Chapter Text
John’s heart sank to his stomach.
The sight of Harold falling helplessly to the ground, bloody and with an audible thump made him sick to his stomach.
He ran over to him, putting a bullet in one of the perpetrator’s heads as he went.
“Finch!” He fell to his knees, his voice threatening to break. The sounds of Shaw and Root taking out the rest of the culprits fading from his hearing. The only thing he was focused on was Harold.
“Ohhh… that hurt…” Harold groaned, his eyes blown wide open. He looked straight up at the ceiling, his eyes watery with pain.
“That was incredibly stupid of you, Harold…” John replied, talking about Harold jumping in front of John, pushing him out of the way of the high caliber bullet. He opened Harold’s suit jacket to see a large bullet hole in his partner’s chest. Blood was seeping from it steadily.
John put pressure on the wound, eliciting a small, pained groan from Harold.
“I… I clearly… didn’t think… that one… through…” Harold chuckled a bit, looking up at his partner who had deep worry lines under his eyes and mouth screwed tightly into a frown. He wanted to tell John not to worry so much. That he would be fine. But he was getting so sleepy.
“Clearly…” John shot back, worry evident in his voice. The shooting stopped and John yelled, “Shaw! Harold’s been hit!”
Shaw and Root ran over. Shaw went to her knees next to John and Harold.
Root just stood there… staring at the horrible sight in front of her in shock.
“He pushed me out of the way…” John replied after receiving a confused look from Shaw.
“What the hell did you do that for, Finch?” Shaw scolded, packing Harold’s wound tightly with some gauze that she luckily had in her pocket.
“Mister… Reese… does it… all the time…” He protested weakly, his eyes sliding shut.
Shaw pressed her knuckles hard against his sternum, “Gotta stay awake for me, Finch.”
Harold groaned, “Tired…”
“Tough Finch, you need to stay awake.” Shaw looked at Harold and put her hand to his neck to feel his pulse. Weak and thready. She looked over to Root and John, “We need to move him. Now.” She turned her attention back to John, “Can you carry him?”
“Yeah…” he replied and bent down to pick Harold up. He lifted him up, eliciting a weak groan of protest from the smaller man. “I’m sorry…” John whispered, shifting his hold on Harold to accommodate his injuries as he held him firmly in his arms.
They all hurried out of the warehouse and to the car. Root jumped in the driver’s seat and Shaw and John got in the back with Harold.
Harold was laying halfway in John’s lap with his legs hanging off the seat.
“John… my chest hurts…” Harold gasped, his breath coming short.
“That’s good…” John tried his best at a smile. “Once it doesn’t hurt anymore… then that’s bad…”
Harold smiled a bit, “That’s… encouraging…” Harold started to cough, which resulted in a fair amount of blood splashing onto his shirt and trickling down his chin. “I’m… assuming that would be… bad…” Harold looked up at John, his brows raised.
John’s eyes were fixed on Shaw.
“The bullet might have nicked your lung… are you having trouble breathing?” Shaw asked, putting her ear to Harold’s chest.
“Yes…” Harold admitted. “Feels… like…” He coughed up more blood, “Needles…” His breath was coming in short, clipped wheezes now.
“Root, how much longer?” Shaw asked.
“Five… Maybe ten minutes…” Root answered back, swerving in and out of traffic.
“Make it five…” Shaw replied, pushing her knuckles against Harold’s chest, seeing he was drifting off again. “Stay with us, Finch…”
John noticed the worry in Shaw’s usual stoic expression and squeezed Harold’s hand that he was holding onto for dear life, “You’re going to be fine…” he whispered encouragingly into the injured man’s ear. “Just please stay awake…”
#
When they got Harold into the safehouse, John stayed with him while Root and Shaw ran around, getting all the supplies they needed.
“Megan’s on her way but traffic is horrible…” Root remarked as she pulled an IV bag out of a cabinet.
Harold had used the last of his energy during the difficult transfer from the car to the house and he hadn’t made a sound since.
Shaw began to connect Harold to the room’s monitoring system. His heart rate was too fast and his oxygen level and blood pressure were too low.
Along with the clamminess and paleness of his skin, John knew he was going into hypovolemic shock.
His body had lost too much blood and was shutting itself down to preserve life for as long as it could.
