Maybe it wasn't their usual MO, but it is what Root greatly prefers after spending nearly a year desperately trying to find Shaw. There's no Machine here (pity) which means she can't just ask for Shaw's location at any given time. That means...
"Until and unless I can put a tracker on you, I'm not going anywhere without you," Root declares. She hesitates and then begrudgingly adds, "Unless we have to."
She's willing to be practical if she has to be, but she's not going to like it. Forcible separation is definitely possible, though, so coming up with prearranged meeting places seems wise. But they can sort all that out later -- there's something far more interesting for her to catch up on as they travel.
"You made friends?" she asks with muted delight. "Tell me about them."
Calling someone eccentric the way she is implies a whole lot despite Shaw's brief description, and she's used to reading between the lines when it comes to Shaw. Respect Michonne, see how far she can get teasing the Doctor.
"Can't wait to meet him." She's genuinely excited with a description like that. "We almost there? I think I'll need some help warming up."
Root can't resist the obvious invitation, though she isn't expecting anything to come of it necessarily. She's just never going to stop trying when Shaw keeps signaling she's receptive to it. And if they're going to have a second chance like this, she'd be a fool not to take advantage of it to the maximum extent possible.
"It takes all day to walk there; we'll go tomorrow. How do you feel about spending the night in the mines? They're on the way; you go through them to get to Lakeside."
Technically there's nothing stopping them from taking their planned rest in the mines, hiking back to Milton for the night, and then heading back out to the mines the next morning; it's completely doable physically. But energy and resource conservation are constantly on Shaw's mind here - and generally, if she can consolidate travel time, she will.
"That's what I assumed we were doing, silly. You think I'm waiting a whole day to cuddle up to you after my tragic untimely demise?"
It's hard to sound flirty while she's exhausted, freezing, and lost, and she can't exactly flutter her eyelashes at Shaw right now, but Root isn't about to stop flirting at the most awkward times now. And that includes making fun of her own death. Black humor is a coping mechanism she's leaned on her whole life, and she can tell she's going to need to do some serious coping around here. Better get started.
Silly, ill-timed flirting or no, Shaw can't deny the appeal of the idea; she kind of does want to flop down somewhere away from the wind and rest her head on Root's shoulder.
"You see it up there?" she asks, and sure enough, they're zeroing in on what looks to be a stereotypical early 20th century mine shaft opening: a hole carved into the mountain, framed by sturdy wooden planks. "I'll race you."
She will absolutely not be doing that, and neither should Root.
The absurd proposal gets a surprised laugh out of Root, and though she doesn't try to take her up on the race, she does lurch close enough to Shaw to give her a playful shove.
"You wish. I bet nobody here gets your sense of humor, do they?"
Maybe she's flattering herself with that comment, but Root likes to think she has a leg up on everyone else in terms of appreciating how special Shaw is.
She sidesteps and digs her shoulder against Root's in a lazy half-shove, but it's a sluggish, tired move. Now that they're nearing the mine entrance, she looks around to make sure that Bear is nearby, calling him to heel with a "Bear, volg."
God, it feels so natural. Falling back into old patterns is the easiest thing in the world.
Root notices the delay, the way her steps are slower and heavier than her normal blind bulldozer pace. She'd been distracted with her own exhaustion and hunger and just so relieved to see Shaw, she hadn't quite noticed and processed before.
She lets the previous thread of conversation drop, lets the silence rest for a few moments as the snow swirls around them, before she speaks again.
She doesn't expect Root to buy it. In fact, she expects her not to: Root will see past the surface-level answer and get to the I'm alive and I'm functional, but I don't know how to put what's wrong with me into words underneath. As they enter the mouth of the mine, she clears her throat, adding, "I'm not sleeping too good."
Root doesn't buy it, and she's relieved Shaw follows up with a real admission. She can't help until she knows what the issue is, but she's sensitive to the fact that Shaw probably doesn't want any sympathy.
Stumbling into the darkened overhang, Root gratefully sheds the pack she'd been carrying and lets it slump to the ground.
"Not sleeping good like you need someone to keep watch, or you need someone to hold you?"
This isn't flirtatious -- it's a matter-of-fact question she asks while crouching down to unload a tin bowl and some salvaged water she offers out for Bear.
That, at least, is an easy answer; Shaw can't really wrap her head around the idea of loneliness keeping her awake. That's not at all the same as not wanting Root to hold her, though, so she sticks close, and when Root is done with Bear's routine, she motions her over to the area along the rocky wall where she's moved both their bags.
"C'mere."
She doesn't have much in the way of bedding in her pack, but she keeps an emergency blanket on hand, and it can cover two.
Was that her unintentionally revealing how much loneliness can plague her? Oh well.
