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Creating the world’s most ambitious and effective Artificial Super Intelligence/surveillance system came with a fair amount of danger, Harold Finch knew that and, to a certain extent, he predicted that. What he didn’t predict was for a hacker slash part time serial killer to develop a fanatical dedication to said AI and, in pursuit of it, kidnap him and torture a government operative for information.
Calling that experience far-fetched would be a conservative description.
What was even more unexpected was Sameen Shaw; a sociopathic former-doctor, former-marine, former-government assassin and current team member. Though she was less inclined for sentimentality, denied his invitations for brunch, destroyed almost every phone he gave her and was not dissuaded from taking shots at center mass, she was an effective member of the team that he begrudgingly accepted.
Besides, John needed help with numbers and Bear had gotten attached so Harold was basically outvoted.
Putting Root in a psychiatric facility seemed like the reasonable conclusion of a very exhausting chapter of his life. He filed her away in a dark corner of his mind labelled “Repressed Memories”, washed his hands and went back to irrelevant numbers with Reese and the newly permanent Shaw and ignored the voice in his head that whispered “bad code” every time a number turned out to be a perp.
In hindsight, Harold’s first mistake was assuming there would be a conclusion to anything because it seemed as if everything constantly came back to bite him.
So when Root escaped the psych ward and abducted Shaw, he cursed himself for being surprised and then imagined the very worst. Root was a psychopathic serial killer with a poor view of humanity, a non-existent moral compass, a zealot-like dedication to a computer and a grudge. His only comfort was in Ms. Shaw who was hardly a damsel in distress and who might be able to hold out long enough for them to get to her.
Still, the thought of what Root might be doing to Shaw made his skin crawl.
So when he found out that Shaw was hardly playing hostage and was working with the murderous psychopath, he almost passed out. Somehow, he had never thought about the two of them working together in any capacity and the thought of Root’s psychotic dedication combined with Shaw’s deadly efficiency made every nerve in his body shiver.
Harold’s first glimpse of the two of them together involved a very tired Shaw half-carrying, half-dragging an unconscious Root into the library.
He would hardly call that the foundation of love at first sight.
Locking Root in a Faraday cage felt like pressing pause on a ticking time bomb. Though she seemed calmer, less inclined to murder and more prone to vaguely ominous warnings, she still scared the hell out of Harold, so he tended to avoid her room unless he was providing her with food.
Harold wasn’t particularly fond of the arrangement but John was either too busy or just straight refused to spend any time with Root and Shaw never stayed around long enough to help, so he ended up as his former kidnapper’s primary carer.
A duty he performed quite well with a few small exceptions.
The first exception was a night wherein a seemingly easy number transformed into three convoluted, dangerous and borderline relevant ones. It reached an extent to which Harold had to get involved which led to a predicament wherein he became a hostage in a bank robbery that lasted for ten hours. When he finally escaped (with the help of Reese and a grenade launcher) and his mind got past the shock, he realized that he hadn’t provided dinner for Bear (and belatedly, for Root).
When he finally got to the library at three in the morning, he found Bear sleeping soundly on his cot, sated and full. Hesitantly, he checked on Root on the computer monitors and found her in the same condition with a half-eaten sandwich and a bottle of water on her table. Confusedly, Harold wondered if Reese had snuck in and fed their captives or if Fusco somehow discovered the library.
His contemplation was only broken by quiet footsteps from the doorway. Harold looked up to see Shaw lazily eating a donut and walking towards Bear.
“How was the number?” She asked, sitting down next to the now-waking dog.
Harold blinked a few times before responding.
“It was terrible but…” He paused, “Miss Shaw, did you return to feed Bear?”
Shaw didn’t look up from her position from the floor, her mouth stuffed with the donut. She made a noise of agreement before returning to pet the dog.
“And Ms. Groves?”
Shaw looked up and swallowed the donut, ceasing her movements on Bear.
