Chapter Text
The world was on fire, and no-one could save me but you,
Strange what desire will make foolish people do.
Shaw’s just gotten out of the shower when she hears a knock at her front door and she pauses where she stands in her kitchen, a bottle of beer half-raised towards her lips, muscles tensing and mind racing when she hears the sound, because who the hell could that be?
There’s a small possibility that it’s her insane neighbour, who she sometimes hears wandering the halls yelling to herself, and has knocked on Shaw’s door on more than one occasion with increasingly bizarre requests – three days ago she’d asked if Shaw had seen her husband, but Shaw’s about ninety nine percent sure that she lives alone and there’s no wedding ring on her finger.
Sometimes she sits and she thinks about what her life’s been reduced to now and she just… she’d probably cry, if she were anyone else. Frankly she’s just amazed that she’s been working at a make-up counter for over two months and hasn’t resorted to shooting anyone.
Yet, anyway – she supposes there’s still time.
When she ignores the first knock it comes again, this time a frantic pounding, and Shaw sighs heavily, taking a long swig of her beer before leaving it on the counter and padding over to the door, pulling it open a crack, a retort about the late hour and disturbing her sleep already on her lips, but she quickly forgets what she was going to say when she sees who’s on the other side.
“Hey, sweetie.” Root’s face is pale, paler than Shaw’s ever seen it, and the smile she tries to aim Shaw’s way is more of a grimace, her voice tight with pain. “Got time to catch up?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Shaw hisses as she lets her door open wider, ushering Root inside quickly and wincing when she sees the creepy guy with the wandering eyes from down the hall eyeing her and Root curiously. “I thought we were supposed to be laying low, pretending to be - ” She notices the way Root’s standing, then, hunched over as she leans back against the wall behind her, her left hand pressed tightly against her right side, and when she shifts Shaw sees red and sucks in a harsh breath. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Not important,” Root says through gritted teeth, and Shaw sees the way she sways as she moves her hand, glancing down at her side and breathing out a quiet curse. “But I’m here because I appear to be in need of some medical assistance and can’t get myself to a hospital without being discovered.”
Shaw crosses over to Root’s side in three easy steps, tugging her blood-soaked shirt up across her ribs and frowning down at the wound underneath, bleeding freely, and thinks that it’s a miracle that Root managed to make it here at all.
“It’s a through and through,” Root says then, her breaths coming in quick, sharp pants. “I just need patching up and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Shaw’s pretty sure that that won’t be the case, that Root needs more medical assistance than she’ll be able to give her, but before she can give voice to the words Root sways on her feet again, and Shaw reaches her hands out quickly, catching the other woman as she falls, unsurprised that she’d fainted with the amount of blood she’s lost but wishing that Root could’ve just held on a little longer.
It’s a struggle but she manages to drag Root over to, and lift her on-top of, her kitchen table, pressing Root’s back against the wood before hurrying to her bathroom for her medical supplies, hoping that she has enough to stem the bleeding and praying that the bullet hadn't damaged any of Root’s internal organs because there won’t be a thing Shaw can do for her here if it has.
She works quickly, checking that no bullet fragments are embedded in Root’s skin before cleaning the wound as best she can and stitching it up when she’s done, thankful that Root’s out cold because she doesn’t have anything that could numb the pain and she’s not entirely sure that Root has the pain threshold for this.
She worries at her bottom lip as she presses a dressing to the wound and tapes the edges to Root’s flesh, glancing at the other woman’s face, concerned about the whiteness of her skin and her lips, about the way her chest barely rises and falls with the force of her breaths.
Shaw knows that Root needs blood but can’t bear to leave her here alone in-case she takes a turn for the worse – the thought of something happening to her, when she’d risked blowing her cover to come here, trusting Shaw to help her, is… she doesn’t know if she’d be able to bear it.
She doesn’t know when Root had become someone that she… cared about (she begrudgingly recognises it as that, despite telling herself that she never could care about anyone other than herself, because Root and Finch and Reese? They’re her family, now, her little band of pains in her ass (Root, especially), and she cares), but somehow, she had. She’d snuck past all of the walls Shaw had put up against her, disarming, with her innuendos and her flirting and that damn smirk she’s always directing Shaw’s way whenever they’re together.
It’s infuriating, Root is infuriating, but Shaw would give anything to hear her say something inappropriate or to see her to bat her eyelashes – anything to show that she’s still alive, because right now she looks like she’s barely breathing and Shaw’s throat feels tight with something that she thinks might be fear.
She doesn’t take her eyes from Root as she reaches to pull her phone from her pocket, hating that she’ll have to rely on someone else but knowing that she can’t leave Root, and Root needs blood if she’s going to make it through the night, and she calls one of the few numbers saved in her contacts, praying that he’ll pick up.
“Hello?” Romeo’s voice echoes down the phone and Shaw breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. “What can I do for you, pretty lady?”
“I need a favour,” Shaw replies brusquely, reaching out a hand to feel for the pulse in Root’s wrist and cursing when she feels how weak it is, barely thrumming beneath her fingertips. “Kind of a weird one.”
“Go on.” She likes the fact that he doesn’t question her, knows that he won’t even when she utters her next words, and marvels at the fact that person she trusts most in her life right now is a thief.
“I need you to steal something for me.” Romeo hums but doesn’t say anything else. “Blood.”
“You got some kind of vampire fetish I don’t know about?”
“No,” Shaw replies with a roll of her eyes, her voice urgent. “Don’t ask me why I need it or what it’s for, just… can you do it for me or not?”
“Sure,” he answers after a few moments of tense silence, and Shaw lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “You need O neg, I’m guessing?”
“Please,” she murmurs back, eyes still watching the rise and fall of Root’s chest. “And hurry.” She hangs up, then, and tries not to watch the clock as she waits for his call. She decides to attempt to clean up the blood that’s dripped across her floor and onto her table while she waits, one eye on Root the whole time, and when she’s done she wipes a cloth across Root’s skin, revealing pale flesh beneath the sheen of red. She uses a pair of scissors to cut the ruined material of Root’s shirt away from her skin and tugs off her jacket, too, and tries not to think about how fragile and weak Root looks, lying on her kitchen table in just her bra and jeans.
Romeo knocks on her door within the hour, and Shaw opens the door only a crack as she takes the bag he hands her, giving him a nod of gratitude before shutting the door between them, knowing that she’ll see him sooner rather than later – she’s sure he and his little band of thieves can’t wait longer than a few days before coming up with a new target.
She’s methodical as she slides a needle into the skin of Root’s arm and hooks up one of the blood bags to it, watching as blood slides down the tube and into Root’s veins. It’s been so long since she’d gone into doctor mode (since she’d had to), and it’s nice to let her mind be taken back, to remember how easy it used to be, when she’d saved lives instead of taking them.
It’s not like she regrets where she is now (well, right now she does, a little, because Sameen Grey does not lead an interesting life and it’s driving her slowly insane), because the work she’s doing for the Machine is fulfilling in a way that her work for ISA had never been, but… it’s brought with it a lot of complications.
One of which is unconscious on her kitchen table right now.