"I can stay up for a while," Root offers immediately. It's been a rough few days, but she's nowhere close to the end of her rope. She's used to gauging her relative level of tiredness vs. functioning and she's confident she can stay awake and keep watch for a bit, give both Shaw and Bear a break.
"Let's build a fire first, or we're both going to regret it in a few hours."
Once she sits down and has her arms around Shaw, she's not going to want to get up again, and she knows it.
Shaw gives her a quick nod, moving towards the mouth of the mine entrance; she'll gather brush from there, as well as scope out a good spot to place the fire that'll be sheltered but will still allow for good air flow. Bear follows, flanking her left, and she rests a fond hand on his back for a moment.
"You don't have to stay awake," Shaw says over her shoulder. "Honestly, I don't even know how much it'll help. But, uh-- we had an issue not too long ago with people who were alone being picked off in the night. It was some supernatural thing."
She says this last part grudgingly - as far as she's concerned, supernatural is a lazy explanation on its own - but how else to explain it?
Root isn't nearly as practiced as Shaw at starting fires, but she's figured out some basics over the last few days and she drops seamlessly into assisting as they set up a warm, defensible camp. She read through the disgruntled tone and empathizes with the imprecision of the word supernatural as an explanation. It's not like she has any better ideas.
"You think I could bear to close my eyes once I finally have my arms around you?" she asks playfully. Back to being flirty. She assumes it goes unsaid that anything trying to threaten them would be met with her shotgun; Root is more than willing to shoot first, ask questions later, especially without the Machine around to guilt trip her. Moreover, Shaw only has to say something once and Root is ready to tackle the problem as best she can.
"And we've got the world's best guard dog on hand. We'll be fine."
The tinder catches, and Shaw scoots back from it, feeling out a good distance for them to settle. Not so close that they'll sweat or be in danger of catching sparks, but not so far that the fire won't be felt at all...
She makes another grab for Root, trying again to reel her in.
This time she accedes, curling in on her readily. She laughs a little as she settles on the cold ground and tries to find a comfortable position with Shaw.
"Needy, aren't you?" Root teases. "We can try it with Bear, but wake me up if you need to."
One of the things she really loves about Shaw is how straightforward and simple an exchange like this can be. Root wants to make sure she's able to get some sleep, and she can expect her to take her offer seriously.
Despite her grabby-hands, Shaw settles with her back to Root, facing the fire - though she still scootches backwards until she's pressed against her, reaching out to rest her fingertips on Root's arm.
She contemplates turning around and kissing her. She doesn't yet, but it's on her mind; now that there's no snow or walk or fire to distract her, how could it not be?
"I wondered sometimes if someone from home would show up," she says, quietly. "But I didn't think it would actually happen. I didn't think it would be you."
"Because I should be dead?" she asks frankly, not having missed that little detail.
Root has no such compunctions about holding back; no snow or walk or fire, Shaw settled back against her facing the fire and holding her arm, she nestles in and presses a chaste kiss to whatever skin she can find exposed on her neck.
She whispers, "You can't get rid of me that easily."
"The Machine kept telling me the odds were too long on finding you," Root murmurs against her ear, "but I kept trying anyway."
She doesn't mean that as an article of blind faith, that either of them should face any odds and they'll come out the other side. Root was well aware of the dangers, of the unlikelihood that she'd succeed, just as she understands Shaw had a tiny chance to ever see her again and had to find ways to keep going, knowing that. But pursuing Shaw, loving her, has always been about holding on to the smallest possibility, clinging with her fingertips to any bare purchase she could find.
Maybe they won't have long here, either, but she'll take every moment she can.
"Do you think this is weird?" she asks, in the way of someone who genuinely wants to know the answer. She certainly thinks it is, in a way that's a mix of both good and bad. It's off-kilter and unexpected, just like Root herself is; Root, who has made life exciting since the day that they met. Of course she'd show up out of nowhere like this.
But it's also off-kilter and unexpected in the way that the simulations had been - in the way of something that's designed to tire her out and make her question everything she thinks she knows and, eventually, destroy her. She doesn't particularly like that both things are true at the same time, that the conflicting feelings are all wrapped up in each other, but it is what it is.
She's not sure she totally gets the meaning behind the question, but Root does her best to answer honestly. With Shaw, she's abandoned trying to manipulate her long ago, certainly since her disappearance. She just treasures her being in her arms at all. Whether they're fighting or snuggling, she's just glad she's there.
"I've always been weird," she confesses. "And I'm still not convinced I'm not dead. Which is annoying, honestly, because I don't believe in the afterlife."
Logically, she should be dead, and this should be the afterlife. But there's nothing logical about life after death at all, so Root is being forced to question every basic tenant of reality as it is. Probably similar to what Shaw's going through with questioning whether this is a simulation.
"But so long as you're here, I won't take the chance that you're not real. Not my Sameen."
