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shootwinterfest · 5 years

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Shoot Secret Santa by @t-ninjaa!

“Huh,” Root mused, furrowing her brow. Shaw looked up from her current task of sharpening her knife. “The Machine sent us a new number?” she asked, focusing back on the task at hand. “You could say that - although this one seems a little out of the ordinary.” “Yeah? How so?” “Well,” Root stood up from her seat at the computer desk and walked over to where Shaw was seated, “She didn’t give us a name or any of the usual identifying markers - just coordinates and instructions to extract the number.” “Is She glitching up? She’s only been back online for a few months; maybe it takes time to configure or something.” Root tilted her head and smiled. “I love it when you try to speak nerd. However, I don’t think that’s the problem. It almost feels like she’s purposely withholding this information from us.”

“So the Machine wants us to go into our next mission flying blind?” Shaw shook her head. “Usually I’d be up for this sort of thing, but you barely just recovered from that GSW. Now is not the time to play hide and seek with the details.” “There has to be a good reason for her to keep this information from us,” Root said. “Besides, I’m fully healed now.” She lifted up the hem of her shirt to reveal a shiny pink scar just under her right ribs. “See? Good as new.” Shaw shook her head. “Just because you look fine on the outside doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt on the inside, Root.” The words were simple but Root could tell that there was much more meaning behind them than Shaw let on. She raised an eyebrow in question and Shaw responded by rolling her eyes. “I’ve been gutshot too, remember? Coming back from the dead ain’t as easy as it sounds.” “It’s not too bad if you have your own personal physician to make sure that you’re healing properly,” Root teased. “Anyway,” Shaw said, changing the subject, “why should we even go on this mission if the Machine doesn’t trust us with the number’s identity?” “Consider it an adventure, Sameen. It’s not that she doesn’t trust us; the Machine assures me that there is nothing to worry about and that She just didn’t want the number’s identity to cloud our judgment.” “Who could it possibly be that would cloud our judgment?” Shaw asked. Root gave her pleading look and Shaw threw up her hands. “Fine. Your baby Machine better know what it’s doing,” she grumbled. “So what’s the plan?” Root listened intently to the Machine in her ear and nodded along in understanding. “There’s a charity event tomorrow night at the Waldorf Manor in the upper east side hosted by Robert Waldorf III himself.”

“He’s got a number after his name? Ugh, I hate him already.”

“Waldorf has connections to various criminal groups in New York, though it has never been proven. To the average New York citizen he’s just a very, very successful businessman and philanthropist. Our number was abducted on his orders and is being held somewhere inside the mansion. We need to secure invitations to this party, find and free the number, and then escape without getting noticed.” Shaw nodded. “Sounds easy enough. I assume the Machine will be supplying us with the invites to this party?” Root smiled. “You assumed correctly.” She paused and listened again as the Machine provided her with additional information. “Hold on, there’s...a second part to this mission,” Root relayed the Machine’s message to Shaw. “Also hidden at the mansion is a hard drive containing the identities and objectives of every undercover intelligence agent at the CIA. This information was probably obtained during Samaritan’s time and is likely being sold to the highest bidder.” “If any of this information gets leaked, who knows what kind of chaos it could cause. Not to mention all the lives that would be put at risk.”

“Exactly. That’s why we’ll need to retrieve the hard drive and destroy it as soon as possible.”

“Alright - what are we waiting for, then? We have a party to crash.” . . . . “Caitlyn Kennedy and Mara Walker,” Root announced their cover names to the doorman as they approached the grand doors to Waldorf Manor where the party was being held. Root wore a navy blue dress while Shaw wore one in her signature black. A security guard standing by searched through their bags as the the doorman took out his tablet and scanned it for the names. He nodded and looked back up. “Ms. Kennedy; Ms. Walker - this way, please,” he gestured politely for them to enter. They retrieved their bags from the security guard and proceeded into the grand corridor towards the ballroom. The sound of light chatter and clinking glass reached their ears as they walked through the large corridor and into the grand ballroom. “So who do you think would be abducted and imprisoned by someone this rich and powerful?” Shaw asked lowly, surveying the room. “I guess we’re about to find out,” Root answered. “In approximately seven minutes, the security guard at the west doors will leave his post to go for a cigarette break. There will be a 42-second window before his relief comes to take over the post. During this time, we will need to leave through the west doors undetected. The Machine will loop the surveillance footage so that we won’t be detected on the cams, and we’ll need to create a small diversion so that we can move.” Shaw nodded imperceptibly while grabbing a handful of canapés off of a passing tray. “And where do we go once we get through the doors?” she asked, stuffing the food into her mouth. “The number is being held somewhere on the third floor. The Machine will give us directions once we get up there.” Shaw looked around the room looking for a drink, and as if out of nowhere, Root produced a flute of champagne and pressed it into Shaw’s hand. “Where did you- actually y’know what, never mind. I’ve learned not to question anything when it comes to you and the Machine,” Shaw said as she downed the champagne in one gulp. “Thanks, sweetie,” Root beamed, taking the empty glass back from Shaw and tossing it into the corner of the room, causing it to shatter upon impact with the floor. “Move - now!” Root whispered, gesturing to the direction of the west doors while heads turned towards the sound of the shattered glass. They quickly made their way out of the west doors and into the hallway, staying close to the walls to avoid detection. They headed towards the grand staircase and Shaw had started to ascend the stairs when Root grabbed onto her elbow and pulled her back. “What the hell, Root?” Shaw whispered, “aren’t we supposed to go to the third floor?” Root smiled. “Minor detour, Sam.” Root pulled Shaw into an empty guestroom nearby and shoved her up against the wall, lifting a finger to her lips to signal for Shaw to keep quiet. “Well this is cozy,” Root teased, still holding the shorter woman against the wall with her own body. Shaw was about to shove Root off of her but froze when the sound of footsteps approached from outside in the hallway.

The door to the room opened and a man wearing a tuxedo entered, chatting on his phone. He stopped when he saw the two women pressed up against the wall.

“Oh, e-excuse me, I didn’t think anyone was in here,” he stammered, turning around to leave.

“I’m sorry too,” Root said, swiftly pulling out a hot pink taser from out of nowhere and shoving it into the man’s neck.

The man slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Root raised her eyes to meet Shaw’s questioning look. Root shrugged. “I borrowed this from Zoe. The ones I have are too bulky to smuggle in the back of my dress.”

“Well that’s nice that you guys share weapons and all, but I’m wondering why we had to tase the guy.” Shaw gestured to the unconscious form on the floor. “He was going to leave.”

“Oh, that. The Machine says that we need to tie him up and take his clothes.”

“And I suppose this is all part of the mysterious plan?”

Root shrugged. “I only do what I’m told. We’ll find out eventually what the Machine has in store.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Right.”

Root rummaged through a nearby linen closet and pulled out a bathrobe. She removed the belt of the bathrobe and the both of them quickly tied up the man and dumped him onto the bed. Root grabbed a pillowcase and stuffed it into the man’s mouth so that he would not be able to alert anyone when he regains consciousness. They grabbed the clothes and proceeded out of the bathroom and back into the hallway.

Shaw followed Root up the staircase and down yet another hallway until they stopped in front of one of the doors.

Root put down the clothes and turned to Shaw. “Two armed men. Both on the left side of the room. We have the element of surprise. The tallest one has a bad right knee, so you’ll take him out first while I tase the other.”

Shaw nodded, kicking off her heels.

“On my count,” Root whispered, “One...two...three!”

Shaw used her shoulder to ram open the door and immediately headed toward the tallest man, kicking in his right knee and relieving him of his sidearm when he doubled over in pain. She knocked him out cold with a blow to the back of the head using the handle of her pistol. Shaw glanced over at Root who had tased the second man and also taken his weapon.

They looked over towards the other side of the room and spotted their number. A man standing with his back towards them and his hands bound and tied with rope to a light fixture above his head. His face was obscured by a black hood, but Shaw knew that this man was no stranger to her or Root.

As they approached the figure and Root reached up to remove the hood, realisation dawned on Shaw. That face (and that ass) was unmistakable. Oh, shit. It’s- “Tomas! What a surprise,” Root greeted in her saccharine sweet voice that Shaw knew she only reserved for people she really, really wanted to stab. This would explain why the Machine chose not to reveal the identity of the number ahead of the mission.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” Tomas replied, a look of confusion on his face. He look over toward Shaw and the confused look turned into a wide grin. “Now there’s a face I recognise!”

Root rolled her eyes. “I’d hate to interrupt this reunion, but we’re on a bit of a clock.”

Tomas nodded. “I’d love to get out of here as soon as possible too, but…” he motioned with his chin to his hands which were still tied up above his head.

Shaw spotted a folding knife tucked in the boot of one of the unconscious men. She walked over to retrieve the knife and proceeded to cut down the rope.

Tomas smiled. “It’s been a while. I see you’re still in the business of saving my life.”

Shaw snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Tomas. I’m in the business of saving lives in general. Although I see that you’re still in the business of getting into trouble with powerful people.”

“Well I have to keep things interesting,” Tomas said as Shaw severed the last ligaments of rope holding him up. He rubbed his wrists to bring back the circulation into them. “My offer still stands if you ever want to-” his words were interrupted as Root shoved the tuxedo into his face.

“You’ll need to put this on - quickly.”

Tomas shrugged and started shedding his clothes. Root and Shaw turned around to give him some privacy.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Shaw whispered to Root out of earshot.

“We have another mission to finish, and it can’t exactly wait while you and Mr. Charming Thief get reacquainted.”

“So,” Tomas said as tucking in his shirt as he walked up to them, “What’s the plan?”

“There is a very important hard drive hidden somewhere in this building-”

“I know where it is,” Tomas chimed in.

Shaw looked over at him. “You do?”

“You don’t think it’s pure coincidence that I was abducted and held here, do you? I worked a job with a new group recently and overheard them talking about this hard drive and how it contains very sensitive government information - the kind of information can be very dangerous if accessed by the wrong people.”

“And so you came here to retrieve this hard drive out of the goodness of your own heart?” Root responded. “Didn’t think you were the selfless type, Tomas.”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask for a little bit of spare change in exchange for our government’s deepest secrets.” A look of intrigue crossed Tomas’ face. “I’m sorry - who are you again?”

“You can call me Root. I work closely with Sameen here.”

Tomas turned to Shaw. “Ah, so it’s Sameen. I never thought you looked much like a Nadya.”

Shaw shrugged. “Believe me, it’s not a name I would have chosen for myself.”

“Anyway,” Root continued, “Tomas, since you know where the drive is being kept, you and Sameen will need to go and retrieve them.” She turned to Shaw.”There’s a surveillance room on the second floor. I will hack into the mansion’s security system and disable it while you two retrieve the drive. The security system can only stay offline for 15 minutes before it automatically reboots, so you’ll need to get out of there by then or risk getting caught - do you think you and Tomas can handle that?”

“Of course - this is what I’m good at,” Tomas said, winking at Shaw.

“Subtle,” Root murmured, rolling her eyes. She headed towards the door. “No time to waste now, kids - let’s move.”

They split up - with Root headed towards the security room and Shaw and Tomas in search of the room holding the hard drive.

“Your friend - she doesn’t like me very much, does she?” Tomas asked as he led the way down the hall.

“She’s not really a people person,” Shaw replied, checking to see how many rounds she had left in the magazine of her stolen gun.

Tomas held up a hand to signal Shaw to stop as they approached the room containing the hard drive. They crouched down on either side of the door to listen for movement inside and Shaw heard the familiar crackle in her ear as the comms turned on.

“Hey sweetie. How are we on finding that drive?”

“We’re workin’ on it. You found the security room yet?”

“Already here,” Root said, watching the screens. “You’ve got fifteen minutes starting now. There are two guards waiting for you on the other side of that door. Take them out and then find the safe hidden behind the Monet painting on the east wall.”

“And then let Tomas work his magic on the safe. Got it.”

Root scrunched up her nose. “I wouldn’t really call it ‘magic’, more of a convenient skill. If you want magic, I can show you later-“

Shaw rolled her eyes as she tapped to turn off her earpiece. She turned to Tomas. “I’ll take out the bad guys, you crack the safe. It’s behind the Monet painting on the east wall.”

Tomas nodded and Shaw proceeded to knock on the door.

A tall, burly man in a suit opened the door. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be in this area.”

“I saw a suspicious looking man walk down the hall just now,” Shaw said, pointing down the corridor.

The man craned his head to look down the hall and Shaw quickly knocked him out with her pistol.

“Hey! What’s going on?” The second man shouted, rushing towards the door and looking down at his fallen comrade.

“Just trying to see how long it would take for you to figure out that it’s not smart to turn your back on an opponent,” Shaw deadpanned.

“What?”

Before the man had a chance to draw his gun, Shaw had already jumped on his back and put him into a sleeper hold. Once he slumped to the ground, Shaw looked up at Tomas. “Get to the safe. We have eight minutes before the security system comes back on and the alarm goes off.”

They ran to the Monet painting and took it down, revealing the antique safe embedded in the wall behind it.

“I don’t have any of my tools with me, so I’ll have to improvise.”

Shaw grinned. “Who doesn’t love a good challenge?”

Shaw stood guard as Tomas carefully turned the dial on the safe, listening for subtleties in the clicks that would indicate the numbers of the combination.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Shaw quickly drew her gun and pointed it at the direction of the door.

“Hey kids, having fun?” Root asked, casually stepping over the two unconscious bodies by the door and walking into the room.

Shaw relaxed and lowered her weapon. “Root. How are we on time?”

“You’ve got two minutes and twenty-seven seconds before the security system comes back on and the alarm goes off.” She turned to Tomas. “No pressure,” she chirped.

Tomas grinned. “I thrive under pressure,” he said, continuing his work on the safe.

They all heard a click as the safe door swung open and revealed the hard drive inside.

“Nice work,” Shaw said to Tomas as Root took out the hard drive and put it into her bag.

Root headed toward the door. “Let’s go!”

Shaw and Tomas quickly followed Root back out into the hallway.

“We need to get back into the ballroom and leave through the front door,” Root instructed. “When the security system reboots, the lights will go out for five seconds. We need to get back into the ballroom through the west doors during those five seconds.”

Tomas turned to Shaw, “How does she know all this?”

Shaw shook her head. “You don’t wanna know.”

They arrived at the west doors just as lights shut down. Shaw quickly slipped through the doors and back into the ballroom. Tomas was about to follow when they heard footsteps hurry toward them.

“Hey! What are you two doing here? You are not allowed in this area of the property!”

Thinking quickly, Root swiftly punched Tomas in the stomach and he doubled over in pain. She patted his back and looked up at the security guard approaching them.

“We’re so sorry. My husband must have eaten something that did not agree with his stomach so we’re just trying to find a bathroom - right honey?”

“Yeah, I think it must have been the shrimp,” Tomas groaned through his teeth.

“Only authorised personnel are allowed in this part of the property. There’s a bathroom if you go back through the ballroom.”

Root flashed him a smile. “Thank you, we really appreciate it!”

They went back through the doors into the ballroom where Shaw was waiting.

“What happened to you two?” Shaw asked, eyeing Tomas who was still doubled over in pain.

“We got spotted by one of the security guys just as we were about to follow you. I had to think fast.” Root turned to Tomas. “I’m really sorry about that, but I suppose you’d rather endure a little punch to the stomach than a bullet to the head?” She asked, absolutely no trace of remorse in her voice. “Well if you put it that way,” Tomas grunted, still wincing.

Shaw raised an eyebrow at Root, who shrugged innocently. “Anyway, it looks like we did what we came here to do. Now, before we leave I need to get me some more of those truffled quail eggs.”

. . . .

“I guess it’s time for me to say goodbye. Thank you for getting me out of there, ladies,” Tomas said once the three of them had returned to the safehouse and wiped the hard drive. “We work pretty well together. Let me know if you’re both ever in the market for a more lucrative career.”

Shaw snorted. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’d rather avoid pissing off obscenely rich people with connections to the mob.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Tomas said, stepping toward Shaw to give her a goodbye kiss on the cheek. “We could have made a great team.”

Shaw glanced over his shoulder at Root, who was perched on the dining table with a tight grip on her taser. Tomas turned around and approached Root, extending his hand to shake hers.

“I can see why Sameen turned down my offer last time,” he said low enough so that Shaw couldn’t hear. “Looks like there are things that she cares about here.” He winked at Root before turning around. “Well, I’ve got a plane to catch. Got a job in Paris that promises a lot of adventure and of course a lot of money. I hope to see both you you again sometime - although maybe under different circumstances.”

After Tomas left, Root hopped off the table and sauntered towards Shaw. “Well I can definitely understand what you saw in him - he really is very charming.”

“And yet I’m still here putting my life on the line to work as a vigilante with zero pay and no 401K.”

“We also have a dog.”

“He’s the only reason I’m still here.”

“The only reason?”

“Fine, I guess there are a few perks to the job.”

“Why don’t we head to the bedroom and I’ll show you a few of those perks right now?”

Shaw rolled her eyes but allowed Root to take her hand and tug her towards the direction of the bedroom.

#shootsecretsanta2018 #shootsecretsanta #person of interest #shoot #t-ninja

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

fumbling through the grey

Secret Santa Gift by @fulmentus!

—

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Shaw blinks once, twice. Thinks about slamming the window shut again because are you serious? “Root,” she says, voice low, “what the hell are you doing?”

(She should be used to this, Root dropping by when she least expects. But Shaw figured that she’d be out doing whatever the Machine told her to do.

Since the whole Samaritan thing is going down soon.)

Root shrugs, and Shaw can’t exactly see her in the lack of light, her silhouette only highlighted by the streetlights that glow several floors below them. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

“I’m in need of your doctor abilities.”

And Shaw definitely wants to shut the window and pretend this never happened.

“So you thought the best way to ask was to stand on my fire escape at,” Shaw pulls her phone from her back pocket, checks the time, “two in the morning?”

Shaw should sleeping, honestly, warm underneath her blankets while plotting the best way to steal Bear (and hoping that the Machine doesn’t send her out on another early morning number), and not doing whatever this is. Standing here, letting the cold draft in while Root stands on her fire escape, expecting entry.

She mulls over sending Root on her way, but thinks better of it. Shaw sighs, shakes her head, and steps away from the window.

“Fine. Get in.”

And she doesn’t need to see Root to know that she’s smirking in that infuriating way of hers. Shaw moves to the bathroom where she keeps her supplies, calculates the fastest way to deal with Root’s injuries so she can get to sleep.

She listens to the sounds of Root scrambling off the metal escape and fumbling her way through the window. It’s a miracle she doesn’t trip over herself with all of those gangly limbs.

When she returns, Root hasn’t moved far from the window sill, her eyes catching on the relatively empty place Shaw calls her living space (not a home, not a home at all). Shaw takes a moment to look her over, bundled in a coat, her face flushed from the cold.

“You gonna show me or not?”

And Shaw regrets the way she phrased it the second Root’s eyes train on her, a more pronounced smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

She shrugs off her coat. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Shaw rolls her eyes and opens her hefty first aid kit. She removes the supplies she needs and settles into the familiar role of patching someone up.

(The last time she did this, there’d been a hole in Root’s shoulder and a glazed expression on her face after she saved Cyrus Wells.)

Root, oddly, says nothing when Shaw begins cleaning the blood around the gash on her arm, stays quiet and still and lets Shaw work in peace. Only supplies knife when Shaw asks what did it.

“What did the Machine have you doing?” Shaw asks after a moment, unnerved by Root’s silence and not knowing why she’s encouraging this. But the ire from having been disturbed so late has faded, and maybe she’s a little bit curious.

Root tilts her head to the side, Shaw catches a brief glance of the pink scar behind her ear before it disappears behind a curtain of hair, and makes a face, clearly listening to the Machine.

“Preparing.” Shaw arches a brow. “There’s a war coming, Shaw. We need to be ready.”

Shaw knows that. Has heard it countless times since their encounter with Control, but no one has told her anything about it. Just another AI looming in the near future. But Shaw and Reese aren’t doing much about it.

Just Root.

“You ever gonna let us in on whatever plans you have?” Shaw asks as she finishes the neat row of stitches, pulling the thread taut.

“When She tells me it’s time,” Root replies, pulling that whole mysterious bullshit.

“Whatever.” She places a bandage over the stitches, folding the edges across Root’s skin, and Shaw can feel Root’s attention on her then, eyes burning into the the top of her head. She pulls back. “All set.”

Root grins, rises to her feet. “Thanks, Doc.” She slides her arms through her coat.

“You heading out?”

Shaw wonders where she sleeps — or if she ever sleeps. Root always flits in and out of the library, providing cryptic clues and answers whenever she sweeps by. Bizarre how the Machine makes her the interface and doesn’t give her a place to stay.

“Are you inviting me to stay?” Root steps into Shaw’s space, and Shaw tilts her chin up to meet her gaze, blinks slowly.

“No.”

To her credit, Root doesn’t appear put out.

“But try the door next time.”

“Next time?”

Shaw regrets letting Root through her window.

—

Except she lets Root through the door the next time, and the next time.

