a loss for anything else to say as he eyed John's belt squeezed tightly around Root's thigh. John set Root down on the cot in the subway car and Shaw answered as she rummaged hurriedly through the medical supplies. The confidence in her words was undermined by the rare uncertainty in her voice in a manner that worried both Finch and Reese. "She'll be fine."

Later, when some of the excitement had died down, everyone found themselves occupied. Shaw was still hard at work tending to Root's wounds, though she'd reached a point where she no longer needed assistance from Harold or Reese. Gabriel was left to his own devices in the subway. That was a situation to be addressed later; it was too late at night. Harold would make some arrangements tomorrow. In the meantime, it was decided that he should stay with Finch for the night. Shaw wasn't leaving Root's side any time soon and Reese's apartment wasn't exactly suited for guests.

Finch and Reese had been huddled near the computer in conversation over the day's events for a while now.

"We know Root and the boy were victims, but it seems obvious to say that Control is a perpetrator." John commented when the discussion veered toward the latest numbers that the machine had spit out upon regaining its functions.

Finch wasn't so sure. There was something that didn't add up between the rookie ISA agents that she sent and the fact that Root and Gabriel's numbers were the only two to come up. "I'm not convinced, Mr. Reese. There's something…off…about the situation."

"She tried to kill us, Harold. Again." John rasped, offering a placating look when Finch looked as if he were about to interject. "Look, I know we don't get to pick and choose who we save. I'm just saying…if she is a victim, it doesn't sound like such a bad thing."

Harold could concede that every one of them had a right to hold a grudge against Control and her abrasive tactics several times over, but that didn't keep him from thinking objectively about the matter. "Her methods may be questionable at best; I'll grant you that, Mr. Reese. But she is a woman of integrity, at the very least. I don't believe she has ever decided upon a course of action that she didn't see as beneficial to her country. To that end, wouldn't I have received your number or Miss Shaw's if her intention was to have everyone killed?"

Reese paused, thinking about Finch's words. He had said it himself minutes earlier; the ISA agents were capturing members of the Anarchy Council when they had managed their escape. Logically, that meant that the poison gas wasn't meant to kill at all. It was meant to flush them out of hiding like rats out of a nest. Then he remembered the bags being loaded into a truck. He couldn't confirm what exactly it was, but he had a hunch and it wasn't good.

"You do have a point, Finch." Reese stated, leaning back into the chair he was in. "I don't think there's much use in worrying about Control tonight, though. Even for former government agents, planning an attack on the Pentagon will take a while."

"Indeed." Finch agreed, though he wasn't quite speaking about the potential threat. "You three have had a rather busy day. You should get some rest, Mr. Reese."

Reese stood as if he was going to take Finch's suggestion, but lingered for a moment, looking at Finch with a question in his eyes. After a moment, Harold looked up and returned the gaze curiously. "Yes?"

"Well, I was kind of expecting a lecture." Reese stated , scratching the back of his head as Finch arched an eyebrow at him. "I mean…you know what we did. You know what I let Shaw do…in the library."

Ah, yes. There was that elephant in the room. He had wondered when it would resurface. Harold smiled grimly, "Mr. Reese, I may not condone such brutality, but I do understand it." His eyes flitted over to the subway car where he could make out Shaw keeping a silent vigil next to Root's sleeping form. "It was in the not-so-distant past that I asked you to spare no one if Greer let Grace come to any harm."

Harold stood himself and John fixed him with a knowing gaze that told him he understood his point. Still, he felt the need to speak it aloud. "My point is, Mr. Reese, we've all had a Grace in our lives at some point. His eyes strayed to the subway car again as Reese bid goodnight and began to walk to the steps. Finch's closing words of the conversation rung with both Reese and Shaw.

"Some of us just get to keep that person a little longer."

It had been quite a while since she'd heard Reese leave; much longer since they'd returned to the subway. Shaw was exhausted now. She didn't even want to think about how far past midnight it must be at this point, yet, she couldn't bring herself to leave her self-appointed post at Root's side. Gabriel had continually lingered in the subway car since Reese had placed Root down on the cot. He would come in periodically, nervously feign interest in random items placed about the room, then leave as silently as he came.

Shaw figured it was his way of checking up on Root.

She didn't say a word about it; she was too preoccupied with her work, and later, with her thoughts. Had this happened a few months ago, she would've gladly aimed her anger at the young genius, but he had shown her and Reese genuine concern for Root and remorse for his actions as a part of Samaritan earlier. He had a right to feel guilty, worried, or anything else without her snapping at him for something that wasn't his fault.

