Chapter Text
Shaw is so deep into exhaustion and sleep deprivation that the door of Root’s hospital room opening actually catches her off guard. It takes a long moment to realize it’s only Harold, and several more to lower her gun.
“Oh,” he says. He doesn’t flinch at the gun aimed at him, just seems a little surprised. More at Shaw’s presence than being held at gunpoint by her. “Miss Shaw. I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“Told her I’d stay here, didn’t I?” she says with a shrug. She promised that, and other regrettable things, in the few moments Root had been awake.
Harold smiles faintly, and tries to hide it from Shaw, as he sets his briefcase and hat on the table.
“While I’m sure Root appreciates the sentiment, I doubt she will want you exhausting yourself needlessly. She is safe. The Machine is watching over her, and Samaritan’s agents are no longer a threat.” He shuffles closer, looks like he’s going to put his hand on her shoulder before he thinks better of it and instead pulls another chair up beside Root’s bed. “Get some rest, Sameen. You have certainly earned it.”
She frowns, but knows he’s right. She’s hardly slept at all in the week since they got Harold’s number. Since the day all of them, even the Machine, thought Root was dead for a few hours. In the forty-eight hours since Samaritan’s defeat, she’s hardly left Root’s side. She knows logically that the Machine lost track of Root due to Samaritan’s interference, and that that is no longer a threat. But a part of still doesn’t fully trust Her.
“He’s right, Sam.” Root’s voice comes as a feeble croak. Shaw quickly checks her vital signs on the monitor then hands her a cup of water.
“I thought I told you to rest,” she says as Root sips the water.
“I will if you will. You look like you could use it.”
“Are you saying I don’t look good?” Shaw says. It’s almost a reflex for her to engage Root and push back like this. The little bit of normalcy, and the fact that Root is awake and responding to her, is a comfort to Shaw.
“I’m saying you won’t be able to protect me when you collapse from sleep deprivation in a couple hours.” Root pauses to take another sip of water then she continues, obviously sensing Shaw hasn’t been convinced yet. “She’ll watch me, and She’ll let you know if I need your help, okay?”
She feels more at ease hearing Root say this, even though her words echo what Harold just said, and Shaw’s own thoughts. She gives Root a single sharp nod, stands up, and moves as if reaching towards Root. Maybe to grasp her hand or some other unusually gentle and intimate gesture. Then she remembers Harold’s there even if he’s pretending to be very interested in his phone at the moment, and stops herself. She covers it up by drawing one of her guns and hiding it under the blanket at Root’s side.
Even though she’s drugged up and barely conscious, Root still catches it and gives Shaw a little knowing look. Shaw coughs and looks away. “Just – don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
She half expects a retort like ‘So I can do stupid things while you’re here?’ But Root just nods, closes her eyes, and settles back onto her pillow.
Harold bids her good night as she gathers up her coat. She merely grunts in reply as she steps out the door, suddenly feeling the exhaustion that’s built up over the last few days settle on her more heavily. She stops for moment in an empty section of the hallway and looks directly at a security camera.
“You call me the moment anything happens, got it?” She waits until the camera blinks then stalks off towards the exit. Then she turns back to the camera once more and says “And I could’ve made it to at least midnight, okay?”
She barely lasts the short subway ride and walk back to Root’s safe house. As she’s kicking her boots off and climbing into bed Shaw mutters “Stupid know it all Machine.” She’s asleep the moment her head hits the pillow.
The safe house is one Root acquired shortly before Shaw’s return. It’s a nice apartment, on the sixth floor of an older building that’s been modernized. The windows are a bit on the large side for Shaw’s taste, but the walls are good solid brick and it’s directly across from a park so there’s no good lines of fire into it. Shaw checked.
But having only been occupied for a couple weeks it’s not especially well stocked. Cash, guns and IDs enough for a quick getaway. A good bed in one of the bedrooms, an expensive looking leather couch, and a couple stools at the kitchen island in the open plan main room. But little in the way of food or cooking equipment.