Casual encounters that start with an ill-timed come-on and end with Shaw scowling at Root’s lack of self-care. Not only that, but Root has a habit of appearing at her doorstep in the late hours of the night, looking like she was swept in a whirlwind.

And there’s a sort of disconnect there, Shaw notices after she patches up Root for the third time in a month. A disconnect from her body.

It’s different, noting that about her. Because Shaw has always been firmly planted within herself, aware of how her body moves, where it’s positioned in relation to her adversaries. A connection she’s honed since her residency and carried with her through the Marines and the ISA.

But Root doesn’t share that, doesn’t seem to want to spend time on such trivial things like making sure she doesn’t bleed to death.

(Weird how the Machine chose someone with such a blatant disregard for her health to be its eyes and ears.)

Shaw doesn’t comment, just stitches up Root’s newest injury, and watches her disappear out the door and into the night.

—

Once Samaritan comes online, letting Root through her door happens fairly less often.

With all of them in hiding, keeping their heads down, it’s too risky for any of them to be seen together. Being in hiding also comes with the worst job ever, and Shaw has to resist stabbing someone with a stiletto at every turn.

(Working in environment filled with entitled people and others who think she cares about which color lipstick matches them best leaves much to be desired.)

(Shaw is going to take a hammer to the Machine for putting her here.)

But the numbers eventually return, and Shaw no longer has to sit idle behind her make-up counter and pretend to be a normal aspect of society. She gets to out there, shooting people, and fucking with Reese.

And with the numbers, Root follows. Flitting in and out of their new subway base like a coming breeze. They barely have time to say more than a few sentences to each other before Root leaves on another mission. Not that Shaw is particularly bothered.

But there’s this persistent nagging in the back of her mind whenever Root leaves on a mission for the Machine. This urge to know if Root’s taking care of herself properly — she never did even when Samaritan wasn’t a threat.

Shaw keeps that strange feeling tucked in the back of her mind and focuses on the numbers that come her way. Works alongside Reese to ensure the safety of the civilians, and makes sure to keep Bear company.

Because that’s the mission. And Shaw knows how to handle the mission better than anything else.

—

“We really have to stop meeting like this.”

That’s what Root goes with after she’s been shot twice, combatted that blonde bitch without backup, and disappeared for a day without a word. That’s what Root goes with as she leans heavily against Shaw’s doorframe at half-past midnight, clutching her arm, and smiling dazedly.

Shaw would never admit the tinge of relief she felt when she saw Root in once piece, but she buries that beneath the familiar sting of annoyance.

She tugs Root inside and into the bathroom, flicking on the light as she steps through the door.

“Moving fast, are we?” Root murmurs, teetering in place, unbalanced, when Shaw releases her to rummage through the cabinets.

She shakes her head, placing the kit of her supplies on the sink with a clatter. “You’re an idiot,” she remarks when she looks at Root again, noting the shadows under her eyes and the stark white bandage peeking from underneath her shirt.

“I’ve actually been known to be a genius.” Root grins, but it fades when she winces, having jostled her arm as she settles on top of the sink.

Shaw tugs at the hem of Root’s shirt. “Off.”

Root tries to put on a show, but the effect is lost when she attempts to get her injured arm out of the sleeve, only to grimace in pain at every try.

After several moments of struggle, Shaw stepping in to assist her, the shirt is finally off and Shaw can examine the poor stitching job of whichever intern patched Root up after the shootout in the hotel.

“You should’ve had backup,” Shaw mutters, snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves.

Root sighs. “We’ve been over this, Shaw.” She shakes her head, messy waves of brown hair cascading over her uninjured shoulder. “It would have blown your cover.”

(Covers. That’s all Root’s been focused on since Samaritan came online. Their covers and running around for the Machine.

Covers, covers, covers. Damn them if the Machine is going to be sending out her assets alone.)

“Bitch could’ve killed you,” Shaw says instead, swallowing down the flood of angry words. “What then?”

“She didn’t,” Root reminds her, like that means anything. Like she isn’t sitting in Shaw’s apartment bleeding from yet another bullet wound.

“You’re not bulletproof.”

“Clearly.”

“Next time, you’re getting back up.” Shaw neatly ties off the end of the stitches. “Don’t care what the Machine thinks.”

Root peers through her lashes, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “Is that concern I hear, Sameen?”

Shaw purposefully focuses on returning all of her supplies to their proper places, slamming the cabinet doors shut a little too loudly.

When she turns back around, Root is still staring at her, eyes sharp and intense, but there’s something about it that’s different than the flirtation Shaw is accustomed to. And it’s not the first time she’s noticed.

Lately, the way Root looks at her has changed. Less of the intention to unnerve and more… more of something much heavier. Something Shaw is certain she knows the name of but adamantly refuses to label.

(She doesn’t do feelings. Not at the intensity of everyone else.

They are shallow echoes in her chest — like when her father died, when Cole died — quiet murmurs in the back of her mind. Ones that have compelled her to become a doctor, become a Marine, accept the ISA’s request.

The feeling of doing the right thing because she has the choice to.)

She doesn’t do what Root is doing. Doesn’t look at her with potent emotion searing through every tick of her expression. She knows Root regards her in some special light (not unlike how she views the Machine).

Knows that this is different.

(For both of them.)

“You can take the couch.”

Root’s brows rise, and she cants her head to the side. “Are you asking me to stay?” It’s less flirtation and more confusion, and yeah, Shaw is asking her to stay.

And maybe because it has to do with the way Root seemed so drained of life the previous day, so tired and weary. Maybe it’s the way that Root seems generally unmoored, lost.

“I’m saying the couch is open.” Shaw points to the wound she just patched up. “Shouldn’t be doing anything extensive with that.”

Root blinks, opens her mouth to say something, but the Machine must pitch in because she shuts her mouth with an audible click and nods. Shaw helps her into a more comfortable shirt, presses a pillow and blanket into her grasp. Ushers her to the couch.

As Shaw turns away, ready to catch some sleep of her own, Root calls her name.

Shaw pivots on her heel, hitches a brow.

“Thank you.”

It’s said so genuinely, so unlike how Root typically is, and Shaw does nothing but nod and flick off the lamp, retreating to her bedroom to sleep off the energy that’s been buzzing through her since she knew Root was still relatively intact.

—

“The Machine, she isn’t talking to you, is she?”

It’s after another long number, another number that required Shaw saving Reese’s ass, again, and Shaw is decompressing in her living room with the lights off, only the faint illumination of the streetlights outside allowing her to see Root, who sits across from her on the couch, cheek pressed into her palm.

(She forgets to be annoyed at the fact that Root stole her extra key and let herself in.)

Shaw takes a drink from her beer, sets it down on the table. The glass briefly reflects the dull orange light spilling across the apartment floor, and Shaw turns her attention back to Root, who hasn’t said a word.

“That’s why you’ve been all Eeyore lately?”

And with Root half-shrouded in shadow, it’s hard to read her face, but Shaw likes to think she knows her well enough to recognize when Root is hiding something.

“I get murmurs,” Root finally answers, voice barely above a whisper. “She can’t talk with Samaritan online.”

Shaw can hear the sadness bleeding through her tone, doesn’t know what to say to that. How do you comfort someone who’s lost their connection to an artificial super intelligence they view as a god?

(Not that Shaw has ever been one to comfort someone.)

“Root,” she starts, weirdly uncertain of why she’s even bothering to speak, “sorry she can’t talk to you right now.”

Shaw resists the urge to roll her eyes at herself, takes up her beer again to avoid having to say anything else. But she must have said something right because the space beside her dips with additional weight, and Root’s warmth is mixing with her own.

Shaw stiffens when Root rests her head on her shoulder, but she doesn’t shove her off. Kind of enjoys the way Root’s hair is soft against her neck.

They don’t speak after that, and Shaw doesn’t remove Root from her shoulder until she starts to feel it go numb.

(She does offer the couch to her again, so at least there’s that.)

—

Afterwards, Root crashing into her apartment becomes a near regular thing whenever she’s in town, which isn’t very often since she’s constantly being shipped off all over the world.

But she always appears at Shaw’s doorstep when she returns, a smirk on her lips and a glint in her eyes.

They fuck in the comfort of the darkness, carve out a space in each other as the night paints them in greys and silvers. Burn impressions of of themselves into skin and bone, brand each other with fire on their lips.

And Shaw’s never had someone match her heat with equal fervor.

(Maybe it’s the desperation of the war, or maybe it’s because Root knows how to read into everything Shaw wants in a sexual partner.

But it’s better than any sex Shaw has experienced.)

She lets Root stay.

—

It’s almost a year later when Shaw is able to open the door to Root again.

Open the door in reality, and not welcome Root into the vulnerable crevices of herself in some fucked up simulation that blurs her reality and leaves her head spinning for hours until she can catch her breath, remember how to think clearly.

(Thinking clearly, now that’s a thought.

Everything around her is tainted, and Shaw finds herself trying to remember what was real and what wasn’t more than she does anything else.)

But Root helps.

When the sun dips and the sky darkens and every nerve ending in Shaw’s body is on fire — it’s not real, that didn’t happen — Root is there. Gentle fingers wrapped around Shaw’s wrist, tugging her hand away from the side of her neck.

Away from the skin Shaw’s rubbed raw ever since she’s returned from Samaritan hell.

Contrasted against the shadows and the pale moonlight, Root tries to pull Shaw away from the lingering imprint the simulations left in Shaw’s mind. Tells Shaw about the numbers she and Reese worked when Shaw was gone.

Tells her of the wedding they crashed — well, I crashed, Root amends with a crooked smile, fingers running through the strands of hair at Shaw’s temple, I wasn’t technically invited. Tells her about Bear.

Bear, who sits at the end of the bed, watching them with pricked ears and a wagging tail.

And Shaw is able to resettle herself for the time being, with Root’s voice in her ear, and Bear’s presence anchoring her to the present.

—

It takes time. Takes an annoyingly long amount of time for Shaw to stop questioning every little thing that’s off (it never goes away, that clawing doubt in the back of her mind, that scraping at her throat that this isn’t real), but she gets there.

Gets to a point where she’s more or less like to her old self.

(No one could have survived what you went through, Root assures her, confident in Shaw — always confident in Shaw — vehement in the face of Shaw’s doubt. You are so strong, Sameen.)

She gets back to the numbers, to messing with Reese, to fucking with Fusco. She gets back to her early morning jogs, gets back to walking Bear around the park.

Gets back to disentangling herself from Root to make breakfast.

She still stumbles at times, jerks awake from the phantom burning in the side of her neck. But Root is there every time, helping her fumble through the faint grey light of pre-dawn. There to reassure Shaw that this is reality.

That she escaped Samaritan.

It takes time. But Shaw is nothing if not resilient. Strong, deeply connected to herself. Samaritan may have tried to break that, may have taken parts of Shaw that she won’t get back, but they didn’t succeed.

Shaw didn’t break.

And with Root with her at every step of the way, knowing when to back off, knowing when to be near, knowing that Shaw opened that door to her months ago and let her slip right in, Shaw rebuilds.

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #shoot #person of interest #fulmentus

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

Happy Hunting

Shoot Secret Santa Gift by @lizburnz!

The navigation system chimes, “You have reached your destination,” and Shaw mashes on the brakes, simultaneously as she cuts the wheel.

The car screeches to a halt, slanted in a parallel spot, ridden halfway up the curb in front of some apartment buildings and a few startled pedestrians. She slams the gear into park and bolts before the tire smoke even has a chance to settle. Anything else vehicular related is irrelevant now, as she leaves the door hanging wide open and the engine still running.

Root needs her- needs her help. With what? Specifically, Shaw doesn't know, but the short text with more exclamation points than words seemed pretty damn urgent. And since Root's phone has been going straight to voice mail ever since, she believes the threat to be serious, something that requires a second gun and Shaw's most preferred method of intervention. Shooting.

But the neighborhood is quiet. Well, not that it shouldn't be, this early on a Saturday morning, but when Root's involved in anything there's usually some degree of chaos. Oddly, nothing seems to be out of place. No smoke means no fire, no screaming means no gunshots have recently gone off. The only person running like their life depended on it, is Shaw, who's starting to wonder if she's even at the right place.

But it is the right place. 314 Avenue C. And Shaw knows this because it says so. Right there on the door. Behind Root.

The woman who cried wolf lounges casually at the foot of the stoop, without a scratch on her head or a single care in the world. And though Shaw is somewhat relieved by the sight of neither dead nor dying Root, it doesn't make her any less perturbed, being pulled out of bed at the brink of dawn because someone can't quite grasp what constitutes an emergency.

Shaw drags her feet the rest of the way, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets so Root can't see how tightly they're balled into fists. She doesn't want to do anything she might regret, like punch a certain grin off a certain someone's face. Not until she has a valid reason at least.

“Good morning,” Root sing songs in her usual pleasant way.

“What is it this time?” Shaw asks, bypassing formalities completely. The faster she gets to the point, the faster she can turn down whatever it is and go home.

“Let's see...” Root glances to the imaginary watch on her wrist. “Fifty-eight city blocks in less than twelve minutes. Wow, Shaw! I think you broke your old record.”

Shaw's eyes flutter into the back of her head. “Why am I here, Root?”

“Isn't that the age old question?” Root ambles to her feet with a large cup of coffee in hand. “Whole milk. No sugar. Just the way you like it,” she says, extending it towards a wary Shaw.

Whether it's a hot cup-o-bribery or a peace offering, Shaw isn't sure, but she takes it anyway. “You know, this doesn't even begin to make up for-”

“Do you like hunting?” Root asks peculiarly and out of nowhere.

Shaw just blinks. There isn't enough caffeine in this coffee, or in the entire city of New York, to help prepare her for the roller coaster that is Root's cryptics.

The first thing that comes to mind is fugitive tracking of course, a literal man hunt. Now that, Shaw could get on on board with. But knowing Root, it's probably nothing so obvious and easy. It's two very different things, what Shaw thinks and what Root actually means.

“It depends,” Shaw says, reluctant to commit without details first. She's learned the hard way too many times before. “What the target is... if I can shoot them... but mostly, my mood.”

“And...” Root leans in on the tips of her toes, “What kind of mood do you currently find yourself in this lovely day?”

“The pistol whipping kind of mood if you don't cut the crap and tell me what you want.”

Root pouts half-heartedly, slipping a piece of paper from her coat pocket, to which Shaw snatches and unfolds. Written on it, in barely legible hacker scrawl, is a list of addresses that still do everything but answer Shaw's question.

“They're apartments,” Root clarifies. “I need your help finding one.”

A map could do a better job. Hell, Root's practically got a GPS system and then some squawking in her ear. But maybe it's more than that, Shaw thinks. Maybe there's a bomb planted in one, or a missing person tied to a radiator. Looking closer at the list, she finds a four digit number beside each address. Next to that, some kind of code... 2/1 1700SF W/D...

But it isn't until Shaw reads the part about “no pets” that she shoves the paper back at Root.

“This is why you 911'd me? To help you house hunt!” Shaw says, gaping in amazement. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Root throws her an obvious look.

“I thought you were...” Hurt. Dying. Both. The potential of either could light a fire of apocalyptic proportions under Shaw's ass, and Root seems to relish the fact. “Do you know how many traffic laws I just broke?”

Root shrugs. “All of them, I imagine.”

Shaw deadpans her for a moment, mystified as she internally debates whether or not she should spoil her knuckles today with an all you can beat buffet of Root's face. Shaw nearly mowed down a group of tourists crossing the street, sideswiped about a dozen parked cars, ran every single red light while doing quadruple the speed limit. For christsake, she car jacked someone at gunpoint. And for what? For the exciting, once in a lifetime mission of finding analogue-interfull-of-shit a place to live?

“Happy hunting,” Shaw eventually says and turns heel in the opposite direction. And of course it isn't the last word. Root follows on her heals and whines in her wake, with things like please and wait and a few pet names she isn't allowed to call Shaw in public.

“You're bored, I get it,” Shaw tells her in stride. “The Machine gave you the day off, so instead of annoying relevant numbers, you've decided to annoy me instead. I get it.”

“No, that isn't-” Root groans in frustration. “Will you please just hear me out?” and she hooks an arm around Shaw's to stop her. “I called you because, one, I value your opinion. And two, I thought you'd like to be a part of a mutually beneficial decision.”

“How in the world does this benefit me?”

“Think of it like this. The sooner I get a key to my own place, the sooner you can have yours back,” Root says and places an encouraging hand on Shaw's shoulder, which is batted off not a second later when the information is really processed.

“You have a key to my apartment?”

“I made copies.”

“Wait. Copies, plural?” As in more than one? “Seriously, Root. What the fuck.”

“Look, we can stand here, arguing semantics for the next 45 seconds until your stolen vehicle is swarmed by cops, plural, or...” Root jingles a set of car keys like a carrot on a stick. “I'll even let you drive,” she adds, and Shaw doesn't have much time to mull it over, not with all the sirens wailing in the distance.

“Fine,” Shaw finally agrees, though it was a tough decision to make. The back seat of a squad car or Root's- where is her car?

She presses the clicker and follows the faint little beep across the street, to where the vintage muscle car sits. Not just any muscle car though, a cherry red, 1967 Mustang twin turbo V8 in pristine condition. And Shaw knows this, because it looks just like the car Harold has, locked in his garage. The one he brags about all the time, having spent years restoring it to near mint. The one he never drives or lets anyone else drive, for the matter.

“How'd you get Finch to lend you his car?” Shaw asks, quickly realizing how dumb her question sounds aloud. Especially to Root, who just throws her head back and laughs.

…

The first stop of the list is on the upper east side, to a twenty something story apartment building fitted with a starch press suited doorman and a security guard station, which Shaw deems is more for appearances sake. Armed with walkies, flashlights, and pens for the sign in sheet, they let Root and Shaw breeze right by with their fake ID's and concealed weapons.

It's no surprise when Root hits the “P” for penthouse button in the elevator. She's not exactly the humble type, or one to underplay any sort of small endeavor.

A well dressed blonde woman greets them right off the elevator, shining a permanent smile of all veneer that never lets up even while she speaks. Root gingerly accepts the pamphlet offered, glossing over it as she absently wanders about the main living area, which is two times bigger than Shaw's entire apartment. And white. All white. The carpets, the walls, even the staging furniture. Lord forbid anyone so much as whisper the words red wine or tomato sauce, or in Root's predictable case, blood.

“Seems nice,” Root says while Shaw shuffles alongside like a bored child.

“Then buy it.” The sooner Root signs the deal, the sooner she can get back to her regularly scheduled program of having absolutely nothing to do on her day off.

“The master bath apparently has a built in sauna...” Root gives her a little nudge, “Guess how many settings the smart shower has?”

“Enough to replace me.”

“Not likely,” but then Root lowers the pamphlet in introspect. “Unless I could program it to be mean to me...”

“Ha. Ha.”

“I'm gonna have a look around.”

“And I...” Shaw scans the room, searching for the oasis in this desert of white hell, “...will see you later,” and she branches off towards the refreshment table.

It's probably the best thing about an open house. Well, if you're Shaw and you have no intent on buying anything. The free food. And not just tired old finger sandwiches either. The last time Shaw's seen a spread like this, she was undercover at a political fundraiser for what's his name running for office of who cares.

Shaw sips a bellini from a flute as she grazes the table, helping herself to a little of this and that. At some point she does make threatening eye contact with the foolish person who tried reaching for the last salmon wrap, but all is pleasant and well for the most part. She get's to explore her pallet, Root gets to explore the apartment. A win-win so far in her book.

“God! You wont believe the offer that tacky-khaki couple just proposed.”

Inconspicuously, Shaw glances a little ways to her right. The fake toothed woman who greeted them earlier stands with another, conversing in whispers and hushed voices. Well they'd like to believe no one else can hear them.

“An open house... what was Harriet thinking? Letting anyone waltz in off the street?”

“We'll have to fumigate when this is over.”

“Would you look at all the riff-raff?”

Shaw follows the acrylic red finger nail as it not so discretely flicks across the room. Of all the people scattered about the living area, she decides to pick out Root.

“What do you think her net worth is?”

“If that ugly leather jacket's anything to go by. I saw holes in it.”

“And the hair...

“I like her boots though...”

“So did I- five seasons ago!”

Their annoying laughter eventually fades into the violin music, but Shaw's temper continues on it's high note. In her head, she's already plotted half the steps towards their accidental deaths, because no one – no one – is allowed to talk crap about Root. Except for Shaw, that is.

And under any other circumstance, she'd just go over there and confront the two women with a lesson in manners. Incidentally, fists are a great learning tool for most people.

Oh, but where would that get her? Wanted by the police, probably, if that little car jacking stunt didn't already land a warrant for her arrest. But it would be fun, well fun for Shaw, to give those rent-a-cops downstairs a run for their money.

No, she eventually decides. There are more subtle ways to exact revenge.

She sidles over to the group of young hipsters first, who have gathered by the fire place pretending to admire the brickwork.

“Did one heck of a clean up on this place, huh?” she says, cutting into their conversation at just the right moment.

They turn to her with mixed expressions. “What do you mean?” one of them asks.

Shaw leans in. “Oh, you don't know?” she says in a hushed voice, so secretive and curious, it demands the group's undivided attention. All but one.

