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1.
Shaw stares down at the baby laying across her lap, with one hand clutching a phone to her ear as the other forms a barrier to keep her kid from pitching onto the floor. It hasn’t even been four months and Shaw still can’t quite grasp the concept of having a daughter, let alone comfort her when she’s bawling tears and hyperventilating. “This is insane, Root!” she snarls into the phone. “What the hell am I supposed to do?!”
She can almost hear the smirk in Root’s reply. "Really, you’d think after all these late night calls that you’d have figured it out by now."
"Figured what out?” Shaw snaps. It’s not like she hasn’t tried everything. She’s fed her, changed her, belted some choice Duran Duran to her… Nothing works. She winces as Ris lets out a particularly deafening screech.
"Oh my…" Root murmurs. A sigh comes over the line, then, followed by,"Hold your phone to her ear."
Shaw grumbles, but does as Root says anyway. The volume’s turned up enough that she can hear gentle singing. Something country, probably, knowing Root. But it seems to have some effect, as the tears lessen and the splotchy redness starts to fade from Ris’s chubby face. Shaw can almost hear herself think clearly again.
She lets several minutes of soft, tinny crooning pass, watches Ris’s eyes droop closed, before she pulls the phone back to her own ear. “So I gotta add Reba McEntire to my repertoire?” she says, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitch into a smile.
"Or maybe Parisa just really likes the sound of my voice," Root sing-songs in response. "I’ll just have to spend more time at your apartment, for her sake, of course."
Shaw sighs, her eyes drifting closed. They’ve had this conversation before. “Root…” she starts, mildly dreading the words she’ll have to say, necessary as they might be.
"I know, Sameen." Shaw hears some jangling of what sounds like keys for a few moments. "Get some sleep, both of you," Root then whispers. "We have some long days ahead of us."
2.
"I need a favor," is the first thing out of Shaw’s mouth as she tries to balance the phone between her ear and shoulder while clicking bullets into a cartridge. She doesn’t even wait for Root’s reply before continuing, "Can you swing by?"
"…Why are you loading a gun, Sameen?" The words reek of hesitance, caution.
Shaw slams the cartridge into her USP Compact, then points it at a blank wall. At an invisible target that definitely has a name, and an address she’s already looked up, and kneecaps he’ll just have to do without for a while. “Got some business to take care of,” she mutters, squinting a line of sight down the barrel. “Need you here with Ris.”
Root hums. "And this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain boy who might have broken a certain girl’s heart today, would it?"
Shaw pauses, then lowers her gun and glares at the wall. “…Maybe.”
"You can’t just go shooting up anyone who upsets your daughter." A beat."As much as I’d like to get my own hands on him for a few minutes…"
"Yeah, well, you didn’t see her face when she walked in the door just now," Shaw growls, shoving the gun into her waistband. And then her brain catches up with the conversation. If Root knows about the break-up in the first place, of course she probably had the Machine play her back footage of it from a security camera. And she’s seen Ris’s face. "Whatever," she sighs, then slumps down onto the couch. "Can you just come over anyway? We can get a pizza or something."
"Meat lover’s, to cheer her up?" There’s something that sounds like a door slamming. "I’ll pick it up on my way."
Shaw grunts and tilts over to lie down on her side. “Thanks, Root. I…thanks.”
"Anytime."
3.
Red.
She sees it on her hands, on her shoulder, in her eyes as she uses her uninjured arm to crush the guy’s larynx. He’s the last of the bunch. Their number has already fled the scene, her life safe once more. Shaw rolls off the suited man, onto a concrete warehouse floor, and nearly lets her eyes close from exhaustion. She could sleep an eternity, though she knows better than to slumber here. Now. With her arm bleeding profusely and no medical supplies — or duct tape — in sight. It’s going to be a long night. Wincing, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a phone, and dials the most familiar number. Her number.
The other line picks up within two rings, with an on-edge,"Shaw?" greeting her.
She coughs once, twice, then clears her throat. “Hey.” The word is gruff, hoarse even. Like everything inside is drier than the Sahara. “Just needed to, uh…call.” She struggles to remember why she grabbed the phone, why she called Root.
"Shaw, where are you?" Root’s voice verges on frantic. "I’ll come, or I’ll send John, or…"
The silence that settles in paints a picture in Shaw’s mind of a visibly upset Root staring at a camera, demanding answers. “No, no…” she whispers, then coughs again. “I’ll be okay, I just… I need you to stay with Ris tonight.” She doesn’t cry, she never cries, but she can feel her chest tighten anyway. “She gets nightmares sometimes, ever since we…told her. About everything.” She feels herself roll her eyes, because duh. Root stays over often enough. “Of course you already know that.”
"I—okay," Root’s voice matches her whisper.
Shaw forces a grin, even if no one can actually see it. “Hey, don’t worry, Eeyore, I’ll get home in the morning. One way or another.”
She hears a sharp sniff, then Root murmur, "Of course, Sameen."
Nothing more to be said. She clicks to end the call, then flops her good arm over her stomach as she stares up at the metal rafters. Maybe just a quick five minute breather before she struggles to her feet and leaves and—-
Her phone beeps. A text message appears.
It’s directions to a hospital. Probably the closest hospital.
Shaw smiles. Her eyes dart around the building, looking for a camera, but even when she doesn’t find one, she still whispers, “Thanks.”
