InsaneJournal

Root only had a vague idea of where she was. Some kind of hospital room, too bright, too blue. The machines made sounds like she’d never heard before. They sounded wrong, but not in a bad way. She moved her hand to her chest, feeling a little sore but not feeling like she’d had a high impact shell shot into her chest. The voice in her ear was silent. Root’s voice was small, afraid. “...are you there?”

Why would the machine be here if she was dead? She moved her head, looking over at a figure asleep in a chair. A huge grin spread across her face.

“...well hey there, darlin’...I guess I made it to heaven if there’s an angel here.”

Shaw had started adjusting to life on the Enterprise. Military routines were familiar, even in this weird as hell future. And routines and duties and learning about new things--phasers, photon torpedoes, all of it--was...soothing. And a soothed Shaw was better for everyone.

She’d been adjusting. Until she had to drop by sick bay for something--she didn't remember what she'd gone there for after she saw medical personnel scrambling and heard “gunshot wound”--she'd needed to know who it was. And after being nosy as hell and nearly getting herself either sedated or escorted out of sick bay, she'd managed to see the patient.

And the world went spinning out of control. Shaw had to go back to her duties, of course, but only when the patient was stable. Shaw spent the rest of her shift in a daze, then wandered back to sick bay when she was free. Eventually, she'd fallen asleep in a chair.

She woke up to a familiar voice. Shaw blinked and sat up straight in the chair. “...not exactly heaven, but probably not far from your idea of it,” was all she could manage to say just yet. Root was here. Root was alive. And that was throwing off Shaw’s ability to process in a way that only Root could. Still, she caught herself reaching up behind her left ear, taking a deep breath when the skin beneath her fingers held no scar.

That familiar dry voice was music to Root's ear, but then Shaw was a work fo art no matter which angle Root looked at her from.

She pushed up on her elbows. The situation was new and a little scary. Root didn't like to admit to the whole scary thing, so she just flashed another smile at Shaw and looked around. "Where's Harold? John? Her?"

Shaw got out of the chair and gently nudged Root to lie back down. “Take it easy, you--” Almost died. The word “almost” made all the difference. Shaw cleared her throat.

“They're not here. I don't know if they'll show up or not. Who shows up seems pretty random,” she said. She looked at Root for a long moment. “...the Machine made it through. Just...so you know. She's not here, but the ship has a...computer that talks.”

Shaw shrugged. “Welcome to the 23rd century.”

"Sameen, you do care." Root let herself be pushed back down. Shaw's touch was distressingly gentle, which was both adorable and a little terrifying. But then, she always knew Shaw had that in her. Just had to find the right buttons to press and Root loved to find buttons and press them.

If the others were okay, Root could feel a little better. If the Machine had survived, she could actually let herself breathe. The Machine had been the priority. Nothing else mattered, though Shaw came damn close. "It was a close one. She had contigency plans in place. My...sacrifice was one of them."

She quirked her eyebrow at that last information. "The 23rd century. We're two-hundred years into the future?"

Root tried to sit up again. "The computer talks? I want to talk to it, I can only imagine what she'd say! Or how advanced she is!" The Machine's granddaughter, perhaps? Great Granddaughter? Oh the possibilities.

Shaw’s pressure on Root’s shoulders was firmer this time. “Root. You're probably fine now because the medical technology here is amazing, but I'm still kind of old fashioned when it comes to bullet wounds and I need you to stay still.”

She kept her hands on Root’s shoulders for a moment, then reached to tuck a bit of hair behind Root’s ear. Her hand trembled slightly. She let her fingers trail slowly, very slowly, down Root’s jawline to her neck, then down to the pulse at her throat, pressing just enough to feel the steady thrum of life. This was real. This was real.

“That’s really funny coming from you, sweetheart. You’re as bad as John.” Root’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch of Shaw’s fingers. Her pulse might have spiked a little bit, which was noticeable not just to Shaw’s fingers but also to the machine on the bed which beeped a little faster.

“That’s going to give away everything.”

“It's different when it's you.” A million things were running through Shaw's head. It made her a little annoyed, because more of those things fell into the category of feelings than she was comfortable with.

“I...found the guy who k--shot you, after it was all over. Shot him. And not in the kneecaps.”

Root smiled at Shaw, the hint of emotion in her voice every bit as good as anything like a kiss.
"Shooting someone for me, Sameen? I knew it was love."

Somehow that made Shaw laugh, the sort of laugh that sounded half like she'd been holding her breath and half like she might have cried if she'd been anyone else. It broke some of the tension that had been building inside her. She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah. I…” She paused for a moment, then moved to link her fingers with Root’s. She rubbed her thumb across Root’s hand. Keeping her eyes on their hands she said, just above a whisper, “...I'm your arrow…”

An easy retort to Shaw's laughter caught on the tip of Root's tongue and she fell silent. Her eyes moved from their hands, to Shaw's face, and back again, a pensive look on her face. She'd never gotten to tell Shaw what kind of shape she was, aside from a very nice one. Harry hadn't let her tell him, and she'd been shot and ended up here before she'd ever had a change to sit down with Shaw and talk to her for longer than a few minutes. "How?"

