A few weeks later, Root woke up to a key in the door. She pulled out her pillow gun and aimed it at eye-height.
Even in the dim light she recognised Shaw.
"You nearly got yourself shot," Root teased as she turned on her bedside lamp.
"Yeah, well, wouldn't be the first time tonight," Shaw said, closing the door with difficulty behind her. "Give me a hand with my coat, would you?"
Root got up, padded over in her fuzzy slippers.
"You really should've called first. How do you know I don't have company?" Shaw shot Root a look, and Root helped pull off Shaw's jacket carefully, noting the bullet holes, the smell of blood on Shaw. Root unzipped Shaw's hoodie next, slid it off over her shoulders, hissed when she saw the gunshot wound. Shaw turned her head then, followed Root's gaze and shrugged. Root's hands went to the bottom of Shaw's shirt, but Shaw stopped her, knowing she wouldn't be able to lift her arm over her head.
"Gonna have to cut the shirt off," Shaw said. "Got some Betadine and some vodka?" Root nodded, fetched her medical kit, pulled vodka from the freezer.
Root watched as Shaw started cutting through her shirt, then covered Shaw's hands, took the scissors, cut away at the fabric over her shoulder.
"The whole thing, please. I won't be able to take it off," Shaw asked, when Root pulled away. Root obliged, feeling Shaw's stomach tense beneath her fingers, feeling the lines of Shaw's bra. She should have gone from the back, she thought, blushing as she carefully watched her hands instead of Shaw's face. Root stepped back, dropped the scissors on the table behind her and pulled the shirt away from Shaw's torso, hypnotised by the skin she was uncovering. She stepped away again and watched as Shaw sat at the table, sterilised the clamps in her medical kit, watched as she extracted a bullet from the soft flesh of her shoulder, watched her douse the open wound in Betadine, then throw back a shot of vodka without a single flinch. Shaw looked over at Root, awkwardly hovering, wanting to offer assistance but unsure how. Shaw looked at her shoulder, gave in. She could stitch it herself, but she'd come here for a reason.
"Any good at sewing? Angle's awkward with one hand."
"I can try," Root offered, and took the threaded needle Shaw offered her. Shaw took another swig, and pointed where she needed the first stitch, pretending not to notice the shake in Root's hands. Shaw sat still, offering advice when Root asked for it. She eyed the stitches when Root tied off the end, nodded at the neatness.
"I'm starving. Got anything to eat?" she eyed Root, wondering if she should have knocked as Root was in her underwear and a singlet. Obviously the shorts had been a courtesy for Shaw when she'd stayed here what felt like a lifetime ago now.
"Let me have a look," Root said, knowing the fridge was empty again. Shaw watched her hungrily. Frozen chuck from the lasagna in the freezer, some pasta in the cupboard. The milk was off; Root should have binned it days ago.
Root used to enjoy cooking, but with how often she had to move groceries felt like a waste, and with just herself to take care of she'd lapsed back into bachelor chow again since Shaw had left.
"I can cook something up. Be 15 or so minutes, if you want to clean up."
"Thanks,' Shaw said, a note of exhaustion creeping in as she rifled through Root's drawers for the clothes she'd slept in that first night a lifetime ago. She put the singlet back, opting for a flannel shirt she could probably button. Something that she wouldn't need to pull over her head.
The towel she'd been using when she'd stayed before was where she'd left it on the rack. It almost bothered her how familiar she felt in Root's place, in Root's space. Almost, like this was too good, like it was going to go bad soon and Shaw would just watch it happen, helpless and confused against a tide of anger at things she was and could never be. Root didn't seem the sort of person to resent Shaw for not living up to Root's expectations but that kiss the other night… Shaw knew she shouldn't have but Root was so soft and willing in her arms… it had felt like the right way to thank her. But now it was even more complicated, and Shaw didn't know if she had ruined the comfortable friendship they'd had, if Root resented her for leaving, if Root was expecting more. She could have gone home, taken care of the wound herself, but it was a good excuse to come…
…
home.