So Shaw takes some of Root’s emergency cash and sets out in search of breakfast for herself. And maybe for Root, too. She saw the kind of food the hospital expects her to eat.
She’s sitting in a nearby café, sipping her coffee and eying the selection of pastries. She’s considering what Root would like, and considering getting seconds for herself. Then her earpiece beeps.
“Hey there, beautiful.” Root’s voice comes through bright and clear, obviously from the Machine. “Wanna do something for me?”
“Not really,” Shaw grumbles. “But I’m probably going to anyways, so just spit it out.”
“Sorry.” Shaw scoffs at the Machine’s precise mimicry of Root’s not-really-apologizing tone. “It’s a bit time sensitive. There’s going to be a couple hitmen in need of an emergency kneecap reduction passing by in about ten minutes.”
Shaw perks up a bit. It’s been a few days since she got any action and run-of-the-mill hitmen would be a nice change from trained Samaritan operatives.
“Wouldn’t want to miss that party. Wait. Can you get someone to take some actual food to Root?”
“Aww, it’s so sweet how you’re worried about her.”
She idly wonders how one would go about strangling an AI, and if She would enjoy it as much as Root.
About ten minutes, give or take an abbreviated gunfight later, she’s speeding away from the scene of the attempted crime at the wheel of her teenage number’s car. Her teenage number who isn’t terrified or confused like they usually are. Instead she’s studying Shaw in an inquisitive, calculating way.
“Are you some kind of bodyguard? Did my dad hire you?” she asks, apparently unconcerned by Shaw’s violent maneuvering of her car.
“No. I’m a concerned third party.”
This seems to satisfy her. “Oh, cool. So you’re like some kind of vigilante.”
Shaw doesn’t say anything further, concentrating on trying to lose the one remaining hitman pursuing them.
“Need a hand, sweetie? Or an eye, I guess.”
“I’ve got it under control.” A glance in the mirror shows the hitman’s BMW getting disconcertingly close to her number’s old Honda Civic. And he seems to be trying to aim a gun out the window. “And I’m not your sweetie.”
“Whatever you say, sweetie. Left here.” The Machine says just as they’re coming to an intersection. Shaw jerks the wheel and the Civic takes a violent turn to the left, joining in with the flow of traffic. There’s a bang and crunch behind them as the hitman, not forewarned, is t-boned by a garbage truck.
“Heh. Watch where you’re going, idiot.” Shaw checks on her number. She’s looking at her with an odd sort of gleam in her eye. “What?”
“Who was on the phone? Do you have some kind of partner? Are you dating them?”
Shaw groans and resists the urge to bang her head on the steering wheel.
“You know, you remind of this other nosey kid I saved once.”
When Shaw finally gets to the hospital after dropping her number off with her parents, and a quick stop to pick up lunch, she finds Root checking herself out.
“I can walk, Lurch. I was shot in the chest, not the leg. Jeez,” she says as she brushes off John trying to offer her a wheelchair. Harold is behind them and appears resigned to whatever Root has decided to do. He spots Shaw first, and Root quickly notices where he’s looking. Her annoyed expression quickly turns into a smile. “Sameen! Guess who got a clean bill of health?”
She seems to be excessively proud of her apparent miraculously speedy recovery. The effect is ruined a bit by the way she winces when she moves her right arm a little too much in its sling.
“Not you,” Shaw says as she approaches Root. She pulls her shirt aside to check her bandages. Those are neat and well done, and she doesn’t seem to be actively bleeding at least. Being in public, Root manages to restrain herself to merely leaning into Shaw’s touch a bit. Shaw, used to her being much more forward, easily ignores it. “So if Harold took a look at their patient database he wouldn’t find any evidence of someone hacking into it?”
“He wouldn’t find any evidence, no,” she says with a confident little smirk.
