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Shaw can’t sleep.
It isn’t that she isn’t tired – she is. It’s only been a few days since she made it back to New York, since she’d been reunited with the team. A full day since Root had convinced her it was okay for her to come back to the subway, and several hours since Root had reluctantly left her side to go do something for the Machine.
“Get some rest, sweetie,” she had said, but after an hour and a half of trying, Shaw can safely say that isn’t happening. She supposes it stems from her worry of exposing them all to Samaritan, her feeling that the enemy will come crashing through the doors at any moment. She can’t stop the voice in the back of her head from saying she better be awake to fight back when it happens.
She gets up, starts pacing around. She can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips when she passes by the ridiculous room Root’s set up for herself. The whole thing is so purple and just so... like her somehow, the last thing you would expect out of an ex-assassin-for-hire. But her amusement quickly dies as soon as her mind settles on the hacker.
Shaw’s not blind. She can see that Root’s had a rough time while she’s been gone. She’s acting as perky as ever, but Shaw can tell that that part of her hasn’t been around for a while, that it’s just starting to resurface.
Finch and Reese had also filled her in on some more troubling episodes Root had had, but when Shaw confronted her about them, Root had simply muttered something about “a file corruption” and that “the problem should be fixed now.”
Shaw didn’t push it. It’s not like she’s in any state to argue with someone about the state of their mental health. Samaritan’s torture put her through the wringer and then some.
Not wanting to think anymore, Shaw drops to the ground, where she starts cranking out some pushups. Physical activity had been pretty scarce while she’d been held captive, so she’s taking every opportunity to build her strength back up. She figures she’s going to need all she can get for the war that’s coming.
She breaks off in the middle of a rep when her phone starts to ring. She looks around for it until she spots it on Finch’s desk, answering just before the call goes to voice mail.
“Hello, Ms. Shaw.”
She isn’t sure who else she expects to be calling her at 3:30 in the morning, but she’s still a little surprised – read: mildly annoyed – to hear his voice. “Finch,” is all she replies, but the undertone of “this better be good” leaks through.
He seems unperturbed at her tartness. “I hope you don’t mind some early morning company. We have a new number. Mr. Reese is already on the job, and I should be at the station in twenty minutes. Ms. Groves wouldn’t happen to be there, would she?”
“No, she left a while ago. Your robot overlord had a job for her.”
Finch lets out a little sigh. “That is rather unfortunate. I fear we may need all the help we can get on this one.”
Shaw doesn’t bother asking what’s going on. She knows the only reason he’s calling is to warn her that he’s coming so she won’t pull a gun on anyone coming in unexpectedly. A very good idea, considering the circumstances. “I’ll call her, see what she's up to,” she says gruffly. “See you then.”
She hangs up and is about to hit the number on her speed dial when her phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a text message. Her curiosity peaks when she sees there’s no number listed.
Unknown: Analog Interface en route.
That settles that, she thinks, although she wonders why Root didn’t call to say so herself. Normally she seizes every opportunity to bug Shaw. Things have really changed, if she’s letting the robot do the talking for her.
The reason’s clear, however, when Root walks in ten minutes later. Shaw’s cleaning her gun, feet propped on Finch’s desk. She opens her mouth when she hears the approaching footsteps. The gait is even, so Shaw knows Finch didn’t get there first. “Have fun without me?” she asks.
The footsteps stop farther away than she expects. No answer. Shaw turns towards the other woman, letting her feet drop to the floor. What she sees gives her pause. “Root?”
Still no answer.
Shaw gets up, quickly making her way to where Root is. No sign of physical injury that she can see, but something’s definitely up. Root’s just standing there, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. Her eyes are glassy and they don’t seem to be really fixing on anything. Shaw waves a hand in front of her face. “Root? Hello?”
Nothing.
This is what Finch and Reese were talking about. The realization dawns on her, her mind supplying the medical diagnosis. Dissociative behavior, commonly linked with PTSD. They said what happened at the Stock Exchange triggered it.
Something like guilt makes itself known in her stomach, but she pushes it away as she focuses on what she needs to do. She swipes her ear, knowing John’s awake and on the open line. “Hey, Reese,” she says, her voice coming out harder than she meant it.
“Good morning to you too, Shaw. Cranky that Finch woke you up from your beauty sleep?” John Reese sounds entirely too wide awake considering what time it is, and Shaw rolls her eyes.
“No,” she states flatly. “And I didn’t call to chat. Finch says you’re going to need help with this one, but Root’s out of the picture, and I’m gonna stick with her. Wake Lionel up and tell him you need backup.”
“Fusco won’t like that. I’m in,” he says, amusement in his voice. There’s a pause, but then he speaks again. This time he sounds concerned. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Dandy. Nothing I can’t handle. I think.” She leaves it at that and switches off her earpiece. She places her hand on Root’s left shoulder, calling her name again. Something seems to get through this time.
“Shaw?” Root asks. Her tone is quiet and heavy with confusion. She brings her hand up and Shaw feels a weak grasp on her wrist. Root’s eyes still aren’t focused yet, but it’s something.
