Root dispassionately shot a few people at the rendezvous, wishing Reese was still around. Harper and her crew were good, but there was something missing these days from the team. Finch was in Italy with Grace, and Root had never found Shaw, even after taking down Samaritan a year ago. Root had visited Samaritan facilities all over the world looking for her; she thought she'd gotten close in Africa and again in South America, and again in Australia, but each time she came up empty and The Machine never told her anything about her former... Colleague? Friend? And without Samaritan, without a single worthy opponent, Root was... Disheartened. The Machine was good company, but Root had turned a little into Finch, holding memories of someone she could never be with.

Root sighed and unlocked her apartment.

Shaw was sitting at the table, one foot on the table as she patched up a bloody wound in her calf. Shaw looked up as Root came in, watched blankly as Root inhaled sharply in shock.

"Help me out, would ya?" Shaw asked, throwing Root some tape. Shaw had evidently been trying to cover her wound with gauze but needed both hands, one of which had bloody knuckles. Root sat next to Shaw and replaced the gauze over the would, taped it sturdily before turning to Shaw's knuckles, aware of Shaw watching her. Shaw took Root's hand, examined it a moment, the chipped black nail polish having seen better days. Shaw nodded and let Root take her hand to check the knuckles.

Root cleaned Shaw's knuckles with the antiseptic Shaw had found in her cupboards, left them open as she held Shaw's hand in hers. There was so much Root wanted to say, and it made sense now that there had always been a couple of shots that Root couldn't quite verify the location of, that there was sometimes a few people missing from the headcounts of originations they took on. There'd been a new urban legend to replace The Man in the Suit, a woman dressed in black they called The Specter. Root had meant to look into that but lately she'd lost focus on anything that wasn't just shooting people that might have hurt Shaw. Root looked down at Shaw's hand. She let go reluctantly, and Shaw shrugged off her black leather jacket. There was another wound on her arm, covered in duct tape. Shaw looked at Root expectantly, and Root went to the kitchen, brought back some eucalyptus oil to dissolve the adhesive. Shaw watched her with the same blank expression as she tended to the wound, and Root sighed, running her fingers over Shaw's bicep before reaching for the gauze again.

Root had thought that when she found Shaw, she would throw herself into Shaw's arms and be warmly received. She'd thought about that kiss... Root looked up at Shaw, who was watching her intently. Shaw had said nothing since Root had come home, hadn't been forthcoming at all. She'd been missing for well over a year, she'd been clearly taking cases in the city and The Machine had clearly kept it from Root, probably at Shaw's insistence. Yet here she was, in Root's tiny apartment on the 7th floor of a rundown building, watching Root as though Root was the most fascinating thing she'd seen. The last time Root had seen Shaw, Shaw had saved her life and kissed her with all the passion of a lover. And here she'd shown up as though nothing had ever happened.

"How..." Root started, but Shaw cupped her cheek, one thumb over Root's lips. Root's lips parted and Shaw watched her thumb trace Root's bottom lip. Shaw stood suddenly.

"I can't," Shaw said, and walked out onto the apartment's fire escape. Root could hear the sound of metal meeting brick, the sound of the fire escape being used. Root picked up Shaw's jacket and held it to her face for a moment, inhaled the gunpowder and cinnamon she'd been longing for. Then she careened out on the fire escape, nearly barreling into Shaw who hadn't gone as far as the noises from the fire escape had implied. She was leaned against one wall, foot on the wall behind her as she touched her own mouth with the same thumb that had been against Root's mouth.

An indirect kiss, Root could remember saying almost a million years ago.

"Your jacket," Root said, holding it out. "It's cold."

Shaw nodded, and Root held it out for Shaw to put on. Shaw turned her back to shrug into the sleeves, and Root wrapped her arms around her from behind.

Shaw made a small noise in protest, but Root shushed her. "Just watch."

There was a traffic light on the corner, and Root counted down '3, 2, 1,' right before it turned green.