“Yeah, can’t starve her out, it’ll just make her crazier.” She said.
Harold blinked, looking for words that weren’t there. When he realized that she was done speaking and was now content to pet the sleepy dog, he turned around to his computers and went back to work.
Much to his surprise, that incident was not the last time Shaw provided for Root. Any time he was busy or distracted by a number, he found that Shaw took charge of their prisoner automatically whether it involved throwing an energy bar through the cell gates or offering her some of Harold’s books or acquiescing Root’s requests for the bathroom with a groan and an eye roll.
Though he never vocalized it, Harold worried slightly about their burgeoning relationship if it could even be called that. Shaw never responded to Root’s questions or innuendos with anything more than a grunt but he knew well enough how manipulative Root was. He thought back to the way she was before he knew her officially, back when she was still Caroline Turing; he remembered how well she convinced him and Reese both and how easily she played them into her hands.
It was a fear that he deemed irrational, pushed to the back of his mind and hid behind walls of denial; Shaw was a former doctor, she had an innate duty to care, even if her “patient” was a psychopathic murderer. Besides, her gruff bedside manner and dislike for any genuine human connection did enough to convince Harold that Shaw was beyond even Root’s manipulations.
He believed that until one particular incident.
A week into Root’s capture, Shaw had taken over her general supervisory duties; Harold didn’t mind as it meant he spent less time with Root and more time at work, and he reasoned that it made sense for their singular female team member to attend to the care of their female prisoner.
It was a logical set up.
He maintained surveillance of Root through his computer even though he rarely checked on them due to her surprising serenity. In the aftermath of a particularly easy number, he relaxed at his desk with a cup of tea and a small lunch. After a few minutes, Shaw entered the library with a half-eaten sandwich and another wrapped package. As she walked past him, she mumbled something unintelligible around her food before making a beeline for the cage. He stared at her retreating form for a few seconds before looking back down at the monitors, his eye catching movement on the surveillance cameras.
Root, through the camera, looked up from the book she was reading at the sound of footsteps; smiling at something off-screen in a way that made Harold’s stomach churn uncomfortably. She mouthed words he couldn’t hear that made Shaw roll her eyes.
Root smirked at the now present Shaw and Harold swallowed uncomfortably.
Shaw grumbled around her sandwich and threw the wrapped package at Root along with a bottle of water. Root caught both and offered what seemed like thanks before ignoring both entirely and getting up from the table.
Harold worried his lip nervously as she approached Shaw who seemed to get tenser with every step.
Root continued to speak and Harold watched Shaw’s jaw tighten and her hands ball into fists. Before he knew it, he turned on the speakers, desperate to hear the women’s exchange.
“You know,” Root whispered through the speakers, he turned the volume up, “being stuck like this with you kind of reminds me of the ten hours we spent in that CIA safehouse.”
Root was now pressed up right against Shaw and Harold was baffled as to why she was yet to respond. Shaw had no patience for humanity, she would turn her back on people thanking them for saving their lives and break the wrists of men who dared to grab her. Why was she letting Root so far into her space without retribution?
Not that he wanted violence, just that he expected it from her.
Shaw’s actual reaction was genuinely shocking. Her hands were balled into fists and her lips were drawn to a snarl and he almost flinched prematurely. Instead, Shaw’s grip loosened and her expression relaxed and she did something he could hardly believe.
Sameen Shaw blushed.
Under the gaze of Root and at the effect of whatever she said, Shaw’s cheeks darkened slightly (Harold checked the monitor’s RGB levels and utilized the full effect of zoom to make sure) and she looked away before retreating hastily out of the cage.
Harold stared at the lingering smirk on Root’s face as she turned away from Shaw’s retreating form, looked directly into the camera and winked at him with both eyes. He watched, shocked, for a few more minutes before being distracted by Shaw’s encroaching footsteps.
