Chapter Text
“Does it ever bother you that I never say ‘I love you’?”
Shaw’s voice comes out just above a whisper, she hardly recognizes the uncharacteristic waver and softness in her tone. If Root wasn’t laying on her chest, she probably wouldn’t have even heard the question.
It isn’t the first time Shaw’s wondered this, but usually the thought is fleeting, bouncing in her head on a few occasions, but easily ignored. It usually pops up when the heavy reality of her and Root’s developing dynamic seeps in. Shaw never expected to voice this thought, especially not as they were both reemerging from a post-sex haze that is all too familiar between them.
The holding each other is a more recent development as well. It used to happen once in a while, but Shaw would always express her distaste for it. The intimacy was too overwhelming. Now, in their post-Samaritan world though, holding Root, especially after an orgasm or five, has become second nature. The feeling of her weight firmly against Shaw’s own, that reminder that she’s there, that they’re safe, that this isn’t another simulation is something that Shaw has come to value. The way she can feel Root’s pulse thrumming against her serves as a reminder of how far they’ve come, how far she’s come.
Root doesn’t move from her spot on Shaw’s chest, her warm breath tickling the still somewhat sticky skin of her breast. Shaw feels Root’s hand stretch and trace down her forearm, fingertips grazing gently before intertwining their fingers.
“No.” Root says firmly.
Shaw senses the certainty in Root’s answer. Her breath didn’t stutter, her pulse didn’t quicken, Root answered swiftly like she didn’t have to think about it at all, like it was the simplest question she could have ever been asked. That unfaltering answer pulls at something so deeply in Shaw’s gut, she can’t name it, but it causes her to lean up a bit and look down intensely at Root.
Feeling Shaw’s curious gaze on her, Root shifts her head up to look back at her. Root is a master at reading people, it’s a trick of the trade, a perk and skill resulting from the chameleonic life she has had for years. After these past few years though, Root is most adept at reading Shaw, at reading between her lines. Root can see the unasked question in her dark eyes. Others would probably read Shaw’s face as expressionless, but Root knows better. She easily recognizes the small details, the different catch of light in her eyes. She gives Shaw’s hand a strong squeeze.
“Sweetie,” Root breathes out gently, “there’s nothing about you or the way you express yourself that I would want to change.”
Shaw holds her gaze, swallowing loudly. Leave it to Root to figure out the core concern behind the inquiry, without so much as another word. She’s good like that, Shaw thinks.
Shaw doesn’t say anything, but she is running through the thoughts in her head trying to determine the best way to articulate what’s on her mind. That is also a more recent development. Since Samaritan’s takedown and Shaw’s return home, she has worked to be more mindful of her thoughts and open with them, for Root’s sake. Root, the only one who never gave up on her, Root, the one who burned down the world to find her, Root, the one who never asks more from her than what she can give, Root, her safe place.
Before she could come up with the words, Root speaks gently.
“You don’t need to say it, for me to know it’s true, Sameen.”
“Root,” Shaw cuts in, harsher than she intended. “I don’t know what love means. I don’t know what it is...what it feels like. You know I can’t –”
This exchange causes Root to abruptly get up and let go of Shaw’s hand. The former ISA agent immediately feels the loss of the hacker’s warmth against her, she can’t help but miss the tether that Root’s hand in her own provided. Shaw stiffens out of fear that her confession and insistence on her lack of feelings has hurt Root.
With big brown doe eyes fixed on Shaw’s sharp features, Root is quick to allay this tension. She had turned her body to lay more fully on her side, head propped up by her elbow. There’s no anger or hurt on Root’s face, just an open, tender expression Shaw knows she alone is privy to. It makes her feel especially naked under her scrutiny. Shaw unclenches her jaw when she feels Root’s hand on her again. It’s like she knew Shaw needed her touch to ground her in the moment as her thumb took to softly tracing the scar tissue from one of Martine’s gunshot wounds on her side. Her touches were light, but enough for Shaw to feel the growing knot in her gut loosen.
“You’ve told me that you’ve loved me before thousands of times.” Root replies matter-of-factly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Shaw’s brow creases and she shoots upright as she interjects.
“But I –”
Shaw’s mental alarms were sounding off, her hackles up. She didn’t want to move away from Root, but at the same time the space felt necessary, even if she is still beside her. Shaw bent her knees in a bit so she could rest her arms on them. She couldn’t help but fidget a little as she worked to stay present in her body, in the moment, to not retreat. Wringing her hands she took a deep breath.
Root to her credit, was unfazed by Shaw’s outburst. Instead she took to the updated view of Shaw’s strong back mottled with several scars she’s taken the time memorize since their reunion, in the wake of Samaritan’s fall. She can see the tense muscles of Shaw’s back, the tightness in her shoulder blades, Root reaches out again, trailing winding lines down the length of Shaw’s spine. Shaw leans into the touch so quickly, as if on instinct. Root waited to feel a slight decrease in the tautness of Shaw’s frame before continuing.
