002.

"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy."

ii. ROOT

Root had never been scared of pain. In fact, she thrived on it. It was almost enjoyable, in the right contexts; a sign that she was alive. She felt everything. Numbness was not something she enjoyed.

Her hands are gripped tight on the steering wheel when she feels a sharp punch to the gut. The gasp gives her away but she isn't going to give up yet, despite the horror she can feel radiating from Harold beside her. How many bullets had she taken over the years? She'd survived all of them, nothing she was ever too scared about. But this one feels different. Everything feels different.

Sameen.

Sweat pools under her fingers on the wheel, her eyes trained deliberately forward. It has been a whole year without Shaw, and Root doesn't plan on leaving her now. But it doesn't look like she has a choice – Harold is the top priority now. Get him to safety. Protect the Machine. There is a buzzing in her ears that has nothing to do with Her, and for the first time Root fears she might actually die.

I can't leave Sameen.

The Machine rattles off simulation statistics in her head, but Root stops Her. They can't go back from this. "Harry," she grounds out, each word sticking in her lungs. "Remember what I told you a few years back? About what I needed you to tell Sameen?"

"Yes." His voice is low and unsteady. The blood on Root's shirt is spreading too quickly, even he knows that.

Her head feels light and she pushes on the gas harder. "You have to tell her. This time. Please." Words are tougher now; her lungs burning almost as bad as the hole in her side. Harold is silent. "Promise me!" she yells, rough and teary and desperate. Images of a short tempered brunette flash across her dim field of vision and Root wonders if she would ever get to say goodbye.

"I promise, Root," Harold whispers, regret poisoning his voice. No sooner have they reached the hospital then Root's body goes limp. The last thing she sees before she blacks out is Harold's bespectacled face; tears in his eyes and his soft voice repeating I'll tell her, Ms. Groves, I'll tell her.

XXX

There are too many lights. Damn hospitals. Root blinks her eyes open, exhausted and pain stricken though she is. This is the final bullet, she thinks. Her last stand.

(In a hospital. Alone. Bloody and broken and without Shaw.)

Doctors are talking over her but they wouldn't give her any information the Machine isn't already supplying. She is awfully talkative - too many statistics and updates, giving Root a play by play of everything she can already feel. The edges of the room are hazy, but she finds the security camera easily enough. Root forces her eyes to stay open.

Beside her, doctors are scrambling to keep her alive. Her heart monitor is beeping hysterically, and Root stares quizzically at her god's eye. She is still breathing - but the doctors don't think so. She knows enough to hold still. Slowly, the room empties. Root can feel her own blood on her fingertips.

"So," she whispers, "this is what dying feels like."

"There is nothing the surgeons could have done to make this process better. You would need more advanced care. I am sorry."

Exhaling burns. "I'd need Shaw, wouldn't I?" The Machine is silent. "Figures."

"I can contact her, if you wish."

Root blinks slowly. Seeing Shaw again might make this all more bearable - for her, anyway - but there isn't enough time. "All this time I spent trying to find her," she laments, "and it all goes to waste." Her eyelids are heavy. The Machine stops spitting out so many statistics.

"I can call her. There is still time."

Maybe there is. Root nods and lifts a shaking hand to her wound. For a glimmer of a second, she is almost glad dying takes so long.

"Root?" Shaw's crackling voice in her ear floods her with a sudden warmth she thought she'd never feel again. "Root are you okay, what's going on?"

"Hey sweetie." Talking sucks. "Things are looking a little...dismal, actually." Blackness begins to encroach her vision, but Root blinks furiously and focuses on the little red light on the ceiling.

"No, Root, you..." Shaw cuts off.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Her voice is light. "I just needed to talk to you before...you know. I wanted to thank you."

A sniff smothered in static follows. "For what?"

"Just being you, Sameen. I wouldn't want you any other way." A smile flickers briefly on Root's face. "Y'know, I think if you were a shape, Sam, you'd be a line. An arrow. You always pointed me back home."

Shaw's voice is different when she speaks. Root can't hear her very well, but she knows Shaw better than anyone. The volume has been turned all the way up. "I'm sorry, Root. I should've stayed with you, I should've...saved you."

"It's okay, Sameen. You did save me. You both did." Root blinks one last time at the Machine. "Stay on the line?"

(She isn't even sure who she is asking.)

"Of course."

"Yeah Root. I'm here."

The pain has finally started to fade. Shaw's voice echoes in her implant, overlaying with the Machine's so she can't tell the difference. But that is okay.

Root exhales a final time and lay still, eyes trained unseeing on the camera.

XXX

[ SIM 1 ]

The sky is just starting to lighten above the city. The occasional car appears on the street; neon signs flicker and buzz in the gray morning. A car alarm chirps, and the only answer it receives is the gentle bark of a dog.

The dog in question pads along beside his owner as they make their way into the depths of the city. The subway is still quiet when they enter, the only sounds come from the Machine. Sameen Shaw lets Bear off his leash and rubs between his ears, before making her way to the bedroom nook across from the car.

Shaw plops down on the narrow bed, placing a plastic bag beside her. Shifting the blankets, she uncovers a head of brunette curls and grins.

"Hey Eeyore, wake up, I brought food. You might be able to eat some if you get your lazy ass up."

"How sweet of you, Sam." Root's voice is muffled by her pillow. After another minute in which she accepts she isn't falling back to sleep, the hacker rolls over and smiles up at Shaw. "Pancakes?"

Shaw smirks as Root sits up and rests her head on her hand, shooting puppy eyes at the agent. "Maybe."

There is something different about Shaw this morning, Root can tell, but she can't put her finger on it. Something about her smile – too much? – or her attitude – she never willingly shares her food unless Root has been hurt recently – or the way she moves – her hand keeps straying to her temple. But Root shrugs it off and leans closer, placing a kiss on Shaw's cheek. To her surprise, she doesn't even get an eye roll in response. Just Shaw's gentle gaze.

"Food?" Root asks, looking longingly at the bag beside Shaw.

Moment over, Shaw snorts and grabs the bag possessively. "Come get it," she teases, before stalking out of the room.

Root whines, which only fuels Shaw's amusement. Slowly standing, the hacker absentmindedly rubs at her side. She bids good morning to the strangely quiet Machine and scratches Bear between the ears, then meanders through the subway after Shaw and her pancakes.