Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She heard gunfire nearby and headed towards it. If anyone else was in her place he would run to the opposite direction but Shaw isn’t ‘anyone else’, she’s a fearless assassin who survived through relentless torture that lasted over three months and now is yearning for a good shootout and some knees to fracture.

This was the first number she was assigned to since her return and concurrently Samaritan’s and although she seemed ready to work –more efficient and deadly than ever before-, everyone knew she was holding something back; something that made her leave the subway earlier than she used to, something hidden in the dark champers of her mind, something that kept her away from the others and more importantly from Root.

Every attempt from the woman to approach her was sloughed off; sometimes it was because she was tired, other times she had things to take care of, but most of the times she’d just scorn Root’s need for some privacy and –to be precise- for their usual indoor leisure activities.

Root would come over with a smile on her face and an innuendo ready to slip out but the door was always locked from the inside and Shaw, whether she was in there or not, wouldn’t open up.

The first three day had passed like that until Root quitted. The rest of the week she would just visit Harold in the subway to check up on the irrelevant side and –apropos- Shaw, who avoided her in every possible way.

So, it’s been a week. A week of isolation and impassivity. Shaw had truly changed and it would be offensively wrong to say that it was only her appearance different.

Indeed, her eyes were sunken, her features even sharper and somehow she seemed smaller in size but these changes were pretty insignificant by comparison with the internal scars that she managed to hide in a sufficiently good way.

Shaw found Root taking cover behind a counter while three men were creating an abstraction of bullet holes in the wall behind her. Only for a split second Root spotted someone moving towards the back door and before realizing who that was she heard Shaw’s voice, more like a whisper, through her earpiece.

“You take the tall one at my signal, I’ll deal with the others”

Root found herself smiling at the voice she had so much missed and although Shaw had returned a week ago, Root missed her now more than ever. She had her back, recovering alone from wounds no one could see or understand, and yet she wasn’t able to approach her; Shaw had made sure of that.

Root heard two gunshots and instantly stood up to shoot the last one. She was wrong though, two guys were still standing before her and only one of them had dropped on the ground holding his knee. They made a move to shoot her but she was faster. Not faster than both of them though. She felt a bullet penetrating her shoulder and at the same time two guns fired, hers and Shaw’s, kneecapping the two remaining men almost simultaneously.

The sharp pain in her shoulder brought tears in her eyes and while she saw Shaw approaching, her facial expressions were indistinct. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and returned her stare back to Shaw who came to a halt way too far from her, a puzzling look on her face.

“What the hell happened?”

Shaw didn’t reply, hands in her pockets and her stare fixated on Root’s shoulder inspecting it from a distance as if it was too dangerous to come closer.

When she finally ascertained that it was just a superficial wound her eyes met Root’s as she spoke, “Sorry, I guess I missed” Lies and sincerity mixed in one sentence that Root failed to comprehend.

“You missed?!” Root’s fury was something more than obvious, “Since when do you miss?”

Never. Shaw never misses. At least never before her capture.

Shaw rolled her eyes and replied “It happens to the best of us”, an apathetic look on her face.

Root made a move to approach her but she instantly regretted it. Something was off. Normally Shaw would have run to treat that wound and she definitely wouldn’t miss the target in the first place.

Something was done to her. She couldn’t exactly name it, but it was there and although it took them a whole week to detect it, now she could see it clearly. Shaw had lost something; something they had taken from her and no one –not even Root- could retrieve.

Faith.

They stood there for a couple of moments staring at each other at a distance until Shaw broke the silence, “I should go”, and turned to leave, stare glued to the exit as if the floor beneath her was falling apart and yet deep down she knew exactly what –or who- was falling apart in this room.

“What about my shoulder?” The voice behind her made her stop, Root sounded tired and frustrated but Shaw didn’t turn around. She kept facing the exit door and after a while -when the decision was made- she walked away, her paces rapid and decisive, leaving Root behind bleeding and confused.

*

As soon as Root entered the subway her eyes wandered around looking for a specific little firecracker that was nowhere to be found and the absence felt like a punch in her still open wound.

“Miss Groves, thank you for coming, I could really use your assistance”, Harold’s eyes were glued to the screens as he spoke.

“What’s the situation Harold?” Root had a quick look at the subway car and with a disappointment that was not at all unnoticeable she approached Finch.

“The Machine has given us a second number and John is already occupied with the first one. I was wondering if you could cover it.”

Root narrowed her eyes; it wasn’t only John in the irrelevant team, “What about Shaw or Fusco?”

Harold, for the first time since she got there, turned aside from the computer and looked at her tentatively, as if she was unaware of something she should have known. “Detective Fusco has work to do at the precinct and Ms. Shaw…” he hesitated for a moment before continuing “is not here.”

A wave of panic rocked Root so violently that she fought with herself to remain calm.

“What do you mean? Where is she?”

“I wouldn’t know. She requested some time off right after the number you worked together”

Root averted her eyes and nodded. She didn’t say anything, there wasn’t a word she could say that wouldn’t give away her internal meltdown, the fear and agony that wouldn’t leave her since that day at the stock exchange.

All of a sudden Harold seemed like he wasn’t sitting comfortably in his chair and changed his position along with the subject, “So, about the number?”

Root looked like she hadn’t heard a word; eyes looking at him but not exactly watching him, until she responded indifferently, “Anything for you Harry”. A forced smile appeared on her lips and instantly vanished as she turned to leave.

Darkness overwhelmed her mind and a load that had never truly lifted off of her was now pulling her down until the abyss was her only sky and Tartarus the one and only heaven.
She was ready to push the back of the vending machine when Harold’s voice immobilized her.

“Miss Groves…”

Root didn’t move, her eyes never meeting Harold’s, too much pain mirrored in there for a mortal to witness.

“I’m sure she is fine, she just needs some time to…” for the first time his wide vocabulary didn’t have a sufficient word to provide and he settled for a less suitable one “rebound.”
But Root wasn’t there anymore, even if her body was now exiting the subway; she wasn’t truly there.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time Root broke into Shaw’s apartment, it was the first one though after Shaw’s return; the first time that she steps into and knows that she’ll see that grumpy face instead of an empty house that reminded her of all the things she once had and lost.

Because she had her, much as Shaw was trying to deny it, she had her and she wouldn’t have it any other way. ‘We are roommates’, ‘we share the rent’, ‘nothing more’, Shaw used to say while her eyes were knowingly avoiding Root’s and Root would mock her persistence to lie about something so obvious. Nevertheless, deep down she wasn’t even sure where exactly was the thin line between stubbornness and truth.

She had convinced herself that Shaw was lying when she was declaring that she’d prefer a good sandwich over Root or that she hadn’t missed her at all or that the mission was all that she cared about, but now nothing seemed more truthful than these words. Maybe the only one lying was Root- to herself.

So there she was, entering like a thief an apartment that once had been a refuge; her safe haven.