“Sameen, you said it when you biked to Jersey for me because you thought I was in danger, back when what we had was still so nebulous compared to today.”
At that, Shaw’s ears seem to perk up, she turns slowly, reminding Root of a scared but curious kitten, easily spooked.
”I told you,” Shaw gripes with a scowl, more to herself than anything, “I did that for the mission.”
With a wry smile, looking right past Shaw’s familiar deflections, Root continues.
“You say it whenever you punch a perp extra hard because they managed to lay a hand on me.”
Shaw rolls her eyes.
”Aren’t you the one who said you’re the only one who can hurt me?” Shaw grumbles. “Works both ways, Root,” she says looking directly at her.
Root pauses, purses her lips for a moment in contemplation as Shaw stares, unwavering. She takes a breath. “You said it when you kissed me at the stock exchange and went all self-sacrifice on me.”
With this memory arising, Shaw feels a keen need to feel Root against her again. It’s been a few years, but she knows the effects of her capture are still felt by them both. The trauma of the ordeal a stain on their beings, one they are working to scrub away but coexist with, together. Shaw lays back down, pulling Root’s narrow frame against her. Root reclaims her spot on her chest as they both seem to relax minutely. Root’s hand takes to tracing small infinity signs on her chest, harkening back to Root’s endearing rambling about shapes. Shaw feels like she could finally let out a breath she was holding in. Drawing Root in she threads her hand through her hair, appreciating the softness of the waves, Root’s smell of apple blossom shampoo and the slight hint of sweat. As Root fills her senses, it makes her chest feel lighter.
They’re quiet for a few minutes.
“You’ve told me you loved me over 7000 times just in those simulations alone. Every time you turned that gun on yourself rather than hurt me.” Root feels Shaw stiffen at the memory. She grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles, still slightly swollen from punching a hired gun out earlier.
“You said it when you killed Blackwell for shooting me... Whenever you make me breakfast and make sure I eat...Whenever you wrangle me to bed even though I want to keep coding.”
“You eat like a bird. Someone needs to make sure you have the strength to keep up with all the sex we have.”
Root lets out a small puff of laughter, Shaw feels it tickle her chest. After a few moments, Root feels the hand in the tresses of her hair pause its movements.
“All that...That’s love?”
“Yeah, Sameen. That’s love.”
Silence falls again and Root closes her eyes for a few moments, savoring their closeness, the feeling of Shaw’s muscular body beneath her own. She often finds herself in awe of this woman comprised of angles, might, and explosive power, this woman who has managed to both tame and match Root’s own volatility, this woman whose true softness and care is secret to all but her.
Shaw breaks her silence finally with a solemn confession. “I never want you to compromise your needs for me, Root. If you want more...I want you to have it. I want...No, I need you to be happy.” The weight of her last statement feels heavy on Shaw’s neck. The words are true. Nowadays Root’s happiness seems hard-coded, integral to Shaw’s existence. If it’s what Root needs, Shaw would do right by her, but the thought of losing this life that they’ve built together, the life she never knew she wanted, rushes over Shaw like a wave of uneasiness, settling and twisting in her stomach. Shaw hypothesizes that this feeling could only be described as fear.
“I don’t care about what stupid, everyday people say about what love looks like, Sameen. I know that what we have, is what I want.” Root’s voice is unyielding. Her confidence in their relationship tugs at something inside Shaw.
“Before Her, before you, nobody had ever chosen me.”
Root’s sincerity makes the pain in Shaw’s gut sharpen. The thought of Root living her life in such a lost and transient state, feeling unaccepted wherever she went, makes Shaw’s jaw clench. She resumes her light scratching of Root’s scalp, right near the base of her skull just where she likes.
“With your actions, big or small, whether you see it or not, sweetie...You choose me every day.”
“It’s not even a question anymore, Root.” Shaw says sincerely.
“Yeah, Sameen. That’s love.” Root repeats.
When Root feels the final notes of tension eb away from Shaw’s frame, she tugs the bed sheet over their bodies, and lets herself start to drift to sleep. Meanwhile, Shaw lets the heaviness of their conversation drape over her, absorbing it, embracing it. When Root’s breathing evens out she notes the way the dim light peeking through the window outlines the sharp curve of Root’s nose, the gentle bow of her lips, the plum of her high cheekbones. Shaw thinks to herself how she wants to spend the rest of her days existing beside Root, in her orbit, in her bed, in her thoughts.
That’s love.
Shaw nods resolutely to herself. Like a soldier accepting a direct order.