Hastily, he closed the surveillance windows and returned to his now-cold tea before turning to look at Shaw. He waited for a few seconds, debating whether or not he should approach the topic of Root. Giving up, he cautiously cleared his throat.
“Did Ms. Groves have anything to say?” He said.
Shaw looked at him with a shrug, all hints of the blush now gone.
“Nope.” She lied before grabbing Bear’s leash and leaving the library with the dog.
Harold wondered whether he should call after her and ask for clarification before thinking better of it and remaining silent.
Belatedly, he remembered what Root told Shaw in the cage. “Ten hours we spent in that CIA safe house.” He figured the timeline revolved around Shaw’s kidnapping but when he thought of what Root could possibly mean as well as Shaw’s reaction.
Oh.
Oh no.
So Shaw was not as immune to Root’s manipulations as he first believed.
Which was why he ramped up his surveillance on Root and retook her duties and responsibilities. Shaw herself was slightly confused by the change but only shrugged and went back to what she was doing before. Root, however, was harder to gauge and he only caught a glimpse of confusion on her face before it defaulted to her signature grin; if she was upset or annoyed, she didn’t show it and neither did Shaw.
It was a reaction that offered him some sense of peace in the matter until that fateful night in which HR finally collapsed and took Carter with it. When Shaw suggested they free Root, the alarm bells rang in his head and the paused time bomb began ticking once again.
“Miss Shaw,” Harold interrupted as Shaw once again tried to make a case, “I understand where you are coming from but Ms. Groves is highly unstable and her motivations are far from noble.”
Shaw frowned and looked like she had more to say.
“She is dangerous and fanatical and above all,” he looked directly at her eyes, “highly manipulative.”
Shaw scoffed and grit her teeth, her frown deepening.
“What are trying to say, Finch?” She said, her voice low.
He sighed.
“I’m saying that it is not far from the realm of possibility that she has somehow tricked you into believing in her intentions an-”
“I’m going to stop you there, Finch,” Shaw said, her voice wavering in anger, “If you think that I’m doing this because of some misplaced emotion, you’re dead wrong. I’m asking you because it is the only choice we have left.”
Shaw sighed and turned to leave before calling out.
“And if anything happens tonight, it’s on you.”
Detective Carter’s death is added to Harold’s list of ever-growing regrets.
He took it as a lesson and allowed Root freedom so they can find Reese before he loses him too. He couldn’t stop the hesitance he felt as she reconnected her earpiece and got in the car with them. Shaw offered him a slight nod (in gratitude or solidarity he didn’t know), one which he failed to return and got in the car to rescue Reese.
When they returned and he found her in her cell, he offered her a thanks before shutting the cell once again.
Shaw resumed her duties with Root and when they conversed it was in hushed tones he couldn’t quite catch. Not that he had time to properly surveil them with Reese’s departure and the imminent threat of Samaritan.
Before they left for the hospital where Arthur Claypool resided, he watched on the cameras as Shaw provided Root her lunch. Briefly, he caught a flash of silver in Shaw’s hand as she passed Root some tissues but before he could analyze it, she had already returned and was preparing to leave.
When Root later showed up to rescue them in the hotel room, he figured that Shaw had passed her a key and where he should have felt betrayed or nervous, he felt grateful (mostly because he was still alive).
Witnessing Shaw and Root working together was as terrifying as he imagined. They were vicious and destructive and fluid and scarily efficient. He watched their relationship grow with trepidation and wondered what Root and Shaw would destroy first; themselves, each other or anything in their way? When he escaped and Shaw told him that Root was left behind, he felt genuinely upset and saw a glimpse of the same in Shaw.
It didn’t scare him like it used to.
When Shaw went back for her, he understood that whether he liked it or not, Root was a part of the team and her intentions, while not completely pure, did not involve the harm of himself or his team. When she called and thanked Shaw for returning for her, he felt relieved that she was alive and when he forwarded the message to Shaw, he caught a flash of the same feeling in a nod and a sigh.
