For ovisnephele, who wanted to see Root being "overprotective of Shaw after her return".
I loooove angst, and these two, I could write a whole novel based on them. So I think I'll write something from Sam's POV later. When I have time.
All mistakes are mine, English is not my first language.
First
She's alone.
Her tea lays forgotten next to the keyboard, already cold. At first she held it between lithe fingers to try and absorb its warmth, but the layers of ice under her skin seem to be impervious to any external source of heat.
Silence surrounds her; it's been so long since she's heard the telltale clicks and beeps She makes that she's not sure she would recognise them if She made them now. Not that it matters.
That's not the voice she longs to hear, anyway.
Her socked feet make no sound as she crosses the subway station, going from the computers at the back to the ones inside the car. Even without the Machine, she's clever enough to be able to tap into this and that camera feed, digitally traveling through the Net, not leaving a trail.
The icy concrete floors bruise her feet through the fabric of her cotton socks, shooting shivers up her weak muscles, but she revels in the sensations. She welcomes anything that makes her feel alive, that reminds her she needs to keep going.
Not for herself, no.
For her.
She can't give up on her like she did last time.
Her dark shirt hangs limply from her thin frame, a rack made of skin and bones. Her once tight black jeans are now one size too big for her. She remembers the looks of pity Harold gives her every time he finds her here at night, but she really can't bring herself to care about those things anymore.
She was selfish once before, at Her behest. She laughs now, mirthlessly, thinking she should have known that the freezing coils of guilt she started feeling inside her veins would never melt away.
Second
She hasn't touched it, not once. It lays inside the locker of the subway car, a thick layer of dust coating it after all these months. Harold tried to grab it some time ago, for backup. She nearly severed the fingers off his right hand closing the locker door. Reese didn't need to be told to leave it be. The shame also clung to him.
When she picks it up now, a memento of her time here, a silhouette is left behind, marking the scene of the crime.
Her boots make hollow sounds that resonate in the wide space of the subway station and her empty chest. She leaves without looking back.
Third
After their run in with the enemy, they develop a no phone rule. The only thing that could help them is still learning how to walk again, crawling inside a space invented just for Her.
So he has no other choice but to tear the door of her latest safe house down. (How he found her after days of her being away, she doesn't really care.)
The ruckus doesn't phase her. She remains looking through a window, two fingers keeping the curtain slightly open and her heart beating wildly in her chest. These days, it's all it does. Her one good ear lets her know that he's right behind her, so she shouldn't flinch when he places a hand on her shoulder, but she still does because she guesses why he's here but doesn't want to voice her thoughts in case she's wrong.
(She's not.)
Fourth
"It's bad," he tells her.
You don't say. She stops herself from rolling her eyes at him, mostly because they are fixed on a single spot, her hands balled up into fists at her sides. A boulder obstructing her throat.
"She won't say what they did to her. Root, she's changed." Again with the hand on her shoulder. "I need you to be prepared for that. She's-"
"I'm fine."
/:Trembling
/:Shivering
/:Quaking
fineRoot/fine
She lets Reese go on in first. Lets the snack machine fall back into place.
Months of thinking about this moment, and the glacier inside of her won't let her move.
Fluttering in her chest, she feels it again, that warmth, the heat that fueled her energy, before. The pull coming from her.
She enters the subway station with a gun that's not hers tucked into the belt at her back.
Fifth
She doesn't see her at first. The boys are huddled together around her sitting on the bench that could tell a thousand stories if it were able to speak.
She can barely lift her feet, shuffling to where she needs to go. It's the scuffing sounds she makes what silence the boys, puts them all on alert.
{body =
Swallow it down, your heart. Don't let it escape now.
}
All too soon and not fast enough, the boys take a few steps back, and there it is.
The most heartbreaking sight she's ever seen. Followed by the most absurd sentence she's ever heard the woman utter.
"You need to leave. Now," Sameen says through gritted teeth. Refusing to lift her eyes up to her.
Her voice, that voice, the voice, it's sweeter than she remembered, clearer than the sound bites she carries with her everywhere.
It twists her heart, once, twice, a hundred times.
Root recognises the frown on the pale, sick face that's been haunting her dreams. She knows what it means. And its intensity scares her. Thrills her.
Here's the fire that will thaw her veins. The one she was searching for.
{stomach:
Feel the heat already pooling in your belly.
}
She's stuck in place. Her brain is trying to get words out but her mouth's not listening to commands. Her eyes itch, burn, but she doesn't blink. Can't. Not if it means that blinking could permanently erase this view. She's not sure she could afford to survive a cruel mind game like this.
And Sameen still won't look at her.