Shaw smiled slightly. “She told me. Things were down to the wire but She wanted me to know. She knew you...didn't get the chance to tell me, and She wasn't sure how much time She had left…”

Shaw looked up from their hands. “She chose a voice,” she said. “Yours. So...that's how I heard.”

Eyes watering, Root looked away, staring at a display with data. In her last moments, before she'd lost consciousness, she'd heard the Machine in her ear. "She told me I would live forever."

Blinking her eyes, Root looked at Shaw and smiled as though nothing was wrong at all. "I told you your shape was a good one."

Shaw laughed. “You are the only person who would ever use metaphysics to lead into complementing a body. And I'm so fucking glad you're here.”

It was good to have Root alive. It was also confusing, in a classically Root way; they hadn't really had time to...decompress between reuniting and Root’s death. There'd been a moment or two, yeah, but Samaritan had part crashed the mood. Not that Shaw had minded in the moment, because shooting Samaritan goons had been therapeutic. But they hadn't got to see the end together.

Silently, Root reached over and took Shaw’s hand. She squeezed it, then turned her hand around and lacing her fingers through with Shaw’s. She remembered, very clearly, the look on Shaw’s face when they’d first reunited. A mixture of disbelief and a desperate desire to believe that Root was really Root and that it was all real. She smiled again, that reassuring sort of crazed smile she had. “This is real.”

Shaw felt a lump forming in her throat. She swallowed against it and nodded. She gazed at Root for a moment, then leaned down and pressed her lips to Root’s. It was probably the gentlest kiss they’d had...that wasn't in a simulation, at least.

Again, any comment that Root might make went unsaid. Her smile only widened further as she felt the warmth of Shaw's breath against her lips. Beaming at Shaw, Root lifted her hand to her cheek. "Still feels real?"

Shaw leaned into the touch, smiling. She nodded. “Still feels real.”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Root nodded. She gave Shaw a once over, pensiveness replaced with a come-on look. "I always did like a woman in uniform. Red was always a good color on you."

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Red is for Operations--got some training on new tech and I’m serving as a tactical officer.”

"You can get tactical with me anytime." Root attempted to wink. She could do many things, but winking wasn't one of them. "Good for hiding the blood. Handy!"

That wink. Shaw grinned and shook her head. “Not a lot of shooting going on around here.”

“Not even a shooting range?” That was disappointing. Root did like firing guns when she got a chance. Maybe not as much as Shaw, but enough.

“For training, yeah. They have...phasers--beam weapons. They can be set to stun, like a way more effective taser, or kill.” Shaw grinned at Root. “Guess which setting they prefer you use.”

That seemed to make Root perk up, but then she was already perky. “Maybe I’ll pout at them until they let me try the higher settings. But something tells me Harry would love the idea of only ever having to stun people.”

“Finch would love that,” Shaw agreed. “I don’t think the pouting would work as well on them as...it works on other people.” Still, she would not be surprised if it happened. And the results might be interesting. “But for right now, you should probably rest. The traveler liaison will probably be by to talk to you later.”

"Give me a few days and I'll have them eating out of my palm," Root assured her. She gave Shaw a look, then scooted over in the bed a little bit. Like there was somehow room. There wasn't really room. "Starting with this liaison."

Shaw raised an eyebrow as Root scooted over. Yeah, Shaw was small, but not that small. “That I will have to see. And the liaison is former military, too.” Shaw leaned in a little. “She came here from a version of the 1940s.”

“She?” Root’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline as she thought about that timeframe. “She’s got to be tough as nails. I can work with tough as nails.”

Root leaned in further, putting her hand onto Shaw’s arm.

Shaw decided not to mention the British accent.

Root’s touch made her think of how much she'd missed that--the way her personal bubble did not exist to Root, whether it was a touch or just standing so close they were almost touching. And now here they were, together again. Not a simulation. And no one was trying to kill them.

Shaw sighed. “Fuck it,” she murmured, lying down in what little extra space there was next to Root.

“That’s my girl,” Root murmured, settling back down. For the first time in months she felt like she could actually relax. No numbers to track, no false identities, no tearing the world apart hunting for Shaw.

Maybe she’ll get bored, but right now, she was … exhausted.

Shaw made a slight ‘hrmph’ in acknowledgement of Root’s statement. She lay still for a moment, then gently wrapped an arm around Root’s waist. “Just so I know if you try to get up,” she said. Not entirely true, but whatever.

"I'm not going to go anywhere," Root replied. "After all, you're a very comfortable pillow."

There were a number of ways Shaw could answer that, but she settled on, simply, “Good. You need to rest.”