She was delirious. Samaritan operatives had injected her with drugs that made her writhe in agony. She tried to scream, but found her vocal cords paralyzed. A bead of sweat rolled down her brow, her hair damp from perspiration. Her vision was blurred, the room spinning around. She felt needles in her arms, heard the machines beeping―monitoring her vitals. Her hands were handcuffed to the bed rails and she managed a sly smile: they were still afraid of her. She was trashing on her bed, her body twitching against her will, but the merciful oblivion never came. She suspected Samaritan ops had injected adrenalin drug to keep her awake.
She closed her eyes. She was alive, but the Samaritan got her. She was its precious possession. Hidden from her friends. Hidden from Root.
Tortured.
"Sam," she heard a voice call out to her.
It was a dream.
She couldn't be here.
She turned her head, opening her eyes. A slim figure was moving toward her bed, a hand reaching out to her. She tried to make out the figure, but her vision betrayed her. The dark-haired woman was wearing a white lab coat, a sweater tucking out from underneath. The figure was too far for her to see the face. Still, she couldn't shake off a sparkle of hope.
"Root?" She said in a hoarse voice, unable to add anything else.
The figure stopped a few feet away from her.
But it wasn't Root.
The woman hovered over her, and Martine's blurred face appeared in front of her, her mouth crooked in an ugly smile. She almost jumped in the bed, trying to move away from the woman.
"No, your precious girlfriend is dead." Martine laughed, the words echoing in her head, mocking her.
Shaw sat up, awoken from her nightmare, her heart hammering against her rib cage. It took her a minute to realize she was still in her apartment. The night was dark, and one glance at the clock told her it was 3 am. She turned to her left to see a woman peacefully sleeping next to her, her dark curly hair splayed across the pillows. She nudged her lightly in the back, causing the woman to turn around in her sleep and mutter Shaw's name.
Root.
She was okay.
Shaw hugged her legs, trying to calm her heart rate, but her mind kept replaying the nightmare.
"Your precious girlfriend is dead." She heard Martine's voice in her head. Again, and again.
She started rocking on the bed, soft sobs escaping from her mouth.
Her friends had rescued her from Samaritan over six weeks ago, but her nightmares continued chasing her. Root had told her Martine was gone, but the dead woman's ghost still followed Shaw.
She felt so vulnerable.
She felt broken.
Samaritan operatives had tortured her for two months until she gave up and called Root. Shaw had just wanted to make sure she was alive. But Root had decided to rescue her. The first attempt to save Shaw had been unsuccessful. In fact, it had cost the Machine its life. While Harold and Root had been trying to revive Her, Samaritan operatives―this time without Martine―had continued questioning her for more information.
She didn't know what part of her torture was real. She didn't even know if her sitting on a bed next to Root was real. The drugs they had given her left her wondering whether she could trust her own brain. Her subconscious kept sending her nightmares. The nightmares that looked too real and made her question her sanity.
"Sameen," she heard a sleepy voice call out her name, as Root propped herself on her elbow.
Shaw did not respond, still rocking on the bed. She stared the wall, her brain making her relive her nightmare. Was Root really lying next to her? Or was it Martine again? Had her friends even rescued her? Or did her brain play tricks on her again?
"Are you okay?" Root's voice grew more worried. The woman sat up, throwing the bed covers off her.
"Your precious girlfriend is dead." Shaw muttered Martine's words, her eyes filling with tears.
Shaw felt a tender squeeze on her shoulder and turned her face to Root. She expected the hacker's face to change to Martine's, as it had happened so many times before, but it didn't.
"Sameen, I'm not dead," she heard Root whisper as the woman grabbed her hand. Shaw stopped sobbing, her body shivering at the touch. It felt so real. Was it real? The hacker pressed their hands to her chest, and Shaw felt a steady heartbeat. Root's heartbeat. "I'm okay, see?"
"Not dead…" Shaw whispered. She looked up, meeting the woman's dark eyes. A soft smile flashed across Samantha's face. Shaw relaxed. Her girlfriend is real. Her girlfriend is alive. After all, this may not be an illusion.
"I'm okay." Root let her arm fall at her side, releasing Sameen's hand. She kept her palm pressed against her girlfriend's chest, listening to the heartbeat. It calmed her, her own heart rate finally slowing to normal.
"You're okay," Shaw repeated mindlessly.
"Let me get you some water," Root whispered as she started moving away from her.
"No, don't go. Don't leave me," Shaw grabbed the woman by her night gown, afraid that if she let her go, Root would disappear. She didn't want Root to disappear. She didn't want her to be an illusion.
"Sameen, I'm real. I'm not going to disappear. I'm not going anywhere," Root whispered as if she had known Shaw's thoughts.
Wait.
It was a trick.
Root was not real.
Root couldn't read Shaw's mind.
Only Shaw could.
She released the gown, her brain struggling to tell the reality from an illusion. She hugged her knees again, and started rocking. She felt Root―or whoever this woman was―shift closer to her as a pair of arms wrapped around her.
"Sameen, listen to me. I'm real," she heard the woman murmur in her ear. "I'm not reading your mind, but I do know what you're thinking. We've had this conversation before, remember?"
Memories of the past few weeks flashed before her eyes. Every night there would be a nightmare. Every night Root―the real Root―would be there for her. She would hug Shaw and calm her down. She would still be there in the morning, and she would stay with Sameen throughout the day. At night, they would go to bed, and her nightmares would return. But so would Root.
Shaw turned to her side and wrapped her hands around the hacker's slender body. She buried her head in Root's chest, silently listening to her heartbeat.
Root would always return.
This thought replayed in her head, replacing the nightmare. She didn't know how long they stayed like this before deep dreamless sleep wrapped around her.