She found the living room empty, the television paused -a Chevrolet Impala onscreen- and a silence that could easily smash an eardrum in.

She moved to the bedroom –her bedroom, a route so familiar that she could picture it with her eyes closed, she had taken it so many times -even when Shaw was still captured she would lie in bed and imagined all these nights they had spent together there; sleeping, having sex, fighting, hurting each other, making love…

Her train of thoughts was interrupted by the image of Shaw sleeping in bed peacefully as if the word hasn’t been demolished and reconstructed in a day.

Root had never seen Shaw so calm, always ready to explode or blow something up and there she was now, just sleeping.

“Shaw?” she whispered and almost failed to hear her own voice.

Shaw didn’t react and she repeated while approaching the bed, steadily as if one wrong move could dissipate Shaw’s form and leave her with an empty bed and tears that never cease to come.

She was now inches away from the bed but Shaw wouldn’t move, she was sunk in an abyssal sleep so deep that emerging from it seemed impossible.

It wasn’t right. The sound of silence itself was enough to wake Shaw up and in a split second make her threaten with a knife or a gun -or both- whoever had the infelicity to be there. That was one of the reasons that silence always avoided her (but mainly it was because Root was always around).

Root kneeled beside the bed and extended her arm to Shaw’s shoulder. She didn’t have the chance to touch her though, a sudden pain in her wrist made her flinch and before realizing what was happening she was thrown on the floor, Shaw’s weight on top of her and dark eyes looking her in the eye and not quite recognizing her.

“Straight to the point. I like it.” Root said, trying to appear calm and failing. The wound in her shoulder started bleeding again but neither seemed to notice or care; they had locked eyes and stayed there absorbing each other’s features as if they just met –and maybe they did.

Shaw blinked a couple of times, trying to snap back to reality and when she finally succeeded she grabbed Root’s wrists and pinned them to the floor over her head, curls creating a pattern between them.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was cold. Colder than usual.

A faint smile appeared on Root’s lips and had nothing to do with Shaw’s weird behavior. It was the physical contact. How long had it been since she felt Shaw’s touch? How long had she been dreaming of this moment? This feeling.

And here she was now, dealing with a totally different person from the one in her dreams and the fuzzy memories.

“Just passing by.”

The quiver in Root’s voice was enough for Shaw to release hold on her wrists and stand up, leaving the brunette lying on the floor, broken and empty- the probability of staying there for an eternity heading up in her mind.

Shaw grabbed a sweater from the closet and while doing that Root made a decision and stood up as fast as possible, before losing her courage and her feet betray her.

Shaw turned around and shot a stare at Root so dangerous that only that was enough to make the other woman hush forever.
“So?” She folded her arms, waiting for a response that never came.

Root turned her gaze downward, what was she supposed to say? That she’d missed her so much that she had been hearing her voice in the night, that she still had nightmares from that day, that now she wakes up and tries to convince herself that Shaw’s alive, there, with them. And, verily, she wasn’t there. Since her return no one had felt her truly around, as though physically she was present but mentally she had never returned.

Root turned her gaze downward, what was she supposed to do? Approach her? Kiss her? Hug her? Only one of these would be a possible cause of death.

Root turned her gaze downward, what was she supposed to see? How weak was she? How pale? How cold? How distant?

Root turned her gaze downward and then she saw it.

A tremor.

A tremor in these hands that once made her shake at their touch.

It was imperceptible but Root saw it. Even when it was cloaked with hands in pockets or folded, Root saw it. And now she could easily discern the sweat purring down her face, the confusion in her look, the lack of confidence in her posture.

Shaw was never an open book and even though Root had been trying to get to know her, in the end little she had learnt.

Now things had changed, before her was standing a bricks and mortar mess, a woman so broken that one could see with bare eyes the crack in her soul.

“You are shaking”, a meaningless remark, yet the only one Root managed to utter as her eyes met with Shaw’s blank stare.

“Did you come here to tell me that I’m shaking?” Shaw replied ironically and stepped back while putting her hands as quickly as possible in her pockets.

“But you are” Root tried approaching but Shaw raised her palm in a stop gesture and dissipated every intention Root had to move.

Now she could see it clearly, a trembling not so indistinguishable.

“Root-”, Shaw said and withdrew her hand almost instantly when she saw Root fixing her gaze at it, “Leave.”

“But…”

“Go” Shaw practically screamed.

Root turned her gaze downward and nodded. There was nothing there to do. Shaw wasn’t there. An empty vessel was only standing before her; a vessel that looked just like a familiar little firecracker and for a moment she considered resuming her search for Shaw. Because she had never returned.

So she just nodded and left hastily without looking back. She couldn’t bear to face the living evidence that Shaw would never come back to her.

She stepped out and exhaled painfully, eyes already wet and an emptiness overwhelming her.

*

Shaw dashed into the subway and ran towards her old cot. There she found Harold regarding in suspense while Root was on her knees putting pressure on John’s abdomen, blood forming a puddle on the floor.

They had called her when they were still on the road to the subway and between noise and gunfire she grasped the words ‘injured’ and ‘help’ and for a moment her heartbeat paused at the thought of Root bleeding out in the backseat of a car, two days after she had so cruelly driven her out of her apartment –their apartment.

“What the hell happened?”

Shaw approached. John was still consciousness but his ability to speak was questionable.

Root didn’t turn to face her, absorbed by the simple task she was charged with, she kept trying to stop the bleeding.

The one who replied was Harold slightly relieved from Shaw’s presence, “Miss Shaw, as you can see, we call for your expertise; the first one”

Shaw didn’t need to be told twice, she ran to the subway car and grabbed their stash of bandages and surgical tools.

She stood beside Root and while putting on a set of nitrile gloves she ordered, “Move”

Root did as she was told, stepping back slightly bewildered as Shaw had already got down to work, bending over John’s wounded abdomen.

An hour later she stood up and admired her work. A dozen or so bullet fragments lying all over the floor, the torn body tissue perfectly held together as if it had never been penetrated by a 9mm bullet and a bandage so clear that one would guess that the wound had already healed.

John was still reaping the benefits of the anesthesia while Harold and Root had withdrawn to the computers when John’s condition had been stabilized.

For one last time Shaw glanced at John’s face, still peaceful even in times of chaos, and turned to leave.

She found Harold and Root talking in the subway car, every conversation they might have started, though, was abruptly interrupted when Shaw stepped in.

“Would you like to clue me in?” Her gaze steely, oscillating between the two discussants.

“It was just a deception, a perpetrator that was considered to be a victim” Harold explained almost apologetically.

It wasn’t enough though and Shaw kept staring at him, waiting for further information.

“The Machine-” Root started but didn’t get the chance to finish as Shaw broke in.

“Screw your machine” her voice hard and a look that if it could it would break her into a million pieces –and maybe it had already done it.

Root didn’t reply though, she kept looking at her at a loss, waiting for an attack –verbal or physical- that never came.

John’s voice from the next room was the one to break the silence and the three of them ran towards him.