Her arms squeeze tightly around her, bracing, enough to suffocate. She couldn't live with believing the alternative, and betting wrong. Thinking Shaw was real -- real being a sentient, separate consciousness, an independent entity with a continuity to who Root had fallen for -- and being mistaken... that she could live with.
Ultimately, grudgingly, Shaw feels the same way: as much as both options would suck, she won't pick the one that risks actually hurting Root. The circumstances are different and so is the outcome, but to her, the decision not to assume she's a trick of the woods and walk away from her doesn't feel all that different from the choice to hold a gun to her head and pull the trigger. It's harm reduction, pure and simple.
"It's just annoying, being the only one that's weirded out by something," Shaw says - wriggling fussily in Root's grip, but pressing a palm to her arm to keep it mostly in place. "A lot of the people here are completely blasé about 'magic'."
Root knows what she means, but it's hard to articulate how to say it in response. She's sure Shaw is talking about the surrealness of constantly doubting whether she's experiencing reality or a simulation, but to Root it means something more, an intrinsic alienation from everyone else around her.
"Everything about this is weird, sweetheart," she answers, twisting so she pushes back against Shaw's fussing, pinning her half beneath her instead of spooning. "That doesn't mean it has to be all bad. Most people don't see it, don't know what they're looking at. But when we find something good, we have to hold onto it. Like I'm holding onto you."
Finding Shaw was magic. The existence of the Machine was magic. Root doesn't believe blindly, she thinks there's a rational explanation, but she believes.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Until and unless I can put a tracker on you, I'm not going anywhere without you," Root declares. She hesitates and then begrudgingly adds, "Unless we have to."
She's willing to be practical if she has to be, but she's not going to like it. Forcible separation is definitely possible, though, so coming up with prearranged meeting places seems wise. But they can sort all that out later -- there's something far more interesting for her to catch up on as they travel.
"You made friends?" she asks with muted delight. "Tell me about them."
no subject
Shaw, as ever, remains unsentimental. Root will be lucky if she gets more than brief descriptions and lists of applicable skills out of her, honestly.
Michonne's a badass who's good with weaponry, and the Doctor is eccentric in the way you are. 'The Doctor' is the only thing he lets people call him."
no subject
"Can't wait to meet him." She's genuinely excited with a description like that. "We almost there? I think I'll need some help warming up."
Root can't resist the obvious invitation, though she isn't expecting anything to come of it necessarily. She's just never going to stop trying when Shaw keeps signaling she's receptive to it. And if they're going to have a second chance like this, she'd be a fool not to take advantage of it to the maximum extent possible.
no subject
"It takes all day to walk there; we'll go tomorrow. How do you feel about spending the night in the mines? They're on the way; you go through them to get to Lakeside."
Technically there's nothing stopping them from taking their planned rest in the mines, hiking back to Milton for the night, and then heading back out to the mines the next morning; it's completely doable physically. But energy and resource conservation are constantly on Shaw's mind here - and generally, if she can consolidate travel time, she will.
no subject
It's hard to sound flirty while she's exhausted, freezing, and lost, and she can't exactly flutter her eyelashes at Shaw right now, but Root isn't about to stop flirting at the most awkward times now. And that includes making fun of her own death. Black humor is a coping mechanism she's leaned on her whole life, and she can tell she's going to need to do some serious coping around here. Better get started.
no subject
"You see it up there?" she asks, and sure enough, they're zeroing in on what looks to be a stereotypical early 20th century mine shaft opening: a hole carved into the mountain, framed by sturdy wooden planks. "I'll race you."
She will absolutely not be doing that, and neither should Root.
no subject
"You wish. I bet nobody here gets your sense of humor, do they?"
Maybe she's flattering herself with that comment, but Root likes to think she has a leg up on everyone else in terms of appreciating how special Shaw is.
no subject
She sidesteps and digs her shoulder against Root's in a lazy half-shove, but it's a sluggish, tired move. Now that they're nearing the mine entrance, she looks around to make sure that Bear is nearby, calling him to heel with a "Bear, volg."
God, it feels so natural. Falling back into old patterns is the easiest thing in the world.
no subject
She lets the previous thread of conversation drop, lets the silence rest for a few moments as the snow swirls around them, before she speaks again.
"You doing okay?"
no subject
She doesn't expect Root to buy it. In fact, she expects her not to: Root will see past the surface-level answer and get to the I'm alive and I'm functional, but I don't know how to put what's wrong with me into words underneath. As they enter the mouth of the mine, she clears her throat, adding, "I'm not sleeping too good."
no subject
Stumbling into the darkened overhang, Root gratefully sheds the pack she'd been carrying and lets it slump to the ground.
"Not sleeping good like you need someone to keep watch, or you need someone to hold you?"
