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“Finch, this has to be a joke,” Shaw insisted again, groaning as she struggled to hide her hair in the black veil. “Tell me it’s a fucking joke.”
Sitting on the safe house’s sofa beside her, Root chuckled. “At least it’s your color, Sameen,” she cooed, pulling long black socks all the way up to her knee. Shaw glared at her, and Root shrugged. “Well, it is,” she pouted.
Root had seen Shaw going undercover with various clothes and accessories – and she couldn’t wait to see her in glasses again – but this one was new. She had to admit, it did not feel right to see Shaw in a nun’s religious habit, but that might just have been because she hadn’t put on the scapular yet.
“You forgot one part,” Root offered with a grin, throwing the scapular at Shaw’s head.
“Jesus Christ,” Shaw groaned, catching the fabric in one hand.
Standing by the entrance of the room, Reese laughed. “Praying already, Shaw?”
The death stare he received did nothing to lower his smile.
From the other room, Finch reminded them of their number, the quiet flow of information mixed with the constant sound of his fingers typing. Sister Agnes, born Lillian Fisher, had joined the Congregation of Notre Dame when she had turned eighteen – sixty-three years ago. They still hadn’t found any reason why her number would’ve come up, and since the Congregation’s convent was cloistered, there was no other way but to send Shaw undercover. Root had then eagerly volunteered to join her; just to be helpful, of course.
As Shaw struggled to tie the rosary to her waist, Root grinned.
This was going to be fun.
“I’ll give them that,” Shaw declared as she walked towards the front gate with Root by her side, “these clothes are great to conceal a weapon.”
In her earpiece, Finch scolded her. “I do not believe this is the reason they dress this way Miss Shaw,” he sighed. “While you’re in there, please try to be respectful.”
Shaw groaned. “Tell that to Root,” she fidgeted with her belt, “she’s been singing songs from Sister Act ever since we left the safe house.”
Root chuckled. “I’m just trying to lift your spirit,” she protested, “all the way to Heaven.”
Something in the honey-like tone she used to purr the last few words made Shaw wince. She pinched the base of her nose. “Let me handle the talking,” she suggested as they reached the main door.
Inside, everything smelled like incense, and what little light came through was colored by stained glass renditions of Saints’ lives. Shaw wondered why anyone would think decorating windows with artistic portrayals of death scenes was a good idea. Even for her, it was a bit morbid.
“Ah, you must be Sister Winifred,” the nun behind the front desk jumped at the sight of Root and quickly grabbed her hand in hers. “And you,” she turned to Shaw, smiling with all her teeth, “Sister Flora”. Her cold fingers grabbed Shaw’s hand next, shaking as she mumbled that they were both welcomed.
“What’s with the dumb name, Finch?” Shaw grunted as they followed the old nun down the corridor.
It was Reese’s voice that buzzed in her earpiece instead. “He had to step out,” he explained, and Shaw heard some more typing. “From that I see here, St Flora is the patron of single women.”
Shaw groaned. “Very funny guys.”
“Now,” the old nun stopped in front of a wooden door, “we haven’t had time to prepare your rooms, so we’ll need to keep you in this old dorm room for a few days.”
She then quickly gave them the itinerary for a usual day at the convent – breakfast at five, then mass, an hour of contemplation (whatever that meant), an hour for daily tasks, etc. It made Shaw nauseous and she pulled on her scapular, feeling as if it suddenly threatened to choke her. The old nun finally left after Root promised they would meet the other nuns in the chapel in half an hour.
When Root entered the dorm room Shaw followed without a word, only to glare when Root grinned like a five-year-old at the sight of a bunk bed.
“Top or bottom?” she asked with a devilish smirk.
The hour of prayers and contemplation in the chapel had been one of the most boring hours in Shaw’s life, and she did not look forward to repeat the experience. At least now it was lunchtime, as her stomach reminded her by growling loudly. Root tagged along as she walked towards the dining room, strutting too joyfully for someone who had just spent sixty minutes sitting on her ass, doing nothing.
“Oh, the Machine kept me busy,” Root replied when Shaw asked. That was awfully vague. “If we skip the prayers this afternoon, I could keep you busy too,” she purred.
