#####

The Belleville loft takes up the third and fourth floors of an uptown building owned by a small software company that is in no way related to a certain Harold Fisher. It's a nice dig, all airy spaces and skylights and tall, thin windows that look out onto the streets. The floors are wood and the walls are brick, illuminated at night by tiny halogen spotlights that cast warm pools of light. The living room area is two stories high; a grand spiral staircase leads up to a balcony and the bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves dominate one side of the room and a wide plasma TV lurks at the other. The places is modern, but in subtle ways; the air conditioning vents are practically hidden, the window shades slide down from concealed panels at the touch of a button, and of course, the wireless network is top notch even by Elizabeth's standards.

Shaw does her usual paranoid walkthrough, making sure nobody's hiding in the apartment. (She still remembers the time Root had been waiting for them at Elizabeth's place after a case, intent on delivering a flash drive with some admittedly useful information at the Machine's behest. Neither Shaw nor Elizabeth had noticed the woman lounging in Elizabeth's desk chair until they were nearly out of their underwear. Shaw had been furious, but Elizabeth's reaction had been infinitely more satisfying than Shaw's sputtering; Shaw really wishes she had a recording of Elizabeth, topless, chasing a wide-eyed Root out of the apartment with a pillow and a deadly glare.)

Once she's satisfied the place is clear, she stashes her gifts in the entryway closet, except for the blindfold, which she removes from its packaging and puts in her pocket. Then she settles in to wait.

Elizabeth shows up right on time, calling, "It's me!" as she opens the door and steps into the apartment. She's wearing one of her quirky outfits, an odd, kitsch mismatch of vintage styles that she somehow manages to rock: a knee length skirt, the kind that swirls, with the same type of abstract brown and gold patterning Shaw is pretty sure was popular on linoleum floors when she was a kid; a pumpkin-colored blouse under a brown cardigan; a lightweight tan scarf, knotted loosely at the neck; dark brown knee socks and leather mary janes.

Shaw sometimes wonders why Elizabeth bothers to dress up so much when she knows she's going to be naked in the near future, but she's not complaining or anything because she might have a minor thing for knee socks and skirts, especially when a certain frizzy-haired freckle-faced hacker is wearing them. (Shaw's not sure if Elizabeth has picked up on this yet.)

Elizabeth takes off her shoes as soon as she enters, setting them neatly on the hardwood floor. She's funny about shoes—not in the closet-full sense like some people, but in a sorta creepy, overly-attached way. Shaw doesn't get why, but then again, Shaw sometimes goes through a half-dozen pairs of shoes a week while Elizabeth cherishes her mother's hand-me-down little-kid shoes from last century like they're made of gold or something. She never wears her nice kicks on the job, not since the McDowell case. Shaw still feels kinda bad about how that one turned out. Sure, it was great that they managed to stop the little bastard, but not without taking casualties: Elizabeth's clothes were a goner...

"Sooo," Elizabeth says. "Got any plans for the day?" She flops down on the couch with a happy oomph and her skirt briefly billows. She puts her stockinged feet up on the coffee table, crossing her legs at the ankle and wiggling her toes. Shaw sits next to her.

"Kinda," Shaw says. "I had an idea. Something new to try."

"What kind of something new?" Elizabeth says, her voice sultry.

"An optional something new," Shaw says. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"Uh, okay. What is it?"

Shaw removes the blindfold from her pocket and sets it on the couch between them.

Elizabeth doesn't get it at first. Her eyes are quizzical, but then it clicks—and she suddenly looks nervous.

"Oh," she says. Her voice is little more than a whisper. She sits up straighter and takes her feet off the coffee table.

"It was just an idea," Shaw says quickly. "I thought this might be a good way to start with the phobia thing, but if you don't want to—"

"I dunno about this," Elizabeth says.

"Okay," Shaw says, and she immediately tosses the blindfold onto the coffee table. She squeezes Elizabeth's shoulder in reassurance. "No pressure." But Elizabeth doesn't respond. Her gaze is fixed on the blindfold.

"Could we...try it?" she says. "Just to—to see what it's like."

"You sure?"

Elizabeth nods. Shaw snags the blindfold from the coffee table and offers it. "Hold it. See what it feels like."

With trembling hands, Elizabeth takes the blindfold, running the soft material experimentally through her fingers. She holds it up to the light to find that it's completely opaque. She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and closes her eyes. With shaking hands, she pulls the mask over her eyes. It's crooked. Elizabeth's fingers fumble with the ribbons as she tries to tie them behind her head.

"Want me to do it?" Shaw asks.

"Yeah," Elizabeth whispers.

