Shaw's eyes jolt open as she wakes, her breath exhaling sharply through her nose and her heart pounding so hard she feels the pulse of it ringing in her ears. She blinks rapidly against the morning light, immediately taking note of her surroundings. There's no stark white walls or taunting mirrors, just the familiar sight of the deep, warm hues of one of Finch's safehouses.
There's no orderlies holding her still, or nurses sticking her with needles as she fights against her restraints on the scratchy sheets of her Samaritan gurney. Instead, she's safely cocooned in soft linen sheets, the heady smell of cinnamon and a hint of gunpowder filling her senses as loving, featherlight fingertips soothingly trace up and down the expanse of her back.
The touch feels like a fractured tether to this reality that Shaw's mind is desperately fighting to grasp.
"You're safe, sweetie," a voice murmurs reassuringly.
Root.
The fingertips stroking along Shaw's skin still for a moment and come to rest between Shaw's shoulder-blades, the slight added pressure anchoring her.
Real.
Shaw lets her eyes flutter closed and expels a deep breath as her body relaxes once more into Root's calming touch before turning her head to face her companion.
Root offers her a small smile as Shaw blinks blankly back at her, taking a moment just to take her in as she lifts her fingers to touch behind her ear, her eyes instinctively drawn to the gun resting on the nightstand behind Root.
Her skin is smooth, hasn't been tampered with. No incision mark, no chip. Real.
"You don't need it, Sameen," Root hums knowingly, her fingers encircling Shaw's wrist and dragging her hand down away from her ear.
Real, Shaw reminds herself as she drags her eyes away from the gun and back to Root.
Root's hair is like a wild main spread out at all angles across the pillow and escaping over her shoulders, her long limbs are stretched out on the bed they're sharing with her foot hooked over Shaw's own as she regards Shaw with unabashed fondness.
"You okay?" Root asks gently, her brow furrowing in what Shaw deciphers as deep concern at her lack of response.
She's heard the question before, many times, but that wasn't real, it was Samaritan. This is Root, her Root, the real Root. It has to be, there's no chip.
Unless Samaritan is getting smarter…
Shaw swallows thickly, feeling her stomach coiling in preparation for the worst, and reaches her hand out across the tiny space between them until her palm comes to rest over Root's heart. She feels the strong, constant beat of it thrumming against her flesh, warm and palpable.
Real. Just like last night in the park when Root had drawn her hand close to her chest knowing that Shaw needed to feel the steady rhythm to believe her.
Samaritan could emulate a lot of things, had gotten better at mimicking her friends, but it could never quite get this part right. It knew how they acted, what they thought, could predict them, but it was still an ASI. It still had no real idea how it felt to be human. She'd touched Root in those simulations over and over again and not once had she been able to find the comfort in the feel of Root's heartbeat. It hadn't been there, just like Root's reckless unpredictability had been missing.
But last night Root had her gun pointed at her own head and Shaw knew it was real, knew Samaritan would never have foreseen that move, not when it had followed the same pattern for 7,000 odd simulations. Just like how she knows that Samaritan could never get this right. Root's strong, reliable heartbeat is intrinsically human as it fixes Shaw in reality.
"I'm okay," Shaw responds with a grounded nod, assuring herself and Root. "I'm good. You're real."
"I'm real," Root echoes gently, moving her hand back to Shaw's back and rubbing soothing circles. "You really are safe now, I promise."
"Yeah," Shaw breathes, focusing on Root's heartbeat reverberating through her palm and into her soul.
Root's smiles at her comment, her worry dissipating as her eyes fill with relief and joy and something Sameen is pretty sure is something she's supposed to identify as love.
Before, that unaltered affection would make Shaw's chest feel so tight and uncomfortable that all she'd want to do is look away, but now, after everything, Shaw finds that she can't. It's awakened something inside her, a raw desire she can't suppress any longer. She wants to look back, wants to drown in Root's eyes and let them both be consumed by the fiery passion that rages inside Root.
It's always been like and inescapable blaze between them, the flames flickering around Shaw's edges, catching her in places that Shaw quickly put out before they spread too far. But now that Shaw knows what strength just the memory of Root's fire can create inside her, Shaw wants to feel the burn flaring at her skin again, wants to see what it can do once she lets herself be utterly engulfed by the scorching flames.
Shaw presses herself up on her elbow until she's level with Root and presses forward to crush their mouths together in an urgent kiss. The unexpected force of it leaves Root's appreciative moan sizzling in her ears. Root lets her be all tongue and teeth and greedy hands, lets Shaw take a moment to set the pace, to be in charge of what's happening to her. Then, just as quickly, Root is pinning her to the bed, kissing Shaw deeper in response, her teeth nipping hard enough at Shaw's bottom lip to made her bleed, to make her feel, to make her believe, before her tongue is sweeping hotly into Shaw's mouth and making her groan in pleasure.
Real.
It's messy and dangerous and yet it's the safest Shaw has felt in months.
She knows they don't have long before their final battle against Samaritan, knows they've lost too much time already. They don't have the luxury of reveling in a slow, growing blaze anymore, but Shaw will be damned if she's not going to let them be a raging, frenzied inferno for what little time they have left.