"Oh, sweetie. I love that you don't want to hurt me."
It's very endearing, honestly. Both of them without speaking on it understand the difference between real harm and kinky fun; even when Shaw shot her in the shoulder early on, Root understood that as a leniency. Shaw's always gone soft on her compared to what she could do. Root, though...
She gently strokes the line of her cheekbone with a single fingertip, gaze piercing and direct and words so sweet it hurts her to speak. This is the most reassuring thing she can think of to say, to answer her real concerns rather than wash them over with platitudes.
"But I can hurt you if I need to. If you point a gun at me, I'm not going to just stand there like a weepy damsel. If I think you're losing control, I'll take care of it. I just need that one moment of hesitation where you're second-guessing whether you'll really take me out."
In a fair fight it's a real toss up who would come out on top, but Root never intends to fight fair. Shaw's skin is so soft against her fingers, hand cupping her jaw.
"The last time I had a gun out when I was losing control, you pointed your gun at yourself, not me," Shaw points out, grinding her chin down against Root's palm. Which, no, she doesn't actually think that Root would do that in every situation regardless of the context. But on the whole, she still wishes she'd gone for a takedown instead of brazenly offering to go all-in in a double suicide.
Root rolls her eyes. "Don't be petulant. Pointing it at you wouldn't have helped."
She'd made a read of the situation and in the heat of the moment made a decision. It'd worked, so she doesn't regret it. Not that it had been a bluff -- it wasn't -- but Root's not going to repeat it unless it's necessary.
"My point is, if I think you're not acting like yourself, I'll do something."
Shaw runs through a slow inhale-exhale cycle, taking the time to let the words and the sentiments behind them sink in. Root is a realist. Root isn't incompetent. Root gets things done. Root cares about her, and that means not letting her be controlled by some outside force. Would you kill me? she wants to ask, but she suspects that doing so might be cruel.
"Okay," she says instead, finding Root's hand with her own and pressing their fingertips together.
It would be a real cruelty to ask Root if she could kill Shaw, because she genuinely doesn't know. She thinks the answer is no, though. Root feels her own kind of moral absolute, and if she doesn't apply it to everyone, there's a few individuals it feels cuttingly, piercingly obvious for: Shaw can't die, Harold can't die, the Machine can't die. The circumstances don't matter.
She presses her fingertips against hers, the overall effect sure and strong but each individual finger weak in its isolation.
"You're the most important thing here to me," Root whispers. "You don't know what it's like to be overcome with rage, how to handle it. I'll handle it for you. Trust me."
Any gap, any weakness, Root will fill in. That's what she's been doing for Harold and for the Machine all this time Shaw was gone, and it's a profound relief, sweet and harsh, to find a new direction to put that certainty and commitment amid the bewildering disorientation of this place. What Shaw needs, she can be.
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no subject
It's very endearing, honestly. Both of them without speaking on it understand the difference between real harm and kinky fun; even when Shaw shot her in the shoulder early on, Root understood that as a leniency. Shaw's always gone soft on her compared to what she could do. Root, though...
She gently strokes the line of her cheekbone with a single fingertip, gaze piercing and direct and words so sweet it hurts her to speak. This is the most reassuring thing she can think of to say, to answer her real concerns rather than wash them over with platitudes.
"But I can hurt you if I need to. If you point a gun at me, I'm not going to just stand there like a weepy damsel. If I think you're losing control, I'll take care of it. I just need that one moment of hesitation where you're second-guessing whether you'll really take me out."
In a fair fight it's a real toss up who would come out on top, but Root never intends to fight fair. Shaw's skin is so soft against her fingers, hand cupping her jaw.
no subject
no subject
She'd made a read of the situation and in the heat of the moment made a decision. It'd worked, so she doesn't regret it. Not that it had been a bluff -- it wasn't -- but Root's not going to repeat it unless it's necessary.
"My point is, if I think you're not acting like yourself, I'll do something."
no subject
"Okay," she says instead, finding Root's hand with her own and pressing their fingertips together.
no subject
She presses her fingertips against hers, the overall effect sure and strong but each individual finger weak in its isolation.
"You're the most important thing here to me," Root whispers. "You don't know what it's like to be overcome with rage, how to handle it. I'll handle it for you. Trust me."
Any gap, any weakness, Root will fill in. That's what she's been doing for Harold and for the Machine all this time Shaw was gone, and it's a profound relief, sweet and harsh, to find a new direction to put that certainty and commitment amid the bewildering disorientation of this place. What Shaw needs, she can be.