"I'll take it off as soon as you tell me," Shaw promises. "And you can always peak under it. Okay? Turn to your left a bit." Shaw straightens the mask and takes the ends of the ribbons, tying them together with quick, deft motions. "There."

Elizabeth is frozen, a statue with wild hair. She's staring away from Shaw, looking off towards the corner of the room—or would be, if it weren't for the blindfold. Her right hand is clenched into a tight fist and her face is pale.

"Hey," Shaw says. "I'm over here." She puts her hand on Elizabeth's thigh. Startled by the touch, Elizabeth gasps and instinctively tilts her head downward, then looks in Shaw's general direction. Her mouth is ajar and her chest moves rapidly in and out. Shaw watches her carefully to make sure she doesn't start hyperventilating.

Shaw has to admit, there's something vaguely erotic about the combination of Elizabeth's freckled face and the navy blue blindfold, something thrilling about the way her mouth is open just so, as if in a soundless gasp of pleasure. But she knows that the blindfold represents something terrifying to Elizabeth, and Shaw will never pressure Elizabeth into wearing it just to satisfy her desires.

A soft moan, nearly inaudible, escapes from Elizabeth's lips. Her fingers scrabble for the edge of the blindfold and she pulls it up over one eye just enough to peek out from underneath.

"Still here," Shaw says, poker-faced. The corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitches upward. "Don't forget to breathe. Nice and slow."

"Yeah," Elizabeth says faintly. She takes a deep breath, then another, before moving the mask back down again.

"I can do this," she whispers. "Just—don't leave me alone."

"I won't," Shaw says.

"Keep talking, I mean," Elizabeth says. "When you don't talk, it feels like I'm alone."

"You're not alone," Shaw says. "Just listen to my voice." She takes Elizabeth's shaking hand in hers, and Elizabeth reciprocates the grip and then some, squeezing hard enough to be uncomfortable. "You're safe with me."

"I-" Shaw winces as the pressure on her hand increases. Elizabeth trembles. "I'm-I-" She yanks her hand out of Shaw's grasp and pulls the blindfold up again, this time uncovering both eyes. Her eyes are very, very dark, the pupils dilated.

"You're okay," Shaw says.

Elizabeth lowers the blindfold again. Then raises it. Then lowers it again. Finally, she goes for the knot in the ribbons and yanks the blindfold off her head. She gazes down at it with a grimace on her face and then, without a word, hands it back to Shaw.

"Baby steps," Shaw reminds her. "If you still want to try it, of course." She folds the blindfold up and puts it in her pocket again.

"Yeah," Elizabeth says. Her arms are crossed; she's cradling herself. "Just...another day?"

"Sure. You did good." She pats Elizabeth's knee. "Let me get you cup of tea. Take it easy for a few."

"Tea would be nice," Elizabeth says. The color is coming back to her face. She waits until Shaw is halfway to the kitchen before she adds, "But I didn't come here to take it easy..."

"Oh?" Shaw says. "So what did you come for?" She turns around just in time to see Elizabeth tossing her cardigan across the room. It lands on the dining room table.

"See, that's the problem," Elizabeth says. Grinning coyly, she sprawls on the couch, throwing one stockinged leg up on the cushions. "I haven't yet..."

#####

They try it again a few days later at Elizabeth's request. Shaw suspects the timing is deliberate; the afternoon before, they'd almost lost a Number who'd fled into an abandoned fire station, not knowing that one of his pursuers was lying in wait inside the darkened building. (He should've gotten the hint at the unlocked front door.) Elizabeth, try as she might, couldn't force herself to follow him into the dark hallways. John had shown up just in time to save the poor man's life, but it had been a close call.

"I couldn't go any further than the first room," Elizabeth told Shaw afterward. "It was like the darkness was pushing back at me. Even the flashlight didn't help."

The next day, Elizabeth asks to try the blindfold again.

They go back to the Belleville loft, but this time, they head upstairs to the bedroom. The room is huge—easily the size of some of the smaller apartments Finch has purchased for the team to use—but it's divided by freestanding folding partitions that screen off little spaces separate from the main room: on one side of the room is a dressing area and on the opposite side is a niche just big enough for a tiny couch and a small flatscreen television. In addition, the four-post bed in the center, with its majestic canopy, is almost a separate space all of its own, which lends the bedroom an intimate atmosphere without it being claustrophobic.

Wide throw rugs give the room a splash of color—half-burnt oranges and reds, lots of earthen tones—and large potted plants add life. There's a record player off to the side, sitting on a long, low cabinet with hundreds of LPs, and the obligatory bookshelves that are a result of having Finch as a landlord.