She sighs as the last of the blood from the bag she holds in her hands trickles into Root and slips the needle gently from her skin, putting the other two bags of blood in her fridge and hoping that she won’t need any more than that. She deliberates whether she’s better leaving Root where is or trying to move her and decides that she’s probably better off on a softer surface than wood, and she’s grateful for the fact that she hasn’t let her fitness levels go slack over the last couple of months as she hooks one arm under the back of Root’s knees and her other across the small of her back, lifting and carrying the other woman into her bedroom and depositing her on the bed.
She hopes that Root appreciates it, because if there’s one thing Shaw loves almost as much as shooting people and food, it’s sleep. But she knows she won’t get much of it, worrying if Root’s going to make it through the night (she’s pretty sure she will, but she needs to be sure), so instead she grabs another beer from her fridge (the one she’d been drinking before has gone regretfully warm and she thinks that Root can add that to the long list of inconveniences she’s caused Shaw tonight), sipping at it as she tries to find something to watch on the tiny TV she has in her bedroom.
The apartment itself is pretty tiny – and pretty shitty, too, but she supposes at least she has somewhere to go when her day at work (or in hell, as she likes to affectionately call it), is done. She glances at Root and wonders if she can say the same – she’s fairly certain that Root hasn’t called anywhere home ever since she’d left Samantha Groves behind and adopted a new identity.
Shaw releases a quiet sigh as her eyes wander to Root for the hundredth time that night, thinking that her life would be easier if they’d never met. She still remembers their first meeting with startling clarity – it still smarts, the fact that Root had gotten one over her so easily, and she can still remember the feeling of being completely powerless, zip ties chaffing at her wrists as Root had leaned close and threatened to press an iron to her skin.
When she thinks about it, about how their relationship started, it’s almost a miracle that Root’s still alive, that she’s managed to worm her way so firmly into Shaw’s life that Shaw can scarcely even imagine a life without her in it. These last few months have been dull for a whole load of reasons, but there’s a part of Shaw that thinks that Root’s absence, and the flirting and the glances and the touching that came with it, have a big hand in it, too.
Root looks peaceful, with her eyes closed in sleep, more peaceful than Shaw thinks she’s ever seen her. She looks younger like this, almost innocent, and Shaw isn’t sure she likes it – she’s too used to Root shrouded with mystery, edged with danger, and the change is startling. There’s a little more colour in her cheeks, though, tinged with pink instead of ghostly pale, and Shaw is glad, relaxes a little with the knowledge that Root’s more than likely going to be okay.
She doesn’t remember closing her eyes but she must do because the next thing she knows it’s morning, weak sunlight filtering through her crappy blinds, and there’s a crick in her neck from sleeping upright in an uncomfortable chair and she groans as she straightens herself out, stretching her arms above her head and groaning again when she hears the joints crack.
She feels a set of eyes on her then and turns her head to see Root watching her, her eyes dark and she lets her arms drop back down to her sides, rubbing a hand at the back of her neck and wincing when it twinges.
“How long have you been awake for?” She asks, shifting uncomfortably under Root’s heavy gaze, and she watches the other women shrug before she hisses in pain – Shaw smirks and Root’s eyes narrow into a glare.
“A while. Couldn’t sleep.” Root’s voice is quiet and raspy, and Shaw gives her a once over and notes that she looks exhausted.
“So you thought you’d watch me sleep instead?” She doesn’t like the thought, it makes her uneasy, because it’s not often she stays with someone, will always, on those rare occasions that she takes someone home with her for the night, kick them out before they can fall asleep.
“Well, you’re just so pretty to look at…” She trails off, a half-smirk on her face, and Shaw rolls her eyes. “And you fell asleep right there and it’s not like I can move. Were you watching me sleep? Worried about me?” There’s a teasing edge of her voice and Shaw wants to be annoyed but mostly she’s glad that Root seems to be okay.
“Just worried about how bad it would look if I had a dead body in my bed,” Shaw replies, deadpan, and Root grins.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sameen.” Her voice is soft, and her eyes are filled with something that makes Shaw uneasy. “I know that, somewhere deep down, you care about me.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She pushes herself to her feet and stretches her arms above her head again, narrowing her eyes at Root when she notices the way the other woman’s gaze drops down to take in the thin strip of skin that the movement reveals. “Let me check your dressing.”
“I love it when you get so demanding.”
“Root,” she sighs, exasperated, thinking that it’s too damn early for this shit, but Root only smiles innocently up at her. She tugs at the bedsheet covering Root’s body and pointedly ignores the smirk she knows is on the hacker’s face as she eyes the bandage across her stomach – it’s stained with blood and Shaw tuts to herself as she peels it away.
“Do I get a shirt after you’re done with this?” Root asks, feigning disinterest as Shaw swipes at the wound with an antiseptic, but she can hear the catch in Root’s voice and knows she’s still in a lot of pain. “Or are you enjoying seeing me in my underwear too much?”
“I had to take the shirt off,” Shaw replies through gritted teeth, “because it was ruined and I didn’t want your bloodstains all over my sheets.”
“You didn’t have to put me in your bed.” Root sounds like she’s enjoying herself far too much, her voice light. “If I knew all it took to get into here was getting shot I would’ve done it a long time ago.” Shaw prods at Root’s stitches with a little more force than strictly necessary and feels a flash of vindication when she hears the other woman let out a low hiss, glances up to see Root looking at her reproachfully. “You know, your bedside manner could use a little work.”
“Well, if that’s such a problem for you, why don’t you go somewhere else?” Shaw mutters sullenly as she presses a fresh piece of gauze to Root’s skin.
“And miss out on the opportunity to spend quality time with you? Never.” Shaw shakes her head, ignoring the way Root’s skin feels warm beneath her fingertips as she smooths tape against the edges of the gauze. She feels Root shudder beneath her touch and looks up sharply, afraid that she’s hurt her, and sees Root looking at her with dark eyes and laboured breathing and quickly steps away, swallowing around the lump that seems to have formed in her throat.
“I’m going to make some breakfast,” she says after a moment of heavy silence, feeling a little like she’s suffocating beneath the weight of Root’s gaze. “You want anything?”
“I’ll come and hel - ” Root moves to sit up, wincing as she does, but Shaw stops her without thinking, pressing her hand to Root’s chest and gently pushing her so that her back is on the bed.
“You are staying here and not ripping your stitches,” she demands, and it’s only then that she realizes what she’s done, that her palm is pressed against Root’s breasts – she can feel the rough lace of her bra beneath her hand, the heat and softness of her skin, and the rapid beat of her heart beneath her ribs.
“O-okay.” Root’s voice is breathy, and Shaw meets her gaze to see that her eyes are wide, her pupils blown and she smirks at how affected Root is by this, and she thinks that this is probably the first time she’s ever managed to disarm her like this, the first time she’s ever turned the tables, and wonders what fun she can have with this.
“I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” Shaw taps her index finger against Root’s collarbone, biting at the inside of her cheek to hide her grin when she hears Root’s breath catch.
“You’re the one in charge.”