The guy with thick rimmed glasses just scoffs at her. “What? Did some dude die here or something?”

“More like dudes. Plural,” Shaw replies and glasses guy stops laughing. “A few months back, this tech company was having their big launch party here. Well, during the party, one of the partners totally loses it and I mean loses it. I heard, it was because the other partners were trying to cut him out... guess he thought he'd beat them to it.” and she unfolds the rest of the scene, in graphic detail with complementary stabbing gestures. To the point, a few of them turn a sickly shade of pale.

But glasses guy, the apparent leader of the pack, needs more convincing.

“Come on! How do you not remember this?” Shaw says, and name drops a famous New York magazine that all the people like them claim to read but never do.

And suddenly, him and the rest of the group are singing a different tune, nodding their heads and collectively muttering things like: Oh yes, I remember that article and Such a tragedy and It's too bad, I heard they were really up and coming...

“Yeah.” Shaw gazes solemnly at the fireplace. “That's where they found the head... threw it like it was a bowling ball.”

Like before, they stare at the fireplace. Albeit, in utter silence and for new and morbid reasons now, but Shaw takes it as her cue to move on.

And move on she does, to the pleasant older couple standing by themselves in the kitchen, which is also bigger than Shaw's apartment as well. They look a bit out of place. Suburban, perhaps midwestern. Shaw isn't sure just yet, but they definitely aren't like the rest of the people who live here.

“Excuse me,” Shaw says, all smile and cheer. “I couldn't help but notice, you two aren't from around here, are you?”

“Oh, heavens no!” The woman replies. Her accent is unmistakably southern and thick as molasses. “We're visiting our daughter. She just graduated from NYU!”

“Edna, you don't gotta tell everyone we meet,” the husband grumbles. “Hell, half of New York City knows by now.”

“No, it's fine,” Shaw politely reassures them. “You two must be very proud. Are you looking to move here as well, or?”

The woman side eyes the man. “Well, I would like to... It'd be nice to live closer to our little girl. Not to mention the broadway... But Richard here's an old stick in the mud.” she leans in to whisper only to Shaw, “He doesn't take to change very well.” The man grumbles again.

“I totally understand. When I first moved here, it took me a while to get acclimated. I mean, the first time I was mugged-”

“You were mugged?” The woman clasps her chest. “Oh, you poor thing!”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, “You get used to it. After a dozen times or so it's just like muscle memory. Wallet, phone, jewelry, please don't kill me.” Shaw acts it out like a routine. The grand finale, pulling the bottom of her shirt. “I was stabbed a block away from here, wanna see the scar?”

Their southern manners come to a full stop and they leave without so much as a goodbye or a bless your heart. Filled with a sense of crudely gained accomplishment, Shaw blows the smoke from the imaginary barrel of her imaginary gun and sets her sights on other targets.

One by one, they're taken out. She tells the uptight newly weds the apartment had been used as a movie set for prestigious films such as Gang-Bangs of New York, and One Fuck Over the Cuckhold's Nest, and Forrest Hump.

The leader of the co-op board has a portrait of Hitler hanging in his foyer. The neighbor downstairs is prone to clanging pots and pans at odd hours of the night because the voices tell her to. The walls are coated with so much lead paint, the apartment could double as a fallout shelter from radiation. And the whole building is haunted by failed venture capitalists, Shaw said to another person, and when his back was turned, she flickered the light switches.

And alright, that last one was mediocre at best, she admits. But in her defense, the one too many bellinis were starting to kick in a that point and she was running out of material. Thankfully, Root had come full circle by then, finished with her browsing.

“What do you think?”

“I heard the foundation's crumbling-” Shaw covers her mouth, pushing back the bubbly. “Whole place is gonna level in like a year.”

Root flashes her a look of disbelief, “That's absurd,” and returns to the brochure in hand. “I think it's pretty nice,” she says, and goes on and on about all the nice features and the nice amenities and the nice view.

“You!”

They look up and see the teethy realtor clomping her heels in their direction. “Aw, shit,” Shaw whispers when the woman turns her pointed red nail to her this time.

“Just where the hell do you get off! I lost potential buyers because of you!”

Shaw blinks, unfazed by this woman practically yelling in her face. However, Root's rather confused, bordering the edge of worried.

“What is she talking about?” Root asks, one of her hands sliding to the taser tucked in the back of her pants. Hovering, like she's unsure whether or not it's going to be necessary in the next ten seconds.

“I don't know,” Shaw replies with an innocent shrug at first, until she completely abandons the concept of an inside voice. “Must be all the asbestos in the air!” she shouts and the rest of the room, the few people she hadn't managed to scare off, they all clam up and turn bug eyed in their direction.

For a moment, the realtor panics and her fake smile returns to settle the crowd. “You need to leave!” she says through gritted teeth. “Both of you need to leave, immediately!”

“Way ahead of ya, sister.” Shaw says and calls out over her shoulder, “Wouldn't want to get a stupid thing like lung cancer or anything!” At this point, Root looks like she's going to taser Shaw instead.

“Let's go, Sameen,” she says, perturbed and not in a mild way, judging from grip she has on Shaw's elbow.

And still... “Really, you think they'd shell out a few extra bucks to remove hazardous materials from the walls!” Shaw manages one last time before she's shoved into the elevator.

Root jabs the lobby button and the doors close. She turns to Shaw with a myriad of emotions, some embarrassment, a little confusion, but mostly anger in her eyes. Shaw can feel them boring into the side of her face.

“What?” Shaw eventually shrugs. “Something you wanna say, Root?”

Root crosses her arms, tightly over her chest. “Something you wanna say, Shaw?”

Shaw rolls her eyes to the top of the door, watching the floor numbers fall on the screen for moment before clearing her throat. “Your hair looks nice today.”

…

Miles later in Midtown...

Together, they loiter the sidewalk in front of the next apartment Root might potentially rent, if the realtor ever decides to make an appearance. They've been waiting over a half an hour now.

“What's taking so long?” Shaw asks, again.

“Traffic, probably.” Root shrugs. She doesn't seem to mind the waiting as much as Shaw does. Then again, she doesn't have anywhere else to be. And neither does Shaw, but that's besides the point. Tardiness is just unprofessional.

“Call them.”

“I've already called five times,” Root tells her. “No one's picking up.”

“When?” Shaw asks. She hadn't seen Root touch her phone at all.

Root just taps the shell of the cochlear implant hiding beneath her hair. Oh yes, how could have Shaw forgotten, the ethereal blue tooth connection to robot overlord.

“I still don't understand why the Machine couldn't help you with this,” Shaw says to her. “Seems it'd be a heck of a lot easier. Beep boop beep... an apartment appears.”

Root smirks at her sideways, “You know that's not how it works.”

“Why not? I mean, she can make up elaborate identities for you, reposition satellites in orbit for you-”

“She can also tell me how many times you've watched Eat, Pray, Love... this month.”

Shaw glares to the side of Root's face trying, and failing to keep the amusement all to herself. But she's distracted for a moment, there's a passerby who's taking too long to pass by Harold's car. “Keep moving! So her abilities fall just short of finding her favorite asset a place to live?”

“She wants me to be more...” Root chews the inside of her cheek, “Independent, was the word she used.”

For once, Shaw's in agreement with Root's girlfriend.

“I'm pretty sure this is the exact opposite of what she meant,” Shaw teases. That is unless, the definition of independence changed over night and no one bothered to say anything.

“She also thinks we don't spend enough quality time together,” Root quickly adds, casually with a flip of her hair.

“Yeah, right,” Shaw scoffs at that. She'd like to know what the Machine would have to say about being slandered and used as a pawn for Root's own projections. “We spend lots of time together. Too much if you ask me.”

“Numbers don't count.”

“You come over all the time,” Shaw argues. Root just lets herself right in, with all those keys she's made.

“Sex doesn't count either.”

“Then what- Hey buddy! You wanna lose that hand!” Shaw shouts at a particularly touchy admirer of Harold's car. “What does count?” she finally asks. Really, she wants to know, how she can possibly spread her time thinner than it already is. “Does this count?”

Root thinks about it for a moment. “I'm not sure yet. But I'll let you know.”

“Right.” Shaw shakes her head; Root can be impossible at times. The 'issue' can go on the back burner for now, Shaw decides. They've got to move forward with the day, which is no longer dependent on the no-show realtor.

The front door of the building is locked, go figure, but that doesn't repel Shaw. There's an intercom system right beside it with dozens of names, each having their own call button. Shaw mashes all of them and waits.

In no time does the speaker crackle with static and slews of voices, speaking all at once in a melody of Hello? Who is it? and What the fuck do you want?

“Time Warner Cable,” Shaw says into the box and almost immediately, a buzzer goes off and unlocks the door. Shaw opens it and turns to Root still waiting on the sidewalk. “You coming or what?”

Root leads her upstairs and down the short hallway. “This is the one,” she says, pointing to the lock for Shaw to pick, which she does so effortlessly.

The inside is just as bland as the outside. The walls are coated in a neutral beige color that matches the carpet in all the rooms. A single bedroom, an eat in kitchen, a reasonably sized living area with a few windows and an okay view of the coffee shop all these midtowners mill about. And that's pretty much it. Though, Shaw thinks that was Martha Stewart crossing the intersection.

“I don't hate it,” Root sums up, having toured the entire place in less than a minute.

“But you don't like it either.”

“Eh.” Root shrugs. “It's just hard to picture myself living here, without my things.”

An idea pops into Shaw's head. “Okay, how about...” she thinks aloud and surveys the area. “Your desk can be here, in the living room, since you don't watch TV anyways...” She moves to the kitchen next. “You can put a little cafe table here... coffee pot here... and hey look, extra cabinet space for things that aren't cooking related.”

“I know how to cook, Shaw.”

“Name one time you cooked anything,” Shaw asks, but immediately stops Root the second her mouth opens. “Let me rephrase. Cooked anything that wasn't eventually used as tear gas.”

“Okay, you've got me there,” Root concedes. “Please continue.”

Shaw leads her to the bedroom. “The bed can go here. Nightstand with the lava lamp right next to it. Dresser here. Bean bag- if you still want it, there. The closet's kinda small... you'll have to get rid of a few jackets, but-”

“Wait,” Root interrupts. “Go back to the part about the bed.”

Shaw back tracks a few steps. “The bed goes here and-”

“Right here?” Root asks, edging closer and closer.

And Shaw's so distracted with her fake floor plan, she thinks nothing of it. She doesn't realize Root's been methodically backing her into the wall until her back actually hits the wall.

“And, what do you imagine we'd be doing on this bed, Sameen?” Her voice drops an octave in Shaw's ear, tingling like those fingertips skirting the inside hem of her jeans.

“I can think of a few things...” Shaw whispers, tracing the heat radiating from Root's lips inches away from her own. “On this bed, and then, that bureau over there.”

Root flashes a grin and presses it to Shaw's, briefly though. The kiss was only a ruse to take Shaw's lip between her teeth and tease some more before letting go. “I want you to know...” Root sighs as her hands circle around Shaw's wrists, “I'm really sorry about this.”

What that means? Shaw doesn't know. She barely had time to process anything Root said, because as soon as Root said it, she was spun around and pinned to wall with her arms locked behind her back.

“Whatthafuck!”

“Just go with it sweetie,” Root tells her, and not a second later do they hear footsteps coming down the hall and a man's voice calling out shakily. “Hello? Is someone there?”

He double takes when he sees them, his face conveying a look of surprise and slight fear for his life. “What's going on here? Who are you?”

“Special Agent Augusta King,” Root announces. As swiftly as she got the jump on Shaw, her free hands whips out a black leather bound badge that says FBI. “We received an anonymous tip about a wanted criminal hiding out in the building.”

“Here? In this building?” the man stutters in shock.

“Are you the tipper, sir?” Root asks, meanwhile, zip tying Shaw's wrists together for the bonus effect. So tight, Shaw thinks she's actually in trouble with the federal government.

“No, I live next door, I was just going-”

“So you heard suspicious activity from the vacant apartment right next to you and didn't think to report it?” Root says, catching him off guard. “Sir, are you aware that harboring a fugitive of the law is a felony offense?”

Shaw grumbles, “Like impersonating a-”

Root silences her with a good shove.

“Woah, wait a minute,” the man backs away, hands up in defense. “I had no idea she was- I wouldn't harbor anything!”

“You'll be hearing from my offices.” Root begins escorting Shaw out into the hallway, pausing to glare at the man as she passes. “Don't leave town.”

By the time they exit the front door, Shaw is more than done with the whole charade. Immediately, she shirks out of Roots grip, fuming slightly as she strains for the folding knife in her back pocket. “I can't believe you- no wait, I can!” The zip tie snaps free after a bit of sawing.

“I'm not the one who left the door wide open.”

The few choice words bubbling in the back of Shaw's throat, simmer down. Root's right. She did leave the door open. Like some kind of fucking amateur. She rubs her sore wrists, bitter. “What are you still doing with that thing anyway?”

“I don't know.” Root jogs the badge in her hands. “It does come in handy though.”

Shaw shakes her head. From the corner of her eyes, she notices a suspicious group of hoodlums beginning to circle Harold's car like vultures on a carcass.

“Gimme that!” Shaw snatches the goddamn badge out of Root's hands and flips it out with an, “FBI! Freeze!” The little bastards bolt in all directions, and Shaw hums to herself. “How come I never got one of these?”

…

Later and lower on the east side...

Jerri, a fast talking woman from Queens who looks like Fusco's sister, hustles them up the stairs of a run down walk up. The bellinis Shaw guzzled earlier threaten to make a second appearance as they round the landing of floor number six. More so when she sidesteps a ragged baby doll lying in a questionable pool of something awful slicked on the floor.

“Not much further,” the woman tells them. “Just a few more floors!”

“She said that- three floors ago!” Shaw huffs in tow.

“Try to keep up, Shaw,” Root says, jogging the steps with ease, at a steady rhythm that's utterly baffling. Considering Shaw's never seen her so physically active at something that didn't involve

“Coming...” Shaw grumbles and picks up the pace. She reaches the top floor well behind them, out of breath. “I gotta start working out again.”

Jerri pulls out a ring of keys bigger than a steering wheel and starts sifting through them. “It's gotta be one of these,” she says and tries a few but to no avail. “Doh!” she smacks her forehead. “Silly me, we went too high! It's two floors down!”

Shaw deadpans. “Are you fu-” Root jabs her with an elbow, “Funny! Aren't you just funny!”

“Down we go!” Jerri cheers, waving at them to follow her once again. Shaw wouldn't follow this woman if she were the most relevant number of her career. But Root insists, so she has no choice but trudge back down the stairs.

The door, the right one this time, it looks like it was breached with a battering ram and glued back together. It sticks as Jerri tries to push it open. Shaw wishes she hadn't been able to unjar it from the frame, when they finally step foot inside.

Cramped is an understatement. Claustrophobia is an increasing possibility for Shaw as they stand shoulder to shoulder in what the realtor calls a studio apartment. More like a closet.

“Why don't I give you the grand tour!” Jerri says.

Shaw turns her head left, then right, then back again. “I think I've just had it.”

“Oh, she's hysterical! Does she do stand up?”

“Only when she can't sit down.” Shaw wriggles free of the pair for more space, but doesn't get much. The square footage of this place barely pushes the three digit realm.

The detail Jerri goes into as she tries to upsell this apartment gives Shaw the idea, she's either the most optimistic woman in the world or the biggest hustler in New York real estate. And if it's the latter, Root's the most patient mark, letting this con artist finish her entire spiel of blatant lies.

“Look Root, I'm in the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. At the same time.”

“I think what my friend is trying to say-”

“Her friend...” Shaw interrupts, until she realizes that Root didn't actually put the word girl in front of friend first. For once. “Never mind, carry on.”

“There just isn't a lot of space,” Root puts delicately.

“Space? There's plenty of space!” Jerri fires back, jazzed and sorts. “What this place lacks in size, it makes for in compartmentalization!” and she goes on to show them, the hidden cabinets in the in the walls, the drawers underneath the diagonal slant in the staircase frame. “And!” she claps her hands together before grabbing the the lonely painting from the wide wall. Underneath is a latch like rope, which she pulls. “Tada!”

A bed flops out of the wall and Shaw stares at it, unblinkingly. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“May we have a moment please?” Root says, and Jerri the realtor goes into the kitchen, two feet away.

Shaw whispers to Root. “This whole thing is one bad pullout joke. You can't actually be serious.”

“So what?” Root replies. “It's not like I'll be around to mind it so much.”

“Well, I mind it!”

Root smiles as she bats her lashes. “Planning sleepovers already?”

“Not if I have to unhinge the bed every time I wanna-”

“Want to what, exactly?” Root teases, for a moment, until Shaw's dead serious face hits home. “Okay, okay.” She clears her throat for Jerri to end her fake phone call. “Do you have anything else available?”

“Preferably not coffin-sized,” Shaw adds.

It's like a light bulb flickers over Jerri's head. She frantically searches through the mess of sordid papers in her haphazardly thrown together briefcase until she finds the one. The holy grail of documents, she holds it up. “Yes!” she exclaims at first, then presses it to her chest, distraught. “No, I don't! Technically, the application's still pending and I can't show you.”

“Come on, Jerri,” Root says, putting on half her charm. “We just wanna look. Where's the harm in that?”

She gives it some thought. Not much. “Oh, what the heck? You've convinced me. It's only three floors down, come on, I'll show you.”

“Let's hope she's got the right building at least,” Shaw says and Jerri bursts in laughter.

“Honey, if your job doesn't involve a stage and microphone, you gotta change careers because you are-”

“Hysterical?”

…

The other apartment is nothing like the previous. It's as if they've slipped into an alternate universe on the stairwell, because there's no possible way this is the same building. Root's in awe the moment she walks in, her eyes lighting up in a way Shaw's never seen before, well, when it comes to this sort of thing.

Crown molding lines the walls, coated in a scheme of rich blues soft whites. The long paneled windows that stretch from the living room all the way to the kitchen fill the spacious interior with honest light. And the view, Shaw's never considered Midtown to be a scenic place. Then again, she wasn't looking through this window.

“You've been holding out on us, Jerri,” Shaw tells her. For the first time today, she approves.

“About that other application,” Root says, “What if you accidentally misplaced it?”

“Say no more, sweetheart.” Jerri bats a hand. “My family's from Sicily. I know all about that sort of thing. We'll go to my office, lose some paperwork, sign some paperwork, have ya in here in no time,” she says, and starts ushering them towards the door. Quickly, adamantly. Suspiciously.

“Wait,” Shaw says. There's something missing, something she's not telling them. “What's the catch?”

“Catch? What catch? You two look like a nice couple, I wanna cut you a break, that's the catch.”

“We're not-” Shaw rubs the bridge of her nose. “Look, no offense, but this is all too good to be true.” There's got to be something wrong with it, Shaw can feel it in her bones. Shit plumbing, rats in the walls, a weird smell that only comes around during certain times of the day. Something.

“Listen, I got pristine records going back thirty years on this place. You can take a look for yourselves, but we gotta go down to my office fir-”

“Shh!” Shaw holds a finger up, silencing the room. “Did you hear that?” Her ears keen to the faint, muffled noises. “It's coming from the living room.”

“Yeah, you know what,” Jerri hastily explains in Shaw's wake. “I know what that is. The neighbors are redoing their kitchen. On a Saturday, can you believe it?”

Shaw ignores her and presses her ear to the wall, listening for the noise that seems to have gone away now.

“See? What'd I tell ya? Now if you don't mind, I-”

There's a loud crash suddenly. Something had smacked against the other side of the wall with such force, it rattled the hanging lights and shook the floor.

Shaw slowly backs away as more, lesser thumps follow. Steadily, like a beat from a drum. And not seconds later, the moaning starts. Unmistakably from a man and oddly, a very strict sounding woman who seems rather disappointed in him.

“And...” Shaw turns to Root with her I told you so face. “there's the catch.”

“Rent controlled nymphos...” Jerri hisses and then smacks the wall, “Hey! Some of us are trying to work over here! Not that you care! Can't go one minute without screwing each other's brains out! Literally!”

“Are they?” Curiosity in her eyes, Root steps closer to have a listen for herself, and it's completely unnecessary. With walls so thin and neighbors so loud, she could stand in any room and still hear all the graphic details of their sexcapades. So it's really a bit extra of Root to flatten the whole side of her face against the wall like that. “Oh, Jerri, you have been holding out on us.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, “Come on, we're leaving,” and takes Root by the arm.

“No, Shaw wait! It's getting better!” Root protests as she's literally dragged to the door. “Shaw, I heard a paddle!”

….

The end in East Village.

“I don't think I've ever heard the word charming used to describe so many not charming things in my life,” Shaw says. She fiddles with the butter knife at the table while she waits for her order. They decided- well, Shaw insisted they stop for a late lunch, and the Russian owned deli on 7th was the closest eatery that wasn't a letter grade away from being quarantined. “How is a giant water stain on the ceiling charming?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Root replies, her head in the piece of paper lain on the table top. She's been scribbling on it since they sat down. The list from earlier today looks nothing like it did, crumpled up, torn at the edges and for some reason, wet. Nearly all of the address had been crossed out, angrily by the look of it.