Elizabeth is shaking. Shaw guides her to the bed, figuring that all the hours they've spent on it doing wonderful and unmentionable things would help put Elizabeth's mind at ease. But Elizabeth continues to tremble after she sits cross-legged on the bed. She's already pale as a ghost, the anxious pout on her face is just one step away from the look—and Shaw hasn't even brought out the blindfold yet.

"Deep breaths," Shaw says. She steadies Elizabeth by the shoulders. "Remember, this is a choice, okay?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth mumbles. She nods. "I wanna do it. I shouldn't be this afraid of a stupid piece of fabric."

"It's not the blindfold that's getting you; it's the darkness."

"Close enough." She exhales, slowly. "I want to try it again."

"Ready?"

Elizabeth nods again. "Do it."

Shaw pulls the blindfold out of her pocket and scoots around behind Elizabeth so she can tie the blindfold. Elizabeth holds very still as she works. Once the blindfold is in place, Shaw waves her hand in front of Elizabeth's face. No reaction.

Elizabeth's fists are clenching again.

"Breathe," Shaw reminds her. "Think about your surroundings. Where are we?"

"In—in the loft," Elizabeth says, licking her lips. Her mouth is open just slightly. "Bedroom. On the bed. Where we got cock-blocked by John two weeks ago."

Shaw snorts. "We made up for that in spades."

"Yeah, but—that was the worst moment to call."

"What a dick. Anyway. You're someplace safe. Nothing can hurt you here. If anybody tries, I'll kick their ass."

"That's reassuring," Elizabeth says. Her hands have relaxed. She's feeling the sheets around her, tracing the folds and wrinkles with her fingers. Suddenly, she unfurls her legs and dangles them off the side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Shaw asks curiously.

"Making sure I can still move," Elizabeth says. She pushes off the bed to stand, and for a little while, she stays rooted to the spot, swinging her arms in lazy circles.

Shaw wonders what this is about, but then she remembers Elizabeth had been handcuffed inside the cargo container.

"Don't fall over," Shaw warns her. She stands as well. "It's hard to keep your balance with your eyes covered."

"I'm fine." Elizabeth takes a tentative, tiny step forward, away from the bed. Then another. "I just—I really have to move." One foot in front of the other. She makes it out to the open space in the center of the room and stops, holding her arms out, feeling for obstructions. She turns around. Turns again. Her arms meet nothing but air.

"S-Shaw?" she asks, and the note of panic in her voice makes Shaw's heart do funny things she didn't know it was capable of doing.

"Right here," Shaw says immediately. She steps closer. "You're in the middle of the room."

"Where's the bed? Can you—"

"Here," Shaw says. She takes hold of Elizabeth's outstretched hand. Elizabeth flinches at the unexpected touch, but allows Shaw to lead her back to the bed. As soon as they sit, Elizabeth's fingers go for the blindfold. She peeks out from under it, her eyes flickering to Shaw.

"Yep," Shaw says. "I'm still hot. Thanks for double-checking."

Shaw is pretty sure she sees Elizabeth roll her eyes before the blindfold goes down again.

Elizabeth keeps the blindfold on for a few more minutes. She stays on the bed, not risking any more forays out onto the floor. Shaw thinks Elizabeth is doing pretty good until she sees Elizabeth's face turn white with alarming rapidness. By the time Elizabeth pulls the blindfold off her head, her hands are trembling.

"Flashback," she says bitterly. "Fuck Tara Dodson."

"I'm sure she's having the time of her life in a six-by-eight," Shaw says. She pats Elizabeth's knee. "Don't think about her. Come on, let's go eat lunch."

"We ate like an hour ago," Elizabeth points out, but she follows Shaw downstairs anyway, leaving the blindfold abandoned on the bed.

#####

They keep at it, and they make progress. Slowly. Elizabeth wears the blindfold for longer and longer periods of time, but every once in awhile, she just needs it off, even if Shaw has just finished tying the ribbons behind her head. Shaw isn't surprised. She knows Elizabeth is dealing with a deep-seated trauma—she'd nearly died in the cargo container—and chances are, she'll never be able to kick it completely.

But they do make progress. On good days, Elizabeth can wear the blindfold for five, ten, fifteen minutes at a time. Dark rooms are harder, but it doesn't take long to figure out that Shaw's voice stabilizes Elizabeth's nerves in the darkness, giving her enough confidence to enter a room with the lights switched off and then stay there for several minutes. They're quite scientific; they experiment with the earpieces to see if Shaw's physical presence makes a difference. They quickly discover that Elizabeth is most comfortable with Shaw in the room, but even the static-laced sound of Shaw's voice from afar makes the darkness bearable—as long as Elizabeth has a flashlight or the room is familiar.