But she sees it, her breathing hitch, in the way her nostrils flare, her shoulders tense, her chest struggles. In the curve of her lips, the slight bite of the inside of her cheek. Sameen sighs and closes black eyelids, pale eyelids. If she pressed a little harder, Root's sure she would make the wood under her fingertips crumble into nothing.
She can't, won't, look away from the other woman, but that doesn't mean she can't see the men standing by her side exchange weird glances. Harold lifting his eyebrows and a corner of his mouth. Taking a few steps back. John standing almost on tiptoe, sharp and spiky edges coming out of him, threatening, menacing.
Written on their faces are the lines of code that scream their distrust.
"You need to listen to me, Finch," repeats Sameen, eyes still closed, voice ragged, broken.
The sagging of her skeleton almost matches Root's, and the comparison, silly as it may be, shines a light in Root's mind.
She can still read her. Sameen must be the only person in the world whose code makes any sense to her.
"They'll come," she continues, shaking, pleading. Her voice grows impatient with every new word. "They'll find this place -us- and they'll kill you all…"
"I won't let them, Sameen."
The air. Sucked out of the station and crushing her lungs, twisting, eyes bulging, trouble breathing, but finally-
Her eyes, black, deep, dark and beautifully tragic.
/:capturing screen
/:storing picture in hard drive
She swallows the boulder that obstructed her windpipe. Makes way for when her small hand finally wraps around her throat once more.
If this were any other time, any other universe, Sameen would laugh, smirk, huff, exasperated. Roll her eyes at Root's stupidity. But Reese was right. She has changed.
Her gaze has a hold on Root, and as a lioness, she jumps out of her perch on the bench. Her once agile limbs almost manage to make her trip up as she stalks her prey with urgency.
Root's not that far gone to fail to notice the way that Harold straightens up and stumbles back, or how John reaches inside his coat for his gun.
To keep her predator calm, she never breaks eye contact, and lets her feel like she has the upper hand. Root knows that Sameen needs this. The feeling of regaining control over her own life.
Root tries not to flinch, but how can she stay absolutely still when the heat emanating from the woman not two paces in front of her is exactly what she's needed all these months?
Her hands are full of ants moving through her veins. Her heart's anxious to jump out of her chest. (Or back into it, because, really, it was in Sameen's hands all along.) She doesn't move. Allows Sameen to set the pace. John still has his hand on the butt of his gun and she wants to scold him, tell him to stop being so paranoid, it's getting ridiculous. This is their Sam, for God's sake.
But she stays quiet.
Sameen scrutinises her. Dark, tired eyes roam the planes of her thinned face, cheekbones protruding from behind aching muscles that miss her touch. Root feels it like a caress, warm and caring. Sam takes her time to relearn the shapes of her face. So she does the same, because even if her nights were spent watching video after video of their time together, to make sure she never forgot a thing about her, nothing compares to the real thing.
Sameen blinks up at her, her eyelashes deprived of their usual shine. Root reaches up to brush some strands of limp hair away, but she stops herself at the last second, hand falling back down. Sameen follows the arc it makes as it falls, a frown crowning her forehead, making Root wonder if she longs for Root to touch her just as much as she does.
Root's gaze falls to her neck, that skin that she loved to brand once upon a time. Corded nerves taunt her, sallow skin reminding her that she lost the privilege of touching it the second she stopped looking for her. That's something she'll have to win back.
Sameen's biting her lips, frowning, trying to make sense of it all. Root wishes she could crack her skull open and see what they did to break her so. Still, some of her old reflexes remain, for the next thing she does, before anyone can bat an eyelid, is grip Root by the throat as tight as her sore muscles let her.
(And she sees it, the flame, the same as before, alight behind Root's eyes,shaking her foundations. Almost makes her groan. Almost. But it's good enough.)
Root's eyes close of their own accord and she feels her smile growing like a vine that wraps around them both, determined not to let go. Her first genuine smile since that day when her world came to a stop at the end of a basement.
The hold on her loosens, but Sam keeps her hand on her neck and it burns her, but she loves the fire.
When she opens her eyes again, she finds Sam analysing her, a breath away. Her eyes never settle on one spot, but Root doesn't question her. She may not have been in the same room as her when they played with her mind, but to her it's almost like she had.
Sameen's scanning her features, making sure the dots connect in the exact same order she remembers. Running face recognition software.
But she's not the only one that's changed and it makes Root wonder if her programming will reject her.
So she helps things along. "Sameen, it's me," she whispers. "Remember?"
For a wild second, the program crashes, Sameen's hand grips her tighter, bringing bruises forth. All Root sees is a snarl, cruelly twisting the face she adores.
