Work Text:
Training had prepared Shaw for moments like these; waking up, coming to, fighting her way through the fog of fucking poison. However, while she's sure there was training regarding betrayal, Shaw had never actively attended the idea that one day the poisonous haze would be the fault of a fucking friend.
Bear was licking her hand, the one that hung off the cot she was laying on. Shaw didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to face her fucking reality. She's been unconscious more times than she can count, experienced more fever dreams than regular ones, and for the first time, she wanted to back to the dream.
Facts remain, she had to have dreamed it all; Harold, John, Bear, Root. It must have been a fever dream, a poison induced fantasy. They'd come back into the room any moment and resume the torture and she'd forget about her imagined family and their mission.
Bear rested his head on top of her arm and the cot. Shaw sighed, flinging her free arm over her body to run her fingers through the dog's fur. Turning over, she rolled her hand around Bear's collar, focusing on the hard fabric on her palm as an anchor for the world.
It didn't take too long for Shaw to recognize the other person in the room. She didn't have to open her eyes to know the heavy breather on the other side of the room was Root. Shaw remained silent. Slowly, the sounds of Root awakening filled the space between them. The chair squeaked as she stretched. Shaw continued to pet Bear, her eyes cemented closed with the crusty remnants of a forced sleep.
"Sameen," Root's voice was unused and Shaw ignored the slight crackle that sparked up her spine at the deep sound that crackled in Root's throat. Shaw rolled onto her back, throwing her arms behind her head. She cracked her eyes open slightly, breaking the seal. The batstation was dark, the lights all off besides to glow from the various computer stations.
"Please, Sam." Shaw cleared her throat.
"I trusted you," Shaw growled, hoping that Root felt the sound.
"I'm sorry."
Shaw sat up, swinging her legs off of the bed and crowding the chair Root was sitting in. She grabbed Root by the throat and waist and turned, pressing Root into the brick wall behind them. Shaw looked at Root. Her eyes were red, sleep deprived and shining.
"You're sorry?"
Root wrapped her fingers around Shaw's wrist, pulling Shaw's palm harder into her own throat. Shaw felt both of their pulses. She shut her eyes again.
"Yes," Root whispered. Sam growled again, angry and hurt. She presses her forehead into Root's and Root's head hits the wall behind them softly. "Please, Sameen."
"Shut up, Samantha." Root's small intake of breath whistled across Shaw's cheek and neck. The hand on Root's waist tightened, her nails digging into the thin cotton of Root's shirt. They breathed together as Root's fingers tightened on the skin of Shaw's forearm.
"I made a mistake," Root breathed. "I don't know how to care. It hurts to care about you. It hurts to see you in danger."
"Shut up," Shaw whispered, free of accusation or request, a statement. "Please, just be quiet. You're so good at it."
"Sam."
"I trusted you and you made me regret it. I had no idea just how much I trusted you." Shaw pushed herself away from Root and the wall, running a free hand down her face. "I've been drugged enough times not to take it personally."
Root stays pressed against the wall, watching Shaw and she approaches again, hovering in front of Root. Fuck it. Shaw punches the wall next to Root's face and Root doesn't even flinch. Shaw breathes through the pain.
"You didn't even flinch," Shaw grits out. Root watches Shaw.
"I trust you."
Root grabs Shaw hand, smoothing out her fingers, blood now rolling between their palms. Shaw squeezes before dropping Root's hand and cradling her face in both hands. She presses Root's hair back from her face.
When Shaw kisses her, it's as if they're still fighting. Shaw's lips are hard and determined and Root's are stubborn and strategic. Root grasps Shaw's wrists as she deepens the kiss.
"I don't forgive you," Shaw says between presses of her lips against Root's.
"Good."
Shaw runs her fingers through Root's hair, to the back of Root's head. She feels the rough, thick scar from the cochlear implant and frowns. Shaw stills.
"Did she tell you to drug me?"
"No," Root says.
"Promise me, Root. Sam, promise me that you didn't drug me because she told you to."
"She was silent, as she often is when I'm with you." Shaw chuckles.
"Jealous?"
"She's tactful."
Shaw presses into her again, pressing her lips into the scar on Root's ear.
"What does she say about this?" Root shivers.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Radio silence."
"Good," Shaw mouths into Root's neck. "Good."