“Hmm.” She’s more affected than she’ll ever admit to, with her hands on Root’s skin, leaning over her and breathing in the scent of her perfume, and she wonders what it is about Root that makes her so… desirable.
She’s not sure what it is, but she is sure that she’s not going to give in to it. It would be too dangerous – Shaw doesn’t get attached and she feels like she’s already more attached to Root (and the other two – she keeps telling herself that Finch and Reese are just the same as Root, that she doesn’t feel anything different towards Root than she does for them, but some days it’s hard to convince herself of that) than she’d ever wanted to be. She doesn’t need the extra complications that would come with having something more, with giving in to the temptation that she has sometimes to grab Root’s hips and press her back against the nearest wall and kiss her teasing words from her lips, to leave her a breathless mess that wouldn’t be able to speak ever again.
“You stay here,” she warns Root one last time, moving her hand away from her chest and pushing herself to her feet, padding back into the kitchen. She fries some bacon in a pan and makes it into two sandwiches, putting one on a plate and munching on the other as she returns to her bedroom, thrusting the plate towards Root, who looks a little green and shakes her head.
“No, thanks.” She hasn’t pulled the sheet back over her body and Shaw wonders if she’s done it on purpose, forces her gaze not to lower to take in the sight of her exposed skin.
“You should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Root repeats, nose wrinkling in distaste as she watches Shaw polish off the last bite of her sandwich, and she shrugs before starting on the second one, too.
“Your loss,” she mumbles through a mouthful of bread, and Root shakes her head slightly as she watches her with fascination. “What?”
“Nothing.” Root turns her head to glance at the clock on Shaw’s beside table then, pursing her lips when she notices the time. “Shouldn’t you be going to work soon?”
“I’m not going,” she calls over her shoulder as she returns to the kitchen, cleaning the plate and the pan and leaving them to dry; when she returns Root is propped up against the pillows, and she eyes her with disapproval. “I thought I told you not to move.”
“This is comfier,” Root defends, but Shaw takes in her pale face and thinks that she’s in a lot more pain than she’s willing to admit to. “And you should go to work. Act normal.”
“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Shaw replies immediately, and Root smiles sweetly at her.
“Aw, Sameen, you don’t need to worry about me.”
“I’m not worried about you,” she replies drolly. “I’m worried about you having free range over my apartment.”
“Ooh, what are you hiding that you don’t want me to find?” Root’s eyes are alight with excitement, and Shaw narrows her own. “Love letters about me?” Shaw’s eyes narrow further. “Or dirty notes about what you want to do to me?” And further. “Or do you have some interesting toys that you don’t want me to see?”
“Is it fun, being so delusional?” She counters, and Root laughs, delighted.
“Relax, Sameen,” Root says then. “Seeing as I can’t move an inch without being in excruciating pain, your secrets are safe from me.” Shaw eyes her for a moment longer, and she sighs. “You can’t draw attention to yourself, remember.”
“Missing one shift isn’t going to draw attention to me,” she argues, incredibly uneasy at the thought of leaving Root here alone. “It’d probably draw less attention, considering how often some of the idiots I’m forced to work with are off.”
“You should still go.”
“What if you need something?” The words tumble from her mouth without conscious thought and she curses herself as Root smiles widely, mouth opening, no doubt ready with some teasing retort, and quickly talks over her. “Like the bathroom.”
“I’m sure I can manage.” A flicker of doubt passes across her face, though, and Shaw feels a flash of triumph. “I’ll go before you leave and hopefully won’t need it again before you come back,” she says then, and Shaw’s sure her face falls.
She really fucking hates her job.
“Fine,” she mutters eventually, because Root looks kind of pathetic, curled up in her bed like that, and she doesn’t know when she’d developed an inability to say no to her but apparently she has and she hates herself a little bit for it. “Here.” She tugs one of her larger shirts from her drawer, hoping that it’ll be big enough to fit Root and throws it towards her. “Put this on.”
“Not enjoying the view?” Root asks, wincing as she pushes herself so that she’s sitting upright and struggling to get the shirt over her head. Shaw sighs before stepping closer to her to help, ignoring the way her fingers tingle as they brush down Root’s sides. She shifts to wrap a hand around Root’s waist then, but Root moves to push her away. “I can do it,” she insists, but Shaw eyes her doubtfully, hovering by her side as she pushes herself out of bed – her legs shake but she doesn’t fall, and Shaw’s a little impressed, even as she notes the way Root’s biting down hard on her bottom lip, her face white as a sheet.
To her credit, she makes it to the bathroom and back without Shaw’s help, but when she collapses back onto Shaw’s bed she looks drained, paler than Shaw would like and she decides to give the other woman another pint of blood before she goes, just in-case she somehow manages to rip her stitches open during the day.
Root doesn’t complain about her fussing (in fact she looks like she enjoys it and Shaw’s not sure how she feels about that), and she leaves her after checking her wound one last time, leaving everything she thinks Root’s likely to need while she’s gone within reach, pressing a phone into her hand and telling her to call if she needs anything.
Her shift feels like it drags even more than usual (which is saying something). She’s so restless, unable to stop her mind from wandering to thoughts of the woman that she’s left alone in her apartment, that her boss asks her three times if she’s okay, and eventually he sends her home early, annoyance colouring his voice as he warns her that she’d better be in a better mood the next time he sees her.
She’s tempted to snap that she wishes he never saw her again, but she bites her tongue at the last minute, Root’s voice echoing in her head ‘don’t draw attention to yourself’ and instead she just smiles and apologizes and leaves the store before he can change his mind. She stops at a supermarket on the way home to grab a few supplies, hating that, as she wanders through the aisles wondering what food she needs to buy, that Root factors so much in her thoughts. She’d gone from barely thinking about her at all to worrying about her all day and it’s… unsettling and she doesn’t like it.
She returns to her place to find Root in exactly the same position she’d left her in, lounging in her bed watching the TV, and she breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when she takes in the sight of her, deciding that she probably hasn’t spent the day rummaging around her place.
“You’re home early,” she murmurs quietly as she turns her head to glance at Shaw, where she stands in the doorway, and Shaw thinks that this feels entirely too domestic, coming home to someone like this. “You didn’t get fired, did you?”
“Sadly not.” Satisfied that Root’s not going to get up to any mischief she leaves her, heading to the kitchen and putting the things she’d bought away. When she straightens up from the fridge and turns to see Root standing close behind her she jumps, annoyed at herself for not hearing her move, and frowns. “You should not be out of bed.”
“I feel better,” Root replies and Shaw looks at her critically but thinks she does look a little better than she did this morning, more colour in her cheeks, a shine in her eyes and even though she’s holding her right arm a little awkwardly so it doesn’t brush against her side, she doesn’t look like she’s in too much discomfort. “You are so cute when you’re worried.” Root reaches out a hand towards her face, attempting to brush some of her hair away from her eyes but Shaw catches her wrist, fingers pressing into her skin – Root only smirks, and when she next speaks her voice is husky. “And if you want me in bed, all you have to do is ask.”
“Not what I meant,” she says sternly, ignoring Root’s delighted look. “And you know it.” She’s still holding Root’s wrist tightly in her hand and she can feel her pulse hammering beneath her fingers. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better, it means I can have my place back to myself sooner rather than later.”