“Down here,” Shaw tries to joke. Root finally moves her head, eyes locking on Shaw. Her expression all but screams at how disoriented she is. Shaw huffs out the basics. “You’re in the subway. I’m here, we’re both safe, and Finch is on his way with a number. It’s close to four in the morning. You were gone for a good five hours.”
“I remember,” Root says, voice trailing off. She blinks, then suddenly sways forward.
Shaw’s quick to catch her, guiding her down onto the ground and crouching beside her. “You okay?”
Root closes her eyes, bringing a hand up to her forehead. “I need a minute,” she mumbles. Shaw feels the other hand slide towards her own, and she allows her fingers to be encased in Root’s, knowing she needs it.
Footsteps approach from behind them, and Shaw feels the sudden need to shield Root from view. Her body moves on its own, sort of hovering in front of the other woman, before turning to Finch. He has his briefcase in one hand and his hat in the other, his mouth opening to voice the question she sees in his eyes.
Shaw shakes her head once. “You help Reese,” she tells him.
He closes his mouth without a word as he gives her a nod and heads to his desk. Shaw turns her attention back to Root, whose eyes are now open and fixed on her. She gives Shaw a forced smile. “I thought this would stop by now. You’re back,” she says, as if that should be the answer to everything.
“Something like this doesn’t just go away. It takes time.”
Shaw freezes as soon as the words leave her mouth. It hits her that what she just said applies to both Root’s predicament and her own. She’s not sure which one makes her feel worse.
Root seems to be thinking along the same lines, and her hand squeezes Shaw’s more tightly. Then, as if just realizing where it’s been this whole time, she pulls away, her eyes apologetic. Shaw catches her wrist, linking their fingers back together.
Not wanting some sappy comment to ruin her gesture, Shaw says, “C’mon. Let’s go.” She stands, pulling Root up with her.
“Go where?”
“Bed,” Shaw states. Then, seeing the sickeningly delighted look come onto Root’s face – and knowing an innuendo is sure to follow – she hastens to clarify. “To sleep. You are going to sleep.”
Root’s head tilts a little, that teasing smile of hers animating her features. “Sure, sweetie. Whatever you say. You are the doctor, after all.”
The last bit is practically purred in Shaw’s ear, which results in Shaw ripping her hand away and stomping into the tucked-away bedroom. Root’s right on her heels.
“Doesn’t seem like you need any medical attention at the moment,” Shaw states hotly. “Guess I’m not needed here.”
Some of the liveliness drains from Root’s face, her expression close to what it had been when she first walked in the subway. Shaw wonders if she went too far. Surely she can withstand a little teasing if it means Root’s feeling back to her normal self? Why do I always have to be so defensive when it comes to her flirting?
Root doesn’t look her way as she speaks. Her words are a lot more vulnerable. “I’d like you to stay, if you want. You haven’t slept either.” When Shaw doesn’t answer, she lays down on the bed, moving so that her back is against the wall. She’s still looking Shaw’s way, her expression hopeful.
Shaw hesitates. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be there, but the whole thing is starting to remind her a little too much of the simulations. In them, Root had been in a similar position with her so many times – though usually there were no clothes involved, something that she's not going to think about now – that it unsettles her nerves.
In the end, it’s only the thought that neither she nor Samaritan could ever dream up such wacky décor and the fact that Root hardly ever shows such utter vulnerability that allows her to lay down on the bed. It’s not really made to accommodate two people, but they manage with both of them facing each other on their sides. They both remain silent for a long while. It isn’t until Shaw feels a tug on her hand that she realizes she has her eyes shut tight and her fingers are digging into the skin behind her ear. She focuses her gaze on the sad smile Root is giving her, allowing her hand to once again be wrapped in an embrace.
“I guess we both need a reminder of what’s real right now, huh?” Root asks softly, her thumb rubbing gentle circles on Shaw’s palm.
Shaw decides to ignore her own internal struggle for the moment, focusing on the physical. “How are you feeling now?”
“Better, now that I’m with you.” Root’s nose crinkles as she shrugs into the mattress. “Although you’re right about me being tired. I’m definitely feeling it now.”
“Then shut up and sleep,” Shaw says, but it lacks her usual bite.
“You’ll stay?”
“Nothing better to do.” It’s a lie – Shaw could be helping Reese or getting food or shooting someone or petting Bear or anything else, really – but neither one of them mentions that.
Root shifts her head on the pillow, forehead almost touching Shaw’s, and lets her eyes close. Shaw watches her face relax. Her own muscles are still tense, but Root’s touch keeps her grounded.
She can hear Finch typing away at his keyboard, talking quietly with Reese and Fusco. The only other sound is Root’s breathing, which is getting more and more even every second. Her face is content, a soft smile on her lips.
Shaw waits until she’s sure Root is asleep before closing her own eyes. Unconsciousness creeps up on her, dulling the knife of doubt that’s sitting in the back of her brain.
Even if this does turn out to be a simulation, she figures, I might as well make the most of it. She moves closer to Root so that their foreheads are touching, close enough to feel every exhalation of her breath.
Root lets out a happy sigh, and then sleep takes them both.