Root eventually returned with a mission and a stapendectomy scar. It was as if he was seeing a new version of her, one that had the familiar confidence and narcissism of the murderous hacker with the wisdom and guidance of the analog interface. Her casual misanthropy, however, didn’t seem to apply to Shaw and he wasn’t sure if that was mutual. After her return, their relationship evolved at a pace that made Harold’s head spin with Root’s flirtations getting more blatant and Shaw seemingly getting used to it.
“I love it when you play doctor.”
Harold froze up as Root growled to Shaw with a smirk. Shaw let go of Root’s shirt collar and walked off, seemingly annoyed by the flirtation. Shaking his head of the mortification at witnessing the moment, he looked up at Root as she spoke to him about Cyrus Wells. Her insistence that she was one of the good guys as well as her choosing Cyrus over the chip with a casual disregard for her own safety forced him to rethink her intentions and offer collaboration against Samaritan.
That’s what he tells Shaw when she asks him what he and Root spoke about afterwards; she offers an aloof nod as if she didn’t care or stay behind and brood for three minutes before until she could ask.
A few days later, after a number involving Maria Martinez, Harold returned to the library in the early morning to attend to some errands. Shaw appeared a few minutes into his work, seemingly bored.
“Good morning, Ms. Shaw. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today.” He said, looking to her and back to the computers. No number had come in yet and Shaw was usually unenthused by his company.
She shrugged, looking around the library.
“Where’s Bear?” She asked, brow furrowed.
Harold felt confused for a few seconds before remembering the abrupt phone call from Root and realizing she still had the dog.
“Ms. Groves took him for what I’m not sure of yet.” He said, slightly worried. Though he trusted Root (to an extent) he still felt hesitant about her intentions and wasn’t sure if her misanthropy extended to animals.
Shaw apparently felt the same way because she immediately tensed and removed her phone from her jacket pocket, dialing a number and waiting impatiently. Harold didn’t ask how or why she procured Root’s latest phone number, mostly because he knew she wouldn’t tell him and he probably wouldn’t want to know anyways.
“Where’s Bear.” Shaw asked in lieu of a greeting.
Whatever Root said on the other line seemed to only anger Shaw further, Finch was half-tempted to bluejack her phone.
“I don’t care, you bring Bear back to the library right now.” Shaw said, her voice dropping into a growl. Whatever she was about to threaten with next was interrupted by encroaching footsteps.
“Ask and ye shall receive.” Root said, from the doorway with Bear in a loosely held leash in her hand.
Shaw immediately crouched down and greeted him, looking over the dog as if checking for any wounds. Harold watched Root watch her with a grin before interrupting.
“What did you possibly need Bear for, Ms. Groves?” Harold asked.
Root yawned in response.
“I needed some answers but for now,” She stretched, “I need some sleep.”
Shaw scoffed as she stood from the floor.
“Is that something you still do?”
“Are you asking me to sleep with you, Shaw?” Root said, her face lit up with the signature smirk.
Shaw rolled her eyes and grabbed Bear’s leash and Harold blushed for her. Flirtation wasn’t something foreign to him but the thought of Root and Shaw was…uncomfortable.
“You wish.” Shaw said, pushing past Root out of the library with Bear’s leash in hand.
Root grinned as Shaw barged into her shoulder.
“I sure do.” she said, winking at Harold before turning around and following Shaw out the door.
Harold sat in silence for a few seconds as he got past the embarrassment of being caught in their flirtatious banter (was that what that was?). He looked at his computers and rubbed his eyes, he realized that he was too tired to work and that he too needed some sleep. Getting up from his chair, Harold moved to the window where his briefcase was placed. He looked outside and saw Shaw standing still on the street corner with Bear. She waited a few seconds before Root approached her from behind, saying something indecipherable which caused Shaw to roll her eyes and walk away. Root smiled before she followed her, trailing slightly behind Shaw and Bear. Shaw allowed her to follow.
