Chapter Text
The first time Shaw got out of the safe house was three days after her return. Everyone was worried about it, especially Root who refused to take her eyes off of her even when she was sleeping, but there was nothing they could do to obstruct her from leaving, not after the outburst she had.
It wasn’t a big deal, John had said and Harold agreed, but Root knew better. She knew Shaw. And this person that had returned and looked like her –only thinner- wasn’t the person that once was willing to die so that they could live.
Shaw used to get angry and frustrated and impatient. Now there was nothing. Now she would look at them with a stare that everyone could discern how empty it was but no one would admit it and then she’d find a pretense to leave the room or play with Bear or clean a gun; anything to avoid having to deal with feelings.
Feelings that no one was sure she had anymore. Not even anger or annoyance. She would hear everything, maybe even reply sometimes, watch everything, talk about everything, but she would never express any feeling, as if nothing could affect her anymore. Not even Root’s innuendos or Finch’s unsuccessful attempts to communicate.
And now there she was, shutting the door behind her and leaving Root behind as if being there for her meant nothing, as if Root couldn’t help her anymore.
And maybe she couldn’t but still she stayed.
She stayed at the safe house all night, watchful and worried, waiting for Shaw to come back. She would come back, Root was sure of it, she just needed some time to find herself, to remember all those things she once felt, to miss Root only a bit of how she had missed her.
That’s what Root was telling herself all night, a reassurance, and when Shaw came back she forgot everything.
Because Shaw returned more indifferent than she had left five hours ago. She hadn’t found herself; on the contrary she had lost it all the more and on top of that there was now a wound decorating her forehead that kept bleeding uncontrollably making her face look like a Jordan Eagles’ painting.
“What happened to you?” Root almost screamed as she sprang forward and took Shaw’s head in her hands to inspect the damage.
“Someone thought it was a good idea to hit on me” Shaw said as if she was describing another day in the office. The blood still running from her face and a grin on it that one would think she enjoyed it.
“And you let him- what? Crash a bottle against your head?” Root asked genuinely confused about how could a trained operative end like this just by attracting a guy in a bar.
“No that was his friend after I broke his hand” Shaw said almost proud of herself as she sat on the couch and turned on the television while Root was still pressing a towel against her forehead.
And she let her, for however long it took her to stop the bleeding Root was standing beside her with a hand behind her neck to keep her steady and the other holding the towel.
That was the closest they’d been in months and the moment Root realized it it was too late to ignore the feeling in her stomach, the dizziness she felt every time she touched Shaw. And so she stayed there, feeling Shaw’s body so close to her own, her neck under her palm warm, her heartbeat surprisingly slow and all that without Shaw complaining about the contact.
She was just sitting on the couch that three days now was hosting Root, unaffected by the hand on her neck that its fingers had started tracing patterns a couple of minutes ago, as though she didn’t care or didn’t consider it a big deal to comment upon.
Until she perceived the –unneeded- additional time that the towel was pressed against her wound and flinched.
“I believe the bleeding should have stopped by now” she said but kept paying attention to the screen.
That pushed Root out of her thoughts and she nodded, clearly dazzled, before removing unwillingly her hands from Shaw’s head.
Indeed the bleeding had stopped, Root made sure of it by staring at Shaw for the next hour until Shaw snapped.
“Why are you still here?” she said and this time turned to look at Root who seemed unfazed by the question.
“You’re sitting on my couch” Root replied as if she was explaining the most obvious thing in the world.
“You know what I mean” Shaw tried to keep calm but failed and that was the first time Root discern a small amount of feeling emerging from this apathetic body that three days now did nothing but living. It was only anger, but even that was enough right now. Anything but that indifferent behavior Root had to deal with since Shaw’s return.
“Then you know why” Root’s reply was sincere and sweet and too much for Shaw to handle. So she stood up and made a move to leave but regretted it. There was one more thing she needed to say, one thing she should have said the day Root brought her in here and promised her she would keep her safe no matter what.
“It’s pointless” she said and turned to go to her bedroom until a grip on her wrist stopped her midway.
She didn’t look at the person behind her, her stare locked on the bedroom’s door, but she felt her coming impossibly closer until her body was pressed against her back and her hand now was more stroking than holding Shaw’s wrist.
Then a breath came to caress Shaw’s ear, so hot that one would think a thousand explosions were happening inside her lungs, and the next moment she whispered the question Shaw had been asking herself for the last couple of days.
“Is it?”