wickedchouette | (no subject)

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[Shaw likes the deck. Out of everything on the Barge, space feels familiar, even if she isn't used to being this up close and personal with it: and so she's made a habit of spending at least an hour or so every night just hanging out at the railing. More recently, she's also made a habit of hopping over the side and reclining in one of the safety nets that's attached to the hull. It shields her from the eyes of friendly passers-by when she wants to be alone, and it infuses her with a sense of something like peace to let herself drift so close to void: something that could kill her, that should kill her, but won't. It's silent and empty, a good place to go when she feels silent and empty too, and it quiets her mind like very little else.

She's been in her little makeshift hammock for an hour or so when she decides to haul herself up and rejoin the ship at large. Bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, she launches herself straight up from the net, fingertips grabbing the edge of the deck flooring. From there she pulls herself high enough to grasp the lowest bar on the railing, and then the second lowest bar, and then the third, and then she's in a good position to get her knees up onto the deck so that she can start climbing up the outside of the railing in earnest--

Does she look like an insane person doing this? Probably. Is she at all bothered by that fact? Not in the least.]

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[ It is so incredibly, impossibly quiet in Root's head. She knew it would be, when she... was offered this chance at life in the face of certain death, but it's so absolutely quiet. Root hates it. If she's going to be so cut off, she may as well look at the sky, at the emptiness of space while she's at it. At least it's meant to be so quiet in space. Even if this ship is shielded somehow against the very thing she was saved from. Certain death.

She strolls the perimeter of the deck, her un stapedectomied ear pointed to the endless black beyond the safety bubble around this boat. Her pace is a slow saunter, as if she hasn't surveyed this area before, as if she isn't well aware the stars are always changing as they sail without a fluid to sail on or through. At least it's the right kind of quiet-- which is why she immediately notices the sounds of someone... climbing... up the...... side of the ship?

She stops, watching fingertips turn to hands that and reveal... oh.

Root smiles, hands clasped behind her back, waiting until Shaw is halfway up the railing before speaking up. ]

Sneaking in before the principal catches you missing curfew?

[A different sort of person might have been surprised enough to slip: to gasp, to gape, to scramble desperately for purchase in an effort to keep themselves from falling. Shaw doesn't do any of those things: her hand- and footholds never falter. But she does go very, very still, and for several long seconds, her only movement is in the way her head turns to look in Root's direction.

She blinks once. And then she pulls herself the rest of the way up and over, until she's standing with both feet on the deck, fully facing the other woman.]

Root?

[Is it actually her, or is it a flood? Could it be a hallucination? A shapeshifter? Or maybe someone like that new guy who looks and sounds exactly like Malcolm?]

[ Yep, that's Shaw. Unflappable no matter the situation, no matter who's standing across from her. ]

I asked first.

[ Sweetie. :) ]

[This isn't like the guy who looks like Malcolm. Maybe it's a flood or maybe it's a hallucination or maybe it's a sadistic shapeshifting mind-reader pulling threads out of her memory for kicks, but whatever it is, it's Root. Temporary or permanent, real or not real, it's Root.

A muscle in Shaw's cheek twitches. And then she's striding forward, grabbing Root by the collar of her shirt and tugging her into a kiss.]

[ That's also Shaw. A hammer, not subtle, just direct and to the point. It's fun, even if it's predictable, because it's Shaw.

Root smiles against Shaw's lips, her hands cradling the back of Shaw's neck, thumbs stroking up her jaw. ]

You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome in her new home.

[This is early Root, she can tell immediately. Well, no, not early Root, but early-ish Root; early enough Root. You don't understand, Shaw thinks to her, as her eyes slide shut. You don't understand what we're going to go through, you don't understand what you mean to me, you don't understand any of it.

And she knows that she's not going to tell her, at least not now. Not yet. The Root that she knew from home had cried enough over the past year. There's no point in inflicting that on this one prematurely.]

What can I say.

[She says, her voice a little husky as she pulls back.]

Housewarming has always been a specialty of mine.

[ Cocking her head to one side, Root smirks down at Shaw. She has no idea what's coming, what she avoided by almost dying when she did. And like the Machine once said, sometimes it's better not to know. ]

If you're trying to get me to invite you to my room... [ She leans in to whisper into Shaw's ear, ] It's working.

[The ghost of a very particular brand of annoyance, one that has always belonged specifically to Root and has always been mixed with at least one or two other things, comes filtering back into her. Today, it comes in the form of fond exasperation mixed with surreality and déjà vu and something that might be nostalgia.]

Seriously? That's the line you're going with.

Cut me some slack, Sam. I didn't get any warning you'd be here.

[ It's. So. Quiet. ]

Besides. I think you'll like my room. It might look familiar to you.

I haven't seen you for six months. I've been... here.

[It's not a full explanation by any stretch of the imagination, but she's hoping it'll earn her a little bit of slack when it comes to why she's acting so weird, why she greeted Root with a kiss instead of an eyeroll, why she's the one who won't stop clutching at Root's forearms. Belatedly, she glances down at her hands, and uncurls her fingers one by one. She steps back a few inches, though not nearly far enough to actually be out of Root's personal space.]

