Chapter Text
Five minutes remaining.
Out of the corner of her eye Root sees Shaw reaching for the bourbon and tumblers. She’s making a cocktail! The question was specifically who could make a better sandwich, not sandwich-cocktail combo. Fusco won’t drink, and Finch should have the sense not to let a non-sandwich item affect his judgement, but she’s not sure about John. The Machine would have made a better judge for this. She should never have caved to Shaw’s insistence that the judges have tastebuds. Maybe she should whip up a last minute salad. Does John eat salad?
Root peaks out of the kitchen to check on the judges. Finch is typing something into his laptop. Fusco is chatting at John. John looks like he’s getting ready to bolt. He catches her looking at him, so she flashes one of her less settling smiles.
“Giving up already? I expected more of a fight.” Shaw pours a little of the barley tea that’s been brewing since they first started this over ice in one of the tumblers. Is she making a mock old fashioned for Fusco? What an evil genius. And that smug face. Someone’s going to need to be punished when this is over.
“Just taking a moment to visualize my inevitable victory.” Root flips the eggs in her pan and admires their perfectly unbroken yolks. Salads be damned. Her sandwiches are going to be flawless. Any accompaniment would dilute their perfection.
Two minutes remaining.
The Machine’s chime over the bluetooth speaker reminds Root she better start plating her masterpiece. Sourdough, avocado, over easy egg, chopped sundried tomatoes, salt, pepper, parmesan, a little sriracha - the perfect sandwich. She’s feeling festive so she adds a tiny sprig of parsley to each for garnish. All three plates make it out to the boys with less than a minute left. Shaw’s pastrami on rye sandwiches with their accompanying drinks are already there.
“Alright, then.” Finch clears his throat. “Let’s get this over with.” He cuts a little section out of Root’s masterpiece and places it in his mouth. John and Fusco follow suit. Root reads their expressions while they chew. Fusco is like an open book - he didn’t expect to like the sandwich, but he loves it. Finch and John are much more closed off, but they both seem to be enjoying themselves as well. After a few more bites they drink some water and stretch their jaws to accommodate Shaw’s beast of a sandwich. It’s pure pastrami with mustard and some other sauce Shaw wouldn’t let her see. Not a vegetable in sight. It looks alright, but nothing special. And yet. They love it. Every single one of them adores Shaw’s sandwich. They like their drinks too, but the sandwich is the star. She glances over at Shaw, and the glint in her eye says it all. They both know she won.
“Enjoy your meal boys.” Shaw turns and heads back towards the kitchen. Root follows her.
“Didn’t you want to hear some kind of verdict?” Fusco asks with his mouth full.
“I think we all know who won here.” Shaw smiles and disappears fully into the kitchen with Root shortly behind her. “Loser does the dishes.” Shaw hops up on the counter and grabs the extra sandwich Root had made for herself. She eats half of it before declaring it to be “not bad.” Then she goes to town on her own extra sandwich.
Not bad? Root’s lips twitch into a smile. Shaw might think she’s impossible to read, but Root’s had some practice. Shaw liked that sandwich a whole hell of a lot more than she’s willing to admit.