Shaw twirls the utensil in her fingers. “I thought it looked like Margaret Thatcher.”

“I'm not getting sucked into this argument again.” Root draws another x over something and brings the pen to her lips, chewing at the end. “It was Barbara Bush anyway...”

Shaw snatches the paper from Root's unsuspecting hands.

“Hey I need that,” Root says. Her attempts of retrieving it are all in vain. “Shaw, I still haven't decided which one I- where did you get those glasses?”

“Glove box,” Shaw replies, lifting the shades from her eyes to squint at the paper. “Didn't think I could get a hangover before I fell asleep.”

“Can I have it back, please? It's important.”

Shaw throws the glasses aside. “Root, these are all crap. You know this.”

“But I need to pick one.”

“Seriously, have you never gone apartment shopping before?” Shaw asks. Judging from the look on Root's face, she hasn't. “Root. Just make a new list.”

She sinks into the booth, whining pitifully. “But I hate this so much, Shaw. Can't I just live with you? Please?”

Root smiles, full charm this time. And Shaw jumps when she feels something crawling up the length of her thigh. Luckily the waiter comes with the food, so Shaw has a valid excuse for evicting Root's foot from her crotch.

“Independence.” Shaw reminds her before grabbing the sandwich off of the plate. She's about to take a bite, but pauses midway. An odd feeling had struck her, a feeling like she's being watched and not by a secret system.

Leaned against the wall, slumped in her seat, is Root, staring at Shaw's sandwich with a weird lust in her eyes. If she was hungry, then she should have ordered something. So tough, Shaw thinks, bringing the sandwich to mouth again and goddamnit!

Shaw cuts the fucking thing in half and slides the plate across the table. Root smiles to herself and takes a nibble and then just- chomps down. Shaw can't believe what shes seeing right now.

“This is the best sandwich I've ever had,” Root says, at least that's what Shaw thinks she says. Root's mouth is so full, and yet, she keeps trying to fill it.

“As a person who's had a lot of sandwiches, I-”

“Shut up and eat it, Shaw!”

Without further protest, Shaw takes a bite. Her eyes roll into the back of her head. “Oh my fucking god.” It is the best sandwich she's ever had. Why is Root right all the time?

“So, tomorrow...” Root manages to swallow the rest without choking. “New day, new list, perhaps a new car even? I heard Harry's got a viper tucked away in cold storage.”

Shaw chews on it. As fun as it was gallivanting around this charming city with Root... she'll have to pass. “Sorry, you're on your own for round two. I'm busy.”

“I checked. You're not.”

What is this? Slow season for criminal activity? “I'm taking a personal day.”

“Fine,” Root says, dabbing with the napkin before it's surly tossed aside. “I'll be wandering Hell's Kitchen tomorrow if you change your mind.”

“Okay, Root.” Shaw snorts, almost choking on her food. “Give your taser a good charge before you do.” She'll definitely need it for that side of town- if she were actually going.

Shaw's not stupid, she recognized the pattern as soon as she saw the list. All the stops they've made so far today were along the 4 train, which lets off near Subway HQ and coincidentally, right by Shaw's apartment.

They step outside the deli and Shaw gives the place a nod as she slips the glasses back on. The sign is in Russian, and unfortunately, none of it involves the ten words she knows. “Goodbye restaurant I don't know the name of.”

“Actually,” Root says, glancing up at the sign. “It think it says sandwich, well, bread meat bread, but you get the picture.”

“Hmm.” Shaw shrugs. She's halfway to the car, that better not be stolen, when she notices Root isn't behind her. Doubling back, Shaw finds her standing at the deli's window, staring at a sign that says For Rent – Inquire Within.

…

They inquire within.

The owner of the deli; a burly, grey bearded and rather abrasive gentleman named Vlad, throws his dirty apron over his shoulder and yells something wild in Russian to the cooks behind the counter.

“Come! We go!” he then yells to Root and Shaw, and leads them out and around the building, through several locked doors and up a rickety old freight elevator, all while cursing in his native tongue. And Shaw's sure of this because most of those words he's using, are the same ones she's used to start bar fights overseas.

“You go, I wait,” Vlad says, and shoos them off the elevator.

It's was an industrious space converted to a loft by the previous owners. The concrete floors were replaced with dark hard wood for a more domestic feel, but the steel pillars remained. Carved out to one side, the obvious kitchen accustomed with marble counter tops, a range, and a classic style refrigerator. And in the far corner, the porcelain bathroom with the large clawfoot tub, partitioned by a wall of glass blocks.

Root turns circles, marveling the expanse of open floor plan. “I have no words, Shaw.”

“I'm shocked,” Shaw replies, but it has nothing to do with this rare real estate gem they've stumbled upon by sheer luck. Root's non-stop motormouth has suddenly run out of fuel and hell has actually frozen over.

But in the weird trend of today's events, Shaw checks and double checks everything. That the light switches turn on and the water runs from the faucets. She test the sturdiness of the steel beams and the thickness of the walls. She stomps around in her steel toed boots for weak spots in the floor. In the end, everything seems to be in working order. The radiator is blasting heat, the toilet is flushing, and yes, the refrigerator is also running.

The second Shaw mentions roof access, Root's falling over to make a deal.

Vlad may be limited in English, but he understands the universal language of money and the giant wad of cash Root suddenly pulls out of her pocket. He shoves a set of keys in her hand and goes off on Russian tangent as he counts the money.

“He says...” Root pauses to listen. “No checks, no cards, rent is cash only...”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“I did some work for the Russian mob- long story,” Root tells her before she's back to translating. “I'm supposed to put the money in an envelope and slip under his door... on the first of the month, not the second, or... well that doesn't sound very pleasant.”

Shaw's eyes widen some. She tries to ask what the she means by that, but Root shushes her with a raised finger.

“There is one rule... don't bother me. If you do not bother me, I will not bother you and everything will be... cookies and cream?”

“What does that mean?”

“Sorry, I'm a bit rusty.” Root tunes back in, nodding profusely at the last part before he shakes her hand and leaves.

“What did he just say to you?”

Root turns to her. “He said, My name is Vladimir Baronov Petrovich, and I fix nothing.”

…

A week later...

Shaw picks up a bottle of wine on the way to Root's. A house warming gift of sorts, or a present depending on how you look at it, though Shaw prefers it as a celebration of mission completion and good things yet to come.

The days of Root living out of satchels and crashing on couches are finally over, and for some reason, Shaw takes comfort in that. It means things are changing, for the better, she believes. Having a safe, permanent place to lay your head, it means something.

Shaw can hear the faint music playing as she lifts the elevator gate. She expects Root sprung for a decent sound system, something to listen to while she cranes her neck over a computer for hours on end. And maybe she found a nice desk and a comfortable chair like Harold's to sit in while she does, Shaw wonders, as she rounds the corner, quietly.

Sneaking up on Root is a hit or miss, depending on the Machine's mood. But Shaw hopes she gets to catch Root doing something weird for once, even though she has no idea what that might entail.

Root's barefoot, sitting cross legged on the floor with a soldering iron, humming to herself. And Shaw thinks it's actually kind of cute- maybe, at least until she finds a better word for it. Which is never. The feeling becomes short lived, the nameless word is moot when she realizes why Root's sitting on the floor.

She has no goddamn furniture.

“Love what you haven't done with the place,” Shaw calls out, announcing her presence to Root, who flinches and then smiles bashfully to the wires in her lap. As it turns out, the Machine was in Shaw's favor this evening. It's a rare occurrence to find Root so off guard, with her hair pulled into a loose bun, with little smudges of soot on her shirt and holes in her blue jeans.

Her walk is still the same, smug saunter as it always is though. Root lets her hair down as she approaches, on purpose Shaw thinks.

“Welcome. May I take your coat?” Root offers, and Shaw does a bit of casing as she slips her arms free of the sleeves.

It was inaccurate to say Root didn't have any furniture; there's a mattress lying in the middle of the floor beside a steel column. Root had thrown some sheets and pillows on top and called it a bed. Next to that, her other Root things. A laptop, a bag, a few articles of clothing and a cell phone playing the music Shaw had heard earlier.

“Is that for me?” Root asks, nodding to the bottle of wine in Shaw's hand.

“Yeah, but uh,” Shaw rubs the back of her neck, glancing again at the great empty space. “I feel like I should have brought a plant or something, or a chair.”

“Busy week,” she says, internally debating where to hang Shaw's jacket, for a moment, until deciding to just throw it on the floor. “Haven't been home much lately-” and then Root laughs, lightly to herself. “It's strange isn't it?”

“What is?” Shaw asks, halfway to the kitchen for a pair of drinking glasses before she realizes, Root probably doesn't have any of those either.

“This place, my place... It is supposed to feel this weird?”

“Don't worry, the charm wears off pretty quick. Eventually, it'll be just another Tuesday night where you store all your things.” Shaw flops down on the edge of the mattress. “Correction, thing.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you.” Root teases.

“Awfully rude of you, not owning a couch.” There are worse problems than not having a proper place to sit. “I'd guess you don't have cork screw either, or is that me being presumptuous again?”

Grinning, Root ambles to the spot next to Shaw on the mattress. “You'll have to use your imagination, sorry. I didn't think you'd bring anything fancy.”

The label is the only fancy thing about this wine, an Italian sounding word, Shaw thinks it means something like hat. The price tag said twelve, but she got it for six.

Shaw flicks open her pocket knife and stabs it into the cork with a twisting motion.

Root leans back and lounges on her elbows. “I did buy something yesterday, now that I think about it.”

“What?” Shaw asks, straining with the knife and the cork that wont budge.

Root nods. “That.” and Shaw looks in the direction. Hanging on the opposite pillar is a crudely sketched portrait. Of Shaw.

“Um, where did you get that?”

“From the man in the park,” Root replies, like it's supposed to mean something to Shaw. “Fun fact, he used to be police sketch artist until he injured his hand in a tragic trout-fisting accident. Anyways, if you pay him twenty dollars, he'll draw anyone you describe.”

Thankfully, Shaw gets the bottle open by then. The horrible taste of it helps her forget she ever heard the words trout-fisting back to back. “Hope you like cork in your fancy wine,” Shaw says and passes it on. “My eyebrows are off, by the way.”

“Hmm...” Root cocks her head the side, “I still like it.” She takes a swig from the bottle and grimaces almost instantly.

“You know, you don't have to drink it,” Shaw says, laughing at the sour look on Root's face from the cheap wine. She has to run to the kitchen sink to wash her mouth out, it's so bad.

“Wanna see something cool?” Root asks when she returns and Shaw throws her a wary look. The last time Root tried to show her something cool, she ended up with stitches.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

“No?”

“Then no.”

“Just close your eyes,” Root insists. “Please..”

“Fine.” and Shaw covers her eyes, however, she checks for any sharp objects in Root's hands and in the immediate vicinity first. Patiently, she waits on the bed, listening to Root as she scampers around in her bare feet, for a moment until there's a loud click and the main lights go off.

Shaw opens her eyes... winding up the steel columns and along the rafters high above the bed, Root's hung strings of lights. Of all shapes, sizes and colors, they're arranged in way that makes Shaw feel like she's sitting inside a Christmas tree.

“So this is what you've been doing?” Shaw smirks to herself. The order of Root's priorities are a mystery to her.

“Livens the place up,” Root says, looking up with a kind of awe in her eyes, or maybe it's the light glowing from the red bulbs.

Root joins her on the bed again. Their legs hang off the edge, their feet occasionally running into each other.

Shaw takes another swig of the wine, biting at the taste. “So um, does this count?” she asks, and when Root turns to her mixed, she has to awkwardly clarify. “Is this part of that quality the Machine says we don't have enough of?”

Root says nothing, she just grins.

“Why not?” Shaw goes on the defense. She showed up, she brought the wine, she looked at the pretty lights and they're talking. If that isn't quality time, then what is? “I really think you should reevaluate-” and suddenly, Shaw is rendered speechless by Root, who grabs her face and kisses her.

“That's why,” Root says, giving Shaw a quick peck on the lips before pushing her down on the bed and climbing on top.

And Shaw doesn't protest either, when Root starts unbuckling her belt, she's beginning to think this may fall under another made up category in Root's head. Something along the lines of fun time.

“But if your so worried about it, Sameen,” she says, leaning in as she pins Shaw's wrists above her head, “You can come by tomorrow. I'm going to Ikea.”

#shootsecretsanta2018 #shootsecretsanta #shoot #person of interest #lizburns

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

we only have this moment

Shoot Secret Santa by @youre-lacking-vitamin-me!

Despite their day jobs (or maybe because of them), Root and Shaw manage to hit all the “normal” relationship milestones. In their own way, of course.

-------------------------

LOVE LETTERS

(the way to a girl’s heart is long and winding, especially if it’s her digestive tract)

The postcard sticks out like a sore thumb.

Probably because it’s in-between six hundred kilos of cocaine, John thinks, not bothering to put on gloves as he reaches for the glossy paper. It’s probably fine: there are fingerprints on everything from the steering wheel to the tiny plastic baggies in the dealers’ coat pockets – they probably won’t need some horribly kitschy postcard with a generic beach background and a WordArt ‘Havana!’ on it for evidence.

It’s the kind of thing that diplomatically-minded people – people like Finch – would gently suggest exchanging for a different one, maybe one that looks less dated? Slightly less tactful individuals, not to mention names but – okay, Shaw – on the other hand, would probably set it on fire.

John sighs and turns it around to look for an address or maybe a name or any identi – oh God.

The back – if at all possible – is worse: it’s literally covered in those pointy S’s he vaguely remembers sketching on his notebooks back in middle school. Hundreds of iterations of the same letter, in various sizes, are littered across the surface. It looks like a high school desk; or worse, one of those rappers nowadays with all the facial tattoos.

He tucks it into his jacket pocket, shuddering at the thought of having to choose between paperwork and Shaw’s wrath. But there’s no escaping it, so he trudges down the alley that will seal his fate.

---------------

Back at the subway station, he drops The Abomination™ as he passes by Shaw. It flutters – turns in the air – catches on a breeze that smacks it into the wall – floats lazily down to land just left of her foot. She doesn’t even glance at it.

“Pick up your trash,” is what he gets instead.

“It’s not trash,” is all John gets out before he remembers that yes, yes it is; it is absolute garbage and why do they even keep picking them up? He motions to an alcove where four other sheets of pointy S-adorned paper – a scrunched-up note, an advertisement flyer, some high schooler’s art project, a torn bit of newspaper – hang menacingly. “It’s another one of those.”

---------------

Three weeks, seven papers and two rolls of masking tape later, a form begins to take shape.

“It’s a heart,” Harold remarks, and it’s the absolute wrong thing to say, judging by the way Shaw is reaching for the gun on her thigh. “I mean! It… is? But who would –”

“Three guesses, Finch,” Shaw grinds out.

John adds, “And the first two don’t count.”

---------------

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?”

“It’s creepy.”

“But it’s how everyone in middle school used to get a date!”

“Like that didn’t just prove ‘creepy’,” John mutters.

Shaw doesn’t pay him any attention, “You’re taking dating advice from how fourteen year-olds ask each other out? Twenty years ago?!”

“Worked back then,” Root shrugs, mildly offended that her masterpiece isn’t being appreciated. Fourteen hundred and six pointy S’s – the initials of Sameen Shaw – and counting. It looks beautiful up on the subway wall – could use a little more lighting, and the last piece, of course… and apparently more masking tape, considering Sameen just ripped the whole thing down the middle.

“This,” Shaw shakes the offending swathe of paper and launches it onto the subway tracks, “is not how you get someone to go out on a date with you,” she spits out, marching off with John and Harold limping after her.

---------------

That’s what she says… until the last piece arrives as a large stuffed-crust pizza decorated with a pointy S made of pepperoni slices. With Root in full pizza delivery girl getup.

She tips her cap, “How about now, Sam?”

Shaw’s cheeks are bursting, her eyes roving up and down the red uniform. “… only if there’s more pizza involved.”

-------------------------

SLEEPING TOGETHER

(love may not mean letting them walk all over you, but it does mean being a mattress once in a while)

Sameen can barely blink herself awake before she hears the stressed, “Don’t move, Miss Shaw,” from six feet to her left.

“Finch, wha-”

“Don’t. Move.”

Something kicks into overdrive. She’s been in this situation before. Given, only a handful of times, and she’d been lucky to have expert bomb defusers near her the first two and Cole the last time around, but she’s survived stepping on pressure plates and triggering trip wires – now’s no different.

Except it is. A cursory glance around shows her she’s still in the subway, there is no call to panic stations, and nobody is ordering her to stand on the edge of her foot for the foreseeable future – probably because she’s lying down.

Until she sees who is next to her in the makeshift bed. And groans. Because of course she’s here now, after weeks of radio silence and general wondering where the hell the other woman had pissed off to next.

Sameen doesn’t realise it now – won’t realise it until it’s much, much too late – but somehow, Root is everywhere: hidden amongst the computer junk and too-big clothes flung left, right and centre across their – the, not their – apartment, collected as notes and pictures in-between the pages her copy of Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám… and possibly in whatever remains of her heart.

And now she’s also tucked into Shaw’s side, clutching a fistful of tank top and drooling on have-seen-better-days blue sheets. Also hogging all the blankets.

“Really, Finch?”

“Shh sh sh sh shhhh!!!!!” he motions wildly with his arms and touches a finger to his mouth in what she assumes is supposed to be a placating gesture. Shaw flops down none too gently, but it does the trick, and he continues, “Miss Groves returned yesterday evening after a run-in with some of Samaritan’s agents – her friends, Mister Casey and Mister Daizo – were able to apprehend them before they could do any real damage… other than that to themselves.” He turns a little green at the thought of Samaritan’s lunatics offing themselves, but composes himself. “She’s busy sleeping off whatever drug cocktail they injected her with, although judging by her recent sleep patterns, it might be a while before she wakes up.”

Shaw only raises an eyebrow.

Finch swallows, clears his throat. “Miss Groves needs this sleep, Miss Shaw, so if you could find it within yourself to stay still for a few more hours…” his gaze drifts off to the mess of brown curls spread across the pillows, “… it would be much appreciated.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, tries to shift so Root is lying less on her arm and more on her own. It doesn’t work. Not exactly the way she planned on spending her Thursday morning, but –

“What about Mister…” Food. Something about food. Pasta? Couscous? “… our current target?”

“Ah, yes! As luck would have it, Mister Reese has already apprehended Mister Rice, the gentleman you were following yesterday, and we haven’t received another number yet.”

The mark’s name has Shaw’s stomach growling; a corner of Finch’s mouth ticks up.

“Is there anything I can get you that could help during these… trying times?” he asks, doing his best not to piss Shaw off any more, but still not willing to quite give up on the teasing tone.

“Burrito… s. And Bear.” She glances at the cocoon Root has managed to tangle herself up into. “… and another blanket.”

“Right away, Miss Shaw,” he motions for Bear to come, asks him to zit, Bear! Mooie hond! En ga maar slapen – blif hier, grabs his hat and the last bedspread on the table, offers it to the angry assassin before taking his leave.

Harold pretends not to notice Sameen tucking the blankets more securely around Root as he closes the door behind him.

-------------------------

MEETING THE PARENTS

(a mother always knows)

“Sameen?” Root startles, and instantly knows she’s screwed up.

The woman in front of her stands ramrod still, using oh-so familiar eyes to rove over her leather jacket and the laptop in her free hand and the way she shifts to adjust her falling bra strap. They linger on the visible portion of her cochlear implant (Root wants to curl her fingers up to her ear and push her hair back over the offending instrument, but she’s terrified that a single move will send the lady running, and she can’t have that – not yet) before meeting her eyes; beautiful, but so, so guarded.

The accent is obvious, and the grammar isn’t perfect, but the words shake something deep in her core anyway, “I am sorry, but afraid I am not my daughter.”

And Root knows that – because Shaw is three thousand miles away, pulling herself through an air vent while shouting profanities loudly enough that she might as well be right next to her; Root’s arm, along with the phone, falls to her side, the still-connected call forgotten.

It’s like looking twenty years into the future, wondering if she’ll ever get the opportunity to see the real thing. Nothing and no-one is safe, as the hundreds of scars between them prove time and time again, but right now, she’s looking into an older woman’s eyes and finds some part of Sameen staring right back.

Until she isn’t. The tinny sound of Sameen’s voice yelling “Root! Where the fuck did you go? Oi, Root!” forces those eyes to the phone in Root’s hand, and she shouldn’t be able to see the screen lighting up with Sam scrawled all over it, but for whatever reason, she’s smiling anyway. It’s almost like she knows –

A mother always knows, Sam, Root hears her own mother say to a girl who no longer exists.

Brown eyes lift back up, twinkling in amusement. “She has always had terrible potty mouth, that one.” The woman turns to leave, but gives Root a once-over, calculating, appraising. There’s a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Take good care of her, Miss Root,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone as quickly as she appeared.

Four minutes and fifty-three seconds too late, a young woman standing just outside of Houston’s city centre whispers, “Yes, Mrs Shaw,” to no-one but herself.