Behind Sam, John pulls his gun out and aims it at her back, and Harold runs off inside the car.
/:warning= oxygen levels low
It's almost impossible for Root to hear John, what with Sam trying to steal her energy to power herself. He takes a few steps forwards, his voice low, saying one word. A warning.
"Shaw."
Sameen takes up her entire field of vision, but Root senses the atmosphere in the room, knows that something's wrong. All Hell will break loose if she doesn't do something now.
She fights to lift her arms up, her brain screaming for air, and rests her hands over Sam's, putting all her energy behind stroking tan skin. Bringing them even closer.
She speaks in a raspy voice. "Sam," she croaks. "It's okay."
(She doesn't realise it, but it's the small smile she offers her, even as she's asphyxiating her, what convinces Sameen. Only Root could react in such a way to Sameen hurting her. Unlike the other one. The one that taunted her, messed with her memories.)
He makes no sound at all, even though he wears Italian shoes that cost a pretty penny. But, then again, Root's drivers are not exactly running at full speed. She can only gasp as her lungs strain to breathe, doing everything she can to keep her eyes open and on Sameen, to tell her through them everything she needs her to know.
It's a surprise to them both when Harold sticks a needle in Sam's arm, the fight leaving the small woman instantly. And Sameen, resigned to her fate, offers her a look of regret, her arms going limp, her eyes falling closed.
It's the second time that Root has had to break her fall after Sameen's been forced into a drug induced dream. She guides their bodies to the ground, shielding Sam with her own, finally allowing herself to touch, to make sure this is real. Her fingers shake as she runs them over feverish skin.
The trouble she's having breathing has little to do with the marks she'll find later over her skin. She bends over, listens to an overly quick heart, and feels her own seizing up.
Root looks up, murder in her eyes. "What the fuck, Harold!" She screams, thin arms gripping the body in them more strongly. To keep Sam safe or to ground herself, she's can't decide. A sob bubbles up, bursts through her lips before she can stop it.
The dam breaks, threatens to drown her.
Harold looks at her with a frown on his face, the now empty syringe still between his fingers. "She was killing you, Root," he says, his head tilting to the side.
"You don't know what she was doing!" More screaming. "She's confused and we have to help her, not keep pumping her full of drugs!"
Pressure mixes with pain and her throat aches as she cries, knowing they will never understand, ever, what Sameen's thought process has morphed into after her time spent in Hell.
But she will try to make it right.
John puts his gun away, takes tentative steps forwards, hands raised in surrender. "You're right," he says, and Root wants to laugh at his attempt to calm a wild animal. "But we had to do something. You understand that? She's not herself anymore. We'll have to be extra careful around her."
"Careful around Sameen? Oh John, you've got it all wrong."
Root smiles then, seeing John flinch at her words. But the little furnace in her arms keeps making small noises that become the sole focus of her attention. She runs a finger over dried lips, over the hills on her forehead.
"You know what, she was right." Her eyes don't leave Sam's troubled face. "You do need to go, now," she says in a bored monotone.
"But…" Harold begins. He stops at a visual cue from John.
John walks over and stands right in front of Root bent over Sameen. He kneels. She can feel the force of his gaze on her and wishes he would disappear.
"Let me take her to the be-" he starts, moving his hands to grab ahold of the sleeping woman.
The hand that's not holding Sam's head is as fast as lightning, digging nails into colder flesh. "Don't touch her."
(She can hear a voice at the back of her brain telling her to take it easy, reminding her who this man is, but the voice is cracked at the edges, the ghost of a memory in the face of reality.)
"John," she says, forcing a smile on her face, removing her claw from his skin. "Take Harold with you and go. I'll take it from here."
"I'm not sure that would be wise, Root," says Harold, clearly disturbed.
Root turns her gaze to him, anger boiling under her skin, the feeling she missed, veins of lava just from being near Sameen. "The Machine will be fine, I'll make sure Sameen doesn't touch it."
Does Harold really think she'd let anything happen to Her?
"It's not the Machine I'm worried about."
His eyes, those beady, intelligent eyes bore into her and she can't say he's not telling the truth. So she relents.
"Thanks for the concern, Harry. But right now, I think it's best if you left us alone. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
John doesn't offer to pick Sameen up again. He straightens up, walks over to Harold, and pulls him away by the arm. Harold looks over his shoulder at them both once more, before they vanish through the stairs and out onto the streets.
Root is only slightly worried about where they'll go, considering that the subway station is probably their safest location at the moment, but in all honesty, there's only one person she gives a fuck about right this instant, and she's right here, dreaming in her arms.