Gabriel's was not the only presence.

Bear stayed close to Shaw's side, keeping a worried eye on the sleeping hacker. Harold hovered silently at a distance, though Shaw could sense him standing indecisively in the door way of the subway car, unsure whether to intrude or not. She made the decision easy, turning to look at him with a questioning eye as she absently swept a lock of hair from Root's forehead.

"What's the prognosis, Dr. Shaw?" He questioned with a nervous smile, testing the waters a bit. He expected Shaw to be angry, to at least place a small amount of blame on him for Root's current condition. After all, he was with her; they were supposed to go to Hotel Moscow together. He could've stood more firmly against her decision to send him away.

"She'll pull through. She's gonna need more blood, though." To Finch's surprise, there wasn't a trace of accusation, hostility, or anger in either her tone or her posture. There was only fatigue and her stubborn attempts not to show it. Perhaps he expected anger from her because he felt he deserved it.

"That's good news." Finch spoke brightly in spite of his own exhaustion, ushering Gabriel from the train car and commandeering his seat. "So...I assume you heard my conversation with Mr. Reese."

"I hear everything, Finch." Shaw spoke with a devious smirk, reminding Finch of the bug in the library that he was never able to find.

"Yes, well…I'm just curious where you stand on the matter, Ms. Shaw."

To her it was a no-brainer. As much as she detested the idea, helping control meant the chance to take another crack at the AC. Control got to stay alive, they helped another number like Finch would want them to, and she and Reese would get to dispose of more pricks for what they did to Root. It was a win all the way around.

"Well…I really can't believe I'm about to say this, but...I think we should trust the machine if it wants us to help Control."

Harold's brow shot up in surprise at Shaw's statement. Sure, a vengeful attitude was certainly to be expected from the assassin, but this sudden "trust the machine" rhetoric was quite the departure from her recent cynical attitude toward his ASI.

"That's certainly an intriguing choice of words."

"Yeah, well…things change." Shaw spoke cryptically, not ready to openly admit defeat…admit that her interactions with the machine today had considerably softened her grudge.

"Oh?"

Shaw nodded slightly, turning her attention back to Root for a moment. "You know, I always kinda thought she was crazy to trust it so much, Finch. We all did. But today, I got a taste of what it's like to be her—to depend on the machine. It really does care. At least, it felt that way to me."

"And what do you think?"

Shaw sighed, "I'm not sure what I think anymore." Harold nodded, and the pair lapsed into a companionable silence It was interrupted only by the soft beeping of a heart monitor that had been among many of the medical supplies procured by Shaw for a night like this one. The silence stretched out between them, filled with unspoken words and mutual understanding between two colleagues—two friends. It was Shaw who broke the solitude after several minutes.

"You're not sure either, are you?" Shaw questioned. The tone in her question implied to him that she was seeking some sort of an affirmation of her thoughts on the machine to dispel the lingering vestiges of doubt. That was something he couldn't provide. He had never fully trusted in his own creation, even though he desperately wanted to. Finch simply offered her a kind, knowing smile by way of response.

"I'd like to believe you're right, but…I'm sure you know, Ms. Shaw that I am not the one best suited to assuage any doubt you may still have." He turned his head to regard the hacker's sleeping form. "That is a conversation best reserved for her, I'm afraid." He stood and made his way over to the door of the train car. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting some rest. I would advise you to do the same."

He turned to leave, but doubled back as he remembered something, "By the way, there's a spare cot in one of the cabinets if you'd like."

"Go home, Finch." Shaw smiled tiredly, waving him off even as she tried in vain to suppress a yawn.

"Good night, Miss Shaw."

"Thank you, Harold." Three simple words with a myriad of meanings. Thank you for your effort. Thank you for listening. Thank you for understanding what I had to do.

Everything felt surreal to Root as she began to rouse from her sleep. She was aware of the sound and light of her surroundings, but her body hadn't quite caught up with her brain, yet. She was momentarily stuck in a sort of limbo between cognizance and slumber. The first thing she became consciously aware of as her body began to awaken was the feeling of wetness on her right hand. Slowly, she realized that it was a dog, but what dog?

Root tentatively cracked her protesting eyes open against the light and looked down at her hand. She realized instantly that she was in the subway car and the dog in question was, in fact, Bear. She cracked as much of a smile as she could manage at the dog and reached out to pet him on the head, surprised at the amount of effort it took. She still felt so groggy and her body was rigid and sore. Despite being asleep for who knows how long, she still felt the exhaustion of the previous night. To put it simply, Root felt as if she'd gone ten rounds with a locomotive.