“Do you not like spending time with me?” Root pouts, and Shaw thinks she looks ridiculous and shakes her head, disgusted that Root thinks that would ever actually work on her.
“Yeah, it’s the highlight of my fucking day,” she mutters under her breath, dropping her hold on Root’s arm and turning away. “You hungry yet?”
“Not really, but I’m sure you’re going to insist I eat something.”
“Sit,” Shaw says, nodding towards the wooden table, half-surprised when she actually listens to her. She can feel Root’s eyes on her as she busies herself with making food but she doesn’t look up and again she thinks about the domesticity of this, is unsettled by how easy she’s found it, by how easy having Root here is – it only makes her more determined to get her out of here as soon as possible.
“You gonna tell me the story behind that bullet hole?” She asks as she’s frying a mix of vegetables on the stove for her stir fry, and she glances up to see Root resting her chin on the back of the chair she’s sitting on, watching her intently.
“There’s not much story to tell. She asked me to do something for her, I did… and I got shot.”
“Doesn’t she usually warn you about that kind of stuff?”
“She’s been… quieter, than usual.” Root’s voice is barely above a whisper, sadder than Shaw has ever heard her and she looks up sharply, takes in the lost look on the other woman’s face and wonders if quieter means that the Machine’s barely talking to her at all.
“Should I be worried about that?” She asks, because if the Machine is compromised, if it’s not working like it used to, with Samaritan around every corner… that’s definitely something she feels that she should be concerned about.
“No.” Root sounds sure, and Shaw marvels, not for the first time, at how she can have such blind faith in a computer. “She just… can’t talk to me as freely as she used to. That’s all.”
“And how are you holding up with that?” She asks softly, eyes never leaving Root’s face – she sees the flash of pain cross her features before it’s blinked away and she wonders how she must feel, what the loss of something she’d been so dependent on will have done to her.
“I’m fine.” But her voice sounds hollow and Shaw tries to look past Root’s injury, to see what’s lying beneath the surface – she takes in the bags under her bloodshot eyes that she’d originally thought were from her sleepless night but now she wonders when the last time Root truly slept was, notes the way she looks more gaunt than usual and wonders if she’s been eating properly, too.
She tells herself that it shouldn’t matter, that she shouldn’t care, but she does – somehow, impossibly, she’d come to give a shit about what happened to the woman that had tasered her the first time they met, that she’d shot the second, and she thinks it’s a miracle that, after all that, they can sit here and have a civil conversation.
“Root…” Her eyes had been fixed on the floor, determinedly ignoring Shaw’s gaze, but at the sound of her name Root looks up, and Shaw finds that all her words flee her mind when Root fixes her with a heavy gaze. “You should be more careful,” she says eventually, her voice quiet. “You rely on the Machine too much.”
“It’s not like I’ve had much time to take self-defence classes.”
“I taught you a few moves.” She remembers that day in the CIA safehouse, those ten un-interrupted hours where she and Root had sparred, where they’d ended up pressed tightly against one another more times than Shaw could count, when Root’s laboured breathing had echoed into her ear and she’d felt sweat-slicked skin beneath her fingertips, her heart hammering loudly in her ears.
“True.” Shaw watches the way Root’s lips curve into a lazy smirk, has little doubt that Root is remembering that day, too – though she’s sure her thoughts are more inappropriate than Shaw’s. “That was fun.”
“Yeah, kicking your ass was pretty fun.” She enjoys the look of outrage on Root’s face more than she probably should.
“I beat you a couple times.”
“Yeah, because I let you.”
“Please,” Root scoffs. “Like you’d ever let me win anything.” Shaw just shakes her head, even though they both know it’s true – and she’s never going to admit to the real reason why Root had gotten a one-up on her a couple of times, which was because she was too distracted by the closeness of the other woman and the amount of skin on show. “We should do that again sometime.”
“I’ll think about it.” She ignores the suggestive look Root’s throwing her, knowing exactly why she wants to get physical and it’s got nothing to do with learning how to defend herself. “You’ll have to avoid getting shot before we can, though.”
“It’s not like I planned this,” Root replies indignantly, gesturing to her side with a grimace.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Her stir fry finished, she switches off the stove and grabs two bowls from the cupboard. “Injuring yourself on purpose just to spend time with me.”
“If I was going to do that,” Root murmurs as Shaw pads over to her with a bowl of food in each hand. “It’d be in a less painful way than a gunshot, I assure you.”
“Mm, if you say so.” They’re quiet as they eat, Root picking at her food while Shaw eyes her with disapproval, her own bowl clean within just a few minutes, and she washes up while she waits for Root to finish.
It’s strange, having someone else around. She’s so used to spending her days alone – at work she keeps to herself, interacts with customers only when she’s forced to with her supervisors eyes on her, and at home it’s just her, and while she’s solitary by nature it’s also… kind of nice. She actually misses the stupid library and stupid Finch and Reese, she misses having a home because that’s what it always felt like, over there, Bear always ready to greet her with a wagging tail.
She’s so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice Root behind her once again, and she breathes out a quiet curse when she turns to find her stood close behind her, plate in her hand and a smirk on her face.
“Sorry,” she says, but she doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” she scoffs, and she’s all too aware of how close Root stands, can feel the heat of her skin, smell the faint scent of her perfume and shampoo, mixed with sweat and blood and it shouldn’t be intoxicating but it is.
“Whatever you say.” Root’s voice is coloured with amusement, and she’s got that goddamn smirk on her face and Shaw wants to wipe it away with her fist. “Thank you,” she says then, turning serious as she ducks her head, away from Shaw’s gaze. “For everything. I put you in danger just by coming here and you didn’t have to help me but you did, so… Thanks.”
“Of course I had to help you, Root,” she murmurs in reply, uncomfortable with the topic of conversation but unwilling to show it, and Root’s still got her fenced in against the kitchen sink so even if she wants to slink away and forget any of this ever happened it’s not like she can.
“And why’s that?” Root’s head lifts, her eyes dark as they meet Shaw’s. “Because you care about me so much?” Shaw clenches her jaw, eyeing Root warily as she sets a hand on either side of Shaw’s hips, trapping her against the counter, and she wonders if Root had somehow managed to find a wonder painkiller somewhere in this apartment because she’s sure she shouldn’t be moving so freely. “Is it really so hard for you to say out loud?”
“I’d have no problem saying it if it were true,” she replies sweetly, rolling her eyes when Root (predictably) pouts.
“Whatever you say, Sameen.” Root turns and walks away, then, and Shaw feels like can breathe a little easier without her there. “I’ll get out of your hair,” Root calls out, already near to the door, and Shaw frowns over at her, watching as she reaches for the leather jacket she’d been wearing yesterday. It’s black but stained darker with blood in places, but Root doesn’t seem to care as she tugs it over one shoulder. “I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I already have.”
“Is that a good idea?” Shaw worries at her bottom lip as she watches Root struggle to slip her right arm into the sleeve of her jacket, her muscles tensing as she grimaces in pain. “You turned up on my doorstep half-dead less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“Half-dead’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Not really,” Shaw shrugs, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter and folding her arms across her chest. “Considering you fainted and needed two blood transfusions.”
