this happened because i had a nightmare in which i was watching an alternative version of the poi finale and Root was alive but I knew she was gonna die anyway and i woke up hella upset so i had to fix it

honestly i really didn't plan to write a fix it fic but i guess that's what my subconscious picked for you this week guys

i guess it's a sort of followup to my other story "we're half awake, in a fake empire", you don't really need to read that one to get this, it's only referenced once.

After, she goes back to the cemetery.

The Machine says they took Root's body for her cochlear implant, for her connection with Her. Shaw doesn't really understand how that works, but she figures there had to be a way to avoid that.

Her body is not there anymore, and it's not that physical things really matter all that much anymore, but they help Shaw stay anchored.

She has a mission, a God and a dog. John is dead, Harold is gone, and Root is…

Shaw looks at the numbers on the grave and the shallow echo of pain resonates in the hollow of her chest. She tightens her grip on Bear's leash; the leather digging in her skin reminds her that this pain is real.

The Machine has been uncharacteristically quiet since She gave Shaw the new number. She'd stopped using Root's voice after the reboot. Now it's just a string of disconnected recordings.

The Machine had told Shaw She'd tried to save Root twelve thousand times after she got shot, but Shaw had died 7005 times for her, and if She really is a God, how can She have failed in something Shaw succeeded in doing?

Bear whines and licks her hand to get her attention, and she scratches behind his ears without looking away from the grave.

"I know, buddy," she says, voice rough with disuse.

.

She doesn't go back to the cemetery again.

.

The subway got destroyed, mostly. Shaw had spent so much time avoiding even thinking about this place that being here still feels surreal. There's a hole in the wall where the public phone is, and a recording machine with a tape Shaw has listened to more times than she'd care to admit.

The Machine moved herself somewhere else, somewhere safe, and the subway feels silent and empty without the cart on the tracks.

Still, Root's room is here.

Shaw unhooks the leash from Bear's collar and he immediately grabs a bunny slipper and jumps on the bed. His eyes follow her movements as she makes her way into the small cubicle to turn on the ridiculous lava lamp on the nightstand.

She lies back on the bed, feet still planted on the floor, and rests her head on the pillow. The ceiling is fluid shapes of orange glow and Shaw wonders if this is what Root fell asleep to all the time she was missing.

"You know, for someone who doesn't do feelings, this feels oddly sentimental."

Root's voice startles Shaw, and it takes her a moment to figure out it's not coming from her earpiece. She hurries up on her elbows and looks around, searching for the source, but Bear beats her to it, scrambling off the bed and barreling into…

Root.

She's standing at the entrance of the room, white as a sheet, left arm tucked in a sling, Bear whining at her feet. The spot behind Shaw's ear prickles and burns as she scratches it relentlessly, and Root just looks at her.

"Shaw…"

"You're dead," Shaw says, sitting up and shaking her head. "You got shot, 6.5 mm round to the chest, through and through." She read the file, memorized it. She knew the bullet had pierced Root's lung, she knew it wasn't quick and it wasn't painless.

"You died."

A beat, then Root sighs and tugs at her jacket, a crispy white bandage covers her torso under her shirt, a single spot of red standing out. "I did get shot," she says, and moves around Bear to step into the room. Her movements are slow, cautious and calculated, and Shaw can see the strain in her motions, the fatigue painted on her face.

"So what? You decided that faking your death after what we've been through was a cool idea?"

"I didn't decide," Root starts. "It was the only way." She swallows hard and looks away. "The Machine told me it was the only way we could stand a chance against Samaritan." She pauses and turns towards Shaw, eyes searching. "The only way you'd make it out alive."

Shaw clenches her jaw but holds her gaze. She doesn't know what to believe, this is a scenario unprecedented in any simulation. As usual, the volume on anger is set the highest, but the burning at the pit of her stomach feels a whole lot like unwelcome hope.

"The Machine made you take the backseat and leave us to fight a war you should have been there to finish?" Shaw asks in a growl, because if there was someone who deserved watching Samaritan crumble to pieces, it was Root.

"Harold needed a catalyst and She needed to be free to reach her full potential, or Samaritan would have won."

"Bullshit."

"You told me that if staying away meant keeping me safe, you wouldn't have come back." Root's voice is pleading but her eyes are steady, and Shaw breathes in and out to dissipate the anger gripping her chest. "Well, sweetie, looks like we're a match made in heaven, because with those odds, there was no chance in hell I would've risked your life."

Shaw scowls at her, pissed. It's not fair for Root to hold that against her, but she has to concede that she has a point. She looks at the way Root is leaning against the wall, her good arm circling her waist protectively, and Shaw rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Just fucking sit down already, before you pass out."

Root lets out a breath and smiles gratefully before gingerly stepping closer to the bed. Shaw rakes her eyes on her body, trying to assess the damage as Root winces, sitting on the bed next to her. She tugs at Root's jacket, taking a look at the bandage herself. It looks decent, clean and well done. She pretends to ignore the way Root's small smile reaches her eyes, how they soften around the edges as she looks down at her.

"This feels familiar," Root says, mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Don't push it."

"You know," Root starts as she covers Shaw's hand with hers. "She told me you missed me. I was hoping you'd be willing to show me exactly how much."

Shaw bites back a smirk at her ridiculous lines and her shitty timing, but when Root slips her fingers through hers, Shaw grips her hand tight and doesn't let go. She looks at Root, half smirk in place and eyes shining with life even through the dark bags underneath them. She looks like death, but she's alive.

.

Shaw doesn't really care about physical things anymore, but they help her staying anchored.

She has a mission, a God and a dog. John is dead, Harold is gone, but Root is here, alive, and still a pain in the ass. Root's hand in hers is warm and solid, and Shaw squeezes it once before nodding to herself.

"As soon as you're back in shape, I'm shooting you."

thanks to nirky and fullyajar for proofreading and supporting me even tho im a nerd

title from Fake Empire - The National