He had slightly lifted his head examining Shaw’s exquisite work, another wound in the lexicon of his body to constantly remind him of how untrustworthy humans are.

“Mister Reese? How are you feeling?” Harold approached the cot while the two women waited by the entry, a carefully kept distance between them.

“Never better. I could use another painkiller though”, he shot a mischievous glance at Shaw and she smiled.

*

The sun was already down when Shaw entered the subway, a whole new bottle of her best painkillers and clear bandages in hands. The station was empty, the one and only light was coming from a computer’s screen as Root was sitting absorbed in front of it.

Her curls were soaking up the photons released by the screen, transferring them to Shaw’s eyes with a light that her neurons interpreted as heat and something fluttered inside her at the sight of this woman, so lean, so pale, so missed…

Shaw moved to John’s room as quietly as possible, it wasn’t the time to confront Root yet, she wasn’t ready -her earlier behavior so vividly proved it.

She found John awake, lying in bed and waiting for her –or to be honest waiting for the painkillers.

“Took you long enough” he said, stare glued to the ceiling.

Shaw rolled her eyes and approached.

“You look like crap” she stated the obvious and rested the supplies on the coat before starting to change bandages.

John smirked and replied as if he’d been waiting all day long for a chance to say this, “Still better than you.”

Shaw’s hand lost its dexterity for a moment and clumsily tugged at the last layer of bandage.

John winced.

“I’m so sorry” she said not at all apologetically, a devilish smile growing gradually on her lips.

The next moments passed through comfortable silence. Shaw cleaned and dressed his wound, gave him two painkillers and only when she was done John spoke.

“I heard you talking before-” he tried to avoid Shaw’s inquisitive look as he continued, “You know, it wasn’t her fault.”

Their eyes locked momentarily and this time it was Shaw the one who averted her gaze, too much information in one look to let it wandering around -betraying her.

“I know” her reply simple and straight.

And after that nobody spoke again. Their relationship was always like that; silence speaking more than words, eyes showing more than actions.

Besides, they were assassins; they didn’t have the luxury of words. A perfectly taken shot, an explosion, a rescue and a kill were all the contents of their dictionary. And they were fine with that, it suited them better than Harold’s five syllable words or Root’s smiles.

Eventually John closed his eyes, the painkillers acting upon his system, and spoke for one last time, “I think she hurt her head”

Shaw narrowed her eyebrows but didn’t respond, he had already started sinking in a lethargy that only the wounded appreciated.

From the moment she stepped into the subway and found John bleeding on her old cot she hadn’t noticed Root at all. She didn’t have time to do it –or couldn’t bare it any more.

Lately, she was trying more and more to avoid Root and ignoring her had now become habit more than anything.

But now watching her sit on Harold’s office chair staring at a screen that -as she noticed later- wasn’t even open, so still and peaceful, Shaw couldn’t help but wonder why this woman wasn’t in her arms anymore, she belonged there after all.

And while observing her from a distance, wishing she could do to her all the things she dreamt about when she was held in captivity, she noticed it. A blood stain on the neck of her shirt, too high to be John’s blood.

So she moved towards the set of computers and when she got close enough she cleared –not very subtly- her throat.

It took Root a moment to turn in her chair but eventually she did it, eyes bloodshot and Shaw momentarily tried to convince herself that it was just because of the screen’s brightness.

Her look seemed empty and tired, as if she didn’t expect anything from Shaw anymore –and maybe there was verily nothing that she needed now, not from Shaw, not from anyone.

“I should have a look at this” Shaw pointed at Root’s head. She could now easily discern the dried blood between her curls.

A reply never came though and Shaw moved closer; she didn’t need permission after all.

Root’s stare was fixated on her and nothing, not even an eyelid, budged as Shaw leaned over slightly to examine the wound.

Root lowered her head forcing Shaw to bring a hand to her jaw in order to stabilize her.

It was a simple touch, but it was the first one since Shaw’s return, and when Shaw glanced down at Root’s face she found her eyes closed, a tear trying to escape the wide shut eyelids.

“You don’t need stitches” Shaw stated without removing her hand.

A couple of silent moments passed until the protracted touch started betraying its uselessness and Shaw withdrew it as if it burned, her eyes never leaving Root’s.

Neither spoke though; nothing to be said. Or so much to say.

It wasn’t the time, it was too soon and Shaw wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t even know when she’d be. And with that thought Shaw made her decision and abruptly turned to leave, only to be obstructed by a tight hold on her wrist.

She didn’t turn to face Root though; she only stayed still, looking at the exit as the touch burned her hand like hot oil creating burns only she could see.

“Do you hate me?” a broken voice sounded behind her making her turn around.

Root’s pleading eyes were looking up at her as though her whole life depended on one answer.

Shaw narrowed her eyes and whispered sincerely, “No I don’t.”

And just like that she was gone, a ‘couldn’t’ never leaving her lips and a void left behind, so big and dark that in the end would consume them both.

Chapter Text

She heard a sound of talking from John’s room and her feet dragged her there. These days, her feet was the only part of her body that worked properly, it was them that were now making the decisions for her. She was just trying to skip the thought process, her mind always ending up wandering around a woman that had made her life a living heaven and hell concurrently.

She stood by the door and looked at the two discussants. John was sitting up in coat -in much better condition since the last time she saw him- and Shaw was on the floor in a cross legged position, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail and a black tank top with black pants.

In appearance, she looked just like the woman Samaritan had captivated.

“I assure you that it worked just fine” said John faking an angry face and Shaw made a sound of disbelief along with the laugh that she failed to repress.

John took a sip from the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels and passed it back to Shaw. Something they probably had been doing all night, considering their flushed faces and their cheerful mood.

Lost in her thoughts, Root didn’t realize that she still hadn’t announced her presence and was caught off guard when John addressed her.

“Are you gonna join us or what?” he said brightly.

And then Shaw turned around, a deadpan expression on her face and eyes dark that wandered up and down Root’s body and finally paused when they met with Root’s. A stare that betrayed nothing.

Root looked at her as if she was asking permission to enter and with a slight nod that might have just been her impression, Shaw allowed her to approach.

So, she stepped in and sat down beside Shaw, their knees so close but never touching.

“Are you supposed to be drinking?” Root told John and pointed at the bottle in Shaw’s hands.

“Doctor’s orders” he replied, directing a knowing smile at Shaw who winked at him conspiratorially.

And Root slowly started relaxing. There was no reason to be nervous, she was among friends, yet she still felt this emptiness inside her and more importantly beside her, Shaw was there and in the same breath she wasn’t. And if Schrödinger was still alive he would be amazed by that phenomenon, as amazed as Root was every morning that she woke up and faced this woman beside her, so solid and yet so elusive.

“So, what were you talking about?” Root kept talking as if she wasn’t participating in the most paradoxical hypothesis in the history of science. Her eyes never leaving John, it was too dangerous to look beside her.

“Impossible bluffs we’ve pulled off” said John and sounded almost proud.

