Fusco is not the type to meddle. People’s business, particularly their romantic business was their own. Did he ever bug Carter and John about their INTENSE relationship? Never. Not once. Nada. He swallows around the lump in his throat. The thought of Carter as always chokes him up, and he finds he has too blink more. But its not tears. Nope. Not him. Lionel Fusco is not a crier. What are you looking at? Punk. Anyway, what was I thinking, oh yeah: meddling, romance, people. Not his “forte”, finger gestures included.
Besides, nosing about other people’s business is not his style. No way. When he casually suggested his idea to talk to Root about the situation between herself and Shaw, John had shot him down immediately. His exact words were:
“Do you want to watch your son grow up? Get married? See retirement? Then stay out of it. Root and Shaw do not need your help with their “situation” Lionel.”
But.
And Lionel had been pondering this for a while: BUT.
When you see a train wreck on the horizon, kinda’ like one of those premen-o-what- you-call-its’ that John and Glasses are always kinda’ in-the-know about, well, you gotta do something don’t ya? Gotta step up and say something. Maybe… be the voice of reason, between two female psychos guardians.
He eye’s the woman, who under the guise of a Federal agent that had grabbed him for the day. Maybe he should start with Shaw rather. He stares at Banana-Rama as she strides ahead of him, he can’t help but squint and fidget. Lionel Fusco does not squirm. But when it comes to relationships, particularly a two lady kind of relationship, comprising of two lethal killers he maybe out of his depth. Just a little.
“She says you’ll feel better if you just spit it out. I don’t know what it is, but your fidgeting is starting to annoy her. I would have lasted longer.” He watches as Root turns her head to a lamppost with a camera and winks.
“Are you ever going to tell me who you’re talking too?”
“Lionel, Lionel. That wasn’t what you want to say to me.”
Lionel huffs, and then like the bull in the china shop that he has always been, braces for impact and bashes right in.
“Alright then: You and Shaw… I gotta ask Loony-Tunes, what’s the deal? You obsessed with her or something?”
Root pauses in her stride, and without turning to Lionel, grins broadly.
“Ah sweet Lionel! Are you jealous? Or being protective?”
She’s slows her step to take in Lionel’s squinting face, to read the answer in his expression.
“Aw, protective! Well isn’t that just unexpectedly adorable.”
Her voice raises in pitch as she says ‘adorable’, it’s almost a squeal of delight. She stops to turn to him fully and squish his cheeks. “You cutie!”
She flounces onwards, unflummoxed by Lionel’s tense awkward discomfort.
“Wait. You expected me to be jealous? Of Shaw?”
Root, pause’s to shift through a street vendor’s fake jackets, while Fusco squints at her from the side in confusion. “Well, you two have been working together a lot. And you both like the same excessively messy meals. And she’s irresistible when she eats. Like a lioness feasting.” A simpering giggle follows Root’s explanation as Fusco’s frown deepens. “So I couldn’t blame you, really.” She flicks her wrist in Lionel’s direction as if that explains it.
“I gotta say that you surprise me Cracker-Jack. As does your choice of romantic partner.”
“But we’re made for one another Lionel.”
“Shaw doesn’t exactly seem like the stable relationship type. And no offence Princess, but neither do you.”
“We would balance one another out Lionel.”
“And what happens when that precarious balance begins to teeter in the wrong direction, if you get me?” As he talks, Fusco’s hand gestures become gradually more violent, much to Root’s amusement.
“And which direction would it teeter in, Lionel?”, she says, with a twitch of her nose, eyewink his flapping limbs.
“The direction of an apocalyptic meltdown, obviously.”
“You wound me Lionel.” She says with a swaying pout, as she walks.
“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. Look lady, you drive me crazy with your cuckoo-clock carrying on’s. Glasses says you’re reformed and I should be grateful, but let’s be straight here: you ain’t no Meryl Streep. And Shaw, well, Shaw is a lone wolf. If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a million times. Do you know why partner’s on the job aren’t allowed to get involved romantically? Because it will effect their ability to do their job. Your ability to read stuff is already off kilter, no offence. Now you want to add some dynamite to the powder keg of your existence?”
Lionel finally stops what he considers his logical tirade to face Root. Who doesn’t even appear to be listening to him, instead she’s tilting her head, scoping out a building across the street.
“This is exactly what I mean Fruitcake! Have you even taken in a word that I’ve said?”
“Oh Lionel! You worry too much. Besides, life is short. And I’ve always liked dynamite… and powder kegs. And grenade launchers, but that may have been a phase. I prefer a more personal, well-thought out explosion.” She says with a wink, as she pulls her .38 out of her pocket. “Come on Lionel, we’ve got work to do.”