Shaw shakes her head. She knows there won’t be any changing Root’s mind now that she’s decided to do this. “If you bust this open,” she says, gently poking Root’s shoulder, “and start bleeding all over the place, you’re hauling your own ass back here.” But there’s no real force behind her words. Root, of course, picks up on this.
“Whatever you say, darlin’.”
John and Harold leave to get some things from the subway for Root after dropping Root and Shaw off at the apartment. (She can’t live without her shag rug apparently.) Their solitude is short lived though. Lionel calls Shaw for backup less than an hour later.
Root’s already said bye to her as she was packing her bag with extra ammo. Kissed her on the cheek, too, which caused Shaw groan in disgust and wipe furiously at her cheek. But as she’s stepping out the door, she feels compelled to say something. To express something she’s meant to tell Root for the last few days but somehow never got around to it.
Root’s already engrossed in something on her laptop, and barely reacts at first when Shaw calls her name. “Hmm?” she say distractedly, taking a few seconds to pull her attention away from her computer. “Sweetie?”
“Look, I don’t care if we’re all just shapes or whatever. I like your shape the way it is.” Root processes this for a moment, then breaks into a brilliant smile.
Shaw gives her a little nod, then leaves before she can say anything else compromising.
Fusco’s job ends up being incredibly dull and requiring very little gunfire, but it takes most of the day. It’s sometime close to midnight when Shaw wanders into the subway.
It’s the third time she’s been back here, but she still feels a sense of uneasiness and a prickle behind her left ear as she enters. She ignores the feeling as best she can and heads over to Root’s little nest. There, she feels a bit more comfortable. Maybe because it’s so different from the spartan room it was before. Maybe just because it’s Root’s space.
As she lays down on the bed and tries to sleep, she thinks of looking for a place of her own in the morning. With Samaritan gone, she’s no longer restricted to hiding in the shadows and the subway and safe houses. Having a space of her own again would be nice.
Root’s safe house isn’t a bad place, and she surprisingly hasn’t yet found herself wanting space away from Root. Root doesn’t seem to want space either. That’s the problem, really, and why she’s in the subway right now instead of with Root.
She’s comfortable with Root. Almost too comfortable. Too easy. Samaritan spent so long trying to trick her that there’s still a little part of her that thinks it’s too good to be true. Like the prickle behind her ear when she entered the subway, the urge to stay away from Root flares up sometimes, to keep her distance and keep Root safe.
But never when she’s actually with Root. With her, things feel safe and real.
Fuck it, Shaw thinks, sitting up and reaching under the bed for her boots.
Fuck Samaritan.
She didn’t go to war with an evil AI god just to let it dictate her life after its dead. She didn’t beat it seven thousand times to let it keep her away from what she wants. It’s dead, she’s alive, and she’s going to spend the night with Root if she wants.
She wakes to Root calling her name. She’s surrounded by Root’s scent and feels a familiar sort of safety. She’s gotten used to waking up beside Root in the past couple weeks, even if she’s usually the first to get up. She rolls over –
And slams down onto the floor in front of the couch, her fall cushioned slightly by Root’s shag rug. “Fucking hell,” she curses to herself.
Then she sees Root, standing there looking confused. “Shaw?” she says again.
Her hair’s mussed and she’s rubbing at one eye sleepily. Other than her black Roots sweater with the s cut off, she’s wearing only her underwear, leaving her ridiculous long legs exposed. Shaw allows herself to stare for a moment to distract herself from how sickeningly adorable Root looks. She’s so entranced by Root’s legs she doesn’t notice her walking over until she’s practically on top of Shaw.
She cranes her neck back to see Root’s face. Even in her state of sleepy confusion she seems to have picked up that something is a bit off. But she seems to be content to merely observe Shaw for now, and just holds out her left hand for her.
Shaw accepts Root’s hand, and being careful not to let Root take too much of her weight and re-injure herself, allows Root to help her to her feet.