“Yeah, John was just telling me how he allegedly managed to trick Harold” said Shaw ironically and for that statement a pillow was thrown from the coat’s side to her head.
Not that it deterred her from continuing laughing and she downed a mouthful of whiskey before passing it to Root, eyes glued to the bottle.

Root hesitated for a moment but in the end she accepted the offer.

She brought the finish of the bottle to her mouth and took a sip, pondering of how much of Shaw was in that sip. As impossible as it was, she could taste Shaw in it and it burned her, just like their kisses used to, but she didn’t care, it was the closest to Shaw she could get and she wouldn’t waste it.

So she took another sip, this time leaving the finish to caress a little longer her lips, her tongue brushing the spot where Shaw’s lips had, seconds ago, been placed and she closed her eyes, pretending that she kissed Shaw.

Her moment was gone, though, when John brutally brought her back to reality.

“Hey Root, care to share?”

Root blinked a couple of times and passed him the bottle only when she had already taken a couple of mouthfuls first.

Shaw’s presence was still on her lips and she licked them unconsciously, catching Shaw with the corner of her eye staring at them.

And that was how the hours passed, old stories and embarrassing secrets dug up and a bottle of Jack Daniels that had just emptied.

“I have one” said Shaw while purring the last drops of whiskey into her mouth.

John and Root turned and looked at her inquisitively, waiting for the continuation.

“One time, I threatened to let Samaritan agents blast me into the next dimension, so that I save your sorry ass.” She pointed at John with the empty bottle and he laughed.

“Did you really believe her?” he asked Root mockingly.

Root smiled and before replying she shot a devilish smile at Shaw, “Doesn’t matter, we all remember where that ended.” She was truly glowing from pride and Shaw instinctively brought a hand to her neck at the remembrance of a syringe penetrating it.

John burst into laughter and Shaw gave him a death stare.

Root leaned over slightly and rested her hand on Shaw’s thigh while whispering a “Sorry” that did not sound apologetic at all.

Shaw looked down at Root’s hand but didn’t utter a word, only nodded pretending to accept the fake apology.

A few more minutes passed in silence before John broke it, “It’s your turn”. He addressed Root but she was too lost in her thoughts to notice the prompt.

“What?” eventually she responded.

“A bluff that you’ve pulled off; what’s your story?”

“Oh” Root gave it a thought for a moment. She had too many bluffs to brag about, too many people she had deceived, too many jobs she shined at; yet none of them mattered.
And she could easily tell one of these stories, they were truly comparable to the ones she’d heard so far, but she didn’t. She had only one that really mattered to her. The most significant bluff she had ever pulled off. And it wasn’t the risk that made it so important; it was the reason that triggered it…

“One time, I threatened to jump off a building to save someone I love.”

And just like that a veil of silence swept across the room and enshrouded them.

Root stared down at her hand that was still on Shaw’s thigh and that had begun not long ago tracing light patterns upon the fabric.

John and Shaw kept looking at her questioningly, none daring to comment though.

Besides, what were they supposed to say?

Suddenly, Shaw jerked up dropping Root’s hand onto the floor as if it was just a boneless piece of meat, “You should have some rest.” She was talking to John but her eyes were glued to Root, who didn’t –couldn’t- meet her gaze.

“Right.” said John as he watched them leaving; Shaw marching first and Root following with steps so clumsy and unsteady that made him laugh.

*

They stepped out of the building in silence, Shaw trying hard to avoid Root and Root, as always, being so hard to avoid.

The night had already casted her heavy veil but the sky wasn’t dark, the storm clouds coupled with the moon hiding behind them had given it a light red color that foreboded rain.
It truly smelled like rain and Root took a deep breath, tilting her head back and looking at the sky as if she was challenging him to make a move.

Eventually, they stopped in front of her motorbike and Shaw for the first time since her return turned and looked her in the eyes, “Don’t even think about it.”

Root kept her eyes on the motorbike a little longer and eventually let Shaw drag her along away from it.

Truth be told, she was anticipating a ride with Shaw all night long; to feel her body pressed against her own, her arms wrapped around her waist and a warm breath caressing her neck -just like old times.

“I thought you liked playing with fire.” Root said and shot her a smile, as if the woman hadn’t broken her a million times these days.

Shaw rolled her eyes and kept walking, their shoulders brushing up against each other as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Once, but things have changed now.” Shaw eventually replied and something tightened inside Root’s stomach.

She knew Shaw had changed –a lot- but what she truly feared was a possible shift of her feelings, because much as Shaw denied them, they existed –at least before her captivation.

Root tried to reply but Shaw preempted her, as if she didn’t want to know what she had to say.

“So where do you live these days?”

Their eyes were glued to the road before them but when it took Root too much time to respond Shaw turned and faced her as though she already knew the answer.

“Samaritan is down; don’t you think you finally need something stable in your life?” Shaw was surprisingly speaking more than Root today and she blamed that to the alcohol.

Eventually Root snapped. She had something stable in her life, until they took it –her- away from her and then they returned something broken and foreign that looked only on the outside like its former version.

“There is only one thing I need stable in my life” Root had now raised her tone of voice and turned to Shaw before continuing, “and it’s not a home.”

Shaw came to an halt too but avoided meeting Root’s gaze, “That’s not gonna happen-”

She didn’t get the chance to finish though. She felt two hands grabbing her shoulders and toughly pressing her against the brick wall behind her.

Dark eyes were now boring into her and a breath so close that she could smell whiskey every time Root exhaled.

The stayed like that for some time, looking at each other’s eyes, but in the end Shaw couldn’t keep the eye contact and broke it by lowering her gaze.

A move that made Root even angrier. This wasn’t Shaw. Shaw would never relent or let Root pin her to the wall in the first place; she would never show how weak she was.

She would never be weak!

And yet there she was, yielding with just a glower.

“What have they done to you?” Root’s voice wavered.

Shaw didn’t raise her head and she felt Root’s hands on her shoulders pushing her more forcibly against the wall.

Root expected an answer –or anything- and she would believe her, however lame, she would believe anything Shaw said, as long as she gave her an explanation for her behavior.
But it was never spoken. Shaw had nothing to say so she stayed silent.

After a couple of moments though she tilted upwards her head and looked at Root as if she had just discovered the secrets of the universe.

She found Root’s face puzzled, angry, dark, pleading, but above all loving.

She had never lost that, Root continued loving her even in her darkest moment, even with her most broken self, Root was there. She had never left.

The first drops of rain fell on their heads but none seemed to notice.

A faint smile appeared on Shaw’s lips and before Root could wonder she found herself pressed against the wall mere moment ago Shaw was glued to.

Root opened her mouth to speak but was instantly shut by two lips that came and collided with her own, a kiss full of violence and affection at the same time.

And the rain started falling hard on them cathartically, promising to erase their sins. And they had loads of them, each one carrying them like a cross on their way to Golgotha.

Root never felt the drops on her face.

