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Come on, come on, come on... Bullets rained from Root’s rifle, barely covering the sounds of pained yells and inhuman groans. Reload. Someone screamed over the explosions somewhere in the background, and Shaw sighed in annoyance.
“Don’t shoot at them,” Shaw ordered for the third time, “shoot at the fucking tank!”
Root rolled her eyes. “We’re surrounded,” she reminded Shaw. “I have to get rid of them.”
Eyes on the screen, Root fired at the closest horde of zombies before it could get even closer to her and Shaw. Hidden behind a car, her character was hardly protected, and yet it fared better than Shaw’s, still being crushed by the same furious, putrid monster. Incoming, warned one of the CPUs.
“Root, for fuck’s sake,” Shaw groaned. “Get your ass over here.”
Smug, Root turned to gaze at her. “Need some rescuing, sweetie?”
On the screen, Shaw’s character finally killed the tank with a Molotov cocktail. “No thanks,” she breathed out in frustration, continuing down the street and abandoning Root behind. Root chuckled before she followed, CPUs in tow.
“You’re getting better at this,” Root offered as an apology, but Shaw ignored her thoroughly. She continued to charge ahead, ignoring the games' programmed - and irritatingly constant - cover me please and reloading.
At the foot of Shaw's bed, Bear whined, having been ignored for the better part of the evening. Shaw hummed quietly and the dog immediately moved at the sound, cheerfully jumping on the cot to lay beside Shaw and rest its head on her lap. Root grinned at the sight before she returned her focus on the game.
“This TV is too dark I can’t see shit,” Shaw complained. She did have a point; the old television set Root had ‘borrowed’ from a number’s apartment clearly was not high definition. Every time they entered a darker zone, be it buildings or sewers, they had to squint their eyes just to distinguish silhouettes out of the shadows. That had lead to many friendly fires and a persistent lack of efficacy when fighting indoors.
“Afraid of the dark?” Root asked with a comical ghost-like voice, and earned herself a glare in return for her attempt at humor.
“No,” Shaw protested. “They’re just more annoying when you can’t see them.”
Root laughed when Shaw groaned loudly seconds later; another hunter had jumped on her from the corner of the room, pinning her character to the ground. As her avatar walked past Shaw’s, Root shot a bullet or two in its head before she continued forward, not taking the time to heal her before she entered the next area. “You’re welcome,” she smirked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shaw sighed, using her last medical kit.
After weeks of playing various video games with Root - and an especially frustrating experience with Lego Star Wars -, Shaw was used to ignoring Root’s smug gamer attitude. Besides, tonight Root had brought some fancy Mediterranean pizza and a new bottle of gin, which was a nice change from the sandwiches and cheap beers that Fusco kept offering her. Shaw's somewhat pacified attitude might also have been influenced by the fact that Root had been absent for more than a month - not that she would've admitted it aloud. “Will you stop attacking everything with that axe? It’s really not helping anyone,” she pointed out, killing three times the number of zombies that Root did.
“Oh come on,” Root shook her head. “It's just a game, Shaw. You should try the chainsaw.”
Shaw shook her head. “Melee weapons are really not the way to go here Root,” she argued.
“But they’re fun,” Root insisted. Shaw glared. “If you try it, I’ll make us nachos.”
Shaw hesitated only a second. “With lots of cheese,” she insisted before her character selected the chainsaw.
Root smiled. “Of course, Sam.”
Still doubting the effectiveness of the weapon, Shaw shook her head and rushed into the horde. One eye on her energy gauge, Shaw’s lips curled in distaste at the poorly animated spray of blood that appeared on her screen. After a few zombies fell to the ground, however, a smile slowly emerged as she carved her way through the crowd of undead. It wasn’t so much the violence of the weapon than the thrill of being so close to her enemy, when she had tried to keep a safe distance ever since they had started the damn game.
“See, it’s not so bad,” Root cheered.
One glance at the second player screen informed Shaw that Root had re-equipped her machine gun, and was firing joyfully at the rest of the horde coming from the park. Somewhere in the background of the game’s soundtrack, a kid was crying.
“Oh oh,” Root bit her lips nervously.
“What?” Shaw asked before the music changed dramatically. Realising what Root had done, she moved her character further away from hers. “Did you just shoot the witch?”
Root nodded almost shyly, her character trying to run away as well. “I hate those,” she complained as the creature threw herself on Root, her long creepy arms striking her violently.