The room was cooler than she remembered, and she realised Root mustn't be using the heating just for herself, that she'd turned it on when Shaw stayed because she had company. Root's life didn't look spartan, but Shaw knew where to look and saw Root denying herself little conveniences - conveniences the machine paid for. Because why? Did Root not think she was worth keeping warm?
To Shaw's disappointment Root had put shorts on while Shaw was in the shower. Shaw sat at the table and Root put a plate in front of her, a mass of noodles and beef. The bottle of tabasco Shaw had left was placed beside it.
"Thanks," Shaw said, through a mouthful of food. "I would have called first but I didn't realise I was on my way here till I was here." Shaw swallowed. "I mean, I was closer to here than home."
"I don't mind,' Root said quietly. She knew that at some time, maybe even a week ago, Shaw would have gone home alone, stitched it herself, fed herself. It was like… when horse whisperers worked, they quietly reinforced that the wild animals were safe with them. She kind of felt like one of those people who fed hummingbirds, feeding something small and fragile that felt safe enough to rest in her hands.
"This is good, you not having any?"
"There's more in the kitchen if you're still hungry," Root answered.
"Oh, I meant… have you had dinner?"
"Not really," Root sighed, missing Shaw's concern
"Then… join me? You need to eat too." Shaw said bluntly, and Root nodded wordlessly, dished herself out a small bowl, sat next to Shaw at the table, dug listlessly at the food.
"Why did you come here?" Root asked finally, watching Shaw hungrily devour the makeshift meal.
"Like I said, I was closer to here than my place. Plus shoulders are a bitch to stitch. Plus," Shaw gestured to the bowl, "I like your food."
"Are you staying? You're dressed like you're staying."
"Is that ok?" Shaw asked, uncertainty creeping into her tone. She hadn't expected Root to not want her here, hadn't expected the comment about Root maybe having someone over.
"Of course," Root said placidly. "You're always welcome here. Wherever I am. With me."
Root sounded tired, and Shaw had second thoughts for the first time. She'd come here on instinct, expecting… a worried but affectionate Root, not this tired and slightly sad one.
"I can go home?"
"No. Stay, please." Root shook her head, tried to smile. "I'm just still half asleep. I'd only just gone to bed."
"It's 3am," Shaw pointed out.
"I know. But there's so much work to be done."
Shaw looked over, dropped her fork into the bowl. Her hand hesitated near Root's, then picked up her fork again.
"The machine doesn't want you burnt out," Shaw said with some concern. "She needs you at your best."
"I know." Root yawned, picked up her empty bowl and took it to the kitchen. "You want more?" Root asked.
Shaw looked down, appetite gone a little. She'd thought she'd seen Root's life when she'd stayed here, but it was sadder, lonelier than she'd thought. The machine really was her only friend, the rest of her hours spent alone. No wonder Root had been so keen to meet the machine, so keen to interlope into Finch's team.
Shaw liked being alone, but she knew other people didn't. She thought Root might appreciate her company, but it just seemed to be making her feel more isolated tonight.
"No, thanks," she called eventually. "Go back to bed, I'll wash up."
"Thanks," Root called from the kitchen, and Shaw watched Root walk over to the bed, tuck herself under the familiar covers.
Shaw tidied away the medical supplies, dabbed at her hoodie and coat with hydrogen peroxide, used a sewing kit she found to stitch the holes in the sleeves. Washed the dishes as quietly as she could, put them away from memory in the light from the range.
Shaw looked over at the bed, uncertain, then pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, rolled herself up in it on the couch.
"What are you doing?" Root asked, sitting up.
"I thought you were asleep. I didn't want to… you didn't offer, I didn't ask."
"Get in here, sweetie." Root's voice had finally softened, was finally affectionate.
Gratefully Shaw joined Root in the bed, luxuriating in the comfortable mattress, the warmth of Root's body after the coolness of the room. Root turned to face her.
"I worry, when you get shot," Root said by means of explanation in regards to her subdued behaviour. She rested her hand on Shaw's shoulder, could feel how swollen the muscles were. "I don't like to think about losing you."
"I'm fine, Root. Barely a flesh wound."
"But you came here to take care of it."