She was feeling purified.

There, where her tongue was brushing up against Shaw’s, where her hands gripped desperately Shaw’s shoulders so that she could never leave again, where her lips kissed Shaw’s… There she belonged and it felt like a holy place; like a sacrament.

There she belonged, into Shaw’s arms, and nowhere else.

Everything else was parasite; the road, the rain, the red sky over their heads, the whole world. They didn’t exist anymore.

She had gone back billions of years, a perfect vacuum surrounding her and the big bang happening inside of her, creating a world just for them, with no planets, no stars, no galaxies. Just her and Shaw -her sun.

And yet, the light inside of her faded when their lips parted.

Shaw pulled back as if something burned her, she didn’t know that it was her the flame that burnt; the sun that no rain could quench.

They stayed for a moment looking at each other’s eyes, Root trying hard to utter a word and Shaw saying everything with her eyes. Until even they had nothing to say and the silence became intolerable.

“You have no idea”

Shaw whispered and just like that she was gone, disappeared into the rain as if she was never there. As if she wasn’t leaving behind Root, so damaged and broken that she couldn’t find the courage to move.

So Root stayed there leaning against the wall, lost in a world she built only for them. Her eyes wide shut, feeling every drop, every gust of wind, every trace of Shaw in her mouth that reminded her that it wasn’t just a game of her mind.

She felt everything. She could feel again...

She touched her lips absently.

She was hearing a buzz. She could hear…

She was seeing darkness. She could see…

And then she could smell…

And it smelled like rain and whiskey and Shaw.

Chapter Text

“You know I can’t do that. Why don’t you call Lionel?”

Root heard Shaw’s voice and came to a halt before entering the subway car, the two discussants still unaware of her presence.

“Detective Fusco is wrapped up in his actual job. I would not appeal for your help if it wasn’t absolutely indispensable.” Harold’s voice was calm and convincing, as always.

After a silent moment Shaw eventually spoke, “Fine, but you do remember what happened the last time, right?” she sounded surrendering.

“I do, but you are really getting better and I have faith in you”

The conversation seemed to be over and Root moved quietly to stand by the entry of the car, startling both Shaw and Harold.

“Well, what can I do for you Harry?” She addressed Finch, it was easier this way. After that kiss she hadn’t spoken with Shaw, since her calls were rejected and her visits to the subway found only John sleeping on the cot or Harold busying himself with the computer. Shaw was never there.

“Thank you for coming so soon Miss Groves, there is a new number that requires your assistance.” Harold’s eyes momentarily met with the floor as if he was ashamed of what he was asking.

And maybe he should be. The conversation that Root heard seconds ago started now to make sense. Shaw didn’t want to work with her and the realization struck Root like a lightning, making her feel sick just by looking at the other woman.

“Can’t one person deal with it?” She tried hard to avoid using her name; it was all too much for her, too much rejection in one gaze, one name, one person. Damn, her whole existence rejected her.

Although she made it easier for Shaw, refusing to work together, Root didn’t do it for her. She did it for herself, she couldn’t bear that contemptuous attitude Shaw had been treating her with since her return. She already knew Shaw was just bearing with her; she didn’t have to remind her of it again in the ugliest way.

“Samaritan might not be a threat anymore but the mob is still running the city and I’m afraid one person is not enough to handle it.”

Harold’s argument was more than convincing. Dominic and Elias might be gone for some time now but there was a new boss in town, tougher than the both of them and with a habit of leaving bodies behind.

“Alright, let’s not waste time then” said Root and her eyes found Shaw’s indifferent gaze and it was like they met for the first time in that subway. Before she could have the chance to move, though, Shaw stopped her short.

“Not now. Meet me in an hour at the park.”

Shaw waited for a moment until she received a hesitant nod from Root and only then she turned to leave, without looking back at Harold who had a weird expression on his face as if he knew something that Root overlooked.

And, indeed, these last days she had the feeling that there were things she didn’t know; things they kept hidden from her, Harold’s face was enough to betray the unspoken agreement.

She looked him in the eyes, waiting for an explanation that never came, and then she left, more puzzled and tentative than ever before.

*

He was tired. Living a life under a veil of secrecy and anonymity was a burden that sank him more and more in the abyss and the lack of oxygen had already started crushing his lungs, so much so that he sometimes couldn’t breathe properly.

He couldn’t remember his name anymore. The real one.

He had changed so many names that the book his father had given him wasn’t enough to provide him with a new one. And maybe he didn’t want to change it anymore. Maybe ‘Finch’ was everything he ever wanted. Because ‘Finch’ was more than a name. It was a person; a person that had friends, people he cared about and trusted.

But these friends were also those who worried him. They were reckless and stubborn and always ready to die at any time, that’s why his agony increased every time they were out there, fighting a war they could never win.

John was in the next room recovering from a bullet wound that for an inch away it didn’t blast him to Valhalla.

Root was playing Russian roulette on a daily basis, cheating death as if the dealer was on her side. And maybe he was –in her ear, looking after her just like he once did for him.

As for Shaw, he had mourned her, not only when she was considered to be dead but also after her return. It had taken him days to figure it out and maybe if it wasn’t for the Machine he would never realize it. The woman clearly knew how to hide behind a façade of indifference.

These tapes… It took him days to watch the half of them and eventually he didn’t have the courage to watch them all. He hid them in a safe and tried to convince himself to forget the password and every scene he had seen and memorized.

He couldn’t though; he was stuck with images that would haunt him for the rest of his life and a secret that wasn’t his to share.

Mush as it hurt him seeing Root in pain he couldn’t say a word, the only thing he could do was help Shaw, as much as she allowed him. And he had a feeling that after today she would need his help, even though she would never ask for it.

So much effort, so much pain and time, and all lost in a day for a number.

Yet, Shaw wouldn’t do it for the number; he knew that.

Lost in his thoughts, Harold didn’t notice that hours had passed since the two women left until he heard two angry voices coming from behind.

He turned in his chair and faced an angry Root shouting and behind her an angrier –if that was even possible- Shaw, following exhausted.

“We saved the guy, what else do you want?” said Shaw. They had stopped in front of him but neither seemed to mind his presence. So he just stood there watching the dramedy unfold and fully experiencing the tragic irony to its highest degree.

“I told you She needed us to go back and search the rest of the rooms for something. Why can’t you just listen to me?” Root sounded frustrated more than anything.
“Because you are not the one who’s talking, it’s a freaking robot and I’m not gonna put myself in danger for it.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I’ve never asked for anything.” Root’s voice was surrendering, she didn’t seem to have the energy to continue the argument or as a matter of fact anything else.

Shaw, on the other hand, was still angry and Harold wasn’t sure how much of that anger flowed from the incident and how much was just stored for months, ready to come out and drown everybody at any time.

And it did, the very next moment, “Maybe that’s the problem. This ‘thing’ has made you its puppet and in the end it’ll just leave you suffer an excruciating death.” Shaw’s voice was cold, its only purpose to hurt, “And maybe I’ll be watching from a video feed, laughing at how naive you’d been.”