What floor's your cabin on?

[a.k.a. how close is it to where they are right now.]

[ Absence does make the heart grow fonder. To think Shaw liked to pretend otherwise back home. ]

Two.

[ Her grin widens. ]

Close. It didn't come any fun toys, though. [ She actually isn't referring to sex toys or things which can be used as such. Not... just, anyway. ] Maybe you can help with that.

[Shaw's head admittedly does go to sex toys first. It takes her a second or two to realize that Root must actually be talking about, and this time, she does roll her eyes.]

Hell no. You're just gonna have to play like all the other kids and source your weaponry from the out-of-control black market I'm trying to shut down. It'll be just like old times.

I didn't mean weapons. [ She pulls away a little. This whole inhabiting each other's personal space is nice, but it's still a little bit strange. ] I'd take a calculator at this point.

[ She shrugs. ]

...and maybe some handcuffs.

Doable.

[Her eyes flick towards the elevator that could take them down to two in a jiffy, then back over to Root.]

How, uh. How're you doing, you doing okay?

[It's asked a little awkwardly, but she means it. Root is almost certainly an inmate, and she knows how inmatehood happens.]

[ She loves it when Shaw is down for a good time. :) And she doesn't answer right away, instead staying for the elevator and tugging Shaw along. This has two benefits: the first is getting them moving to somewhere more private, and the second is that she doesn't have to see the look on Shaw's face the very moment she tells her what happened. ]

Hiding, mostly. [ A shrug. It's fine. She's fine. ] I get shot at a lot when I don't.

[ She presses the call button for the elevator and smiles over her shoulder at Shaw. ]

I think you know how I got here. And I know you didn't get her the same way.

What makes you think I didn't? I have a lot in my past that could make a weird omnipotent being think I need a little redemption.

[No matter how much Root idealizes her.]

You care about people. Saving lives. You found your place with Harold and John right away.

[ The elevator dings. Root walks inside when the doors open. ]

Yeah, well, you say that now; you weren't around when Harold wanted to fire me.

[But ultimately, it's pointless to bicker about this, because Root is right: she is a warden. She follows Root into the elevator, and she can't help but follow every move she makes with her eyes: drinking the other woman in, like she's just wandered back from a desert and she's parched.]

This is--

[She swallows; shakes her head.]

Weird. And I have a weirder question; what's the last thing you remember?

[ Of course Root is right. And she also knows that Shaw is watching her, though she chalks it up to those six months Shaw has spent here. ]

It doesn't feel weird to me. [ Of course it doesn't. ] That question is a little weirder, though.

Let's see. Samaritan wanted to talk with the Machine, and after their little meeting, she sent me to Wall Street, and I got shot. Occupational hazard.

[God. God, she's from later on than Shaw thought; she's from mere hours before things went to shit. Maybe less. And she knows that this is Root, who so often prefers to plaster over worry with bounciness and charm and snark. And Shaw is still committed to not spilling the beans on all the horror of the past year - at least not yet.

But.]

Hey.

[She reaches out just before the elevator doors pop open, brushing her fingers lightly along Root's elbow.]

I'm gonna be fine, you know? All this war crap - I'm gonna come out of it alive.

[It doesn't feel like a lie. She doesn't actually think she's all that okay, really, but she is still standing. And no matter what, she knows she's going to keep fighting and keep moving forward, okay or not.]

[ Just as Shaw expects, Root turns up the charm. Grins harder, glances at Shaw as she walks through the open doors. ]

Of course. She'll protect you. She protects all of us.

Come on, I'm in twelve.

[Eleven months coming to terms with how much Root meant to her. Six months grappling with the fact that Root was dead and that, potential for a deal or not, Shaw had no reason to expect to ever see her again, and a great number of reasons to expect not to. Hey, even if your room's a literal hole in the ground, I'll stay there with you if you want, she imagines saying; she wants to say. Or you can come live at my place. I'll let you redecorate.

The absurdity of it all throws Shaw off-kilter, and she barks out a sudden, unexpected laugh at how backwards it all feels.]

If it's that room at the Suffolk Hotel, I'm turning around and leaving.

[She will absolutely not do that for any reason or under any circumstances.]

It's not that bad.

[ She opens the door to her cabin to reveal... a replica of her little cage in the library. It's not as cramped, and it even comes with a comfier bed. ]

No Bear, though. [ She pouts. ] But now that you're here, it's a lot nicer.

[ :) ]

... Huh.

[Shaw steps into the cabin and does a slow lap around the perimeter, noting the cage bars, the books... and the really nice bed.]

That's gonna lead to some awkward conversations. The place where big, bad Warden Shaw locked you up.

You say that like I'm going to just let people in here. You know me better than that.

[ Private people, that's how all your friends are, Shaw. ]

I always thought the library was nicer than the abandoned subway. Books are... charming.

[ And they remind her of how she got here, why she started down this path. And of the people who connected her with the Machine. ]