"Your place was closer," Shaw shrugged. Root's hand had moved down to Shaw's rib cage, finding comfort in the steady rise and fall of Shaw's chest.
"But you came here. And now I worry. One of these days you won't get lucky. One of these days they won't miss and we need you in this fight. I need you to be more careful." Normally Shaw would have rolled her eyes, but she was more of a team player now that the team needed each other to survive. She nodded.
"I'm careful," she said assured Root, noting the pattern Root's thumb was making along one of her ribs. She wanted to change the subject, remembering how cold it had been when she'd come in. "But Root, we need you in this fight too. You can't live like this. You can't live for the machine alone. You need something left over for you too." Root's hand withdrew, tucked itself under Root's cheek.
"You know who I was, before. This is all… she rehabilitated me. Without her, I'm nothing."
"Without her, you're still Root. And I think that's worthwhile. You're not the demon you think you are."
"I've killed people." Root said quietly. "A lot of people."
"So have I." Shaw said, wondering if Root would be coming to a point soon.
"You had orders," Root pointed out.
"You got paid. We've killed people. We still kill people. Less people now… but bad guys. We kill the right people, Root."
"I wish I was more like you. Able to shut it out.. but you still fight with us."
"I understand the value of the work I do here. It sits better with me than being used by the government, being kept in the dark. You're honest about the machine when you can be. I like that. I don't think you've ever lied to me. I like that too."
"Are you trying to tell me you like me?" Root asked coyly. Shaw rolled her eyes.
"I'm in your apartment, of course I like you," Shaw said bluntly, ignoring the innuendo. "The machine wants to take care of you, but you won't take care of yourself."
"I do," Root weakly protested.
"You don't. Yeah, you feed and wash yourself, but you're awake all night fighting or researching or implementing. You don't take time for yourself. There must be times she tells you to sleep, to shut down."
"There are," Root admitted.
"And do you listen?"
"No. This fight is too important. I'm just a cog."
"You're more than a cog to her. I'm a cog. You're a friend to her, if computers have friends. Or, like, her cool aunt. She can't talk to Finch the way she does to you; she needs you, and she needs you to take care of yourself."
"I'm not very good at it," Root protested.
"You took care of me. When I stayed there was hot homemade meals. What did you eat today?"
"An apple, some juice."
"You like apples," Shaw said slowly, thinking back to a time Root had eaten an apple while Shaw had fought a CIA agent. "It's not enough. You can take care of me, but not yourself? You didn't even turn the heating on until I got here."
"You're worried about me," Root finally said in wonder. "Honest to goodness worried, Well, I'll be."
"Don't read too much into that," Shaw warned. "Or… what I did when I came for dinner the other night. It can't go anywhere." Root found Shaw's hand, held it in her own.
"I'm the one who's been keeping her hands to herself." Root reminded Shaw. "You're the one coming to my bed, sleeping on top of me."
"You offered," Shaw countered
"I offered my bed," Root pointed out.
"You've been offering yourself since we met," Shaw replied.
Root paused. That was true; she didn't really have the high ground she was claiming here.
"Why did you stay here, when your place caught fire?" Root asked finally. "You could have got a hotel, stayed with Harold or John. Why here?"
"I like being alone. There's less... noise... less trying to understand people's emotions. But I don't like being lonely."
"You have Bear for that."
"And you." Shaw looked at Root, her face expressive, trying to convey something she couldn't with words. "You get it. You get me. You get… why people are hard and guns - or machines in your case - are easy. You push your own agenda, sure. But you get it. You get me. Been a long time since someone did that."
"I know you have a medical condition. I know it's not a childhood trauma thing, I know I can't convince you to care for me. I know there's no cure, I know you won't wake up one day and suddenly be an openly affectionate person. We both know you can't care for me. And I don't mind. I think you mind more than I do. But I'd like it if you could let me care for you. Because right now, I'm having trouble taking care of myself, and having you here is good motivation."
Shaw turned her hand in Root's then, startling Root. She looked at Root's face on the pillow, so close to hers.
"Everyone I've been with, they all wanted to change me. They all expected more from me than I could give them. They thought I needed fixing, and got frustrated when I couldn't change," Shaw said quietly.