“And now I’m fine.” But she still can’t get her arm in the sleeve, and Shaw just raises an eyebrow as she watches her struggle. “Are you going to help me or just stand there?” Root asks eventually, frustrated, and Shaw shakes her head.
“No, because if we were fine you wouldn’t need any help.” Root huffs, giving up and letting the sleeve flop against her side. “Where are you going to go when you leave here? Do you even have anywhere to go?” She’s long suspected that Root doesn’t have a true home, that she just relies on the Machine to find her a bed to sleep on for the night, and she can’t help but wonder what she’s doing now, without the voice in her ear telling her where to go.
“I’ll find somewhere,” Root shrugs, like it’s no big deal, and Shaw sighs softly.
“No, you won’t. You can stay here for one more night.” Root looks at her in surprise, and she finds her jaw clenching again, wants to snap that it doesn’t mean anything but she also doesn’t want Root taking offence and skittering away, off into the night where Shaw can’t keep an eye on her.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Root says in a small voice, like she’s too used to being called an inconvenience, and Shaw wonders, not for the first time, what Root’s been through in her life.
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” she points out, when Root continues to look uncertain, so far away from the confidence she usually displays when she’s flirting and she feels like a stranger and it’s disarming.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I’m not gonna make an invalid sleep on the couch.” She smirks when Root looks at her, offended.
“I’m not an invalid,” she says haughtily. “And I’m not going to force you out of your bed for another night. Unless,” her eyes sparkle and Shaw braces herself for whatever innuendo’s coming her way. “You want to join me?”
“I could think of nothing worse,” she replies flatly, and Root grins. “Take your jacket off if you’re staying, you look ridiculous.”
“I don’t know, Sameen,” Root murmurs as she shrugs back out of her jacket and hangs it back up on the hook by the door. “Inviting me to spend the night in your bed, telling me to take off my clothes…”
“Keep this up and I’ll throw you out on your ass.”
“Even after you just begged me to stay?”
“I did not - ” She cuts herself off, knowing that she’ll get nowhere when Root’s in a mood like this, and instead takes a deep breath and turns her back, bending down to reach into the fridge for a beer. “I got you these before,” she remembers as she catches a glimpse of the packet of pills she’d picked up at the pharmacy, chucking them in Root’s general direction as she flips the lid off her bottle and raises it to her lips. “Mention anything about me caring,” she warns, stretching a threatening finger towards Root as she opens her mouth, “and you’ll regret it.”
“As if I’d say such a thing.” Root feigns innocence, and Shaw grabs a bottle of water and throws that towards her, too, smirking when she hears a small squeak of surprise followed by a thud. “Throwing things at a gunshot victim, really?”
“It didn’t even hit your injured side.” Shaw takes another swig of her beer as she turns to look at Root, who’s holding the pills in one hand and the water in the other and glaring in her general direction.
“How do you know? You weren’t even looking.”
“Because I never miss,” she says smartly, self-satisfied smirk on her lips. “Whether I’m looking or not.” Root grumbles something that Shaw doesn’t quite manage to hear, and she watches the other woman tip some of the painkillers into the palm of her hand before swallowing them.
“Can I use your shower?” Root asks after a few moments of blissful silence, and Shaw wonders how many aspects of her life Root is going to invade – first her bedroom, now her shower – but she reminds herself that she did ask her to stay (she’s struggling to remember why because Root will be smug as hell about this), and sighs.
“You really shouldn’t get that dressing wet.”
“It needs changing anyway.”
“You shouldn’t get the wound wet, either.” Root just looks at her, that stupid pout on her lips again and she groans. “Fine. But come here, first.” She heads back into her bedroom and Root follows in her wake, curious eyes focused on her back. She grabs her first aid kit and a bandage more waterproof than the one Root’s wearing now and she gets the hint, curling her hands around the shirt Shaw had given her that morning and tugging it up over her ribs.
She lets out a quiet hiss of pain as the stretch irritates the stitches at her side, and Shaw moves to help her, yanking the shirt the rest of the way over her head, wishing that she could ignore the way their height difference means that when she ducks her head to tend to Root’s wound she’s practically at eye level with her breasts and this is so not what she needed today.
She splays her right hand across Root’s ribs as she tugs the tape away from her skin, stopping her from shying away, knowing it must hurt, pressing her back against the wall behind her. She hears the quiet gasp Root lets out when her back hits the cool surface but ignores it, eyes glued to her broken skin, eyeing the line of black stitches critically, checking for any sign of infection.
Satisfied that it’s still okay she covers them with a waterproof dressing and tapes it back up, stepping away from Root and releasing a breath she hadn't realised she’d been holding only when she’s no longer touching the other woman.
“There you go,” she says quietly, hyper-aware of the flush that covers Root’s skin, the way her chest heaves slightly with the force of her breaths, and the way her eyes watch her, almost predatory in the way they drag across her body. “Shower ready.” She almost shivers under the heat of Root’s gaze, wondering when she’d become so easily affected by her, and blames it on the fact that she can barely even remember the last time she got laid. “Try not to need any help in there.”
“You mean you don’t want to see me naked?” Root looks offended, but Shaw doesn’t rise to the bait, just shoots her an unamused look – when Root’s hands drop to the button of her jeans, beginning to shove them down her legs she hastily turns her back and averts her eyes, and Root’s quiet laughter rings in her ears. “I didn’t take you for the modest type.”
“I’m not.” She was in the Marines, she’s seen her fair share of naked bodies, but that doesn’t mean that she needs the image of Root’s imprinted in her mind (so maybe she’s thought about it, about what Root looks like beneath her clothes, but god, that doesn’t mean that she needs to actually see it – she’s not entirely sure she’d ever be able to recover from it, her imagination is bad enough, and it’s downright distracting at times and Christ, it really has been too long since she got laid). “Usually.”
“So you want to save the first time you see me naked for a more special occasion, I got it.” Shaw just shakes her head and sighs, wondering how many more times she’s going to need to do that before this day is done. “Can I borrow some more clothes?”
“I’ll leave some on the bed for you.”
“Underwear, too?” She can hear the smirk in Root’s voice, doesn’t need to turn around to see it, and she grinds her teeth together before she answers, hating how much Root is enjoying this.
“Fine.”
“Make sure you leave me a nice pair.”
“The only reason you’ll get a pair at all is so you’re not going commando in my apartment,” she mutters, surly, and when she feels a pair of hands pressing into her shoulders she jumps, startled, but doesn’t allow herself to turn around because she’d heard the sound of clothing dropping to the floor and she’s pretty sure Root isn’t wearing a thing. “Go and get in the fucking shower.”
“Mm, have I mentioned that I love it when you’re demanding?” Root leans down to breathe the words against Shaw’s ear, her voice low, and Shaw growls, a retort ready on her lips but before she can speak Root is gone, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her and cutting off the sound of her chuckling.
