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SPOILERS: 4x11 'If-Then-Else'
Alone with his Thoughts
Again. It had happened again. A good woman had given her life in order to do the right thing and he'd been left behind to witness the desolation that resulted from her loss. His loss. His friend. The woman who'd saved his kid and in doing so saved him as well. Shaw. Grumpy, deadly, beautiful Shaw.
His eyes trailed over the mess of bloody bandages and discarded medical crap that littered the floor. Reece. Alive but unconscious, his mourning yet to begin, the torment of a lost sister waiting for his return. He almost envied him. Shot and bleeding, he'd at least been spared the sight of Shaw's sacrifice, and the guilt of not sacrificing himself in her place.
Harold shuffled quietly around the makeshift bed; his fellow witness unable to look him in the eye and risk reliving the horror of those final moments as the elevator rose and two people were lost. Glasses, who normally had all the answers, was quiet in his guilt, the extent of which he could only guess.
She was still slumped in the opposite corner; the rage and desperation having fled and taken with them the light from her eyes. He'd never trusted her. She was the crazy lady who kidnapped Glasses and liked to talk to herself. She was a cuckoo, a nutjob, a freak. She was broken; and watching her break had torn at his soul almost as much as Shaw's final moments.
He needed to speak to his son. Remind him that he was loved. Reconnect with the world outside the four walls of this anonymous little room. He didn't move.
Hours passed in silence. Tears fell quietly and regrets remained unsaid. The only noise in the room was the steady beep-beep of the monitor attached to Reece's chest. He knew they couldn't continue like this with the grief eating away at them. He thought of Shaw and tried to imagine what she'd do; actions, not words, that was Shaw's way.
"She's still alive." The words interrupted his thoughts and shattered the sombre peace. He looked at her then, the crazy with the perpetual smile was gone and in her place was a hollowed out husk of a woman who was desperately trying to rekindle some kind of hope. It was madness, he knew. Hope did not make something true, no matter how fervently it was clung to, but it was a hope he shared and as such it would not be ignored.
He looked at Root and remembered her shrieks and the way Shaw had stared at her for that split second before the kiss. He didn't know what was between them and he doubted they had known themselves, but it was enough for him to know what Shaw would do: she'd protect her little psyho-girlfriend and make those Samaritan bastards pay.
"What do you need me to do?"
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