They return to the firehouse a few days after the case went south. Shaw clears the building twice to put Elizabeth's mind at ease, then passes Elizabeth the heavy metal flashlight and holds open the door for her.

"It's clear," Shaw says. "I'll go with you this time. Then you can try it on your own."

"Y-yeah," Elizabeth says. She grips the flashlight with both hands and holds it out like a weapon to confront the shadows of the entryway. The sunlight penetrates only a few feet into the building before being swallowed by the darkness.

Elizabeth has a look of stony determination on her face, but the tremble of the flashlight belies her outward calm. She takes a deep breath, then another, and finally steps forward into the building.

Shaw closes the door, cutting off the sunlight, and now the only illumination is the shaking beam from Elizabeth's flashlight. She sweeps it across the room, highlighting a mottled couch and a CRT television, both covered in dust. The windows are shaded and covered in plywood.

Elizabeth makes a full circle, probing the flashlight beam into every corner of the room.

"I didn't realize this place was so damn creepy," Elizabeth whispers. "I'm whispering. Why am I whispering?"

"Because ghosts," Shaw says, and Elizabeth scowls.

"That's not what I need to hear right now!"

"I didn't know you were superstitious."

"I'm not," Elizabeth hisses. "I'm just freaked out enough already, okay?"

"Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood." She waits a beat, and says, "Get it? Lighten?"

"I like you better when you're gagged," Elizabeth growls.

"All right, all right, I'll cut it out."

They explore the firehouse. Shaw follows close behind Elizabeth as she makes her way through the various rooms. Elizabeth takes her sweet time at each doorway, pointing the flashlight into all the nooks and crannies of the room before she enters. Shaw wishes Elizabeth would move just a tiny bit faster, because the fire station is kinda boring inside and this is the third time she's seen each room in the past half-hour, but she keeps her boredom to herself.

She's doing this for Elizabeth, and she will stay all day and come back the next if that's what it takes to help her ailing hacker heal.

Elizabeth is doing fine as far as Shaw can tell. Her breathing is rapid but under control. The light from the flashlight still wavers, but it's not as noticeable as it was when she first entered the building. Still, when Elizabeth sees the daylight leaking under the little access door in the garage, she breaks into a run and doesn't stop until she's back out in sunlight.

"Yeah!" Elizabeth says, pumping her fist. "I didn't die!"

"You did good," Shaw says. They high-five and walk a little ways away from the old brick building; Elizabeth kicks aside pebbles as she encounters them in the dirt lot. They take a seat on an cement block surrounded by browning weeds.

"So how'd it go?" Shaw asks.

"My heart's still pounding," Elizabeth admits. "But I'm feeling pretty good." She kicks her legs, knocking the heels of her shoes against the cement like a little kid. "God, I hate the dark still."

"Hating and fearing are different things," Shaw says. "One at a time, yeah?"

"Right." Elizabeth sighs.

"So." Shaw slaps Elizabeth on the shoulder. "Want to try it on your own, or go home for the day?"

Elizabeth freezes, one leg dangling in mid-air. She stares at the building, eyes narrowed, and then hops off the block without a word. Shaw follows her to the back door.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Shaw reminds her.

"I know," Elizabeth says. She hesitates with her hand on the doorknob.

"I'll be waiting at the front, okay?" Shaw says. She taps her ear. "And I'm on the earpiece."

"Okay," Elizabeth says. She clicks on the flashlight and, without looking back, she steps into the building, pulling the door shut behind her.

Shaw hurries around to the front door.

It takes thirty seconds. Maybe a minute. But Shaw is sure it's much longer for Elizabeth. The door handle rattles and Elizabeth bursts out of the building, catching Shaw in a crushing hug around the midriff. The impact nearly knocks the two of them over.

"Made it," Elizabeth whispers.

"Great job," Shaw says. She plants a kiss on Elizabeth's cheek. "Also, I can't breathe."

"Oh, shut up," Elizabeth says. She squeezes tighter. "You're talking. That means you can breathe."

Elizabeth hangs on until Shaw starts making exaggerated gasping noises. After releasing Shaw, Elizabeth kicks the door shut, flips the bird at it once, and follows Shaw towards the car.

Definitely progress. Shaw wonders if the pride is showing on her face.

#####

A/N Next chapter is the last one (and is the dirty part that some of you are no doubt waiting for!). After this I can work on Feature Creep. I already have a chapter 1/2 done.

Thanks for reading!