Shaw scowled. “Seriously?” she waved at her outfit. "You're hitting on me now?"
“What?” Root pouted. “I like a girl in uniform.”
“That’s just...,” Shaw shook her head, “weird and gross.”
Root tugged at her hand, but Shaw ignored her, walking a bit faster instead. She could smell warm bread and she forgot her irritation for a moment as she entered the dining room, eager to get something to eat.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much on the table.
“Vow of poverty,” Root cooed in her ear, “you won’t be eating any steaks here.”
Shaw groaned loudly, only to attract the attention of a few old nuns. She shrugged and grabbed herself a plate, scowling at the choices on the buffet table.
“Any luck on finding out why anyone would want to hurt an old nun?” Shaw asked Reese in a low voice, trying to distract herself from the thought of eating salad.
“All I can find is that the Congregation is looking to sell one of their properties; an empty school in the Bronx,” Reese explained. “Sister Agnes is on the board. Apparently she’s been vocal about not wanting to sell.”
Shaw grabbed some utensils and tried to find herself a seat. Away from Root, as much as possible. “Killing a nun to buy a building? That’s cold,” Shaw replied, noticing an empty place near the back of the room. She sat down with the hope that she would be left alone, but only a minute later, a nun joined her.
“I’m Sister Agnes,” the old woman studied Shaw almost creepily, and Shaw forced a smile.
“Nice to meet you,” she lied through gritted teeth, her fork still battling with the pieces of salad she definitely did not want to eat.
Shaw had managed to force down most of her plate down her throat when Sister Agnes spoke again. “What job did you have in mind?”
Frowning, Shaw wondered if the woman was delusional. “A job?”
Sister Agnes laughed. “I work in the infirmary,” she explained, “but most of the sisters here make jam. That’s how we pay for all this,” she gestured towards the buffet table and Shaw thought their baking skills probably weren’t so great. “Can you make jam?”
“Sure,” Shaw grunted. She would’ve preferred to keep an eye on her number, but there was nothing about a medical training in her alias’ background. It wasn’t like Sister Agnes was in much trouble for now anyway, unless another eighty-year-old nun had plans to murder her.
“Then it’s settled,” Sister Agnes smiled again. “You and Sister Winifred should join the others in the kitchen at one.”
Shaw turned around to find a grinning Root waving at her. Of course she wouldn’t be able to get rid of her so easily.
“Haven’t you heard of divide and conquer?” Shaw asked in a low voice when Root came to join her by the sink.
Root only smirked. “Haven’t you heard of enjoying yourself?” she teased, lifting a hand to bring a raspberry to Shaw’s lips. A quick glance around informed Shaw that no one was paying attention to them, and so she allowed Root to feed her the berry, but not without glaring at her.
“Any news?” Shaw asked Reese, but instead it was Root who replied.
“Well Sister Margaret has got the flu, the same Sister Abigail got last week, but worse,” she continued to chatter despite Shaw’s growing frustration. “And Sister Bernadette thinks there won’t be enough mushrooms for tomorrow’s diner.”
Shaw was about to punch her when Root added, “and Sister Gladys died two months ago.”
That caught Reese’s attention as well. “Died how?”
Root popped a raspberry behind her lips and smirked, evidently proud of herself.
Shaw crossed her arms. “Died of what, Root?”
“Officially? Old age,” Root admitted before she ate another berry.
Sighing in annoyance, Shaw returned to her task. “Would you stop wasting everyone’s time?”
Root’s hip bumped against hers. “I’m not wasting your time, Sameen,” Root promised as she sorted out the good from the bad raspberries. “Sister Bernadette says the convent lost a lot of sisters in the past few years.”
“They’re old, Root,” Shaw protested, hissing when her hand plunged in the cold water meant to clean out the fruits.
“Or someone’s helping them pass over to their Lord,” she argued.
There was something definitely off about Sister Agnes, but to think that she was a murderer... Shaw wasn’t convinced.
“Don’t you think you should check it out?” Root asked Shaw, stopping her task to stare at her.