Shaw mumbles to herself about what a terrible idea letting her stay another night was as she searches for something for Root to wear – she has no pants that are likely to fit her stupidly long legs so she settles for shorts instead, folding them and leaving them in a pile with the shirt Root had been wearing all day and one of her plainest pairs of underwear (she’s sure Root will still have a comment to make about them, though).
She stretches out across her couch as she waits for Root to finish, starting on her second beer as she watches a game on the TV, one ear listening out for the sound of Root’s voice, just in case she needs anything, but a call never comes.
She even manages to dress herself, because when Root emerges from Shaw’s bedroom she’s clad in Shaw’s shorts (they’re really short on her and her legs go on for freaking miles and it’s a struggle for Shaw to avert her eyes), and shirt, and she stands above Shaw with her hands on her hips, an expectant look on her face. Shaw sighs and shifts on the couch so that her back is against the arm of it, giving Root enough space to sit at the other end.
“Well, this is nice.” Shaw had been wondering how long it’d take Root to say something, turns her head from the TV so that she’s looking at her. “You and me, cuddling on the couch…”
“I’d hardly call this cuddling.” Shaw drains the last of her beer in one big gulp, getting to her feet to grab another bottle because she’s sure she’s going to need it to get through the night.
“For you it is,” Root points out, and Shaw scowls – Root notices her expression when she returns to the couch and smirks. “Am I bothering you? Because you’re the one who asked me to stay.”
“Don’t fucking remind me,” Shaw mutters to herself, glancing at Root and wondering what the probability of her doing serious damage to herself is if she does kick her out of the apartment, after all. “And don’t push it, either.”
“I can’t help it,” Root pouts, eyes watching Shaw closely. “You’re just so cute when you’re mad.”
“I thought I was cute when I was worried?” She raises a sceptical eyebrow, and Root grins and Shaw wonders how she can get so much enjoyment out of taunting her like this.
“You caught me,” Root says then, smirk back on her face. “I think you’re cute all the time.” Shaw scoffs, downing half of her beer in one go, pretty sure that the word ‘cute’ has never been used to describe her in her life.
Angry, crazed and terrifying, yes, but never cute.
“Whatever,” she mutters, hoping that ignoring the other woman might get her to shut up, and she turns her attention back to the game, stretching one hand behind her head as she pulls her legs up onto the couch, settling them in the empty space between her and Root.
“I never understood baseball.” Shaw is unsurprised that Root breaks the silence – she’s pretty sure that she can’t go for more than five minutes without speaking – and when she turns her head she sees Root eyeing the screen with her nose scrunched up in distaste. “What’s the point?”
“You really want me to explain the rules to you?”
“No,” Root looks offended at the suggestion, a haughty expression on her face. “I understand it, I’m not an idiot.” Shaw’s mouth opens to disagree, but she snaps her jaw closed when Root shoots her a glare. “I just don’t understand why.”
“Not a sportsfan?” Root shakes her head, and Shaw can’t say that she’s really surprised. “Well, what do you like, then?” She doesn’t know why she asks, aside from the fact that she’s always had a strange sort of fascination with Root, ever since their first meeting – she’s wanted to learn as much as she possibly could about the woman who had managed to incapacitate her so easily, had spent months doing recon and research on her after she’d seen her photograph in Finch’s library.
“I… I don’t… nothing, really.” Root looks taken aback at the question, turning to look at Shaw with surprise glittering in her brown eyes. “Hacking, computers… that’s about it,” she continues in a small voice.
“Then what do you do for fun?”
“You mean aside from torture you?” Root raises a suggestive brow, and Shaw just looks at her blankly. “I don’t have a lot of time for fun,” she shrugs. “I do what She asks – chase after numbers, go on missions, get shot at…” Her lips curve into a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Shaw shakes her head.
“Considering you could’ve died,” she points out, eyeing Root carefully, “you’re being pretty blasé about the whole thing. You always been this reckless?”
“I didn’t think you cared.”
“I don’t,” she says, bluntly, but Root smiles a little smile that screams she doesn’t believe her, and Shaw wonders when she’d become so transparent.
“Whatever you say, Sameen.” She shoots a glare at the side of Root’s head, but the other woman ignores her, and she returns her attention to the game – and sharply away again when she sees Root rise to her feet from the corner of her eye, watches her saunter towards the kitchen like she’s lived here for years with suspicion in her eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a drink,” Root calls over her shoulder, disappearing out of Shaw’s view and she’s up on her feet the next second, hurrying over to find Root searching for a glass to put the water she’s helped herself to from the fridge in to – she lets her look, instead of telling her where to find them; it’s much more entertaining. “Seeing as you haven’t offered me one, aside from throwing a bottle of water at my head – your hostess skills could use some work, too.”
“Yeah, because I’m so used to having company,” she replies drolly, because she can scarcely remember the last time there was someone else at her place – in fact, she’s pretty sure the last person was Root, that time she’d broken in and tased her when she was half-asleep.
“True. I’ll just have to come over more often so you can work on it.” Root’s back is turned to her as she finally finds the cupboard that contains Shaw’s glasses, so she misses the face Shaw pulls at her words.
“Uh, don’t even think about it.” Root lets out a low chuckle that quickly morphs into a hiss of pain as she stretches to reach for a glass, and Shaw tuts as Root’s free hand flies to her side, her face twisting in pain. “You really should be more careful, you’re gonna rip the stitches.”
“Good thing I know someone who can re-do them, then, isn’t it?” Root says lightly as she pours her water, and Shaw rolls her eyes.
“I’m not your personal doctor, Root,” she grumbles, annoyed, but Root only smirks as she raises her glass to her lips – Shaw tries to ignore the way her tongue runs across her lips after she takes a sip, but Root’s smirk widens and she thinks that the other woman noticed her watching the movement and curses herself for being so obvious.
“Why do you even have these up so high, anyway?” Root asks then, deftly changing the subject as she waves the glass in her hand. “Not like you can reach them.”
“I drink from the bottle,” she replies, absentmindedly reaching out her hand to circle to rim of the bottle of beer she’d been drinking earlier – when she glances up she sees Root’s eyes focused intently on the movement of her fingers and smirks. “And I’m not that short.”
“Please,” Root scoffs, taking a couple of steps closer until they’re chest-to-chest. “You’re practically a midget.” Shaw glares up at her, but she’s so close that she has to tilt her head back and it just reaffirms Root’s point and she huffs, annoyed.
“I might look it to you because you’re a gangly giant,” she starts, and Root lets out a light laugh, “but I’m a perfectly average height.” When she’d been younger, and always a foot shorter than her next smallest classmate, she’d been teased a lot about it – until she’d punched someone in the face for calling her tiny, and no-one had bothered her about her height (or anything else), after that.
Somehow she doubts that punching Root will have quite the same effect. Hell, she’d probably enjoy it.
“Whatever, Sameen.” That damn smirk is back on her face and this close Shaw can smell the scent of Root’s perfume mixed with the scent of her own shampoo, can feel the heat of her body radiating between them and she wants to pull Root closer and drown in her. “You’re still a midget to me.”
“One that could kick your ass.” She stares up at Root defiantly, watches as an indulgent smile spreads across the other woman’s face.