The street was bathed in a magnificent glow, and it bounced in ways that replicated something Root had known Shaw had loved.

"The light," Shaw said in wonder, half-turning in Root's arms.

"I come out here to watch it sometimes," Root said shyly. Shaw turned back around, watched two more cycles before she spoke again, turning to look at Root's face bathed in emerald light.

"There's no plan, just what happens," Shaw said, remembering.

"And what happens next," Root echoed back. Shaw looked away, and Root was reminded that she didn't know what Samaritan had done to her, how long it had been since she escaped, how she felt about Root, how she felt about not being rescued, how she felt about The Machine, reminded that Root didn't really know this version of Shaw; so much had happened and they were not the same people they had been at the Stock Exchange. But despite all the awareness of the change of situation, Shaw felt the same in Root's arms. A little more muscular, perhaps, but Shaw felt familiar pressed against Root like this and that was the best comfort Root had had since Shaw had been taken.

"What happens next?" Shaw asked, and if Root didn't know any better she would have sworn Shaw's voice was shaking.

"That's up to you, Sameen," Root said, looking at Shaw in the red light from the street below. Shaw pushed Root backwards, against the outside wall of her apartment. Shaw buried her face in Root's neck, then let her hands come up to Root's face, cupping her cheeks then slipping down to the lapels of Root's jacket. Shaw tilted Root's face down a little, pressed her mouth next to Root's right ear. Root would have sworn Shaw was trembling, and she let her hands pull Shaw tighter against her, away from the cold night air. Shaw's mouth travelled Root's jaw, pausing near her mouth. Root felt Shaw's shaky exhale, thought about moving in the few millimeters that separated Shaw's lips from her own but held back, worried of making Shaw flee again.

Shaw brought her lips to Root's slowly, as though she was savouring it. Her hands on Root's lapel moved to Root's shoulders, holding her close.

Root had always expected that being kissed by Shaw would be like the last time, only amplified. She'd expected dominance and passion, not this excruciatingly slow and tender kiss that felt like a goodbye, more even than the last one had.

Shaw pulled away slowly, pressed her forehead to Root's, breathing hard. Shaw's hands slipped down to hold Root tighter than she'd ever been held. Root hadn't had many hugs in her adult life; she lived alone, on the run more than half the time. Any hugs she'd distributed had been manipulation. But this... this was firm and warm and entirely unexpected.

"I have some of your things. Well, I moved them to another locker, so Samaritan couldn't get them. I didn't think to move them back, but either way I had the key..." Root trailed off as Shaw's cold nose pressed against her throat. The hair next to her face was so soft, smelt so reassuringly of Shaw that Root was content to just stand in the cold air of the fire escape being held by her missing... friend? Colleague? Everything?

Shaw pulled away suddenly, studied Root's face.

"It's not safe," Shaw said reluctantly. She pulled Root back in for another hug, equally tight but quick this time, and then she took off down the fire escape.

Root had scoped out this place before she had moved in; she always did when she moved somewhere new. She knew the sound of the stairs, the squeak of metal against brick. She knew the sounds the different flights made, and Shaw hadn't gone down more than one flight. She stayed on the fire escape a long time, watching the lights change from red to amber to green, watched until she felt the New York cold seep into her bones. She was about to turn in when she felt the fire escape move under the weight of someone else, the vibration of someone moving very slowly and almost silently up towards her landing. She waited, propped against the wall, as Shaw came back up.

"This has to be real," Shaw said cryptically. "You have to be real."

Root shrugged and smiled.

"Come inside and find out what happens next?" Root offered, and Shaw nodded before following Root home.

Notes:

Last chapter, unless there's a particular call for more.

It has struck me that I haven't written anything from Root's perspective.

I finished a long day of work after midnight, and walking back to the car I had so much trouble getting a parking spot for, after driving though peak hour I walked through empty street, down an empty city road with traffic lights changing on cycle throwing the street into strange glows.

Root could definitely hack a single set of lights to emulate the Northern Lights on green between 2 and 4am.