4.
The bon voyage party ended hours ago, with Finch donning his favorite fedora, gripping the handle on a rolling suitcase, and slipping out the door. For good. Shaw’s pretty sure they’ll never hear from him again, but it’s okay, knowing that he’s finally off to find Grace. He’s too old to keep being their caretaker, anyway, and between the four of them — plus the additions of Claire and Gen to the team, and the Machine Herself, of course — she’s pretty sure the city’s safety will be just fine. He deserves happiness.
But when she gets up well after midnight to get a drink, she doesn’t expect to hear frantic typing in the middle of the night, from Ris’s room. Or, she supposes, maybe she SHOULD expect it, since Ris is eighteen now and both Claire and Root have been giving her all sorts of advanced hacking tutorials.
Shaw quietly nudges Ris’s door open a couple inches and peers inside. The room is dark, no lights anywhere save the glow of a laptop beaming into Ris’s face, the screen rapidly filling with indiscernable words as she furiously types. Shaw almost leaves her to it, but then a drop of water hits the CTRL key and beads up slightly. And she knows, but she’s still never been good at the comforting.
It’s almost instict at this point, to pick up a phone and call Root, who’d be here tonight anyway except she has a mission. One where she probably can’t just answer the phone to comfort a grieving teenager, but Shaw can at least send her a text. Her fingers flub out a message. Ris p broken up re: Finch. Talk 2 her?
She doesn’t get anything back, not directly anyway, but as she watches Ris hammer away at the keyboard, she notices a new window pop open on her laptop’s screen. She can’t read it, but she feels something settle in her chest. And she knows, that even when on the job, Root will always be there.
5.
Shaw finds the note first.
My job’s done. Finch’s tailor will take in all my suits for Ris. The grenade launcher’s yours. Goodbye.
She doesn’t even have time to hide it, until she can think of a good, clean way to tell her that her makeshift family’s lost another, that Reese is gone. Somewhere, probably the Machine knows or could at least track him, but if he’s left this note, he doesn’t want to be found. And they owe it to him to let him have that.
Because suddenly Ris bounds through the gate and dropped her hefty messenger bag next to Finch’s old desk, and she’s about to start probably regaling Shaw with tales from college — a senior now — when she clearly spots the note clutched in Shaw’s hand. “What’s that?” she asks, brow furrowed as she blows a bubble with her gum, then sucks it back in with a pop.
Shaw doesn’t have the words orchestrated just yet, if there could possibly be any that could fix this moment, so she just lets Ris snatch the paper. Her finger’s already pressing speed dial, from memory, into the phone in her pocket. She can already see the tears pooling around Ris’s eyes as she slides the phone out and flips it quietly to speaker mode. Root picks up almost immediately.
"What’s up?" The words are so casual, coming on the heels of this news.
Shaw doesn’t let her eyes leave Ris’s rapidly breaking features for a second. “John’s left,” she says, loud enough for it to be picked up by the phone she holds near her waist.
"Why?!" Ris yells, before Root can respond. "Why would he just leave? Why now?” She crumples the note and throws it at a wall. “I don’t want his stupid suits! I have my own!”
Shaw hears Root clear her throat over the phone. "Parisa…" she murmurs, then stops. Like maybe even _she_ doesn’t have the words this time.
Ris jerks away when Shaw reaches out to gently grasp her shoulder, and stalks back out of the subway.
Shaw brings the phone up closer to her face. “Can you find her?” she asks, then swallows anything else that may follow. They’re all getting up there in years, and maybe her ability to process new information has slowed down a hair.
"Of course, Sameen," Root whispers.
"Can you find…" Shaw starts to ask, then trails off. And reminds herself that Reese doesn’t want to be found. Their lives keep shifting, time keeps passing, and she’s starting to wonder, starting to worry about who will leave next.
6.
The apartment isn’t the same. Well, on the surface it is, but things are still missing. She’s still missing. She’ll always be missing now. The ever-slowing beeps, drawing out into one painful, continuous one, still echo in her mind. Maybe they always will.
She’s not sure who she pissed off to be the last one standing.
Shaw’s knees groan from effort as she sits on the couch next to Ris, who clutches tightly to a worn leather jacket and stares over the television, at the blank wall. Shaw looks at her, really looks at how Ris has somehow grown into the perfect union of her two moms, even if that’s scientifically impossible. More than once, Shaw opens her mouth as if to speak, to saysomething now that she has to be the one to say it. That all the speed dials into her phone won’t be answered anymore.
"It’s okay, mom," Ris murmurs before Shaw can formulate anything. She turns her head slowly, almomst robotically, to face her. "I know."
Shaw clears her throat and diverts her gaze to the jacket. “She’d want you to keep that.” It’s dumb, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.
"I know." Ris’s lips twitch, but Shaw’s not sure if it’s the beginnings of a smile or a frown.
"And, y’know, Claire’s probably waiting for you." Shaw drums fingers against her legs, and looks back up at Ris.
They quirk further, and Shaw knows it’s a smile now. “I know.” Ris stands and slips on the jacket, then takes a few steps toward the front door before she stops and glances over her shoulder. “You did good, mom.”
The door slams into silence, and all Shaw can do is blink. And look up at the ceiling, through it to the sky. I did good. Her own smile is tentative, far removed from the feral grins of happier times. Finally.
And a tear falls.