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Root’s breath is soft and even on Shaw's back. Shaw lies awake listening to it, thoughts churning. Root hadn’t been pushy, had barely flirted with her even when they’d stripped down to go to bed; she’d expected at least something , and isn’t sure what to make of it all.
The bedside clock stares back at her and ticks over to 03:27.
Fuck it. She’s not going to sleep, and she unfinished business. She slowly wiggles out of Root’s embrace, careful not to disturb her; the last thing she needs right now is questions about why she’s getting up.
Her feet touch the floor silently, and she grabs her clothes. There’s a notepad and pen on the counter near the door; she scribbles a note for Root and ducks out of the hotel room.
Back by 05:00. If not, assume capture.
It’s still too early for the streets to be busy, but there’s the usual assortment of people hurrying to wherever they’re going. She hunches down to protect herself from the chill — and from any cameras that might be watching.
An upside of New York is that you can still find somewhere selling what you need even in the dead of night. It’s barely any time at all before she finds what she’s after; a pop-up stall selling, among other things, burner phones. She hands a wad of cash to the owner and grabs one.
She continues down the block, looking up and around at the nearby buildings. Getting up high will help her avoid Samartian; it’ll take them longer to reach her, especially if they have to break in, and by the time they do she’ll have vanished again. An apartment block catches her eye. It’s at least ten stories, with a fire escape snaking around the outside. Perfect.
The fire escape ends in a ladder seven feet off the ground. It’s a common way of stopping burglars from using it to break in — luckily, it’s not enough to stop her. She pulls the phone out of its packaging, shoves it into her pocket, and breaks into a run. She leaps upwards and grabs onto the lowest rung. That’s the trick with these ladders; they’re within reach, but most people don’t have the upper body strength to climb them.
She isn’t most people. Once she’s stopped swinging, she hauls herself up hand over hand until her feet can reach the rungs. From there it’s easy; she scales the rest of the ladder and trots up the metal staircase, trying to balance speed with quiet.
The wind whips at her as she steps out onto the roof. She pulls out the phone, dials a number she knows will connect to a payphone, and calls it. As expected, it rings out; the line stays open, though, and she takes a deep breath.
“I know you can hear me.”
There’s a burst of static, and The Machine says, “Samaritan agents incoming, ETA seven minutes.” It’s the first she’s ever heard Her speak; unlike the description she’d got from Reese, The Machine’s voice sounds roughly human — likely the result of text-to-speech programming.
“Good to know. Why the fuck did you tell them?” she snaps. Her lingering fear comes back to the surface: she’s not safe, and The Machine had sent Root right to her.
“I did not,” replies The Machine. “None of them knew you were in the country until Root found you. She hasn’t told the others yet.”
There’s nothing up here for her to punch, so she settles for snarling, “She said you’d brought me back to her, and like fuck she just stumbled across me.”
“Matthew Stone’s number was up. I gave it to them. I didn’t tell them that you were back.”
She snorts. “Fine. But you know why I didn’t want you to tell them.”
“You believe you are compromised.”
“I am compromised.”
“Is that why you won’t go back to the Subway?”
Shaw throws the phone to the ground and raises her boot to stomp on it. It buzzes, and a text comes up on the screen: WAIT. She hesitates, then slowly picks it up again.
“Thank you. Samaritan ETA five minutes.” She falls silent, and Shaw waits for Her to speak. It’s odd, how an ASI can struggle for words. Finally, She says,“I trust you, even if you don’t trust yourself. Your return to the Subway would not jeopardise my safety provided you took reasonable steps.”
Shaw’s jaw clenches. “I can’t.”
“You may have to.”
“I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.”
The Machine chimes in her ear in a way she thinks is laughter. “You should leave while you still have time to escape. And Sameen?”
The clip of her name was in Root’s voice, and it startles her. “Yes?”
“Thank you for coming back.”
Shaw hangs up, drops the phone and stomps on it. Once it’s reduced to a useless hunk of plastic she picks it up and trots to the other side of the rooftop. She takes a breath and hurls it off the edge.
Root is still asleep when she creeps back into the hotel room. She hesitates in the doorway; there’s still time to run, to vanish into the city and make sure the team can’t find her.
She steps inside. Running away isn’t an option any more. There’s no way she could do that to Root, not [after Root had just found her]. Not when she looks so peaceful now.
Root stirs as she slips back into bed. Shaw brushes back a stray lock of her hair and settles in against her; after a moment, Root settles again, and Shaw lets her eyes slide shut.