“Why me?” Shaw grunted. It was Root’s theory, after all. Not hers.
Root smirked like she was about to do something Shaw was not going to like. “Because I’m not the one who burned my hand.”
Before she had time to react, Root had already grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand against the hot stove beside them. Shaw groaned in both pain and anger, but before she could punch Root like she wanted to, the old nuns had gathered around her, asking if she was alright.
She was going to be. She couldn’t say the same about Root, though.
Root waited another twenty minutes before she willingly hurt herself as well, guessing that it wouldn’t take that long for Sister Agnes to take care of Shaw’s burnt hand. In order to have enough time to consult the files, Shaw would need another distraction, and that's where she had decided to come in.
With a long cut running down her index – and that she pried open to add to the theatrics –, Root’s bloody injury rapidly captured Sister Agnes’ attention. Nevertheless she added tears and panic to her act, just to be safe. Shaw rolled her eyes – there was no way it hurt that much.
“You youths are clumsy,” Sister Agnes mocked as she patched Root up.
“We’re just not used to cooking,” Root explained with an apologetic smile, seeing Shaw subtly going through Sister Agnes’ files in the background.
Sister Agnes frowned. “I thought you said you used to work the kitchens.”
Root’s eyes widened for a second. “Yes, I did,” she rushed, “but I was more the washing-dishes kind of gal.”
Shaw shot her a glare, and Root fought the urge to respond in kind, not wanting to bring attention to what Shaw was doing in Sister Agnes’ office.
“I see,” Sister Agnes replied, although she did not seem convinced.
When she feared the nun was about to leave her side, Root continued. “And it’s our first day here,” she insisted. “It’s always a bit stressful.”
Shaw stepped out of the office with a puzzled look. “Sister?” she lifted her eyes from the file she was reading and glanced at the nun. “Why would you give Pavulon to Sister Margaret?”
Sister Agnes tensed up. “Those files are confidential.”
“I don’t even see why you have Pavulon to begin with,” Shaw ignored Sister Agnes’ protests. “It’s not even an analgesic.”
Shaw’s eyes darkened. “That’s how you kill them, isn’t it?”
Sister Agnes shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about," she argued. "I’m here to help. I’m doing the Lord's work.”
“Reese?” Shaw simply asked, disgust painted all over her face. Root’s previous cheerfulness seemed to flow right out of her as Shaw left the room to check the vital signs of Sister Margaret next door.
While Reese promised that Fusco was on his way, Root forced Sister Agnes into her office, guarding the door. Shaw returned with the same angered expression and Root felt worry racing in her heart.
“Is she...?”
Shaw shook her head. “She needs a hospital though.”
Root nodded. “The Machine sent an ambulance already.”
It did very little to lift up Shaw’s spirits, but it was better than nothing.
“Finch, tell her to stop,” Shaw repeated for the fifth time.
Beside her, Root grinned. “’Cause baby there ain’t no mountain hiiiigh enough,” she continued singing loudly as Shaw drove them both back to the safe house.
“I’m afraid you’re on your own, Miss Shaw,” Finch admitted. She rolled her eyes. The guys were useless today.
“That’s not even from Sister Act,” Shaw protested, stopping the car at a red light, only to find Root’s smirk widening.
Root chuckled. “Sure it is,” she pulled off her veil and threw it in the back seat – why she hadn’t gotten rid of it before they left the convent like she did, Shaw had no idea. “It’s from the second movie.”
Shaw sighed. “There’s two of those?”
As Root struggled with her scapular, Shaw heard a muffled, “of course.”
She enjoyed a few minutes of quiet as Root undressed down to a tank top and a pair of short shorts. Even though a part of her wanted to look, Shaw stubbornly kept her eyes on the road ahead.
“You know the nuns thought Fusco was cute,” Root offered with a grin.
“They did not,” Shaw fought a smile as she turned to glance at Root.
Root nodded. “They really did. Sister Bernadette said he was a charming young man.”
This time, Shaw laughed. She grabbed her cellphone and dialed a number by heart.
“Hey Fusco,” she greeted him almost cheerfully, “do you like women in uniform?”