And just like that she left, leaving him behind to deal with an astonished Root who tried to utter something but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth.

Only the tears knew their way down to her chin, a path so familiar and yet so unknown to him. Root wouldn’t let anyone see her crying but Harold could tell. He could always tell.

“You do know that she didn’t mean any of these, right? She’s just agitated.” He tried to comfort her but in the end his words were scattered across the empty subway, along with her confidence.

She looked like she didn’t hear him, her stare blank, avoiding his eyes as if they were judges of the past and they would blame her for everything she blamed herself-for Shaw.

Root was lost, Harold could never forget that look, he hadn’t seen it for a while but it’d been haunting his memories since their very first encounter in a car with a dead body still warm beside him.

“I, um…” she eventually found the ability to speak, partially, “I think I’m gonna leave for a while.”

It didn’t come as a surprise to him. This past month Root was wandering every day around the subway doing practically nothing, apart from the two times that he had requested her assistance with a number, and Harold knew exactly why she was still sticking around. It wasn’t the time though to flee, not with Shaw in that state.

“I do not believe it’s the right time to leave, John is still recovering from his last encounter with death and Miss Shaw…”

“What about her? She seemed fine to me.”

Root was being blind willingly. She didn’t know how else to react, she was missing things that he knew in ways he didn’t want to. Ignorance was indeed bliss but there were times when awareness was just more… suitable.

“She is not.” His stare dropped to the floor and missed the way Root frowned at his statement. He was ashamed of what he was about to do, it wasn’t his place to intervene but neutrality sometimes was a negative word.

“What are you talking about?”

It was now or never. It wasn’t betrayal; all he ever wanted was to help Shaw, in every possible way, even if he had to betray her trust to succeed it.

“After Sameen’s return, the Machine sent me a series of tapes that contained the video feeds of Sameen’s days in that facility.”

“Harold…”

“Please let me finish. I tried really hard to watch them all, it was the least I could do after all, but I couldn’t. They were administering a great amount of drugs to her in a daily basis, most of them inflictive and addictive.” He paused for a moment, Root had sat on a chair, trying to process the information that deep down she already knew but never admitted.

“And she was doing a great work, controlling the effects of her addiction, until now.”

His eyes found Root’s and they were inquisitive, aching, blank.

“I assume that in order to be able to assist you successfully with the current number, she might have determined afresh the dosage of substances her body needs to rebound.”

He didn’t get the chance to finish though. Root was already running to the exit, leaving him behind to deal with the consequences of his actions. It was a betrayal. He didn’t reveal the whole story, but it was still a betrayal. Yet he didn’t feel guilt. He felt relief. For the first time since Shaw’s capture, he felt relieved.

Chapter Text

She had asked Her.

She had begged Her to reveal what had happened to Shaw during her captivity; what had happened after that, to explain her current behavior, but all she had gotten was one word: Barbiturates.

She knew that already though. Shaw would never betray her people willingly, even if the tortures were unbearable, she would never do it. So, some kind of truth serum was her first guess and of course the most accurate, although she didn’t know they’d been administering them daily-until now- along with substances only god knew what they were.

The door felt rough under her fingers as she knocked at it twice. On her face a confidence she did not have and a smile she kept only for her.

Seconds later, she heard the door unlocking and the next moment a pale face with red eyes that reminded her of Shaw appeared from behind. She wasn’t like that in the morning. In the morning she seemed taller, bigger, alive. Now Root wasn’t sure about the last one anymore.

“What?” said Shaw and she didn’t sound angry at all. Her voice resembled a man’s in death row, who has accepted his faith and walks to his death, speechless and apathetic.

“I was thinking about what you said” Root replied and passed Shaw while entering the house as if her legs weren’t shaking or her lungs hadn’t stopped working since Harold’s revelation of Shaw’s medical treatment.

She heard the door behind her closing and felt her confidence returning to normal –at least she wasn’t chased out- as she sat on the couch, her eyes locked on the television in front.

Harold was right; indeed Shaw needed time to rebound. This woman wasn’t the one that Samaritan had captured, this woman was the shadow of a former resplendence, like a decayed empire that had been conquered by all of its enemies in succession.

“I should have my own place” Root continued but Shaw didn’t feel like responding. She had moved to the kitchen since she opened the door and thenceforth Root didn’t see her, in fact, neither heard her voice. She couldn’t turn around though, couldn’t face that stranger anymore, so she stayed there, watching a soccer game she didn’t care about and ostensibly talking to thin air.

“I’m thinking somewhere between the park and the subway, so that I have an excuse to steal Bear. What do you think?”

Small talk. She hated small talk –Shaw did too- but it was the only conversation she was able to have right now. The other option was ‘I know that you took drugs so that you don’t get me killed’ which was her first class ticket for getting her ass kicked and out of this place. So she had to go with plan A.

Not that it was working. Shaw only muttered a forced “sure” from somewhere behind her, which confirmed her suspicion that she was in the kitchen but did nothing to encourage her to keep going.

This silence was worse than the contempt Shaw had been treating her with and she couldn’t bare it any longer.

She broke.

“Shaw, come on, I’m really trying here” she said and turned around to see what Shaw was up to.

To her surprise, though, Shaw wasn’t there, or at least she didn’t see her there, until she stood up and went to look behind the counter.

What she witnessed there was a sight she had never seen before and never thought she’d see. It was one of those moments that you know you’ll always remember, just like your first kiss or your first murder.

Shaw was sitting on the floor, arms hugging her knees to her chest and her back against the counter. For a moment she seemed like a little child that had just been scolded.

“Sameen?” She knew her voice was wavering but at the moment that was the last thing troubling her, especially when Shaw’s eyes opened and fixed on her, empty and cold, as if they were seeing through her the innermost thoughts of her mind, her darkest secrets, and Root shivered.

“What are you doing?” she suppressed her true question; the balance was too fragile to risk breaking it.

Yet she didn’t receive a response, Shaw’s eyes were piercing hers but weren’t saying anything at all, they were blind and mute concurrently.

She waited a couple of moments until the stare opposite became intolerable. One last attempt and then she’d be out of there, because this…

This, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She felt like a stranger. Not only for Shaw but her own self too; Samaritan had stolen from her the person she loved and something more.

“Do you want me to leave?”

It was a pointless question, its answer easily foreseen and certain, as certain as that day succeeds the night.

But suddenly it didn’t look like growing light. “No.”

Shaw’s reply came like a total eclipse that bedimmed the room-or was it just Root’s sight?

“What-” Root muttered “What did you just say?”

Shaw had closed her eyes again, making it easier for Root to kneel and sit on the floor beside her, her back resting against the counter and her right shoulder touching softly Shaw’s.

It took Shaw some time to respond, with Root sitting patiently by her side, but eventually she spoke, “I’m sick of trying to hide the truth.”