“Of course you could.” There’s a note of scepticism in Root’s voice and Shaw knows she’s doing it to annoy her, knows that Root knows exactly how to push her buttons and hating that she can, hating herself for reacting to it but she just can’t help it, when Root’s around, and she reacts without thinking, stepping closer and forcing Root’s back against the kitchen counter, one hand curling around the marble on either side of Root’s hips, trapping her in place.
“Don’t push me, Root,” she hisses, watching the way Root’s breath hitches and her pupils dilate at the threat, and she licks her lips and Shaw’s eyes drop to follow the movement, transfixed for one long second before she snaps her gaze back up to meet Root’s eyes. “I mean it.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Root’s voice is low and breathy, and Shaw hates that it sends a bolt of heat straight through her because it’s Root and she shouldn’t want her like this, shouldn’t want to lift her up on the kitchen counter and fuck her until she could barely stand after, but god, there’s a part of her that wants that, maybe more than she’s ever wanted anything before in her entire life, and her hands clench so hard on the countertop as she tries to fight the urge to reach out and touch Root that her knuckles flash white.
“Believe me,” she leans forward to breathe the words into Root’s ear, smirking when she hears her breath catch, because if Root’s going to keep on messing with her, she’s going to give as much as she gets. “If I talk dirty to you,” she pauses as she dips her head, running her nose along the column of Root’s neck, satisfied with the sharp gasp she hears Root let out, and when she lets her tongue flick against Root’s earlobe before she murmurs her next words she hears a soft moan and thinks that maybe pushing this was a really bad idea because now that she’s heard Root make that sound she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to get it out of her head, “you’ll know.” She breathes the words like a promise and then she turns and stalks away, back into the living room and sprawling back on her couch.
She turns her head when she hears the sound of footsteps after a few moments of heavy silence, and sees Root standing in the kitchen doorway, a flush staining her cheeks as she looks down at Shaw with unreadable eyes.
“Something the matter?” She asks, innocently, and Root’s mouth opens and shuts a few times as she struggles to find the right words, and she thinks that this is the first time she’s ever made Root speechless – if that’s the effect that flirting back with her will have then hell, maybe she’ll do it more often.
“No,” she says eventually, a tiny frown of confusion between her brows as she settles beside Shaw once again, and Shaw hides her grin behind the lip of her beer bottle as she watches Root eyeing her every so often, trying to work out the intention behind what had just happened in the kitchen.
If she’s being honest with herself, Shaw isn’t really sure herself. Because while she did want to mess with Root’s head, just a little, as payback for all the times she’d messed with Shaw, there was also that part of her that wanted her, that had wanted to allow herself just a second to breathe her in, to taste her skin.
It’s a dangerous game that she’s playing and she knows it, because if she pushes too far, if Root pushes back against her after her initial shock, Shaw’s not quite sure where to draw the line – if she’ll even be able to, because although she prides herself on her strong self-control, when it comes to Root she’s never truly able to trust herself or her instincts, because Root can put her off-balance with as little as a single glance. But for now, Root is quiet and Shaw enjoys the silence as they watch the rest of the game – her stomach rumbles as it’s finishing and she wanders back into the kitchen, searching through the cupboards and letting out a noise of celebration when she comes across a bag of chips that she’d completely forgotten she owned, tearing the bag open and shoving three into her mouth as she makes her way back over to Root, who eyes her in disbelief.
“Do you ever stop eating?”
“No,” Shaw answers as she puts another handful of chips into her mouth, waving the bag in Root’s direction as she throws herself down on the couch. “Want one?”
“I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” Root watches her eat for a few moments longer before turning her head away, lifting one hand to her mouth as she yawns, and Shaw frowns as she remembers the little sleep the other woman had gotten the previous night. “Did you get any rest today?”
“What?” Root asks, blinking in confusion. “I spent the day in bed, I’d say that was pretty restful.”
“But did you sleep?” The other woman shakes her head and Shaw’s frown deepens as she allows herself to scrutinize Root’s face, once again taking note of the bags under her eyes. “Then you should go to bed if you’re tired.”
“What about if I’m not tired?” Obviously recovering from the kitchen incident, Root’s voice is heavy with suggestion and Shaw rolls her eyes as Root’s lips curve into a smirk. “I can think of a few ways you could wear me out involving a bed, though. And a few much more fun ways that don’t.”
“Yeah? Too bad I don’t want to hear about any of them.”
“Are you sure?” Root leans forward on the couch, and Shaw’s gaze drops as she notices one of Root’s arms move, watches as her hand lands on Shaw’s thigh, warm even through the thick material of her sweats. “I think you’d be very interested in what I have to say.” Root leans closer, so close that Shaw can feel warm breath against her lips and she clenches her jaw, refusing to be affected by Root’s closeness.
“I don’t think so.” Her voice is even, and she watches the way Root’s eyes flicker down to her lips as she speaks before back up to meet her gaze, her eyes dark. “And besides,” she allows herself to lean forward, just a little, smirks at the way Root’s eyes widen in surprise, and there’s so little space between them that her next words are practically murmured into Root’s mouth. “Even if I was interested…” She trails off, feeling the way Root’s breath catches, the nails of the hand on her thigh digging deliciously into her skin. “In your condition there’s no way you’d be able to keep up with me.”
“Why don’t we test that theory?” Root’s voice is breathy, affected by Shaw’s words, and when she turns her head, trying to connect their lips Shaw smirks and leans away, getting an immense sense of enjoyment out of the look on Root’s face as she stares at her, blinking slowly. “You’re such a tease,” she pouts and Shaw lets out a low chuckle.
“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” she shoots back, shoving herself to her feet and stretching her arms above her head. “I’m going for a shower,” she announces, giving Root one final glance over her shoulder before disappearing into her bedroom, letting out a quiet breath as soon as the door is shut behind her, wondering how much further she can push this before she goes over an edge that she won’t be able to return from.
She keeps the shower cold as she jumps under the spray in the hope that it will stop the heated thoughts that bounce around her head as she thinks about Root, wishing she could push the woman out of her mind for good – but when she emerges from the bathroom it’s to find her sprawled out across her bed and Shaw sighs as she runs a towel through her hair, ignoring the way Root’s eyes drag across her body, taking in the sight of her in nothing but a tank top and shorts, and she glares as she settles in her chair for the night, curling her legs up beneath her.
“Not going to join me?” Root drawls, eyes on Shaw’s face as she rests her cheek on the pillow, and Shaw can’t help but think that Root was a lot easier to deal with last night when she was unconscious.
“I don’t share well,” she replies easily, shifting in the chair to try and get comfortable, even though she knows it’s futile, but she’s slept on worse in the past.
“I promise I won’t hog the covers.”
“Go to sleep, Root,” she sighs, exhaustion creeping through her bones now that she’s ensconced in darkness, the few hours of sleep she’d managed to snatch last night finally catching up with her. “Or at least shut up so I can.”
“Fine,” Root huffs, but when Shaw glances towards her she can make out a soft, affectionate smile on the other woman’s face that makes Shaw’s stomach twist. “Goodnight, Sameen.” She doesn’t reply, only closes her eyes and tries to ignore the sound of Root, her even breaths as she shifts in the bed, and after a few moments of constant noise Shaw cracks one eye open, glaring.