At dusk, Root returned Bear to the library and Harold couldn’t explain his embarrassment to Reese.
Reese himself seemed completely oblivious to the development between Root and Shaw. Whenever they were together, he would ignore any innuendo-laced comment (from Root), lingering glance (from Shaw), smirk (from Root) or apparent concern (from Shaw). Once, when Harold was alone with him in the library and Root and Shaw were on another one of The Machine’s missions together, they had left their comms on and he and Reese were both unwitting victims to their conversation.
“Root, cover your ass; goons coming in from your six.”
“Didn’t know you were so concerned about my ass, Shaw.”
“Root, cut it out.”
“Or what? Will you spank me?”
Harold heard an audible groan before he hastily removed his earpiece. Reese looked over at him with a confused expression.
“They know we can hear them, right?” Harold asked.
Reese sat down beside Harold, reclining in his chair.
“Don’t think so.”
Harold waited in silence, not knowing whether or not he should approach the conversation with Reese. He sat nervously for a few seconds before giving up.
“Mr. Reese, do you think something is going on between them?”
Reese tilted his head, his face didn’t betray an emotion.
“Probably,” He agreed before pausing, “they are talking about handcuffs right now.”
Harold tensed, annoyed that he was still mortified by the idea of Root and Shaw.
“That’s not…safe, right?” He asked, not meeting Reese’s gaze.
Reese shrugged in response.
“Probably not,” he said, “but the way I see it, they’re the only ones who could handle each other.”
Reese stood up from his chair again and walked again, pressing a hand to his earpiece and barking a question. Harold digested his words, finding that he couldn’t disagree and that maybe, just maybe, Shaw and Root were not as bad together as he thought they were.
Through the window, he sees a small explosion as a building goes up in flames and without even checking, knows that the two are responsible.
He still takes Reese’s words to heart.
Things perked up relatively quickly after that. Samaritan came online and they went into hiding with The Machine. His contact with Reese and Shaw and Root are kept at a minimum and he focuses all his energies into his work as a professor. He habitually checked up on surveillance cameras in the police precinct where Reese worked and the makeup counted where Shaw worked. Root was hard to keep track of, shifting identities and locations like disguises but she consistently showed up to a certain makeup counter every few weeks; sometimes following a certain worker out after the end of their shift.
He was less embarrassed and more relieved that some things had stayed consistent.
Finding the subway and getting back into numbers was met with hesitance in only his end; the rest of the team seemed more than happy to return to risking their lives either to criminals or Samaritan. He did slightly feel comfort in the return to the work and worried that Shaw’s adrenaline junkie ways rubbed off on him.
The reemergence of numbers led to more risks and inevitably more injuries. Shaw did more surgical work in a few weeks than in her whole medical career; stitching up Reese, herself and Root.
One particular incident involved Root catching a bullet to thigh and bleeding out slowly as Reese and Shaw alternated between carrying her and covering themselves as they shot their way out of danger. When they returned to the library, Shaw had apparently performed the worst part of the surgery on the drive over and Root was unconscious and pale from the lack of blood.
Shaw had immediately barged into the train car and removed a few bags of blood she had stashed in the fridge before hooking it up to Root and rechecking her vitals. She timed her pulse for a few minutes before sighing in relief and taking a seat next to Root, apparently content with her findings.
Reese was standing in silence somewhere behind Harold, he too was seemingly exhausted by the action. All of Harold’s questions disappeared with Shaw’s sigh, knowing that if she trusted Root to be safe then it was probably true.
“I have to go back to work.” Reese said, breaking the silence and causing Harold to jump a little.
“You should get that looked at, Shaw.” He said, pointing at what Harold just noticed was an open wound on Shaw’s shoulder.
She ignored him and continued staring at Root’s sleeping form.
Reese left the station without another word and Harold wondered if he should reiterate John’s advice; he noticed that Shaw didn’t even seem aware of his presence, her attention completely focused on Root.