He draws his own weapon, casing the place out as he follows behind her. A sigh of defeat, puffs out of him. Maybe Shaw would be a better bet. She was a lone wolf, but at least she wasn’t off her rocker like Banana-Nut Crunch over here. He’d chat to her when he saw her again. That’s if Root didn’t get him killed first.
SRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSR
They’re staking out a place again. He likes this, the two of them working the job. Shaw is quiet company, which he appreciates. He’s comfortable with her. Like she’s just one of the guys. He can belch and tuck into his falafel without worrying he’ll offend her. In fact with the bits of food currently visible from Shaw’s mouth, he might actually be the one offended out of the two of them. And he’s seen things, he lives with a teenage boy.
He’s about to tentatively broach the subject of Root, when the devil herself starts chatting to Shaw. He listens to the one sided conversation. He knows its her because he can see the way that Fruitnut-Crunches' words make Shaw pause, smirk; smile or grimace before responding. He doesn’t even have to be listening to her response to know that she’s begrudgingly happy. Ninety percent of the time she’s almost robotic. Cool. Calm. But when Shaw’s around large-scale weaponry and the Atomic-psycho: different person.
He pretends to be focused on their stake out, looking for any sign of their mark as she finishes their exchange. A few beats of silence go by, both of them sipping cold coffee. He thinks of leaving it. Meddling remember? Not his thing. But he can’t resist. CrackerJack had been so flippant towards him about the “situation” and Shaw… he had a soft spot for her. He clears his throat and turns to her, tugging on his suddenly too tight collar.
“What’s the deal will you and…her?” He would never call Root a psycho in front of Shaw. Did he look like he had a death wish?
“Me and who?”
“Come on. Don’t make me say it, you know who.”
“‘You-Know-Who’ as in Voldemort?”
“I didn’t know that you thought of her that way.”
“Lionel.”
“You know I meant Root. You set me up.”
“Maybe.” And rarely enough she smiles when she says it, before adding, “Are you sure you want to go down this road Lionel?”
He hums to himself before answering, mulling it over, before deciding to say: “I don’t want the pair of you to get hurt. Or hurt each other. Is that too much to ask?”
“That’s not really how the world works Lionel.”
“No, it’s not. I know it’s not.”
“You as a single father should understand.”
Lionel grunts in response.
Shaw side-eyes him before saying, “So what are you really asking here?”
“Can’t you two just stay away from each other?”
“You don’t think we’ve tried?” She rolls her eyes.
“Root has tried to stay away from you?” and the question is incredulous. He’s not an idiot. He’s seen them together.
“Yes. As a matter of fact. We both have.”
“ And?”
“And?”
“Well, what happened?”
“It clearly didn’t work, that’s what happened.”
“And from my point of view it clearly won’t work out.”
“And what are you some sort of omnipotent being? Because the third button that popped off of that shirt you’re wearing didn’t get the memo.”
“Shaw, I’m just trying to look out for you. For both of you.”
“I didn’t ask for it alright! She just happened. We happened to each other. Hot irons and cable ties.” He looks at her in horror.
“Now can we get back to the stake out?” She’s embarrassed, and he didn’t even realise it.
“Sure. Sure.” Hands raised in surrender.
The fact that this conversation has embarrassed her, and the thought has embarrassed him. And he understands for the first time, what it would be like to have a daughter. To feel so protective. He grumbles under his breath at her, until she let’s out a frustrated, “Fusco!”
“Shaw!”
“I can’t believe you of all people are trying to talk to me about this. I didn’t sign up for feelings hour with Dr. Phil.”
“Just don’t come crying to me when it explodes spectacularly in you face.”
And Shaw pensive for once quietly, and without sarcasm says, “I won’t.”
SRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSRSR
And he wishes. That he’d kept his big mouth shut. That he’d stayed out of it. That he hadn’t been right. That he wasn’t comforting a distraught Root in his arms. That he hadn’t seen Shaw… Shaw die. Sacrifice herself. For them, for her… for their… and there’s that lump again. And he wants to shake the girl in his arms, and scream and rage. But instead he holds her. He lets her cry. He calls her Root. And he mourns and he comforts her, because he didn’t want to be right. Because Shaw was her’s and his. They had different pieces of her. But they loved her for being her. And the pain that that love causes now is exacting. He was wrong. It’s not apocalyptic, looking at the pain on Root’s face. No, it’s a blackhole, a void, a vacuum. Pain that burns right through everything you ever thought you knew or had known.
Fin