“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to go sleep on the couch.”
“Not that I’m complaining,” Root begins and Shaw sighs, opening both eyes and tilting her head behind her to rest it against the back of the chair, eyes on the ceiling. “But why aren’t you there anyway? Can’t bear to be away from me for too long?”
Root’s voice is teasing, and instead of answering her Shaw just leaves, stalking back out into the living room without another word, hating the fact that Root is right, that there is absolutely no reason for them to be in the same room tonight and she curses herself as she throws herself down on the couch, Root’s voice ringing in her ears.
“Oh, come on, Sameen, don’t be like that,” she calls out, but Shaw doesn’t answer, only closes her eyes and tries to ignore her. “I was only joking. Come back.” She hears Root sigh but then nothing else, and she turns onto her side, stretching out her legs and curling one hand under her head.
She’s always been able to fall asleep easily, too used to snatching a few hours of rest whenever the opportunity presented itself, and that night is no exception as she falls into a dreamless sleep within a few minutes – she’s woken by a cry after what feels like only a few moments and she blinks blearily as she comes to her senses, instantly alert as she pushes herself to her feet.
She hears the noise again, echoing from the direction of her bedroom and she pads towards it quietly, wincing when she catches a glimpse of the time and seeing that she’s barely had two hours sleep, and she’s ready with a reprimand on her lips as she steps through the doorway into her room, but the words die on her lips when she sees the way Root’s lying within, her body twisted at an odd angle, pained look on her face, her eyes scrunched tightly shut as she mumbles to herself, and it takes Shaw a long moment to realize she must be having a nightmare and it takes her another moment to react.
She steps towards the bed hesitantly, kneeling on the edge as she leans over Root and shakes her gently, scared that if she keeps thrashing she’ll open the her wound, and her hands are gentle but firm as they wrap around her shoulders – Root’s skin is clammy to the touch, and Shaw’s hands tighten around her, shake her a little harder and when she wakes it’s with a gasp, her eyes flying open and staring up at Shaw, unfocused but filled with the kind of fear that Shaw had seen in the eyes of people who knew they were about to die, and she wonders what haunts Root’s nightmares to make her look the same way.
“Shaw,” she breathes, her voice a broken whisper as her eyes regain their focus, and Shaw notices the way Root’s hands shake as they release the tight grip they’d had on the bedsheets wrapped tightly around her. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, and Shaw hates how distant she sounds as she turns her face away, jaw clenching in a way that makes Shaw wonder if she’s struggling not to cry. “It won’t happen again.”
“Hey,” she says softly, raising one hand from Root’s shoulder to cup the side of her face, “look at me.” Her head turns and sure enough, her eyes glitter with unshed tears, haunted in a way that Shaw’s never seen before and she wonders what it’s like, to feel something so deeply. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you didn’t care.” Root’s voice wavers as she inhales a shaky breath, and sweat beads on her forehead even though her skin feels ice cold.
“We both know that I do,” she says quietly in reply, but even that admission doesn’t draw a smile from the other woman, and Shaw wishes she knew how to help, how she could get the bleak look to fade from Root’s eyes because she hates it, hates how she looks like this, like she’s a completely different person.
“I’m fine.” But her voice isn’t convincing, and Shaw just raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Or as fine as I ever will be.” She mutters that quietly, and Shaw wonders if she was supposed to hear that, wonders just how often it is, exactly, that Root wakes like this, pale and trembling, and is unsettled by the thought. Root shifts, then, and winces, one hand sliding down to her side, and when she brings it back to her face her fingers are tinged with red and she looks at Shaw apologetically. “I think I tore my stitches.”
Shaw pulls the bedsheet away from Root’s body and sees blood staining her skin, tugs away the dressing and bites her lip when she sees the mess beneath, murmurs for her to stay there before disappearing into the bathroom to grab her first aid kit and when she returns Root manages a weak smile although her eyes are still haunted.
“This is going to hurt,” Shaw warns and Root just nods, turning her face away as her teeth close around her bottom lip. Shaw works as quickly as she can, removing the original stitches before putting in a fresh set, trying to ignore the way Root’s face twists in pain, and the tears that fall from her eyes – she wonders if they’re a result of what she’s doing or if her mind is still trapped in her nightmare, and decides not to ask. “There,” she murmurs when she’s done, pressing another dressing over the wound gently. “Root - ”
“Don’t,” Root interrupts, turning to look at Shaw, her gaze pleading, and she’s never seen Root look so vulnerable. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please.” Shaw wants to disagree, wants to tell her that maybe it would help, but she’s not entirely sure that she’s qualified to help with something like this so she bites her tongue and just nods. “You can have the bed if you want,” she says then, her voice soft. “I don’t think I’m going to be using it much.”
“You should try to go back to sleep,” Shaw insists, because Root’s exhaustion is clear across her face and she needs the rest if she’s going to recover quickly from her injuries and it worries her, how far Root will push herself if the Machine asked her to. “You need it.”
“It’ll just happen again,” Root says bleakly, her eyes far away, “and I’ll just rip the stitches again so there’s really no point.”
“I’ll stay,” Shaw finds herself speaking without thinking, and Root looks at her sharply, confusion clear in her gaze. “I’m a light sleeper,” she explains quickly, cursing herself and Root for always throwing her off balance. “So if it happens again it’ll wake me and then I can wake you.”
“Are you offering to sleep with me?” Root asks, and Shaw closes her eyes at the wondering tone of her voice, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Why, Sameen, I’m flattered.” Root’s voice is flat, her heart not truly in the remark, and it’s that more than anything that makes up her mind.
“I’m offering to sleep next to you,” she clarifies, looking at Root sternly, “and only because you look like shit and it’s kind of weirding me out, seeing you so far from your usual perky self. Don’t read into it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Root’s eyes meet hers for one long moment, and Shaw wonders what she sees on her face, whether she can see the worry that she’s sure must shine through because she’s never seen Root like this, so small and so lost. “Goodnight, Sameen,” Root says again before her eyes flutter closed, and Shaw gathers up the supplies she’d been using and drops them off the side of the bed before lying on her side, eyes fixed on Root.
Her chest rises and falls in time with her even breaths, and Shaw finds her eyes roving across her face, searching for signs of distress but her expression is peaceful, colour returning to her cheeks and the longer Shaw watches her the more her worry starts to ebb away.
She can’t even remember the last time she slept in a bed with another person, and she tries not to think about how intimate this feels, that two days ago she could pretend that Root was nothing more than a minor annoyance in her life and yet now she’s watching her sleep, and she wants to curse Root for doing this to her, to reducing her to someone who cares like this, because the feeling is foreign and unsettling and she doesn’t know what to do with it.
She doesn’t think that she’ll be able to fall asleep herself, not like this, with the warmth of another body so close to her own, but after a while she finds her eyes closing for longer and longer periods of time when she blinks, and eventually she can’t bring herself to open them again, lets her exhaustion sink in and lets sleep claim her.
When she wakes in the morning, Root is gone.