-------------------------

HAVING CHILDREN

(or, well, you know; dealing with the one that actually matters)

“You know, when you said that you’d be ‘coming around sometime this week’, I kind of expected it to be for a ‘haven’t seen you in three years; how’ve you been?’ reason rather than a ‘one of your classmates is next in line to be head of the Bartonelli crime syndicate but their half-whatever wants them dead so here I am to save the day’ reason.”

Shaw blinks at Gen over the rim of her milkshake. Wonders whom she has to sleep with around here to have her drink Irished up so she doesn’t need to have this conversation. Then she remembers that she’s in a McDonalds and that alcohol consumption is frowned upon at eleven in the morning and that Root is the Machine-only-knows-where, so there goes that plan.

Gen doesn’t give up, “Where’re John and Mr Finch?”

“Unavailable.”

“So why are you here?”

“Lovely question.” She slurps at the milkshake

Gen leans to the left, trying to get a glimpse of whatever is down the aisle. Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline at whatever she sees, “Why’s Miss Davenport here?”

“Who?”

“Dee eye-thea teasha,” Gen supplies through a mouthful of burger. Some swallowing later, she repeats, “The IT teacher. Well, one of them. She’s new – all the boys and even some of the girls are madly in love with her because she’s got gorgeous brown hair and wears really tight jeans.” She gnaws on her lip and contemplates her burger before continuing, “And if rumours are to be believed, she hacked her way into the county test score database and gave everybody forty-two percent.”

“She sounds familiar.”

“She’s also walking towards us.”

Shaw turns around just as someone – Miss Davenport? – appears at her shoulder and bends down to push a straw into what’s left of her melting milkshake. A manicured hand wraps around the glass, displacing the condensation, and Shaw follows it to a pale arm to the sleeve of a black blouse to –

“Hi, Sameen,” Root hums, and presses a kiss to Shaw’s cheek.

---------------

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Sam?”

Root looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Shaw wants a drink with an alcohol content of at least 40 percent. Gen is… still gaping.

“Shut your trap – the flies are coming in.”

She does – and promptly bites her tongue. Sameen sighs and pushes her now more milk than shake in Gen’s direction; she moves to begin picking at her now-lukewarm fries, but has to swat away a hand before she can pull the box closer, away from the fry-snatcher (more like try-snatcher) slouching in the booth opposite with her too-tight jeans and gorgeous hair. Shaw would throw a chip at it to ruin in, but the idea of wasted food makes her decide to pop it in her mouth instead.

Root’s still looking at her expectantly, saccharine smile never wavering.

There’s a huge chunk of burger in her mouth, so Shaw just nods her head in Gen’s direction, “Djenn,” before kicking the hacker under the table, introducing her as, “Woot.” She swallows and glares, picking at her teeth. “Don’t discuss. Some of us are still eating.”

They don’t. They start talking about her instead.

Which is infinitely worse.

---------------

“Why Regina Bartonelli, anyway?” huffs Gen as she trudges up the stairs to her dormitory, playing with her keys to find the right one.

“Why not Regina Bartonelli?” Root counters, smirking, like she knows where this is going. Shaw doesn’t, but she motions at a door, imploring the girl between them to unlock it so she can enjoy the scotch stashed in one of Finch’s computer tower skeletons.

Gen has to think about that. “I… she… it always seems like she’s at the centre of everything. Nicest art project, so everyone crowds around. Her house is apparently so huge it’s bigger than the school!” She tugs the door open. “And, well. She’s pretty much the prettiest girl in our grade…”

Ah.

“And you’ve noticed, have you?” Shaw teases. Gen – outraged and burning red to her ears – slams the door in their faces.

Root swoons dramatically before throwing herself into Shaw’s arms, crocodile tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Oh!” she sniffs less-than-delicately, “they grow up so fast, don’t they?” and Sameen bursts out laughing.

-------------------------

MEETING THE PARENTS (REPRISE)

(just because the dead can’t hear you, doesn’t mean you didn’t say anything)

“Your daughter’s in love with a sociopath,” Shaw greets the headstone in front of her, and wonders what in seven hells she’s doing.

Although, to be fair, it isn’t like she can have this conversation with anyone else.

Fusco would offer her a confused nod, a pat on the back, and a platitude he’d remembered from whatever book he’s currently skimming over. And maybe a donut he still has left from lunch. Finch would clap his hands over his ears two words into the first sentence. The Machine would use anything she said as information for the next sorry sucker that needs advice. Zoe would tell her to put a ring on it.

That doesn’t really leave anyone. Except maybe John.

Wonderboy is interested, and sympathetic, but she doesn’t know how to explain to someone who has feelings that she’s not doing whatever-this-is with Root because of some weird outpouring of hormones and neurotransmitters and – you know what, she totally is. Why isn’t she having this conversation with John?

She’s halfway into getting up before she realises she drove two hundred miles out of her way to have this not-a-discussion with a dead woman. Back to squatting. Might as well have the talk now.

The wind comes up, tugging at her hair and clothes, throwing dust in the air. Even as she sits here, at the edge of the potter’s field on the outskirts of Bishop, Shaw doesn’t think she could ever understand how forlorn Root must have felt in this town.

Mrs Groves doesn’t say anything. Her name stares back up at Shaw from the small, grey headstone, and in that moment, means absolutely nothing. But this does:

“And, well…,” Sameen pauses, thinks of the words. “I… I think that, if – if I could love anyone… it’d be her.”

-------------------------

BEING A FAMILY

(this is love – in finale)

“Excellent food you have here,” Sameen comments before heartily biting into the pepper steak she’d snaffled from the pan. “Really top-notch. Almost like alcohol at parties without adult supervision.”

“Please don’t chew with your mouth full, Miss Shaw,” Harold reprimands reflexively as he puts down the second bowl of roast potatoes, smiling despite himself.

“Oh, never mind, mom is here,” she teases, moving to scoop another helping of spuds on her plate before John can get at them.

They’re supposed to be celebrating Christmas, because while we may not have a normal lifestyle, we shouldn’t shun the incorporation of at least some normalcy into our lives, some part of Finch’s speech creeps unbidden into her thoughts; even though Shaw doesn’t do Christmas, she does do food and alcohol and good company on the rare occasion such as this one, and it feels warm, comfortable, like home.

There’s some clinking in the background that draws her back to the present, where she hears, “… so if I may make a toast –” Harold invites them all to do as he does, lifts his glass… and says nothing. Despite his ten-minute speech yesterday about embracing the holiday spirit and ensuring we do not lose our moral fibre, he’s completely at a loss for words. Quiet tears begin slipping down his cheeks.

“Hear, hear,” John murmurs, pulling Harold back into his seat. She lifts her glass and tips it in the general direction of the table, turns to Root to do the same. But Root isn’t there.

Well, she is. But not really. She’s lost in the Christmas lights and cheer and atmosphere, looking around as if to capture it all, as if it will all be gone tomorrow. In one go-around, they catch each other’s eye: Root smiles shyly, and Shaw finds herself gazing directly at the insecure twelve year-old girl that’s usually simmering beneath the surface. Her eyes are almost glazed over in wonder at the mess of tinsel and fairy lights and assorted baubles that Bear dragged around the subway earlier this morning. If her mother ever had to see this place, she’d probably have a cadenza.

But right now: “It’s Christmas, Sameen,” she whispers, fingers grasping at Shaw’s hoodie as if to anchor herself back to the ground.

To help, Sameen shifts closer, presses her leg against Root’s thigh, and tucks their heads together conspiratorially. The now less-full glass is held up, daring Root to bring hers closer, to make sure this is real.

“Here’s to us,” she grins, and clinks their glasses together.

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #shoot #person of interest #youre-lacking-vitamin-me

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Photo

Shoot Secret Santa by @hoodieknight!

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #shoot #person of interest #hoodieknight

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

Let It Snow

Shoot Secret Santa by @spicycheeser!

*_*_*_*_*

The whole situation feels really weird and the fact that she agreed to it means… well it doesn’t matter now, because they’re already here.

She pushes open the door to the cabin, knocking the excess snow off her boots before heading inside.

“She says a light switch on the right,” Root says, entering just behind her and dusting the snow off the shoulders of her coat.

Shaw slides a hand along the wall until she finds the switch. The lights flicker on and they get their first look at the place they’ll be spending the next four days.

The living room is open, all high ceilings and exposed wooden beams, everything you’d expect from a “luxury ski lodge”. To their left is a fireplace. A couch and armchair sit around it, with a soft looking rug and coffee table between. Bookcases and a few paintings line the walls. The kitchen is open to the living room, only separated by a breakfast bar, and there’s a staircase to the second floor loft that winds up and around (to the bedroom, Shaw assumes).

Slipping off her boots, Shaw leaves her duffle bag by the door. Padding to the kitchen, she begins rummaging and finds both fridge and cupboards to be fully stocked. Recently too, if the expiration dates are accurate.

“She says there’s a freezer in the basement with extra food as well,” Root says, leaning over the breakfast bar. “There’s sports equipment down there. Skis, snowshoes, that sort of thing.”

Shaw grabs a banana from the bowl of fruit, peeling it down. “Looks like Robot Overlord thought of everything.” She takes a bite, enjoying the minut flinch of annoyance Root makes at the nickname.

“Even if this wasn’t her idea, She likes to make sure we’re taken care of.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, takes another big bite of fruit so she doesn’t have to respond to that. It’s true though. However serious or not Shaw’s comment about going on vacation together was, it was Shaw’s idea. And now here they are, fully stocked cabin in the middle of nowhere siberia, four days to kill until their job in Moscow comes up.

“I’m going to take my bag upstairs and unpack,” Root clicks the ‘k’ at extra hard and attempts a wink before sliding away.

With reluctant sigh Shaw finishes her banana, tossing it before heading back to grab her bag as well. Ascending the staircase she follows the thin banister around to the one and only door and heads inside.

The loft bedroom is... fair-sized. She might be ill or something because “cozy” was honestly the first adjective that came to mind. There’s a dresser on each side of the room, a small bookcase, and a door that probably leads to a bathroom. Most of the room however is taken up by the enormous bed and now, as Shaw stands at the foot of it, she’s struck by just how little thinking she did about this whole vacation thing. What it might entail, for example. Not a vacation in general but a vacation with someone. With Root. It’s a thought exercise made infinitely harder to since she’s not exactly sure how to define what being “with Root” means either.

They’ve fucked (once) and kissed (twice) and spent plenty of time together flirting and shooting at people. All of that happened on the job though so downtime like this is completely undefined. Shaw’’s not sure what Root expects and not what sure what she wants from Root either.

Tossing her duffle in the corner, Shaw flops back onto the bed. There’s a skylight above, currently featuring a perfect square of grey-blue winter sky. She feels the bed dip beside her and hears Root release and over exaggerated sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Shaw wonders outloud.

“I can think of several things,” Root hums, teasing tone not o be misinterpreted. “But vacation is about doing what you want to do.”

Shaw sits with that for a fw long minutes. She’s still not sure what to make of it, even when she feels Root roll off the bed and head towards the door.

“I have a project I want to work on,” she says by way of exiting, and Shaw is alone once more.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Shaw looks out the small window. There’s a fresh layer of snow out there and more forecasted for the evening as well.

Four days of this, Shaw thinks, wondering what on earth possessed her to even entertain the idea, much less suggest it. She conjures up ideas of what ‘normal’ people do on a snowy vacation and finds herself with a barrage of media stock images that involve people snuggling together for various activities.

Suddenly the idea of staying inside makes her itch.

Shaw heads downstairs. Root is on the couch, curled up under a blanket, laptop in lap. “Leave it to you to manage to find a WiFi signal in the middle of the woods.”

“She and I are well practiced at creating our own hotspot,” Root hums.

“Ew, okay, I don’t wanna know,” Shaw says, waving hand and making her way towards the basement.

Descending the stairs, she’s actually surprised by what she finds. The basement is tidy, well organized, and labled. It reminding Shaw of something she’d expect to find in White Suburbia rather than the frozen tundra. She heads for the sports equipment mounted and displayed towards the back and shuffs on a pair of snow pants (surprisingly just her size). She grabs the cross country skis, having watched enough Winter Olympics to know that if she wants a good burn that’s a good bet, and heads back upstairs.

Root’s still staring at the computer and Shaw can tell from the faraway look that the Machine must be talking to her. Fingers flying across the keys and Shaw wonders who is dictating to whom. Though, remembering Root’s prior innuendo ,maybe she’d rather not know.

Shaw walks behind the couch and pulls on her jacket. Peeking over Root’s shoulder she sees lines of code growing of across the screen. It’s a language Shaw has no desire to learn, and a lifestyle she has no interest in adopting. The contrast between her and Root sits odd in her stomach and propels her out the door even quicker.

Outside, the sky is still bright grey and she’s thankful she remembered to bring sunglasses for the glare off the snow. Strapping into the skis it takes a few minutes to figure out how to get moving, but it’s not long before she’s gliding along at a good clip.

The trail near the cabin excellent, challenging. A good rhythm going now, she feels confident enough to push a little harder. She loses herself in it, letting concerns and thoughts from before fall away and shifting attention inward to the way her quads burn or the bite of the cold air at her lungs. The world around her is crisp and quiet, the only sounds are the swishing of her skis and the hiss of her breath. Every once in awhile she’ll stop and take in the serene woods. Watch the way the light glints off iced branches, or examine some animal tracks she crosses. She spends a few hours like that and by the time she gets back, the waning light has taken on a golden hue.

Back inside, Shaw is almost thankful not to find Root where she left her. Instead, she’s in the kitchen, starting at the open cupboards in thought.

“Problem?” Shaw asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Just reviewing dinner options. Decisions, decisions.”

Shaw pops the top off the beer with her belt buckle, taking a long swig. “Kinda assumed I’d be doing the cooking, you know, considering.”

“Considering?”

“Considering half the time I have to remind you to eat,” Shaw huffs, taking another sip. “Food’s not really your thing.”

Root looks at her and it feels heavy somehow. She tries not to squirm under it, changes the subject. “Look, don’t blow a microchip- let me shower and I’ll make something,” she shrugs like it’s nothing, even though Root is still looking like it's anything but.

Shaw moves towards the door, before Root’s voice catches up with her, “Need any company?”

The tone is light, the weigh from before evaporated. “I think I can handle it,” Shaw deadpans back.

Back upstairs, she takes a few extra minutes in the shower, letting the hot water defrost the cold ache from her bones. After, she finds that Root seems to have taken it upon herself to unpack their bags. All their clothes are neatly folded in the dresser to the left of the bed. Shaw’s extra ammo clips, gas mask, and other gear is organized in her duffle bag, tucked under the bed.

It’s annoying in its efficiency, annoying because it’s exactly how Shaw would have done it. Totally unnecessary. Could have done this myself, Shaw thinks. Helping herself to her favorite pair of worn USMC sweats and a hoodie, she pads back downstairs.

“You look cozy,” Root says. She’s kneeling near the fireplace depositing another log on an already roaring fire.

“She help you with that too?” Shaw asks.

“Fire setting happens to be one of my skills actually.”

“Somehow not surprised,” Shaw states and heads to the kitchen.

Cooking has always been luxury when she had the time to indulge, so she’s happy to seize the opportunity. The cabinets are still open from Root’s rummaging and Shaw browses those and the fridge before settling on a meal. There’s a whole raw chicken which she helps herself to, spending a few minutes of collecting seasonings and other essentials before setting to work. She dresses it the way she remembers her mother doing years ago and makes sure to grab and chop an assortment of veggies to lay underneath the roasting bird too.

Root could use the friggin’ nutrients, she thinks idly.

Shoving the whole thing in the oven, she sets a timer before heading back to the living room. Root is back on the couch, feet on the coffee table and afghan blanket wrapped around her legs like a mermaid tail. They have about an hour before dinner so Shaw makes her way to the bookshelves. Perusing the titles, she can’t help sneaking quick glances back at Root. The woman is typing away oblivious, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s a sight Shaw finds to be a weird comfort normally, but here it makes her slightly unnerved. Not because of the action, but because it leaves Shaw to her own devices. It’s the ‘what’s next’ anticipation that’s bothered Shaw since they got here, and it seems like she’s the only one.

Eventually she selects a book, a popular title she recognizes from a few years ago, and is then faced another choice: Where to sit. The armchair, the other end of the couch? Root’s words about Shaw doing whatever she wants on vacation mock her and it pisses her off enough she bypasses the couch and chair, opting to flop down on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Root doesn’t look up from her typing but states, “The bear skin rug was the owner’s Great-Great Grandfather’s. He killed the bear himself and fed his family for 6 months off the meat. It’s a family heirloom and the owner apparently takes a eat deal of pride in it.”

“So sex on the rug is out?” she jokes, enjoying the way Root’s glitches excitedly. Shaw doesn’t bother waiting for a verbal response, simply rolls over, faces the fire, and cracks open the book.

Time flies after that. The book is good, but the wafting smell of roasting chicken and subsequent stomach grumbling buoys her to the present. Shaw portions dinner for them, Root watching ruefully as she very purposefully places roasted vegetables both plates. They eat at the small wooden table in the breakfast nook. Root takes her time, cutting her entire meal into tiny pieces before even taking a bite. Shaw has more of an eat-as-you-go style, which is why she's half done by the time Root finishes cutting. Shaw tries to slow her pace.

Companionable silence is one of her favorite things about Root. The quiet never feels pressured or uncomfortable. Even in the midst of this odd situation, it still feels right. They finish up and before Shaw can say anything, Root clears dishes. She returns to the table with a tumbler of whisky for Shaw glass of water for herself.

“She says I need to drink more water” Root says.

“She’s not wrong ,” Shaw chuckles, taking a sip of her own drink. “But She doesn’t mind if I’m dehydrated?”

Root smiles over the lip of her glass. “She thought you might appreciate a good buzz at the moment.”

They sip quietly, watching the snow starts to fall through the window.

“The owner’s hunting gear is in the basement as well. If you're wondering what you can do for tomorrow.”

Shaw was, in fact, wondering that. “What kind of gun?”

“Compound bow, actually.” Root says. “Game fowl season is in full swing right now.”

“Sounds fun.”

What about tonight? lingers heavily after but Root smiles lightly ,diffusing it. “I have a few more things I’d like to work on. Unless you have something in mind for us for dessert?”

Shaw makes a ‘after you/don’t let me stop you’ motion with her arm towards the couch like and Root heads back to her spot from before. Shaw stays, finishes her drink in her own time, but eventually returns to her spot on the rug as well.

It’s late when she finally lays the book down, the fire fizzled out to its final embers. Now the blue light of the computer screen is the only illumination and the creepy way it lights Root’s face, the strung out tiredness there, brings to mind an entirely different type of snowed-in scenario. The Stephen King kind.

All work and no play, Shaw thinks. Standing, she moving behind the couch and touches Root’s shoulder. “She going to remind you to take a break any time soon?”

“She avoids redirecting me when unnecessary. Doing so when you’re around seems redundant.”

“Fine. Then this is me telling me you look like shit. Be done for the night.”

Root smiles sleepily, closing the laptop and placing it beside her. “As you wish.”

Shaw ignores the reference and heads for the bedroom. She changes, brushes her teeth, and passes Root on the stairs coming up as she heads down to find a glass of water. By the time she returns to the bedroom, Root has changed into her monogrammed PJ’s and bunny slippers and is sitting on edge of the bed, odd expression on her face as she stares at her phone.

Shaw pauses in the doorway, not sure what she wants to do or what she’s going to do (two different things).

They've always slept separately in the past. She could still sleep downstairs but that’d be stupid when the bed up here is big enfor three or four people. She watches Root discard her phone, giving Shaw a open, content look before shutting off her bedside light.

It was neither invitation nor declaration. Another thing Shaw likes about Root- there’s never any pressure. Doesn’t make this any less confusing.

Shaw makes her way over to the bed despite the continued indecision, and slides under the covers. When she rolls over, she’s facing Root who blinks back at her in the dark.

Fuck it, Shaw thinks. “What is this?”

“It’s call ‘rest’, I think.”

“You know what I mean. This. You. Me. “ Shaw pauses “Her too I suppose- it’s a package deal right?”

Root beams at that, “Very much so.”

“So yeah, what is this?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“Can you just answer my question. I asked you first.”

Root shrugs, nuzzling her head further into her pillow. “I haven’t thought much about it.”

“Bullshit,” Shaw bites. “You always have a plan.”

“She always has a plan. I…” Root trails off. Shaw can tell it’s Root thinking rather than listening, so she waits.

“I enjoy you Sameen,” she says, quietly. “Whatever that is, day to day.”

“And Her?” Shaw asks, referring to the Machine. “She just along for the ride?”

“Mmm, on the contrary, she has always been quite invested in us as a pair.” Root smiles small, like it’s an inside joke. “She likes you too.”

“That is…” Shaw searches, but comes up with nothing. “Whatever. It’s fine, I guess.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Shaw rolls onto her back looks up at the skylight. Stars wink above, dots of bright in crisp, dark blue.

“I’m not good at this,” Shaw starts. Root doesn’t reply but Shaw doesn’t have to turn to know the woman’s attention is tuned in. “Not sure how it’s supposed to go.”

