Chapter Text
“See you later, Shaw” she said before exiting the subway station you call your base of operations. You won’t admit that you waited for her then, but that was before you knew later would come six weeks after she left. And you don’t know if you’re just confused, or frustrated, or extremely disturbed, but you know you’re worried. A few days later after she just got back, she took off again without any word. Not to you or even Harold. You realize she doesn’t answer to either of you. She’s all by herself and she’s not so much a part of the team aside from the fact that she helps out whenever she can, and even occasionally save each of you whenever necessary. You just know she’s on your side.
You remember she called you Shaw then, which was not unusual and you would’ve appreciated it had you not been used to her sweet voice and had you not noticed that something was off since she got back from the mission before she left, but you chalk it to the fact that she was also wounded. You saw the bloody, torn up shirt and even stitched the laceration.
But she called you Shaw that day and it bothered you. Part of you sank at the thought that maybe she found someone else to call ‘Sweetie,’ or maybe she’s just no longer interested which, admittedly, is ridiculous thought. But you don’t know. You’ll never know. Because with Root, you never really know.
It’s not fear, you tell yourself, but at the back of your mind you consider the possibility that you’ve pushed her too much and far enough that she grew tired of chasing after you. Not when she’s also running all over the world with her dangerous missions without back up, of all things. Maybe that’s also why she didn’t bother to keep in touch. It’s not like she regularly calls you or sends you a message or anything. You’ve gone on much longer without contact and it didn’t bother you before. You feel like you should be mad that you’ve allowed yourself to expect.
But still, the point is you can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed. Something shifted between you and Root. Your stomach grumbles. You sigh. And you didn’t notice her enter the subway station, paper bag in hand.
“What’s with the sigh, Shaw? Long day?” Root asks.
There it goes again. Shaw?
She sets the paper bag beside you, keeping it between the both of you as she sits on the other side of the bench, taking the box out of the paper bag and handing it to you without looking. She’s got you a steak and you know you should be ravishing it as soon as you get your hands on it, but you stop. You hesitate. You lift your right hand and grabbed the box, but instead of pulling it, you just let it hang between you and Root. She noticed you’re not taking it, your eyes searching her's asking her - no, daring her -to pay attention. She turns her head and you do everything to hold her gaze. She’s looking at you as if trying to figure out what’s going on inside your head. You don’t know what she saw, but you hope it’s enough to suspend everything else around you and keep her there. You feel her take a deep breath and let go of the box.
Silence.
“Root, what’s going on?” you ask when she just settled in her seat and starts pulling out a sandwich from the paper bag.
“Hmm?” she asks absentmindedly, attention to the sandwich she's beginning to unwrap. When you don’t answer, she turns her head to you. “Shaw, is everything alright? What’s the matter?” she asks, looking genuinely confused.
Shaw? You wince internally. “Nothing,” you say, still looking at her. “Never mind,” you add, because you have no idea what else to say.
“Okay,” she says, and you wonder why Root didn’t insist on knowing what’s up.
The silence that followed was unbearable. You try to think of something to say. It makes you wanna roll your eyes. This is stupid, you thought, so you set aside your untouched steak and take the sandwich Root was opening from her hand.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Root” you say. But really, you’re demanding her to speak up. If you’re hopeful that she’ll smile or share something about herself, you didn’t show. You realize you don’t know a lot about Root. You only know a handful of information, which you think are fabricated anyway, and a bunch of other details from her file, and from Finch and Reese. You didn’t care before. Your lack of knowledge about her didn’t concern you before, but you do now because you don’t like this Root who’s not pushy, this Root who doesn’t wanna sit right next to you and doesn’t call you ‘Sweetie’ or ‘Sameen.’
She’s smiling now, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It’s as if it pains her to look at you, and so she breaks eye contact and drops her gaze to the floor. “Nothing that you should be worried about. Anyway, gotta go. Catch up with you soon.” She reaches for her sandwich and stands up.
“No,” you say and grab her hand. She freezes. “Something’s not right and I wanna know what it is,” you say a little forcefully. “You can’t go out there when you clearly have something on your mind. You’ll jeopardize the mission.” That’s far from what you wanted to say. But you’re not so used to being concerned. You just want her to stop being this gloomy shell with the face of someone you know. You want her to be the Root you know and learned to tolerate. You want her to be your Root again, if you’re being honest - which you are, obviously (just not expressively or out loud) - even if you don’t know full and well what that means.
“Didn’t know you cared, Shaw,” she bites back bitterly as she looks at you sideways.
‘It’s Sameen!’ you wanna tell her. She’s not avoiding you. She’s not running away from you. She came here and she brought you food, didn’t she? You mentally chastise yourself. Why does it bother you that she’s not actively seeking you out anyway?
Root huffs and then she faces you fully this time. She’s got a little smile on her face that’s hoping to ease the tension. “I was hoping we could share a nice meal before I leave later. I missed you.” You wanted to laugh because a steak and a sandwich qualify as a nice meal to her. But you believe her so you don’t. “I’m just tired. I didn’t mean to make your day any worse and it wasn’t my intention to snap at you,” she says and you know damn well you’re giving in because you know she’s sincere and, of course, those big doe eyes and that little smile will always get to you no matter how much you hate to admit it. It’s almost unbelievable, the power this woman has over you.
She pulls away from your grasp and places both her hands on your shoulder. “I’m sorry sweetie. Please get back to your meal. It’s gonna get colder.” Just like you, you thought.
But she called you Sweetie. God, how you missed her calling you that. A smile almost breaks out of your face which makes you internally groan because wow, I’m such a sap, but then you remember, “You’re leaving again? You just got back not less than an hour ago.” You sound angry because you are, because you missed her too and have now just decided that you want her here with you. You want her to stay, though it’s selfish because you know the world needs her attention and genius to save it from whatever terrible destruction and chaos it set itself into whenever it moves. But you want to get to know Root, maybe make her smile, or even laugh, and call you sweetie again and again. So yeah, you admit to yourself that you’re selfish, but you also defend yourself, because really, anyone who knows Root would probably understand your sentiments.
You feel bad for her though, because here she is, not even back for an hour and you’re already picking a fight with her.
“Where are you going this time?” you wait for an answer that you know will never come, so you change tactics. “Let me go with you. You might need back up.” It sounds like a command coming from you, but you’re looking at her expectantly. She’s so beautiful, that’s a given. But she also looks tired. “Please?” you say so softly for it to be anything but an appeal to her emotion.
Root smiles a genuine smile and you think that’s your reward for showing your vulnerability to her.
“No need to go begging, Sameen. I won’t need back up for this one, I assure you. So I’ll see you when I get back?” she says.
You want to insist that she let you go with her but you don’t. Instead, at the back of your mind you’re devising a plan to track her down if she takes too long to come back to you.
You feel Root eyeing you again. You realize you haven’t given her an answer yet.
“Trust me,” it sounds like both an assurance and a promise. She squeezes your shoulders one last time before she drops her hands to her sides and turns, prepared to leave again.
“Please take care of yourself,” you all but whisper in the air between you two. It was barely audible but you know she heard you because you heard a faint “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do” before she disappeared.
Your phone beeps. You pull it out to check the message you just received from an unknown number.
ANALOG INTERFACE.
HEART TRANSPLANT.
CHANCE OF SURVIVAL: 22.53%
You’re struck momentarily, still as a statue. Both your feet are planted on the ground. You try to process everything you just read and suddenly you can’t move.