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It can't be Root, because she's dead.
It can't be her.
It's been months. (One hundred and forty-seven days, but who's counting?)
It can't be her, except that Bear is happy to see her.
"Hello, Bear."
That voice.
Shaw had asked that the Machine stop using that voice. Well, not asked. Demanded it (after a week of pretending). She hasn't heard it in--
(one hundred and forty days, I guess)
But it's unmistakable, and Bear knows it too. Root's alive, and she's here.
Shaw's still got one hand on Bear's leash and one hand on a gun. "You're dead," she whispers. She doesn't lower the gun, but her hand shakes ever so slightly.
"Pretty convincing, I know," Root says. It's not an explanation, much less an apology, not that Shaw was expecting either. Root reaches out to scratch Bear's head. "You can put the gun down, sweetie. It's me. See, Bear knows it's me."
Shaw holsters the gun slowly, not taking her eyes off Root for a second. She doesn't know what to say.
Root tilts her head slightly. "What, no kiss?"
Something snaps in Shaw at that moment. "Shut up," she growls, and before Root can smirk and say something like "Make me," Shaw's grabbed Root's face and pulled her in.
Shaw has kissed Root thousands of times. Except she hasn't. Once, maybe? In an elevator? She has no idea if she's ever kissed Root before. She should have done it sooner. Unless she already did.
Bear lets out a small huff, and Shaw thinks somewhere in the back of her mind that it's a good thing he's pretty responsible, because she dropped the leash at some point and she can trust him to wait right here. That hand is now tangled in Root's hair. She's kissing Root furiously, a combination of I fucking thought you were dead and I'm so fucking glad you're not dead. She bites Root's lip hard, hopes the taste of blood means it's real.
"I should.. fake my own death... more often," Root manages, between kisses.
Shaw pulls away to glare at Root. "If you ever do that again, I'll kill you myself."
"That a promise?" Root murmurs, and pulls Shaw back in.