“On the contrary, you’re quite good at it. You make sure I eat, sleep-“

“So does the omnipotent FitBit in your ear,” Shaw grumbles.

“You talk to me, and listen,” Root continues. “And if I'm totally honest you're the first person, maybe in my whole life, who has thought about me. About my safety. About my health.” Root says it plainly, as though they’re discussing the weather.

There’s a pressure in Shaw’s chest at the words, like the air is compressing around her slowly, the weight of it clenching under her ribs. Something demanding attention, something stirring.

“It doesn’t have to be like on TV,” Root offers. “Or like what the rest of them, any of them have. Because we're not like the rest of them, are we?”

Shaw snorts, “Fuck no.”

“So forget them. Forget ‘should’ and ‘supposed to’.” Root adds, propping herself up on an elbow. “What you're not good at isn’t applicable. It’s a language you don't ever have to learn. Not with me.”

The pressure reaches combustion and that something that’s been building, building all day and even before, finally explodes. Without thought, Shaw pounces on top of Root, pinning her to the mattress.

Only anger usually moves her like this, but the sharp and familiar satisfaction that usually follow a snap is missing. There is relief, as she looks down at the other woman whose hips she was straddling, but she’s not sure where to go from here.

Root, by contrast, doesn’t seem unsure. Doesn’t seem surprised either. She simply looks back up at Shaw, and smiles knowingly. “Ditto.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, and dismounts, shuffling to her side of the bed once more, and letting the warm afterbuzz of that stirring thing, settle in her gut.

“Keep your freezing feet to yourself” Shaw says without malice, as she snuffles down further into the covers. “And tell Rosie the Robot to wake us up for 5am. I wanna shoot some stuff, bright and early.”

“Mmm, goodnight Sameen,” Root contently from the dark.

It’s odd, to have someone know her better than she know herself sometimes. To have someone who understands, who seems to hear the whispers within her like they were as clear as day. Maybe Root can help her hear them a little better too. Maybe together they can have their own language.

Shaw chuckles, into her pillow despite herself. The whole thing is so weird. So unexpected.

Inconceivable, she thinks as she drifts off. She falls asleep smirking at the reference and how ridiculous and maybe cool being ‘with’ some can actually turn out to be.

*-*-*-*-*

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #person of interest #shoot #spicycheeser

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

True Colors

Shoot Secret Santa by @orphicsen-d!

1990

“What's your favorite color?”

Sameen doesn't have to look up to recognize the voice. Sam – the other Sam – has appeared out of nowhere like she always does and is now standing outside the sandpit with her blonde boyish haircut and a creepy smile plastered to her face.

“Don't have one,” she answers truthfully, and digs a deep X into the sand with a piece of wood that she found. It's hollow and dry, like everything in the South. She erases it again, the hot sand grazing her small palm. She watches as individual grains escape her fingers.

“What do you mean?” Sam lets out a signature maniacal chuckle and tilts her head.

“What I mean is,” Sameen says, aggressively pulling out brown blades of grass and wilted daisies and throwing them into the pit in front of her, “that I don't have one.”

Sam shrugs and climbs up the slide. “Mine is pink. It could be yours too,” she offers.

“I don't want one. Besides, it's bad enough that we share a name.”

Sam is doing the thing with her lips that Sameen interprets as “sadness”. Doesn't she know Sameen had just been joking? (Well, like 80% joking.)

But her eyebrows are up, not down.

Although there's a possibility that Sam knows Sameen had mostly been joking, there's also a possibility that she doesn't. Sameen ponders.

She had been asked the same question too many times in her life, and she'd never had an answer. Partly because most of the time, she didn't care enough to think of one, and partly because when she did, she couldn't think of one either.

Colors – there is nothing special about them, yet everyone seems to have an opinion. It's not like Sameen's colorblind, she sees the differences, she just doesn't get why they were important.

(Then again, it's like that with most things.)

But it is important to Sam, so it is important to Sameen too, in this moment. Because unlike it might seem to other kids, they actually like each other. Their way of showing affection is just less... conventional.

The first time they'd met, they'd gotten into a mudball fight because of a disagreement about peanut butter. The second time, Sam had tied Sameen to the roundabout and spun her until she was puking her guts out in the bushes. In exchange, Sameen had chased her down the street with a dead cockroach in her hand and dead anger in her eyes.

(If it weren't for the fact that there never seemed to be anything else in them, Sam would almost have been scared.)

The third time, they had gotten into a sand fight in this very sandpit after Sam had stolen Sameen's purple plastic shovel.

They consider each other best friends.

“I gotta go, mom's waiting,” Sam declares after a while. The sun has slowly been disappearing behind rooftops and chimneys and the sky has turned into a shade of warm orange that makes people stare out of their windows in awe.

Instead of sliding down, Sam jumps from the very top of the slide. The dry chalk throws up red dust as she lands on all four, for a moment looking like a hunter out for prey. But then she stands up, and she's Sam again, sweet, crazy Sam, with her boyish hair and creepy smile.

Sameen watches from her perch in the sandpit as she makes her way towards her green bike, carrying wood and stones and pieces of glass and other treasures, using her shirt as a makeshift basket. Green! That's a good color, right? Sameen thinks about grass and beer bottles and sour watermelon flavored bubble tape. She thinks about Maman Borzorg's special vases and Baba's uniform.

She grabs a handful of pebble and starts throwing the small stones one by one, hard, missing Sam's head by an inch or two each time. She flinches, but doesn't duck or protect herself with her arms, indicating that it is human reflex rather than fear. Sam's hair flips when she turns around, already seated on the tall bike. She's smirking.

Sameen gives her a commendatory nod.

“It's green.”

Sam's smirk grows wider as she swings her legs over the bike and starts pedaling up the hill full of verve, and Sameen throws a few more rocks, just for good measure.

The next evening, when they're sitting in their usual spots, Sam pulls out a ripped green piece of fabric with pearls and buttons sewed onto it. She points at the pink look-alike tied firmly around her wrist and grins, waiting for Sameen's reaction avidly.

“Best friends forever”, she announces with a wide grin.

Sameen has a suspicion of what this is. A friendship bracelet. She had seen other girls in her class exchange them (not boys; never boys) and supposed it was a method of affection.

She knows she considers Sam her best friend, even if she might not understand that concept like the other girls. It's the “forever” that makes her feel uneasy. She knows she's different. Some people would describe her as scary and psychotic, others as possessed and unpredictable. She doesn't correct them, though – they're not wrong, after all. She knows all that.

What she doesn't know is what it is that makes Sam come back to the playground every day.

(She knows she'll stop one day, so she doesn't dwell on it too much.)

But Sam is still there, sitting in front of her, cross-legged and wide-eyed, waiting for Sameen's response.

“Uh... thanks,” she says, unsure of where to look or what to do.

(Sam understands, doesn't question it.)

She gently takes Sameen's hand to put on the bracelet for her and something shifts inside of Sameen. It's neither positive nor negative, nor particularly intense, Sameen just knows it's there, and Sam's touch must have triggered it – whatever it is.

(It feels like a silent tornado of every color in the rainbow, Sameen thinks, and she wants it to last forever and never come back at the same time.)

It passes after a second or two, and everything is back to standard again. Sameen pulls back her hand. She decides she wants to put it on herself.

Sam understands, doesn't question it.

Grass grows. Leaves fall. Children laugh. Seasons pass.

Neither of them know who stopped coming first.

1996

“You got light?”

Tomas' dirty laughter echoes in the dimly lit alley.

“What are you doing here, gooky girl?,” he asks and forcefully spits onto the ground.

“Enjoying the sunset, what else would I be doing on such fine night? Cheers!” She raises her bottle and finishes the remaining sips of cheap beer with four big gulps.

“Very funny, Shaw,” Tomas laughs again, more dryly this time, and takes a few steps towards her. His hair is full of gel and he smells like sweat and cologne. It would almost be attractive if it weren't for the fact that he is an annoying white boy.

“Yeah, very funny, Shaw,” Bobby chimes in hesitantly, voice cracking in the process. Tomas turns back to him and shakes his head, indicating that Bobby should leave the talking to him. Bobby scoffs awkwardly and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his bulky jeans.

Two more guys, Romeo and Jeremy, descend from the dark, smiling viciously. Their gaze is diluted but aggressive, their walk unsteady and incoherent. Shaw can tell they're out for a fight.

“So it's gonna be that kind of party, huh?,” she says, throwing the glass bottle in their vague direction.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't you know that's bad for the environment?,” Tomas drawls, obviously content with his own hilarious remark.

The other boys snort. “Bad for the environment!,” Bobby cackles again, holding his sides from laughter. The rest decide to ignore him.

“Are you some kind of a fucking Greenpeace activist now?”

Jeremy goes “Oooh snap!” in the background and Tomas sends him a warning look, visibly getting more and more frustrated. Shaw has so suppress a smirk. How cute.

“Hey, watch it, gooky girl. Wouldn't want something to happen to your miserable little stray.” There's a threat below the lightheartedness of his tone.

Shaw falters. But Rocky is at home, probably drooling onto her pillow right now. Rocky is safe. They can't hurt him now. All Shaw has to do is assure her position with fist and muscle, and they never will.

She jumps off the monkey bars, landing on both feet with ease.

“What did you just say, Koroa?” She stares at him, eyes narrowed.

“You heard me, Shaw. He's already rotting anyway, why do you even–“

Shaw's fist lands on his eye before he can finish his sentence. His body staggers but doesn't fall, his brain not affected enough by the alcohol, so it seems. Wouldn't be fun if it was anyway.

The two other boys help him back up to his feet – Bobby watches them awkwardly – and start to slowly but surely capture Shaw in a circle. The smell of alcohol and sweat intensifies, arms wearing ink drawings and swatch watches reach out for her, and Shaw's adrenalin level shoots up.

Romeo is the first one to attack her, but she pushes him to the ground with ease. Next one to go is Jeremy. He tries to grip her by the elbow but she is faster and kicks his legs away under his body, making his knees buckle. His bones make a questionable sound when he falls and he is holding his knee protectively, a pained expression on his otherwise witty and annoying face. Two deceased, one left – two left if you count Bobby, which Shaw doesn't.

She turns to Tomas. It looks like he had just been patiently waiting for her to do so, the shit-eating grin is back on his face, and Shaw really wants him to lose a tooth or two or three. She stares him dead into the eyes.

“Whatcha gonna do now, gooky girl? You might be strong but you're all by yourself, just like your dying dog. Nobody wants to love a dirty stray,” he provokes.

Shaw can feel her heart rate increasing, her palms getting sweaty, blood shooting up to her ears. Human reflex.

She's gonna make him beg for his life.

She strikes out and hits – hard. At first it's a woman-to-man fight, but it's only a matter of time before Tomas is on the ground, nose bloody, arms raised in surrender. Shaw grins, doesn't stop the kicks and punches.

His “friends” have bundled off, so now it's just her, him, and his sweet cries, like music to her ears. Blood squirts into the air and his voice is becoming hoarse. Shaw could do this all day.

It's too linear, too easy, and it only takes a second of negligence for two hands to strangle her neck from behind.

Fuck.

She tries to free herself, tries to grip the person by their arms and throw them over, with little success. Her air tubes are cut off and her vision's getting blurrier and blurrier...

Just as she is about to lose consciousness, the grip around her neck loosens, and her lungs start sucking in air violently, stertorously. She's heaving.

When she regains her vision, she can make out the shape of a person standing in front of her with crossed arms. Shaw blinks. The person grins widely.

“Long time no see.”

Shaw stands up and wipes off the blood on her palms onto her jeans. She tightens her ponytail, examines her neck – decorated with blue and green spots now – and processes the situation. Tomas' and Bobby's bodies are laying in a pile a few feet away from her, probably unconscious.

The person – a girl – is still smirking, her head tilted adoringly. Shaw takes a closer look at her smug face. Her eyes widen.

“Sam.”

“Kiss kiss to you too,” she coos absentmindedly, rummaging in her pink backpack. Her face lights up as she fishes out a half-empty water bottle and hands it to Shaw. She accepts it, drinks it greedily, water dripping down her sharp jawline and bruised neck.

“Thanks.”

Sam shrugs. “Look like you need it, after almost getting strangled to death by the sleeping beauty over there,” she simply states, tilting her head towards the passed out Bobby. Shaw scoffs.

“Remember, when fighting multiple opponents, the most important thing is to keep one of them in the way of the others. Self-destruction, if you take it that way. Oh, and I go by Root now. You can have your name back.”

“It was never yours to begin with anyway,” Shaw counters automatically.

“I'm six days older, so actually, it was.” Six fucking days.

“But it fits better for me.”

Root laughs. Not maniacally like she used to, it's short and happy and bitter at the same time, and if it weren't for the lack of illumination, Shaw would have to hide her smile.

“Yeah,” Root says, smiling at the smell of fresh blood. “I agree.”

Bishop's small – comically small. Still, they had mostly managed to not cross ways in the past six years. (And at the few times they did, they simply pretended they didn't.)

It's probably like that because of the fact that Root's a night owl, she likes to keep to herself, only interacting with other people if absolutely necessary. And Shaw's not exactly a social butterfly, either.

Root is taller and thinner than Sam, her hair longer and darker, the spark in her eyes gone and replaced by something Shaw can't quite make out.

Her hair is longer, but still too short for a lady, as most people in town would say if you'd ask them. That alone wouldn't be too bad, but add combat boots, Tori Amos cassettes and the fact that she had never shown even the slightest of interest in a young man her age, and it had soon become pretty clear to everyone: Samantha Groves is a dyke.

Shaw's not homophobic – she's the last person to give a shit about someone not fitting the norm – , just simply curious. She knows she likes guys, she knows she likes girls too, but what she doesn't know is what that makes her. She doesn't think about it too much. It's a preference, a state of mind, nothing that needs to be discussed.

She's not sure what it is that makes her bring up the topic.

“They say you're a lesbian,” she says, dry grass crunching under her feet as they stray around town aimlessly.

Root huffs. “They're not wrong.”

The sun is about to rise in half an hour or so, paining the skyline in a warm orange, the kind of orange that would make people stare out of their windows in awe if the entire town wasn't asleep.

Shaw turns to look at her. “You fuck girls?”

She nods nonchalantly. They're about to enter a graveyard that reminds them of too many ghosts to give a second thought to, when Shaw feels all kinds of colors shift inside her.

“What's that like?”

Now it's Root who turns to look at her. She's clearly amused, derisive even.

“Well at first... you caress her face,” she starts, and the use of pronoun sends a shiver down Shaw's back. She nods shortly.

“Oh,” Root says, voice not louder than a whisper, “I'm not sure if you understand. Like this.”

They're standing between two gravestones, not quite in each others arms but with a significant amount of contact. Root's fingers start tracing the outlines of Shaw's face softly, only ever hesitating at her lips for a brief moment. Eyelids flutter as Root stops to look at them, wondering. Shaw feels the colors again.

“Then... you start kissing her,” she continues, and she does. The kiss is short and chaste and the sound of mouths parting is fucking sweet. Shaw brings her hands to Root's face and presses her onto the cold stone. She chuckles.

“Then…”

The sun is beaming onto yellow grass and waterless lakes and two girls have just finished fucking in the middle of a Christian graveyard.

One of them, the shorter one, is putting on her shirt, and the other one, the tall one, is searching for something in her pink backpack like she always does.

“You're a fast learner, Sameen. Are you sure you haven't done this before?,” she teases, watching over her shoulder as the other girl is getting dressed.

“It's Shaw. But you're not that bad yourself,” she answers with confidence, wondering why her hands are shaking. Must be a human reflex.

“We should do this again sometime. You know, there aren't many- oh, here it is!”

She turns around with a wide grin and hands Shaw a small strip of paper. A phone number in watery black ink is written onto it hastily. Shaw raises an eyebrow.

“For your dog, Rocky. I heard he's not doing so well.”

“Where'd you hear that?,” she wants to ask, but she gulps down her question instead.

She'd found Rocky two months ago, in the middle of an extinct highway an hour away from town, trotting around an empty car with a broken front shield and an effused airbag. He'd been all skin an bones, paws and nose bloody and body too bruised to make it through another day – or so you would think.

Granted, Shaw had taken him home on her bike and taken care of his wounds. She'd fed him, bathed him, given him a warm place to sleep. He'd been getting better slowly but surely until one of the neighbors' little wastes of air decided it would be funny to sneak tulips or azaleas or some shit into his food.

It had been going downhill ever since.

So it's no wonder that people in town have noticed. Their interest is rather superficial, though. Shaw knows that random people stopping her in the corner store to ask her how he was doing was more so that they had something to tattle about during Sunday brunch rather than genuine concern.

(She can almost imagine it, three o r four upper-middle class elderly women sitting around a table covered with a flouncy white tablecloth, coffee and cream and organic cookies in a fancy ass bowl, talking about their husbands Richard, Charles and Henry. One of them brings up the poor dying puppy of the Shaws, and they all shake their heads in uni s on and agree that something should be done there, before going back to discussing golf or bingo night.)

Shaw gulps again. “What is this?”

“A phone number,” Root answers. “Of a vet in Karnes City. Doctor Adams, but tell her I sent you and you'll be allowed to call her Mina. She owes me a favor.” She winks awkwardly.

Shaw doesn't know what Root had done or why Mina owed her a favor but she really also doesn't want to. She ponders whether or not to accept the offer, but remembers that this is Rocky they're talking about. And Rocky is her friend.

“Thanks.”

Root smiles.

(Shaw takes Rocky to Mina's office the following day. She's paralyzed for a second when Shaw mentions Root's name, but then nods slowly and takes them down the hallway into a dimly lit room. She examines him , prescribes three different kinds of pills and tells Shaw to come back in five day periods. When Shaw asks about costs, Mina laughs briefly and tells her not to worry about that.

Rocky dies of age five years later in his sleep, peacefully, a few months after Shaw had started med school. She doesn't cry but her textbooks seem more gray than usual.)

2014

“If the worst comes to pass... if you could give Shaw a message?”

“I think she already knows.”

She looks at him with glassy eyes. He thinks Shaw knows, which means that he knows, and it doesn't matter to him. Her throat tightens.

2016

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Root mutters, her side pressed tightly against the tree. She raises her gun as the man is close to shooting, unlocking the safety. She's about to fire but someone else is quicker. The man sinks to the ground with a grunt.

“What?”

She turns her head to where the bullet came from. Another person grips her wrists and pushes her down. Root gasps.

“Root?”

“Shaw.”

It takes two hours to convince Shaw it is okay to go home with her. Root pays the taxi driver generously and offers to help Shaw out of the vehicle. She shakes her head but mutters a soft “thanks” for only Root to hear. They walk from the parking spots to the tall building – one of Finch's safehouses – and Shaw can't stop looking around, turning her head from left to right and from right to left every few seconds, eyes tired and haunted. Her walk is different, Root notices. Cautious – more cautious than it was before – , paranoid, even, like a sick puppy limping behind its owner.

They make it to the second floor and take off their clothes and shoes, and now they're here, sitting on the couch in a respectful distance, facing each other.

“Long time no see,” Shaw says, looking at an object on the coffee table that isn't there.

Root smiles slightly, and they sit in comfortable silence until Shaw's stomach growls.

“Oh.” Root stands up and makes her way towards the fridge across the room. She takes out some whole wheat toast, crunchy peanut butter and jelly with a justifiable expiration date and starts making the sandwich.

"You hungry?,” she calls over her shoulder.

Shaw blinks. She doesn't understand the question.

Root returns with a PB&J a few minutes later – two thick layers of peanut butter, a thin layer of jelly, bread cut into two rectangles, just like Shaw likes it. She sets down the plate in front of her and sits back down.

“For me?,” she asks hesitantly.

“Of course, sweetie.”

Shaw takes the sandwich and admires it for a minute, like it's the best gift Root could have given her. She watches it, smells it, opens it, touches it, closes it, and bites down with gusto. Root wishes she had offered it to her sooner.

It's an hour later when they're lying under warm blankets in the cold bedroom and Shaw asks Root to leave on the small light on the nightstand. Shaw is lying on her stomach and Root on her side, propping herself up with her elbows, watching Shaw's breathing get calmer and calmer.

When she thinks she's asleep, she lays down her head and inches closer to Shaw – she doesn't close her eyes, not now, not when she hasn't seen her in what seems like a lifetime.

“I don't have it anymore,” Shaw mumbles into her pillow.

“Hm?,” Root asks, tucking the hair behind her ears. “Can you repeat that, sweetie?”

Shaw sits up. “The friendship bracelet. I threw it out. Can I get a new one?”

Her voice is quiet and monotonous, her mouth forming the words softly.

“Sure,” Root says slowly and nods, watching Shaw's back move up and down. “Do you want it in green?”

“No. My favorite color is brown now.”

Root tilts her head. “Brown. That's unusual.”

Shaw shrugs.

“I'll get you one tomorrow,” Root promises, “but for now, let's get some rest.”

She guides Shaw down again, her hand placed on the small of her back. Both of them know sleep won't be happening, but at least they can close their eyes and feel the other person's body next to their own.