Her words poured out, calmly and sincerely, and when they reached Root’s ears they emerged like bamboo shoots from her body in which they’ve been growing for months, penetrating each and every organ of it.

“You don’t have to anymore”

Root’s reply found only silence and nothing more but surprisingly she realized she didn’t care at all; she had Shaw there, next to her, listening to her breath like a prayer, feeling her shoulder relaxing as time passed and, above all, she was welcome to feel all these things; she wasn’t a gatecrasher anymore, she didn’t steal moments, they were given to her.

Suddenly the heat source beside her disappeared and when she opened her eyes she found Shaw on her feet looking down at her as if she was seeing her for the first time.

“You can stay the night if you want, couch’s all yours” she said and before Root could even realize the sentence she was already lost in the bedroom shutting the door behind her.

~

She didn’t have a place to go but even if she had her decision would be exactly the same. This was the closest to Shaw she’d been after everything that happened and even with a solid wall between them she could still feel her there, close, and it was good enough.

A couple of hour had passed since Shaw went to sleep but Root couldn’t relax, lying in the couch she kept typing on a laptop she found buried under towels in a drawer. So she stayed there, a watchful sentry guarding a woman that didn’t need a guard.

Yet, Root stayed there, typing and trying… kept trying to forget the image of Shaw huddled up on the floor, looking so small; so weak.

Her train of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and then soft footsteps that approached rapidly. When they stopped she heard an angry voice behind her, “What the hell are you doing with that?”

Root turned and faced a furious Shaw pointing with her finger at the laptop on Root’s lap.

What was wrong with that?!

“I’m writing a malware”

She didn’t get to explain though; Shaw sprang forward, grabbed the laptop from her hands and closed its lid forcefully as if it was going to explode any moment now.

“Don’t.” Her voice assertive.

“What is wrong with you?” Root said and stood up.

Shaw glanced at the laptop in her hands and then tossed it on the couch before replying. “I just don’t want cameras in here”

Root frowned at the oddity of the statement; Shaw never cared about anything that could violate her privacy, at least before her captivity, and Root wondered what other insecurities the strongest woman she’s ever met had built.

“Sam, we overthrew Samaritan, it can’t spy on you anymore” Root tried to reassure her but the answer she received seconds later was definitely not what she expected.

“It’s not Samaritan the AI that I don’t want to spy on me”

“The Machine?!” The realization struck her as if the sky had come down on her head “Why?”

Shaw averted her stare and gave it some thought before smiling bitterly, “Harold didn’t give you the whole story, right?”

Their eyes met again, Root’s questioning and Shaw’s sorely disappointed, and it was the first genuine look they’d shared since Shaw’s return; the first sincere.

“What story?” Root asked, even though she had a feeling she wouldn’t like the answer.

And, indeed, she didn’t.

“Your god is literally omnipresent. And a sadist too. Only likes to watch though.” The irony of her words lacking subtlety.

“What are you talking about?” Root asked but she already knew the answer. Deep down she knew that the tapes Harold had were not acquired when they broke into the psychiatric facility. She knew that the Machine was always aware of Shaw’s location but never thought, not even for a second, that She had tapped into the camera feed, watching Shaw being tortured like she was something less than a parasite and doing nothing.

“Your fucking robot had access to the security camera all along.”

And there it was.

“No. No that’s not possible.” Root shook her head in disbelief, her eyes closed and fingernails dug into her palm.

Shaw though didn’t realize the effect she had on Root –or didn’t care- and continued, more harshly this time, “Two AIs were playing a game and I was stuck in the middle of it. So, I’m sorry but I’m done staring in a machine’s sick reality show.”

Root opened her eyes and looked at the laptop on the couch. Her god was in there, waiting for the lid to open and watch them, watch everything. And she didn’t mind it at all, until now. Because now she felt betrayed; she felt like her whole world had collapsed, her beliefs, her trust, her loyalty…

Suddenly, she found herself taking hold of the laptop and battering it against the coffee table.

She couldn’t feel the tears on her cheeks, she couldn’t see anything but blackness, she couldn’t hear her own screams, but she felt the touch. A firm hold on her wrist and the next moment two arms wrapped around her waist enclosing her own arms in a hug that hurt.

The shattered laptop fell on the floor as Root stilled. She felt Shaw behind her, their bodies glued with each other as one, and her eyes shut instinctively.

She didn’t get the chance to savor the feeling, though, because another –stronger- one emerged as she felt lips brushing her neck and hands slipping under the shirt that she, all of a sudden, found unnecessary.

Shaw had intruded her senses and she couldn’t remember anymore why she was crying. Was it just a habit or everything she was holding back had come back to overwhelm her?
Was it because of the Machine’s betrayal or was it Shaw’s return? Because now she could feel her truly there; now, after so many months.

Suddenly the hands that had started tracing patterns upon her abdomen disappeared and the lips kissing her neck stopped but before she could protest she felt a hand on her own and then fingers interlocking with hers.

“Follow me” a whisper in her ear.

And she didn’t resist the tug to the bedroom. She followed obediently, grasping firmly Shaw’s hand as if she would drive her to salvation.

And maybe she would.

Chapter Text

Five days had passed since that day; the day that she found Shaw –that she truly found Shaw. It wasn’t the days though that Root was reflecting on right now, but the nights. The nights were full of passion and sweat and Shaw.

Not this night though; this night she found her already sweaty and shaking and tired. This night Shaw wasn’t there. Root found a shadow in her place and a body that appeared to be hers but something else was controlling it; something she herself had once experienced –courtesy of Control.

So she stayed in the living room, lying in the familiar couch that lately had been occupied more times than the beds in her safe houses; only, though, by one person. Shaw never joined her, having sex was one thing but sleeping together was a whole new chapter that Shaw wasn’t going to explore in the immediate future and Root didn’t push, being in the next room was more than enough cuddling for her.

And she was in peace, watching television without anyone else watching her (cameras were prohibited in there and she wasn’t going to break that rule), until she heard something; something she hadn’t heard in a while.

’Prompt’, a man’s voice.

’for’, a woman.

’conversation’, a man.

She wouldn’t speak to Her since Shaw told her about Her actions –or inactions- during her captivity. She couldn’t deal with it –with Her, not now, not with Shaw still bristling every time even Her existence was mentioned and, more importantly, not with that rage Root had stored deep inside her from a betrayal that couldn’t stop hurting.

“No” Root’s answer was short and conclusive.

The voice in her head though wasn’t going to give in so easily, a series of words sounded again making Root jump from the couch, a flash of irritation crossing her face. “I said NO!”

And then it stopped, only static left in her ear, finding her both frustrated and relieved as she tried to calm herself down bringing a hand to cover her mouth with the realization that she’d screamed.

She heard a light paddling coming from the bedroom and the next moment Shaw emerged from the dark room, sleepy and exhausted as if sleep was the most strenuous exercise one could have.

“What the hell?” Shaw said and did not sound angry at all.