“Shaw, a little help?” Root asked in frustration, obviously getting more and more worked up over the monster. “It’s not funny,” she whined when Shaw laughed.
Root’s energy levels dropped quickly as she emptied the rest of her ammunition on the witch, with little effect. “Shaw,” Root repeated, somewhat more urgently. “Shaw I’m going to die if you don’t help me.”
Shaw kept at a safe distance as she watched Root’s avatar running down the street, trying to save herself from the witch, with no luck. Her character dropped to the ground shortly after, dead. “Very funny,” Root protested, throwing the controller beside her on the bed.
She sighed and pouted, obviously waiting to see if Shaw was going to restart the level. When she didn’t, Root groaned, and left the warmth of Shaw’s cot.
“With a lot of cheese, the nachos,” Shaw instructed before Root left the room, barely paying her attention.
It wasn’t the first time that Root stayed late to keep Shaw company, but tonight the station seemed oddly darker than usual. One light in a corner flashed as a draft chilled Root to her bones. She regretted offering, already missing the slightly cosier ambiance of Shaw’s makeshift bedroom.
Over the weeks Shaw had settled into the underground station a little more and created something that resembled a kitchen - a dreadful room that most of the team used only to make coffee. Still it had a fridge and an oven, and enough pots and pans to be able to cook the basics. Root entered the small place only to find that the main light hadn’t been fixed yet and that she was going to have to prepare the nachos in the dark.
She tried not to think about the zombie growls and the witch’s creepy cries, with very little success. Even though she had seen a lot of violence in her life and had dealt a lot of it as well, Root didn’t fare well with the fictional one - especially when it involved freakish children crying and screeching screams.
Something rattled against the floor and Root suddenly had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t alone anymore. Her heart skipped a beat as she grabbed the closest thing - a rolling pin - and turned around, ready for a fight.
Instead of the undead creature her mind was convinced she would find, she noticed Bear sitting near the entrance of the room, yawning like it had no care in the world.
Relief flooded as she shook her head, blaming her exhaustion for imagining things. As she busied herself with the nachos she heard the faintest curses coming from Shaw’s bedroom and smiled at the sound, strangely both familiar and foreign.
Returning to Shaw’s room with a tray and Bear in tow did little to reassure Root from the shadows. As she walked down the empty platform of the station she tried not to focus on the darkness, reminding herself that her imagination was simply running wild and that there was nothing lurking there, waiting to lunge at her. From the TV she could hear more zombie growls and she shivered as she finally stepped into the light of Shaw’s bedroom.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” Shaw greeted her, pausing the game to grab the plate from Root’s hands.
Root shrugged. “I’m just tired,” she answered, trying to hide the relief she felt at closing the door behind her, as if the room was safer now, somehow.
Shaw laughed, mouth already filled with nachos. “Don’t tell me you’re scared,” she joked, bits of chips projected forward with every word.
Grimacing, Root returned to her spot on Shaw’s cot. “I’m not,” she frowned. “I just had a long week.”
As Root ran a hand through her hair, eyes on the TV, Shaw glanced at her. She did look somewhat exhausted. Whatever mission the Machine had set her on, it seemed to be taking its toll on her, and there was little that Shaw could do to help. From her underground hideout, she did her best to be useful with tech support, and most days, mocking Reese and Fusco over the comms was enough to make her forget how restless she felt about it. But seeing Root was another thing entirely, and gave her the urge of doing something, anything.
“Want to sleep here?” she blurted out without realising it.
Root grinned like an idiot. “You wouldn’t mind?”
Shaw pinched the brink of her nose, already annoyed at her own suggestion. “Only if you take Bear out for a walk in the morning.”
Walking Bear was something Root rarely had the chance to do, and so she agreed with a wide smile and sleepy eyes.
Even though Shaw spent the rest of the evening ignoring Root’s soft eyes and warm smiles, she had to admit the company was slightly more pleasant than spending time working on her frustrations at being kept here. She fell asleep with Root pressed against her back - “I prefer to be closer to the wall, Sameen” - highly uncomfortable, and yet somehow strangely content at the thought of doing something right.
That feeling, however, could not compare with the sheer joy Shaw had when Root returned from her walk with Bear the next morning, snow dripping on her beanie and jacket, cheeks reddened by the cold.
“You knew it was gonna be horrible outside, didn’t you?” Root asked angrily as she unhooked Bear from its leash.
Shaw only shrugged, the ghost of a smile threatening to curl her lips. “Maybe.”