"They were idiots. They can't improve on perfection," Root stated, like it was a known fact that she thought Root was perfect the way she was.
Shaw leaned forward slowly, seeing the smile on Root's face disappear. She pressed her mouth to Root's, wrapped an arm over Root's back, cupped the back of her neck and kissed her.
When Shaw kissed, it was aggressive, passionate. It was always a precursor to vigorous sex, but this kiss… Shaw had never kissed anyone like this. She pulled away, mouth still closed. Looked at Root, whose eyes had fluttered closed.
"You deserve someone who can... care for you. Love you."
"You don't know what I've done. What I deserve," Root said bitterly.
"I know who you are now, and I know you deserve better."
Root laughed. "I'll never find anyone better, don't you get that? I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anyone, but you're what I want."
"So you're what? Just making do? Finding someone who can't love you to make up for your past?"
"No. I don't deserve you, but I want you. I can't 'deserve better' because there's no one better. The Machine would have told me if there was, and she hasn't. She likes you, by the way. And you're wrong. You do, in your way. You do care about me, just a little, but for you it's a lot," Root pointed out.
"It's an illusion. A delusion. Something you're telling yourself. I'm not capable…" Shaw explained, having had this conversation before.
"You are, though. The way you touch Bear, the way you touch your gun... That's the way you touch me. I pay attention. I notice... everything, and what I don't notice The Machine does. You touch John and Harry like they're tables. You touch me like something that matters. You help me on my suicide missions. You check in with Harry to see if I've survived the night if you haven't heard from me. You care, and for anyone else it would be the tiniest thing, but for you… it's so much."
"I suppose you might think... you're just fragile, alright. All those thin little limbs, no padding, so easy to break. And you're not trained properly. If The Machine doesn't warn you, you don't know basic recon, and you don't have her in your ear all the time now. It'd be easy for someone to get the jump on you. We're a team. We need all of us to fight Samaritan, just to survive."
"You don't do the same for John," Root pointed out.
"Reese can take care of himself," Shaw said, frustrated.
"And you think, what I'm some helpless damsel?"
"No, I know you don't have our training and I…" Shaw cut herself off before she said 'worry about you'.
"You've punched me in the face, but you gently led me hooded through darkness for the CIA drop. Your hands were soft where you held me to guide me. You held my head so I wouldn't bump it on the van doorway - The Machine had told me to duck but I didn't. I wanted to know what you'd do, and you showed your hand. You've been showing it ever since. You play off being flustered as being annoyed. But if you really hated the way I speak to you, the way I hit on you, you would have made me stop a very long time ago.
"So when you say you can't love me, I can't believe you. I don't love, either. Well, the Machine, computers. Things without emotions, things running on code. In binary. And you're... You're that black and white.
"I can read you like a text- based game. Pick up your attempt at lies like one mistake in a 800 line perl. You're the closest I'll get to a machine. But you're…" Root raised her hand to Shaw's face, brushed her hair away from her face "more beautiful than even the most organised server farm, the most elegant cluster, the most meticulously designed OS…" Root slipped her hand from where it had been cupping Shaw's cheek. Let it drop to Shaw's chest, where it rested over her heart. A heart that was pounding at Root's proximity.
"I don't like people. I don't understand their code. They're too... easy. They're easy to read, and hard to give a damn about. I never minded being alone until I met you. I never... enjoyed anyone's company as I have enjoyed yours. You're good code, Sameen."
If Root didn't know any better, she'd think she'd seen a tear slip down Shaw's face. Shaw kissed her again, and again, and the way Shaw touched her, Root knew that her study of Shaw had been accurate.
Author's note: I fly out in a few days, not sure where I'm going or what I'm doing yet but YAY CANADA.
It's really awkward typing 'Root' as a noun instead of an admin login 'root' as I need to do Linux stuff for work so I just type root every time instead.
Review if you liked it - more to come, not sure when because 25 hours on a plane is the longest I'll have been without internet in two years. Should have wifi and cell service most of the time, but will be traipsing around on my stupid unstable joints and not staring at a computer.