Without another word, he turned around and walked back into the subway car. After a few hours, he emerged to find Shaw in the same position, her eyes drooping slightly and her shoulder still bared and bleeding. Harold hesitated before limping up to Shaw and dropping a gauze pack in her lap. She looked at him in surprise as if just noticing his presence, before looking at the gauze pack and back at him. She offered him a nod of gratitude and turned back to Root.
Harold left the station to the sound of Root’s shallow breathing and Shaw’s hunched form sitting over her.
He returned a few hours later to Root gone and Shaw asleep in her chair, her shoulder bandaged up.
Not for the first time, Shaw stomped into the train car, fuming mad at what could possibly be anything.
“Can I help you Ms. Shaw?” Harold said from his desk, slightly scared to turn around but feeling Shaw pace around the train car just fine.
“Where’s Root gone?” Shaw asked, huffing out a breath.
Harold swallowed slightly and looked away from his work and into the angry eyes of Shaw.
“She sent me a message saying that the Machine called her into Amsterdam and that you shouldn’t worry.” He said with a cringe as Shaw’s demeanor gone more and more enraged.
“She shouldn’t be in Amsterdam, she should be resting,” Shaw said, punctuating each word like a bullet, “she got shot in the leg for fucks sake, how useful can she be to that damn Machine.”
Harold opened his mouth to answer (though he didn’t exactly have one prepared) before he was interrupted by the signal of another message. He looked down at it and made a face before looking back up at Shaw.
“Is that her?” She asked.
Harold nodded and cleared his throat, bracing to answer.
“Ms. Groves says,” His voice cracked nervously, “‘thanks for the concern but I feel fine. We can rest…”
He stopped.
Shaw looked at him in confusion.
Harold sighed, wondering how he got caught in the middle of this.
“‘We can rest together later, sweetie.’”
Shaw stared at him in bewilderment before she stomped out of the train car.
Harold let out a breath and looked around, wondering how Root managed to bug the train car once again.
“If the worst comes to pass…if you could give Shaw a message?”
Harold didn’t hesitate. Their conversation was filled with uncertainties and questions and differing viewpoints, of their future, of the Machine and of their survival but there one thing he was sure of.
He thought back to Shaw watching over Root as she slept, providing food and water when she returned as she regained her strength and sternly pushing her back into the cot when the Machine called Root for another number.
Harold was used to ambiguities but there was one thing he was sure of.
“I think she already knows.”
When they got Shaw again – the real, normal, not-brainwashed Shaw – she slept on the bed of the dingy safe house for approximately three days.
Whatever concoction of drugs and therapy Samaritan had her on had taken a toll on her mentally and her brain was taking it’s time to repair itself before she could regain consciousness. Root had sat over the bed, watching as Shaw slept and glaring slightly at the zip tie that held Shaw’s wrist against the bed. It wasn’t a precaution she approved of, but after seeing Shaw almost choke Root to death, it was something Harold had insisted on.
He watched Root watch Shaw for a few seconds before pulling her out of her reverie.
“You care about her very much.”
Root breathed a laugh, idly stroking Shaw’s hair.
“What gave you that impression?” Root said dryly, sarcastic even after destroying a near omniscient AI.
“When Ms. Shaw wakes up, if she is herself,” He said, pausing at the flash of hurt on Root’s face, “you should tell her what you were going to tell me…”
Root looked at him confused.
“‘If the worst comes to pass…’”. He recalled.
She nodded and looked back down to Shaw, studying the lines on her face.
“The worst has passed, Harold,” She said, “what’s left to do?”
Harold stood from his chair and limped slowly towards Root. He put a hand on her shoulder and followed her gaze to the sleeping Shaw. She looked peaceful, for the first time in a long time.
Root looked up at him, as if waiting for an answer. He smiled at her slightly.
“Be happy, Root.”