Root stilled at the voice behind her but didn’t turn around. The tears had somehow managed to find their way down her cheek and she wouldn’t allow them to make her seem weak again, not in front of Shaw, not after everything she’d gone through. Root was supposed to be the strong one here, not the other way round.

“Sorry I woke you up” her voice was cracking and she wished Shaw wouldn’t grasp it.

She was wrong.

She heard a sigh behind her and a couple of seconds later a soft voice that she wasn’t sure if it was Shaw’s, “It was the Machine, wasn’t it?”

Root took a moment to fully apprehend what her mind was trying to tell her the past five days and when she did and drew the inference from her train of thoughts she wiped her tears away before turning around to face Shaw, a cold expression on her face.

“Harold was right; we are only numbers to Her.”

Shaw’s eyes narrowed at the statement, Root losing her faith would be catastrophic; it would create chaos in their team, leave an AI playing with government feeds unattended, destroy the communication between them and the Machine and, above all, it would bring Eeyore back –the last thing Shaw needed this particular period of her life.

And it was her fault. She did this by revealing things she shouldn’t have; too many things and yet not enough.

The expression on the face before her was pleading her to say something, anything. And seeing Root like this made her realize the necessity of confessing the truth –the whole truth.

“It wasn’t Her call to abandon me. I asked Her to hide my location from all of you.”

A flash of surprise crossed Root’s face momentarily and Shaw wondered if she should continue with the revelations before the other woman fully perceived the obvious reason to get mad.

She didn’t get the chance, though; Root was quick.

“What?!” she said and stepped back a little as if distance would help her collect herself, “Why would you do that?”

Shaw didn’t have an answer for this one. Or maybe she had but wasn’t going to say it; she wouldn’t express how terrified she was at seeing Root in that fortress, coming to save her and dying for it. Because if she came she would die. Samaritan was ready for her from the very beginning, since that camera started recording for the Machine to watch; they were waiting. Waiting for her allies and she wouldn’t allow that, wouldn’t let anyone get hurt to save her and the Machine understood it, even though it took time to convince Her –it.

“I was bait, couldn’t let you fall into their trap.”

Root took another step back and sat on the closest chair she found, words unable to leave her mouth but the tears…

The tears knew damn well their way down to her jaw, a route they had taken more times than Root could count.

“I raised hell for you. I blamed myself for-“ Root stopped and shook her head, Shaw didn’t need to know these things, “What made you think I wouldn’t trade my life for yours in a split second if I had the chance?”

“I know you would. That’s why I made sure you didn’t get the chance.”

“That’s not up to you to decide.” Root stood up. She didn’t realize she was screaming until Shaw brought a hand to her head to massage her temple. She had started sweating again, her body trying to express its overwhelming need for drugs.

“Fuck you Root” she said wearily and turned slowly back to the bedroom, her shaky legs barely holding her weight.

Root didn’t utter a word, only stayed put with eyes locked on the bedroom door as if Shaw’s figure was still standing there. The betrayal had turned into regard in an instant and anger became–

She didn’t know what it became. She didn’t know what she was feeling any more. Anger, love, guilt, affection, happiness, all in one and she couldn’t handle it anymore.

Suddenly, she felt her feet dragging her to the bedroom as a question was raised in her mind.

She found Shaw lying in bed and she almost missed the way her body was quivering with cold, yet the temperature in the room was high enough, the covers pulled up to her neck as she grasped them tightly in obvious pain and Root’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Painkiller?” said Root and when Shaw shook her head in refusal, eyes still shut, she approached the bed, her stare affectionately glued to the curled up woman.

“So” Root started and forced herself to continue, her voice calmer that before, “the Machine did exactly what you asked her to do. Why are you mad at her?”

Shaw instantly opened her eyes. That was a question she wished she’d never hear; a question she wasn’t going to answer, but when her eyes met Root’s imploring she couldn’t help it. A vice Samaritan had compelled her to develop; always speak the truth.

“She refused to give me something I needed” Shaw whispered and Root stepped closer to sit beside her on the bed.

She?, Root wondered but didn’t comment upon it. She didn’t even ask what was that, giving Shaw time to continue whenever- and if- she wanted to.

A couple of moments passed when Shaw finally opened her mouth again to speak. This time her voice was barely a whisper and Root tried to lower the sound of her own breathing to hear her.

“There was a closet with scalpels in the room I was held. I needed the password to open it.”

Root’s eyes narrowed. Scalpels couldn’t do a thing against armed agents and an evil AI having eyes on her twenty four seven. It was a crappy plan and Root wondered how Shaw, a perfectly trained operator, came up with it.

“Did you really believe you could escape with knives?” Root asked incredulously and Shaw –almost- smiled, exhaling loudly.

She didn’t reply though and Root tried to decipher the meaning of that smile. It wasn’t ironic or sweet. It was an answer. It was a hint. It was–
Root’s lips parted at the realization that hit her like a lightning in a thunderstorm.

No, it’s not possible. But it was, that smile had confirmed it a moment ago. Shaw never smiles, but when she does she lets the smile speak for her. And it says things that there aren’t any words to express it better.

“You didn’t need the knives to escape, did you?” said Root and secretly wished Shaw would laugh at the stupidity of her thinking and deny it.

But Shaw didn’t speak. She kept staring at her blankly as if her soul had just been exposed and she didn’t know what to do with it now; now that it hovered between them, bare and transparent.

“Why?” Root whispered as though she was in pain. And maybe she was. Eyes tearful but not letting the tears fall, she was sick of them. And she succeeded, as long as the silence between them lasted she managed to hold back the tears, but then Shaw spoke and Root felt like drowning in them.

“I knew they’d break me in the end; couldn’t let that happen” said Shaw as she sat up to tug at Root’s shirt.

At first Root resisted the pull, still trying to digest Shaw’s actions, when their eyes locked though, she couldn’t help but give in to the feeling of Shaw’s hand around her wrist while the other came softly and rested on her cheek, a thumb caressing her cheekbone.

“So, you’re mad at Her because She didn’t let you kill yourself?” said Root and tried not to picture Shaw lying in a pool of blood. In the end she failed and instinctively brought her hands on both sides of Shaw’s face, taking in the image of a pale Shaw; so fragile and weakened, and yet so alive.

Her gaze dropped to Shaw’s lips and before bringing it up Shaw leaned in a kiss full of passion and affection and promises. A kiss they’d only shared once in an elevator that only one of them alighted in the end.

Eventually, Shaw broke slightly the contact but left her forehead rest against Root’s as she breathed into her parted lips, her hand gently stroking Root’s hair as she spoke for one last time.

“No. I’m mad because She let me betray you.”

Root opened her eyes in surprise but didn’t speak again. There was nothing to say after all. Only two words were dancing in her mind and were spoken like a whisper in the middle of the night when Shaw was sound asleep beside her.

‘Thank you’

Said Root as her hand traced soft patterns upon Shaw’s back and the other was unconsciously brushing the scar behind her ear.