Root pulls up the thick blanket and puts her arm around Shaw's body, making sure she is warm and comfortable. She can feel Shaw's breaths on her hair; it stirs, tickling her shoulder. She starts rubbing soft circles on the small of her back, and Shaw relaxes under her touch.

New York is freezing. The room is muggy. The air is humid. Two warm bodies are pressed against each other.

Shaw reaches around to pull her closer and hugs the taller woman's midriff awkwardly. Root smiles at the soft gesture and kisses the top of Sameen's head, and the colors are there, and she understands.

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #person of interest #shoot #orphicsen-d

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

Four AM Fire Alarm

Shoot Secret Santa by @maybesomedaysameen!

Root dipped her spoon back into her cereal bowl, collecting the last few cheerios. She was sitting on her kitchen counter, bare legs stretched across the small space so her feet could rest on the opposite side. It was warm in her apartment, despite the late December chill outside. She liked to stay up late, so she was willing to pay the higher electrical bill to keep her apartment comfortable.

Eating her last spoonful, Root put her bowl down, the noise loud in the silent apartment. She wasn’t sure how she was going to spend the night. A big project was compressing on her computer and that would take most of the night. She needed a better computer.

Root sighed and hopped off the counter, feet hitting the cold tile of the kitchen floor. She had the money for a new computer, but part of her wanted to build one. The trouble with that was time. Root filled her days with jobs and trouble-making, all fun and games, but that didn’t leave a lot of time for practical things like cooking, cleaning, and computer-making.

She left her bowl on the counter and walked to her desk. It only took her a few steps. Her apartment was small, just a studio in Brooklyn. Everything was five steps away, but she didn’t mind. Root didn’t need a lot and a huge apartment would be conspicuous for a girl like her. She squinted at her computer screen.

There were three hours left of her compression. Glancing at the time, she sighed. It was four in the morning; she might as well go to sleep. She wasn’t going to find a club that was. Well, there were clubs open at four am on a Friday night, but not ones that Root wanted to wander into looking for a hookup.

“Well,” Root mumbled to herself, “bed it is. Alone.”

She adjusted her shorts, debating whether or not she wanted to shower. Root decided against it. She was already in her pajamas, just a tanktop and shorts, and she was too lazy to dig around for clean clothing. She should really do laundry.

Root was two steps from her bed when a loud alarm made her jump. Root stuck her fingers into her ears. The fire alarm in her building was incredibly loud. It hardly went off, but Root hated it. She moved to her closet, kicking the clothing around, looking for a jacket, but she couldn’t see anything. She’d have to go outside half-naked.

Groaning loudly, Root unplugged her ears and grabbed her thin blanket off her bed. It wouldn’t do anything, but she wrapped it around her shoulders and hurried to the door. She slipped her feet into her bunny slippers, grabbed her keys from the hook on the wall, and shut her door.

Her floor was empty, the people either ignoring the alarm or already outside. Root glanced at the apartment down the hall, wondering if her hot neighbor was going to be outside. Maybe Root could cuddle up to her for warmth. She was so muscular, Root thought, she was probably hot to the touch.

Root lived on the fourth floor of a fairly nice apartment building. It wasn’t in a great neighborhood, but it had a doorman, so that was nice. It had an elevator that Root usually took, small, but nice. She loved when her neighbor ended up in the elevator with her. They had to stand close together to fit and the shorter woman always smelled like cologne and sweat.

Licking her lips, Root stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The glass front door was frosted from the chill and Root hesitated before stepping outside. It didn’t smell like there was an actual fire and since no one had seen her, so she could still go back to her apartment and pretend that she wasn’t home.

She sighed. The alarms never lasted too long; she’d be fine for a few minutes out in the cold.

The second she opened the door she regretted her decision. The cold was piercing, her blanket a joke against the brutal wind. It wasn’t snowing, but the wind seemed to cut her bare legs as she trudged across the small street. Head down, she stepped onto the sidewalk and turned around to stare at her perfectly fine apartment building.

Root glared up at the fourth-floor window that she knew was hers. It was so warm in that apartment and so cold out here. She should have just dealt with the alarm and stayed inside. A fire truck pulled up and several fire fighters headed inside. She was officially stuck out here on the sidewalk with the rest of the people from the building.

Something heavy dropped onto her shoulders and Root looked to the side to see her hot neighbor placing a heavy blanket on her shoulders.

“I thought you were a computer nerd,” her neighbor said dryly. “Aren’t you all supposed to be smart?”

Root opened her mouth, teeth chattering. “W-We are. I j-just don’t ha-have clean clo-clothes.”

The woman lifted an eyebrow, smirking. “That seems on brand. I’ve seen you carrying your laundry to the basement. Why not do your laundry every time you have enough for a load?”

Wrapping both blankets around herself, Root felt herself warming up a little bit. “Because I enjoy doing four loads at once.”

“Hmph,” Shaw snorted. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be working for you.”

Root chuckled and just wrapped herself tighter in the blankets. She looked Shaw over, taking in tight black pants and a form-fitting coat. A beanie held her thick, black hair and Root was sad that she couldn’t see it. Her neighbor’s eyes met hers and Root flushed, face almost feeling hot.

“I’m Root,” she said quietly. “I’m in 4A”

“Shaw,” was the husky response. “4F.”

Root stuck a hand out of her blanket cocoon and Shaw took it in her warm, gloved hand. They shook and Root made sure to keep her eyes on Shaw’s. She wasn’t imagining the glint in Shaw’s eye. Maybe she would find a hookup tonight after all.

Taking her hand back, Root shivered dramatically. “I hope they let us back in soon. I’m freezing.”

Shaw ran her eyes down Root’s body, lingering on her legs. After a moment, she looked up again and nodded to the blankets.

“Open up,” she ordered Root. “Two bodies are warmer than one.”

Root’s mouth dropped open into a surprised smile and she opened her cocoon. The cold air hit her like a wall and she immediately started shaking. Quickly, Shaw stepped into Root’s arms and turned around so Root could wrap her arms around Shaw’s shoulders. She was tempted to drop her chin onto the top of Shaw’s head, but Shaw didn’t seem like the affectionate-type.

Shaw was small in her arms, but firm, too, like a real life Lara Croft. They’d been living on the same floor for almost a year now and Root had seen her in her workout clothing. Her arms were wonderfully toned and Root could cut herself on Shaw’s abs. She pulled the blanket tighter around them. She wished she could wrap her legs around Shaw’s waist.

“Did you do it?”

“What?” Root asked, blushing. “Do what?”

“Set off the alarm?” Shaw looked up at her, smirking. “Did you forget why we’re out here?”

Root smiled nervously. “I think the cold is impairing my thought processes. I didn’t set the alarm off. It was probably that old lady who lives one floor down.”

Root could feel Shaw shake her head. “She has too many cats to start a fire. It was probably that creepy piano guy one floor up. That guy is an idiot.”

Laughing, Root nodded. “He is.”

Across the street, the fire fighters were heading out of the building. The alarm hadn’t stopped yet, but their landlord waved everyone back towards the apartment. Root wasn’t sure she could walk back. She actually couldn’t feel her feet at all. Besides, she liked being so close to a hot girl.

Shaw stepped out of her arms, sending a gush of cold air into the blankets. Turning around, Shaw rubbed her pink nose as she watched Root try to wrap the blanket around herself again. Shivering, Root tried to step forward, but she tumbled.

Shaw caught her and Root could feel Shaw’s muscles straining against her heavy coat. The blankets fell from Root’s shoulders onto the sidewalk and she panted, her hands bracing herself on Shaw’s shoulders.

“Sorry,” Root breathed. “My feet are numb.”

Shaw shrugged, looking unconcered. “Okay”

Pouting, Root widened her eyes. “Can you carry me in? I don’t think I can walk.”

Shaw’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but she nodded. She turned around and squatted slightly, scooting herself back between Root’s legs, hooking her hands under Root’s knees. Root grabbed the blankets quickly as Shaw stood with ease, bouncing Root into place on her back.

Root was glad that Shaw couldn’t see her face because she knew that it was bright red. Shaw was so strong. Root awkwardly tossed the blankets over her shoulders, keeping them out of Shaw’s way. They reached the other side of the street and Shaw’s hands squeezed Root’s calves as they crossed the street and Root groaned loudly. She felt Shaw stiffen between her legs.

“Sorry,” Root breathed. “That squeeze felt good.”

“It’s fine,” Shaw muttered. A neighbor opened the door for them and Shaw pushed past without looking at them. “I get it.”

Root closed her eyes, embarrassed. She’d seen Shaw bring hot women home before, the three of them crammed into the elevator. Root had brought women home, too, so Shaw knew she swung that way. She hoped Shaw didn’t think she was weird for groaning.

They stopped in front of the elevator and turned to the side.

“Kick it,” she said, nodding to Root’s leg. “The button.”

Chuckling, Root did and the elevator opened a second later. They stepped inside and turned around. Another neighbor, a young man who Root always avoided, tried to enter the elevator with them, but he looked at Shaw’s face and changed his mind. Her hands started massaging Root’s legs again and Root smiled to herself.

Maybe Shaw was interested in her, too. Root would love to have sex with her. She’d touched herself to thoughts of Shaw many times and the thought of fucking Shaw for real made her mouth water. They reached the fourth floor and Shaw carried Root out into the hallway.

Root slid down her back, stumbling a bit as her still-slightly-numb feet hit the carpeted hallway floor. She started separating her thin blanket from Shaw’s warm one. Shaw stood awkwardly in the hallway, watching Root work. Root tried to think of a reason for them to spend more time together.

She sighed loudly and held out Shaw’s blanket. “I wish I had a nice, thick blanket like that,” Root said, pouting. “My apartment is so cold.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows. “And you were dressed like that?”

Caught, Root blushed and shook the blanket in her hand. “Uh, I said I didn’t do laundry. I…made…hot chocolate.”

“Wow,” Shaw said, taking the blanket, “you must be a student or something. I remember being poor.”

“I’m not-“ Root cut herself off. This wasn’t going to work. “Well, good night.”

Shaw looked a little surprised. She took a couple steps back and then hesitated.

“Well, I’d be an asshole if I didn’t let you keep the blanket.” Shaw held it out again. When Root reached for it, she yanked it back. “Actually, why don’t you come in? My apartment is nice and hot.”

Nodding, Root bundled up her thin blanket and followed Shaw down the hallway. She tried to picture what Shaw’s apartment looked like, but the only image she could conjure was a workout room and Shaw’s whole apartment could be a workout room. As Shaw unlocked her door, Root pressed herself into Shaw’s back, pretending to be interested in in the door handle.

Her breasts pushed into the wool of Shaw’s coat, the fabric of her pants scratching against Root’s legs. She wanted to pull Shaw hard against her, slide her hands into Shaw’s pants, but was afraid that was too forward. She wanted to be subtle and sexy. Besides she wasn’t even sure Shaw was taking her inside for sex. She kept her hands to herself, but smiled when Shaw pushed against her for a second.

The door opened and Shaw stepped inside, tossing her blanket onto a fancy, leather couch. Root looked around the apartment, pleasantly surprised. Shaw’s apartment was big, a nice kitchen and dinning room, and Root had to take five steps just to walk into the living room. She could see a bathroom and a room with a closed door – the bedroom.

Shaw’s apartment wasn’t as warm as Root’s was, but if she mentioned that, Shaw would kick her out. She had to maintain her story.

“It’s so hot in here,” Root said slowly. She glanced at Shaw. “Aren’t you hot in your coat?”

Shaw raised an eyebrow, but started to take her coat off and Root tried to look casual as she closed and locked the front door. The coat came off and Shaw was wearing a tank top, too, arms bare. She stretched, groaning as her arms flexed and lifted above her head. Root swallowed a squeak.

Smirking, Shaw stepped out of her boots and dropped a couple inches, but Root didn’t mind. Shaw was so hot. Root kicked off her bunny slippers. Shaw hung her coat on a hook by the door and walked into the kitchen. She pulled her beanie off, a long ponytail tumbling down her back. Tossing it onto the counter, she turned to Root.

“Want anything to drink? Bourbon? Scotch?” Her eyes darkened. “Something else?”

Root smiled. There were still a few things she needed to know.

“Whatever I want?”

Shaw nodded, leaning her hip against a countertop. “Yeah.”

“What if I don’t want Bourbon or Scotch?” Root stepped into the kitchen area, trailing a hand along the countertop.

Shaw’s jaw clenched and she raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

Root pretended to think, tapping a finger on her chin. Shaw’s eyes fixed on the finger and Root pointed it at her. “Hot Chocolate.”

“Uh.“ Surprised, Shaw put a hand on her hip. “…Ok. I think I have some.”

“Thanks. For accommodating.”

Shaw stared at her, face blank. She didn’t move from her spot against the counter. After a moment, she ran a hand over her ponytail, tugging it slightly. “I’m very accommodating”

Grinning, Root took another step forward, crowding into Shaw’s space and leaning her hip against the same counter. They were only a few inches apart, Root could feel the heat radiating from Shaw, and Root tilted her head down.

“How else can you accommodate me?”

Shaw grabbed Root’s face, pulling her down and crashing their mouths together. Root moaned loudly, hands flying up to tangle in Shaw’s hair. Shaw’s mouth was hot and insistent, pushing against Root’s and making her hands clench tighter. She could feel her body growing warm and pressed herself closer, desperate for contact.

Shaw’s hands dipped down to rest around Root’s throat for a moment, not tightening, and Root got a better idea of what Shaw wanted. She grabbed Shaw’s wrists, squeezing until Shaw hissed and pulled her head away. Root raised an eyebrow, daring Shaw to say something.

Shaw just kissed her again, sinking her teeth into Root’s bottom lip, making her moan. Root turned them, slamming Shaw’s back into the kitchen counter and pressing herself into her, pushing a leg between Shaw’s legs. Shaw might be used to taking charge, but she’d never slept with Root before.

Root released her wrists, sliding her hands under Shaw’s tank top, covering soft breasts with her hands. Shaw wasn’t wearing a bra and Root thanked her lucky stars because Shaw’s breasts were amazing. She ran her thumbs over Shaw’s nipples and Shaw hummed into her mouth

Root had to see them. She stepped away and pulled Shaw’s tanktop off, exposing her breasts and her stunning abs. She moved to grab Shaw’s waist, but Shaw stopped her, pulling Root’s tanktop off. Shaw looked her over and Root was surprised to see the same hungry look in her eyes that Root knew she had in hers.

They came together again, Shaw’s arms wrapping around Root’s waist and holding them close. Root couldn’t stop another groan as their breasts rubbed together. A soft moan escaped Shaw’s lips and Root was overcome with the need to learn what Shaw sounded like when she came.

She slid her hands between them, brushing against Shaw’s abs as she headed for the button of Shaw’s pants. It only took her a second to get them open and then her hand was inside, surprised by how wet Shaw was.

“Someone’s excited,” Root murmured.

Shaw growled, hips bucking against Root’s hand. “Shut up.”

Humming, Root dropped to her knees. She pulled down Shaw’s pants and underwear and Shaw used her shoulders to balance as she stepped out of them. Once she was steady again, Root pushed her legs apart, eager to taste Shaw.

She looked up at Shaw as she ran her tongue slowly between Shaw’s legs. Shaw stared down at her with black eyes, fingers back on Root’s head, holding her in place. She was at full attention, focused on what Root was doing and Root wondering if she liked the image of Root on her knees, face between her legs.

Root drew small circles with her tongue, tucking herself between muscular thighs and breathing in Shaw’s smell. She ran her hands up Shaw’s hips, splaying her hands over hard abs, feeling the way they quivered. Above, Shaw moaned, head falling backwards. Root scratched Shaw’s abs, digging her nails in, and Shaw’s hips bucked against Root’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Shaw hissed, fingers clenching painfully in Root’s hair.

Root moved her tongue faster, pressing hard against Shaw’s clit. Shaw was so wet and Root couldn’t get enough of the way she tasted. She wanted Shaw to come in her mouth, want to lick her clean. Root groaned at the thought, feeling heat spread through her body.

Root stretched her arms up, running her hands over Shaw’s breasts, thumbs brushing over hard nipples. She squeezed, feeling Shaw’s moan in her hands. Shaw’s hips started moving against Root’s mouth. Shaw’s hands kept Root’s face where she needed it and Root let her take control.

She loved the feeling of Shaw grinding on her face, using Root to reach her orgasm. After another squeeze of Shaw’s breasts, Root dropped her hands to Shaw’s thighs, trying to breath as Shaw moved erratically, desperately trying to reach her orgasm. Her nails dug painfully into Root’s scalp. Just as Root realized how much her knees hurt against the cold tile of the kitchen floor, Shaw came, groaning loudly.

Root kept licking slowly, wanting to taste her for as long as possible. Shaw’s hands relaxed on Root’s head and lifted her head, staring down at Root again with black eyes.

“Get up,” she ordered briskly.

She yanked Root to her feet by her hair, crashing their mouths together. Root’s face was wet and she couldn’t stop a moan at the thought of Shaw tasting herself on Root’s tongue. Shaw sucked Root’s lip, a growl rumbling in her throat. Root grabbed Shaw’s waist pulling her as close as possible.

After a moment, Shaw pushed her away, focusing on her breasts. Shaw nipped at Root’s breast, then licked the sensitive skin with her tongue, soothing away the pain. Root could feel the pain move down her body and settle between her legs. She rubbed, desperate for contact.

“Fuck me,” Root gasped. She grabbed Shaw’s hand and pushed it into her shorts. “Fuck me.”

Shaw obliged, fingers slipping through Root’s wetness as she rubbed her quickly. “You’re so wet,” she mumbled against Root’s breast. A hard bite made Root gasp. “You’re so hot.”

Root pulled Shaw’s head up, kissing her hard. Shaw’s fingers slipped inside her and she whimpered into Shaw’s mouth, hips thrusting forward into Shaw’s hand. Root spread her legs, trying to let Shaw go deeper. Shaw did, pushing further into her as she hummed against Root’s mouth.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Shaw asked her in a low voice. “About my fingers inside of you?”

Root moaned. “So long.”

Shaw trailed her mouth along Root’s jaw. “You wanted it?”

“Yes,” Root breathed, warmth pooling in her stomach. She clutched Shaw’s hips. “I wanted to fuck you.”

Shaw laughed dryly, curling her fingers inside Root and making her eyes slam shut. “You think you’re in charge? I just had you on your knees.”

Root felt her body getting hotter and hotter. She swallowed hard, trying to speak.

“I had you grinding on my mouth,” she said, her stomach muscles shaking as Shaw fucked her. “Desperate.”

Shaw grabbed her chin, forcing Root to look at her. Her eyes were black when Root met them, pulling her in.

“Come.”

Root groaned as her body shook, orgasm sweeping through her. Root’s fingers dug into Shaw’s skin, holding herself upright. Shaw’s fingers keep moving inside of her, keeping her on edge as her orgasm stretched out until it was almost painful.

Root gasped, teeth clenched and Shaw’s movements slowed, her hand moving away. Shaw’s arms wrapped around her, supporting her. Root’s body started to relax and she sucked in cool air. Looking at Shaw, Root smirked.

“So, about that Hot Chocolate?”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

Root pushed a stray hair behind Shaw’s ear. “I have to keep my energy up. It’s going to be a long night.”

“Will it be?” Shaw raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting. “I don’t remember asking you to stay.”

“Oh,” Root pouted, “OK. I guess I can just take the party home. Touch myself to the memory of my tongue inside you.” She licked her lips. “I can still taste you.”

Growling, Shaw pushed her away, stomping off towards the closed door across the apartment. “Come on,” she ordered, glaring at Root over her shoulder. “You have to earn that drink.”

“That’s ok,” Root replied, grinning. “I think you’ll find other ways to satisfy my cravings.”

She hurried to catch up with Shaw. The night had turned out better than Root could have hoped. She made a mental note to come over whenever she needed to compress a project. Shaw opened the door to the bedroom and Root could see a pair of handcuffs attached to the headboard. Root’s heart sped up. This was going to be a great winter.

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #person of interest #shoot #maybesomedaysameen

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

Where Were You When the Lights Went Out?

Secret Santa by @kuromikoneko!

The premise of the story is based on one of my favorite apocalyptic games, The Long Dark (on sale at Steam now for the cheapest price you will ever find it). Some dialogue is from the game and the short film “Elegy – A Visual Poem of The Long Dark” found here https://www.youtube.com/watch? v=aZNbUITN-mA

Warnings: Slight blood/injury warning.

After the defeat of Samaritan and learning Root had in fact faked her death at the hands of that pathetic asshole sniper who dared to plead for his life, Shaw had decided to expand her skillset and learned how to pilot small aircrafts. Finch had left plenty of his personal crafts in the states when he vanished and The Machine—once back up and running under Root's careful guidance—had been generous enough to provide Shaw with their locations and vital information. A quick study, Shaw felt confident enough to fly in most weather conditions and at any time of day within the span of a year.