This isn't flirtatious -- it's a matter-of-fact question she asks while crouching down to unload a tin bowl and some salvaged water she offers out for Bear.
no subject
That, at least, is an easy answer; Shaw can't really wrap her head around the idea of loneliness keeping her awake. That's not at all the same as not wanting Root to hold her, though, so she sticks close, and when Root is done with Bear's routine, she motions her over to the area along the rocky wall where she's moved both their bags.
"C'mere."
She doesn't have much in the way of bedding in her pack, but she keeps an emergency blanket on hand, and it can cover two.
no subject
"I can stay up for a while," Root offers immediately. It's been a rough few days, but she's nowhere close to the end of her rope. She's used to gauging her relative level of tiredness vs. functioning and she's confident she can stay awake and keep watch for a bit, give both Shaw and Bear a break.
"Let's build a fire first, or we're both going to regret it in a few hours."
Once she sits down and has her arms around Shaw, she's not going to want to get up again, and she knows it.
no subject
"You don't have to stay awake," Shaw says over her shoulder. "Honestly, I don't even know how much it'll help. But, uh-- we had an issue not too long ago with people who were alone being picked off in the night. It was some supernatural thing."
She says this last part grudgingly - as far as she's concerned, supernatural is a lazy explanation on its own - but how else to explain it?
no subject
"You think I could bear to close my eyes once I finally have my arms around you?" she asks playfully. Back to being flirty. She assumes it goes unsaid that anything trying to threaten them would be met with her shotgun; Root is more than willing to shoot first, ask questions later, especially without the Machine around to guilt trip her. Moreover, Shaw only has to say something once and Root is ready to tackle the problem as best she can.
"We can give it a try."
no subject
The tinder catches, and Shaw scoots back from it, feeling out a good distance for them to settle. Not so close that they'll sweat or be in danger of catching sparks, but not so far that the fire won't be felt at all...
She makes another grab for Root, trying again to reel her in.
no subject
"Needy, aren't you?" Root teases. "We can try it with Bear, but wake me up if you need to."
One of the things she really loves about Shaw is how straightforward and simple an exchange like this can be. Root wants to make sure she's able to get some sleep, and she can expect her to take her offer seriously.
no subject
She contemplates turning around and kissing her. She doesn't yet, but it's on her mind; now that there's no snow or walk or fire to distract her, how could it not be?
"I wondered sometimes if someone from home would show up," she says, quietly. "But I didn't think it would actually happen. I didn't think it would be you."
no subject
Root has no such compunctions about holding back; no snow or walk or fire, Shaw settled back against her facing the fire and holding her arm, she nestles in and presses a chaste kiss to whatever skin she can find exposed on her neck.
She whispers, "You can't get rid of me that easily."
no subject
A pleasant little shiver runs through her - it's subtle, but Root is close enough that she'll probably feel it. Her fingers press into Root's skin.
no subject
She doesn't mean that as an article of blind faith, that either of them should face any odds and they'll come out the other side. Root was well aware of the dangers, of the unlikelihood that she'd succeed, just as she understands Shaw had a tiny chance to ever see her again and had to find ways to keep going, knowing that. But pursuing Shaw, loving her, has always been about holding on to the smallest possibility, clinging with her fingertips to any bare purchase she could find.
Maybe they won't have long here, either, but she'll take every moment she can.
no subject
But it's also off-kilter and unexpected in the way that the simulations had been - in the way of something that's designed to tire her out and make her question everything she thinks she knows and, eventually, destroy her. She doesn't particularly like that both things are true at the same time, that the conflicting feelings are all wrapped up in each other, but it is what it is.
no subject
"I've always been weird," she confesses. "And I'm still not convinced I'm not dead. Which is annoying, honestly, because I don't believe in the afterlife."
Logically, she should be dead, and this should be the afterlife. But there's nothing logical about life after death at all, so Root is being forced to question every basic tenant of reality as it is. Probably similar to what Shaw's going through with questioning whether this is a simulation.
"But so long as you're here, I won't take the chance that you're not real. Not my Sameen."
Her arms squeeze tightly around her, bracing, enough to suffocate. She couldn't live with believing the alternative, and betting wrong. Thinking Shaw was real -- real being a sentient, separate consciousness, an independent entity with a continuity to who Root had fallen for -- and being mistaken... that she could live with.
no subject
"It's just annoying, being the only one that's weirded out by something," Shaw says - wriggling fussily in Root's grip, but pressing a palm to her arm to keep it mostly in place. "A lot of the people here are completely blasé about 'magic'."
no subject
"Everything about this is weird, sweetheart," she answers, twisting so she pushes back against Shaw's fussing, pinning her half beneath her instead of spooning. "That doesn't mean it has to be all bad. Most people don't see it, don't know what they're looking at. But when we find something good, we have to hold onto it. Like I'm holding onto you."
Finding Shaw was magic. The existence of the Machine was magic. Root doesn't believe blindly, she thinks there's a rational explanation, but she believes.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)