“He needs blood…” Shaw said to herself, “Does he keep blood here?” She turned her attention to John.
“Cooler… second room to the left…” John croaked out. He didn’t take his attention off his partner.
“What’s his…”
“A positive,” John replied before she could even finish the sentence.
Root left the room to go get it without Shaw even telling her to.
Shaw went over to Harold and started to unbutton his shirt, quickly but carefully as not to hurt him.
Shaw tried to start an IV in his arm; she cursed softly under her breath when she couldn’t find a usable vein. She gave up hope on an arm placement and moved straight to Harold’s neck.
Root came back in with the blood, “Leave it to Harold to have a fully stocked hospital as a safe house,” she chuckled.
“Warm it and mix it. Knead it with your hands,” Shaw replied.
Shaw turned her bosses head to the side, cleaned the area with an alcohol swab and stuck a needle into his jugular vein.
John cringed at the sight. He knew Harold didn’t feel it… but it still bothered him.
“You couldn’t find a vein in his arm?” John asked, needing to say something because the silence in the room was threatening to strangle him.
“No. His veins are collapsed. That blood ready?” Shaw asked absently as she taped down the catheter inserted in Harold’s neck.
“I think so…” Root answered, handing the bag over to the smaller woman.
Shaw grabbed it and hung the bag of dark red liquid onto the IV stand. Once she had it hooked up to Harold’s IV and started the transfusion, she moved over to Harold’s head.
“I’m going to have to intubate him,” she started.
“Why?” John asked, agitated by Sameen’s lack of explanation.
“We have to sedate him for the surgery and he can’t handle sedation on his own. Breathing wise. He’s barely hanging on right now; his oxygen levels are too low.” She tilted Harold’s head back, grabbed the metal blade-like tool from a tray of instruments and opened Harold’s mouth.
“Put pressure right here…” She pointed to the area that Root would need to apply cricoid pressure on his throat.
Shaw guided the blade down Harold’s throat, “Hand me the tube.”
John quickly grabbed the plastic tubing off the tray and handed it to Shaw. “So… he’s going to be on a vent?” the ex-op asked.
“Yes,” Shaw answered quietly, sliding the tube down the hacker’s windpipe and connecting it to all of the ventilator wires and tubing.
John ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath. Just now realizing that Harold was seriously in trouble. Maybe he wouldn’t be okay…
“Okay…” Shaw started, listening to Harold’s breathing with a stethoscope. “Sounds about as good as we’re going to get.”
John looked to Shaw, “Is he…”
“He’s in bad shape John,” she went over to the sink to scrub her hands. “His blood pressure is too low. His oxygen levels are going up, but that’s only because he’s on the vent. The bullet probably perforated a lung, we don’t know what damage it could have done to his heart. He’s spent a lot of time in shock, which can cause damage to other organs.”
John let out a breath and looked to the lifeless, intubated man lying on the table. He ran his hand over his face. “What was he thinking…”
“Look, Harold is a tough little son of a gun.” Shaw slipped latex gloves over her hands and moved over beside John. She grabbed a vial of medication out of a cupboard and measured an amount into a syringe. “He really just… pushed you out of the way?”
“Yes…” John replied. “I should have seen the guy… He came up from behind…”
“Hey. This is not your fault.” Shaw injected the drug through the IV line in Harold’s neck and almost immediately John noticed that Harold’s body seemed to almost… relax.
“That should keep him out for now…” Shaw said. She turned to the ex-op, “He’s going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
Just then, Megan came in through the door, “What happened?” her eyes went wide at the sight.
“GSW to the chest. He was spitting up blood and had trouble breathing. The bullet’s still in there.”
Megan went over to the sink and started to scrub her hands, “We need to get it out, now.”
“Root, scrub up. We’re going to need an extra set of hands.” Shaw started to scrub over Harold’s chest with iodine.
“John, sit at his head. Scrub up thoroughly just in case we end up needing you.” Megan had gloved up and was draping sterilized paper over Harold’s chest.
John did what he does best and followed orders.
After washing his hands and putting gloves on, he slid a mask over his face and went over to sit on a stool by his partner’s head.
The three women were all ready and stood over Harold. “Ready?” Megan asked, a scalpel in her hand.
Root and Shaw nodded their heads.
Megan pressed the scalpel to Harold’s chest, “Here we go then.”