She looked to her arm at her right and noticed for the first time the IV sticking out of it and up to a bag. She also realized that Shaw was still sitting in the chair nearby. She must've been there for a while; at least long enough to fall asleep. Right now, the other woman sat with her arms crossed and her head tilted back against the wall as faint snores escaped her slightly open lips. Root was happy to see that she'd made it relatively unscathed through the chaos at the harbor. A wave of panic struck when she thought of John, and the boy. Had they also made it out alive? Then there was the problem of the ammonium nitrate. She was almost certain the AC would've gotten away with it if Reese and Shaw hadn't somehow discovered it.

Root tried to sit up. Her intention was to get out of bed, but she found that her body was having none of it. The smallest movements were met with protest from her aching limbs and her three wounds. Apparently, her body wasn't the only one in disagreement with her plans. She startled when Shaw's stern voice spoke from her right side. She thought the woman was still sleeping.

"Root." Shaw didn't even open her eyes to address the hacker. "If you pop a stitch, I'm gonna hurt you."

Root smiled, recognizing a statement that translated roughly to tender concern in Shaw language.

"Well," Root croaked, "Good morning to you to." Root was surprised at how dry her throat was. Speaking was like rubbing two pieces of sandpaper together.

Shaw leaned over and handed her a glass of water from the nearby counter top, smirking wryly as she did so. "It'd be a better morning if I hadn't had to stay up so late because someone took three bullets." There it was again, the subtext, the unspoken words tucked in the spaces between words. You scared the shit out of me. Don't do it again.

For the first time that morning, Root took a moment to truly appreciate Shaw's appearance. She looked like she'd been rode hard and put up wet despite her good condition. There were bags under her tired eyes, her hair was still slightly askew, and she hadn't bothered to treat her own grazes on her arms and face, which by now had scabbed over. Put simply, she looked how Root felt at the moment. All of that aside, there was a notable happiness about her…a certain spark in her eyes.

Root thought back to the sleepless nights she spent after the stock exchange wondering where Shaw was but getting no answer from the machine other than assurance that she was alive. Those nights had her walking around in a similar state to the one the woman next to her was in now. Then there was the overbearing sense of happiness and relief she felt when Shaw had reemerged two months later to help take down Samaritan. Root knew all too well what she had nearly done to Shaw last night.

She offered a sympathetic smile and her best puppy dog face, "Oh…as much as I enjoy it when you play doctor, you didn't have to stay up all night on my account, sweetie." I'm sorry I scared you. I'll try not to do it again.

Shaw, apparently, was not in the mood for subtext in the form of playful banter. She fixed Root with a stern gaze that sent shivers up her spine and felt to the her as if it would disintegrate her into a million pieces. "I'm serious, Root. I…"

"You what?"

Root watched the battle of emotions play out on Shaw's face. She could practically read every thought on the shorter woman's face as if they were her own. She'd figured out long ago that the Axis II personality disorder was mostly bullshit. Shaw felt quite a bit more than she was ever willing to admit, though she was coming around to admitting more of those feelings. Something Root knew that Shaw felt particularly keenly was fear; particularly fear of loss and fear of vulnerability. She frequently made choices that kept her safe from those two things.

Even now, after being able to admit that she had feelings for Root, and admit that she cared deeply for John and Finch, there were times when Shaw would reflexively choose the safest option in fear of her own emotional vulnerability. The current situation would be no exception.

"I…care… a lot about you, Root." I love you.

Root cocked her head curiously, looking at Shaw with a teasing smile. She wasn't the least bit perturbed by Shaw's aversion to certain feelings. "Oh? And how much do you care, exactly?"

Shaw remained serious, ignoring Root's attempts at banter as she burned through her with an intense gaze. "I don't think I could handle it if you got yourself killed, Root. I could live without Reese, Finch, and Fusco, but I'd never be the same if you didn't make it out of something."

Root was struck by her honesty. She'd been expecting total avoidance from Shaw, and while she had managed to evade a certain three word phrase, she'd openly revealed more of herself in one conversation than in any time previously. It was progress. Though, she had decided it was a personal mission for her to get Shaw to say those three words. Root smirked to herself by way of response,

"I know."

Alright, another chapter down! I did something a bit different with this chapter. I know it doesn't do much to progress the overall plot, but I just wanted to take a chapter to establish that everyone's okay and show a little bit of team bonding before getting back into the action. I hope you enjoyed the read! Please R & R!