Upon Root's insistence one year, Shaw was coerced into flying them North for a vacation in a remote part of Canada The Machine and Root had somehow located. So they packed up their luggage and provisions into one of Shaw's favorite planes, a de Havilland Beaver with floats for optimal landing options. They had intended to head out that morning for prime weather conditions, but a last minute urgent number no other team could currently pick up delayed their departure significantly.

It was lightly snowing when they took to the air, but checking their path beforehand it seemed clear, however it was starting to get dark now.

“I'm telling you, how hard is it to avoid the mob as a common idiot?” Shaw rolled her eyes, glancing at Root to read her expression.

“I don't know, sweetie, but there's--” “People lack common sense these days. It's ridiculous,” she continued to gripe.

“Shaw, wait! Something's wrong,” Root's tone over the headset system finally brought Shaw's attention back out the windshield. The sky was alight with beautiful fire, so bright you forgot the stars even existed. It looked like the Aurora Borealis, but far more terrifying.

“That is not good,” Shaw muttered, checking the instrument panel. “What's going on?”

Shaw was silent but a moment, “Power's gone. The whole system looks fried.” she began to pull back on the steering wheel in order to keep them straight for a safer landing hopefully.

“We're going down then?” “Yup. Hold tight.”

The plane dipped lower and lower, the treeline getting closer by the second, the wind rushing past as they couldn't regulate their speed and soon their wings were scraping the sides of trees. And suddenly

they crashed into a minor mountain, Shaw thrown through the windshield into some soft snow nearby, Root caught up in the plane's harness, upside down.

Root called out Shaw's name as she tried frantically to undo the restraints to check in on Shaw. Luckily she wasn't thrown far away and Root was in decent condition, just banged up and bruised a little. Shaking her head in frustration she managed to pull out the knife from her boot and cut through the cord, carefully maneuvering herself to avoid landing on her head. She made her way down the slight incline of a hill toward the dark shadow she presumed was Shaw.

Shaw was staring up at the Aurora with blown pupils, amazed at its distinct change between green, red, purple and flecks of gold it seemed at times. Raising her left hand to shield the visions for a moment, she noticed a shard of glass clean through her hand. Groaning she reached to remove it then the medical side of her brain clicked on and she remembered to wait until she could staunch the blood.

“SAMEEN!”

Shaw's head turned around, trying to locate the fuzzy voice she heard thanks to hearing her heartbeat in her ears. “Root?” she groaned, using her good hand to push herself into a sitting position slowly to avoid fainting. This was not good.

“Sameen!” Root's voice was closer and turning her head to the left she saw the tall brunette rushing toward her.

“Wait. Don't fall into the snow. Keep yourself dry. Is there...is there shelter nearby? The plane?” It was clear to Root that Shaw was trying to access her survival skills, of which she probably excelled better at than the hacker was.

“Right, of course. Plane's upside down, sweetie. Sorry,” her face screwed up in a rueful apologetic form. Glancing about, able to see nearly as clear as day due to the strange lights in the sky she noticed a cave nearby. “A small alcove over there. Here,” Root reached down to help Shaw up, finally noticing the glass in her hand. She bit her lip to hold back the gasp or whimper she wished to convey.

Once they made their way to the relatively dry cave, Root inspected Shaw's hand. “Need a bandage first,” Shaw instructed. “And probably need to start a fire.”

“Promise to stay awake?” “Yeah.”

Root hesitated before leaving the cave to look for supplies. When she did relent she left a chaste kiss on Shaw's lips and hurried in her tasks. When she returned with the medkit and some sticks and broken pieces of wood from the plane, she was relieved to see Shaw still conscious and trying to dig something out of her pocket.

“Let me,” Root said, her hands seemingly working better than Shaw's currently. Ah. A lighter. She began to set up a fire a short distance from them as Shaw took a firm grip on the glass in her hand and breathing in, then with her exhale pulled the glass clean from her hand with a heavy grunt. Immediately she reached for one of the bandages and shakily wrapped it around her fresh wound.

“There, now I can sleep,” Shaw mumbled to herself.

“Is that okay? Medically speaking I mean?” Root asked concern laced in her voice as the wood lit up and began to warm them.

“Yeah. And tomorrow we should probably climb up that cliffside to find help,” Shaw said, her voice dropping another octave as she began to lose consciousness unwillingly.

“Alright...” Root whispered under her breath, watching Shaw drift off, brows furrowed. Leaning against the cave wall, she pulled Shaw into her and curled around to the best of her ability. Sleep probably was the best idea for now. Assess their situation in the morning.

#shoot secret santa #root x shaw #person of interest #shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #kuromikoneko

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

GenXmas

Shoot Secret Santa by @hufflepufflovespizza!

The snow started coming down heavy in buckets on the streets, blanketing New York in deep banks of ice and real snow; not white blankets as seen in certain television holiday movies.

Shaw looked out of the frosty apartment window with furrowed brows, she was glad to not be out in the bitter cold. Glad her robot boss believed in holidays even if she didn’t. Shaw walked back over to her comfortable couch and sat down to clean her gun while an old black and white holiday movie played in the background on the television. As soon as she sat down, Root moved her feet to fit under Shaw’s legs. Root had her glasses on as she worked on her laptop. It did not go unnoticed by Shaw that Root had her feet tucked up under her legs to keep warm.

“Hey, I’m not a human blanket. Get a real blanket,” Shaw threw over a blanket on the edge of the couch and hit Root in the face.

“Your legs are much warmer and then I get to see your face when I do this,” Root pulled the blanket down on her lap as she ran her foot completely under Shaw’s leg, moving up further along her thigh. Shaw scowled back at her.

“Jesus, Root your feet are like blocks of ice, put some fucking socks on,” Shaw grabbed one foot with her hand and began rubbing it. Her slightly, rough calloused hand over the smooth skin of Root’s ankle back and forth, massaging her arch and getting a moan as a result.

“Can you rub another cold part of my body?” Root raised her eyebrows and stared hard at Shaw.

Shaw rolled her eyes but didn’t move the foot, so Root ran her foot up higher.

“Did you put this movie on?” Shaw pointed to the television.

“No, I think it’s one of her choices again,” Root went back to typing on her laptop, not glancing at the television.

“Tell your robot girlfriend to stop commandeering the television,” Shaw rubbed Root’s harder which got the hacker’s attention away from her laptop.

The Machine at times was known to switch the television in the apartment on many occasions. Shaw would go into a rage when the Machine changed the channel during a sporting event she was watching. The Machine didn’t seem to be into sports as much as after life comedies, warm-hearted baking competitions and haunted house family dramas.

Root smirked; she stopped typing and moved her laptop off her lap. She leaned over to Shaw and whispered in her ear as she ran her nose over Shaw’s neck.

“She knows how much you enjoy the Great British Baking Show,” Root’s mouth latched onto Shaw’s neck.

Shaw growled back, “Bake off.” She was losing the will to keep fighting as Root’s mouth sucked harder on her neck.

Before Root could come back with a witty comeback, Shaw pinned her down on the couch and crashed their lips together. Root responded immediately by wrapping her legs around Shaw’s torso. Shirts were discarded quickly and if it was up to Shaw pants would be next as she needed more than dry humping.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Root and Shaw both whipped their heads to the front door of the apartment with confused expressions.

“Did She tell you anyone was stopping by?” Shaw asked in between labored breaths, she was still pissed that no matter how many times she had sex with Root the damn annoying woman could leave her literally breathless every time.

Shaw grabbed her tank top from the floor and pulled it on over her head.

“No, so at least this person must not be a threat,” Root smiled big while pulling her shirt over her head. “So it must be a nice surprise.” Although, she was disappointed they were interrupted.

Shaw scowled back at Root.

“Nice, my ass. When has the Machine ever delivered a nice surprise?”

“Maybe it’s a pineapple pizza?” Root raised her eyes mischievously and tilted her head.

Shaw looked back at Root and scowled even harder, she kept her hand on the glock in the back of her jeans as she opened the door. She opened the door cautiously, ready to attack if need be.

“Hi Shaw,” there in the doorway was a young familiar kid with beautiful curly hair and a wide grin. “It’s been awhile, you look almost the same but a little more haggard. Saving people might not be good for your skin.”

Shaw’s mouth hung open. “Gen? What are you doing here?” She poked her head out in the hallway and looked back and forth.

“I got a text message giving me your address and saying you invited me for winter break,” Gen pulled out her phone to show Shaw.

Shaw squinted at the text. It was the to the point with no stupid emoijs, the Machine was getting creepy good at matching Shaw’s typing and speech patterns.

A huge grin spread across Root’s face, she had not been privy to this plan by the Machine; that sneaky bitch sometimes. She stood up from the couch and waltzed over to the doorway. She had heard so much about Gen mostly from the Machine, but a few bits here and there from Shaw. She had always wanted to meet Gen and hoped one day she would get the chance. Shaw always kept the Lenin medal in a safe place, no matter how many times they moved.

“Did you not text me?” Gen furrowed her brows and stared at Shaw. Then to her surprise another woman appeared in the doorway standing next to Shaw.

Shaw gritted her teeth. Of course she hadn’t sent a text inviting a kid to spend the silly ass holidays with her. She hadn’t even really paid attention that it was the holiday season.

“If you didn’t, I guess I could go back to the school campus,” Gen’s face fell, she shuffled her feet together on the wooden floor, there was a small suitcase sitting next to her.

Root looked back and forth between Shaw and Gen, she couldn’t let this opportunity go, plus she didn’t want to see a kid turned away. She hadn’t realized it was so close to the holidays; they had been very busy lately saving numbers and testing out new things with the Machine. Not to mention now that Harold disappeared there was more coding on her end and overall admin duties along with her analog interface duties.

“Hi, I’m Root,” she offered her hand to Gen. “Of course she sent the text, she’s being modest.” She pulled the young girl’s arm gently, bringing her fully into the apartment and closed the door.

“Shaw? Modest?” Gen squinted her eyes at the tall, lanky woman. She looked at the woman and really studied her. Her eyes took in the loose t-shirt and what seemed to be pajama shorts and she really wondered who this woman was and why she was at Shaw’s apartment. Then she thought, the best way to get intel sometimes was to infiltrate. “Hi, I’m Gen.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Root smiled warmly at Gen then glanced to Shaw who was scowling at her. “Maybe not from Shaw directly, but from Harold and another…mutual friend.”

Gen had no idea who this woman was or who the mutual friend was, but she definitely knew Harold. The man that had changed her life by sponsoring her at the swanky school, which sometimes still felt like Hogwarts to her. Shaw didn’t really seem the type to have friends over to hang out. Maybe they were working a mission? She really hoped they were working a mission. She looked around the sparse living room and saw two laptops on a coffee table next to organized gun parts and various computers parts strewn about messily. Could be a mission, but they also looked like they were in their pajamas.

“Please, come in,” Root motioned with her hands and offered to take Gen’s coat.

Shaw threw up her hands and moved so Gen could enter the apartment fully.

“Is this a stake out for a mission?” Gen filed away this information. “What kind of mission is it this time?”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Why would I give you my address if this was a stake out?”

“Did Shaw tell you about the mission we worked together?” Gen turned to Root and looked up at her with a big smile. “I’m going to make a great spy one day.”

Root did remember that this kid basically almost took down the whole HR bad guys with her cassette recordings; she was impressed with this young woman. And the Machine was always keeping an eye on Gen; she was definitely potential Primary Asset if she wanted the job one day.

“No, we’re not on a stakeout,” Shaw crossed her arms against her chest. “How long is winter break?”

“Two weeks,” Gen grinned back to Root who returned her grin, then both turned to Shaw who rolled her eyes.

Shaw wanted to groan loudly, but kept it inside. Two weeks. They had numbers to save. Possible other missions. And other things that wouldn’t be good for a tween to see or know of thought Shaw.

“Through Christmas and New Year’s,” Gen looked around the sparse apartment. “You’re not much for decorating are you Shaw?”

Root smiled watching Gen talk to Shaw.

“So if this isn’t a stake out or mission. Who are you?” Gen stared at Root.

“She’s a co-worker,” Shaw snapped back to the young teenager. She thought adding, ‘co-worker with benefits’ wouldn’t be a good visual for Gen and it would probably piss off Root. And she wanted the benefits later tonight.

Root glared at Shaw, then her face softened at the confused expression on Gen’s face.

“Well, it’s getting late, I’m sure you’re tired,” Root offered. “Unless…you’re hungry?”

“No, I’m okay.” Gen walked slowly, checking out the apartment more. “It’s less than a week from Christmas, no decorations?”

“Do I look like a tinsel kind of person?”

“No,” Root and Gen answered at the same time.

Root motioned to Shaw, raised her eyebrows and nodded down to the couch with some gun parts sprawled across it.

“You can take the couch,” Shaw picked up various parts of her gun. She didn’t like to admit to herself that her and Root had been sharing a bed since the fall of Samaritan. At first it was mostly celebratory, then it was finically practical and now she wasn’t sure what it was. She wasn’t going to make a big deal of it and thankfully Root didn’t either.

“Do you live here?” Gen asked looking at Root.

Root looked like a deer caught in headlights, she had almost a literal thought bubble over her head with dots appearing and disappearing while she opened and closed her mouth several times.

“How about tomorrow we get a Christmas tree and some decorations?” Root smiled at Gen as she closed her laptops and moved them both to the kitchen table.

Shaw groaned, she walked over to the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. She walked back over and set a glass of water on the coffee table near Gen.

“If you need anything, don’t wake me up,” Shaw put a pillow down on the couch and an extra blanket.

Bear trotted over and sat down in between Root and Shaw. Shaw furrowed her brows while Root couldn’t hold down a smirk.

“You have a dog?” Gen asked with a smile. “Oh wait, is this the dog you talked about?”

Bear looked up between Root and Shaw, he then went over and sniffed Gen. Bear was getting older now but still went on a few missions here and there.

“We don’t have Bear, he’s his own dog.” Shaw let out a deep sigh. Had she just said ‘we’, she cursed herself. And she noticed that Root’s grin got wider at her slip.

Gen looked around the apartment and only saw one bedroom. She wanted clarification if this Root woman lived here too along with Bear, but didn’t want to push with too many questions right away, sometimes to get the best information, the timing has to at a good calibration. Tomorrow she would do some reconnaissance like checking coat closets for multiple coats, checking the master bathroom for two toothbrushes and testing Root’s knowledge of kitchen inventory – all giveaways of co-habitation.

“Get some sleep kid…” Shaw nodded to Gen then shuffled off to the bedroom. “…see you in the morning.”

Shaw walked off to the bedroom. Root and Gen watched her.

“Very nice to meet you Gen, hope you sleep well,” Root smiled as she trailed after Shaw and closed the bedroom door.

In their bedroom, Root tilted her head, she never really thought of the bedroom as their bedroom but she had been mostly living with Shaw since the take down of Samaritan. Shaw’s apartment was the only place she stayed when she wasn’t on an out of town mission; except for nights she got too tired working at their new subway location and spent the night in her purple dorm room as Shaw called it.

Shaw exited the bathroom and got into bed. She looked over at Root who had that ‘the Machine was downloading information into her brain’ look.

“What is she telling you? Is Gen okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. She got bullied last week at school when it was revealed she started a Santa blog,” Root looked over to Shaw with her brows furrowed.

“A Santa blog? Gen? The girl who’s going to be a spy? The girl who actually made me when I was trailing her? The kid who nearly took down HR with her low tech recordings?”

Root walked over and crawled into bed with Shaw, it wasn’t lost on either of them that sleeping in the same bed while talking about a kid seemed very domesticated.

“It appears that Gen is running a Santa blog for kids with questions for the magical bearded man with eight reindeer.” Root scooted down on the bed and laid down on her side facing Shaw. “And it’s a place digitally for kids to send letters to Santa since some kids don’t know what stamps are.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. She continued sitting up in bed. Root snaked her arm around Shaw’s waist. Shaw would have stopped Root’s roaming hands, except the hacker had been gone for two weeks and while she didn’t do lonely; she did get horny and nobody compared to Root. Not even herself. In a swift few seconds she was straddling Root’s hips while Root’s hands were already dipping underneath her sweatpants, firmly grabbing her ass. Shaw was leaning over Root, staring at her lips until she inched closer and closer. Root wiggled underneath her in anticipation of Shaw’s lips and tongue in her mouth.

“Shaw?” was heard through the door.

The muffled shy, yell was heard by both women who stilled their amorous actions. Shaw stayed motionless on top of Root.

“What Gen?” Shaw yelled back towards the living room, but sounded more like a growl.

“I think there’s something wrong with your TV,” Gen yelled back. “It’s stuck on some baking show.”

Root couldn’t help but let a little giggle slip out. Shaw raised herself up on her knees then stormed out of the bedroom back into the living room. By the time she got back to the bedroom, Root was fast asleep.

*****

The next morning Root, Shaw and Gen were sharing pancakes around the kitchen table, courtesy of Shaw’s cooking.

“So probably too many secret missions to go Christmas tree shopping yet?” Gen thought to herself, she was going to start her investigation into what the relationship was between Shaw and her co-worker Root. She didn’t necessary want to jump to conclusions since the two were sharing a bedroom; maybe Root usually took the couch when she stayed over Gen started developing multiple theories.

“We’ve been busy kid,” Shaw wanted to add saving the world and too many dumb ass people.

“Neither of us are big decorators and like Shaw said, it’s been busy,” Root added only a little more explanation to Shaw’s.

Gen seemed a little sad. “Usually, I have to spend the holidays at school or sometimes Harold would arrange a ski trip for me with other kids where there were always these big Christmas trees at lodges. I didn’t hear from Harold this year.” She pushed some food around on her plate.

Hearing Gen’s voice dip a little into sadness had Root flashing back to her own holidays when she was younger back in isolated small Texas town.

“How about we go get a tree?” Root said as she took a sip of her coffee and looked over to Shaw who gave her an annoyed look.

Shaw left the dishes for Root and Gen to do, she couldn’t shake how all domestic this felt. Normally, it would have her skin itching but this was Gen, she liked the kid. And it was Root.

While Gen helped Root with the dishes, she asked the co-worker some more questions, she was getting a really strong vibe this woman was Shaw’s romantic partner and not just her co-worker. Which made sense now as Shaw had scoffed when she first met her about dating some guy named John; however, Shaw called them both co-workers. She wondered if Shaw had any friends or just co-workers. And her first point for romantic partner over worker partner was that Root did know where all the dishes were kept in the kitchen.

After doing the dishes with Root, Gen was more puzzled Root didn’t seem to know where everything went, which lead to two more theories – either Root never cooked or she didn’t spend much time here in Shaw’s apartment. She would do some more snooping while Root left her to go get dressed.

Shaw felt a cold breeze hit her backside in the hot shower and immediately knew that Root had stepped inside with her.

“Root, what are you doing?” Shaw didn’t look back. She didn’t want to get an eyeful of something she couldn’t have at the moment.

“Thought you might need an extra hand,” Root moved slowly up behind Shaw, she leaned pushing her breasts against Shaw’s wet back while snaking her hand around Shaw’s waist.

“Gen is right outside,” Shaw croaked out with her eyes already closing and waves of arousal coursing through her body. She kind of hated how Root could turn her body on; it was as quick and easy as flicking a light switch. She was a highly trained operative, not some schmoopy person who only wanted to have sex with one person for the foreseeable future.

Root smirked as she ran one hand over Shaw’s breast, giving a firm squeeze then pinching a hard nipple.

“Gen is in the living room,” both of Root’s hands were now squeezing and massaging Shaw’s breasts. “She’s in a completely different room. We are in the bedroom with the door closed, in the bathroom with the door closed and in the shower with the door closed.”

“Thanks for the virtual tour of the apartment,” Shaw pushed back against Root needing more friction, heat pooling in the lower half of her body intensely.

“Well, we didn’t get to finish what we started last night,” Root brought her lips down on Shaw’s neck and started sucking, her hands trailed down Shaw’s stomach and slowly found it’s way to it’s much needed destination in between her legs.

Shaw spun around and pinned Root against the shower wall. She crashed their lips together and Root slipped her tongue into Shaw’s mouth. Root began to quietly moan when Shaw plunged her tongue into her mouth. Suddenly, there was a loud CRASH. She sprang from the shower with shampoo still in her hair and clutching a towel as she sprinted into the living room.

Gen and Bear stood in the middle of the living room with shattered glass all around them.

“Sorry, Shaw…” Gen looked wide-eyed as she saw Shaw burst into the living room in a towel. “Bear and I were playing and broke some dishes. I’ll clean it up,” Gen’s face was all scrunched up, Bear sat down and stared at Shaw. “Do you have shampoo in your hair?”

Shaw growled and went back to the bathroom. As she was entering the bathroom, Root was getting out of the shower. She let out a heavy sigh, despite the chill on her wet naked skin; Shaw could still feel Root’s warm fingers over and in her body and was very angry that there was going to be no happy ending to her shower.

*****

Before they left the apartment, Gen did notice that both Shaw and Root got out their winter coats from the hall closet. Score another point for romantic partners over work partners. She smiled to herself.

The Machine had them diverting to a Christmas store before going to the Christmas tree lot for decorations. Shaw scoffed at not believing there was a whole store devoted to selling Christmas crap. She followed along behind Root and Gen as they filled their cart with lights, ornaments and way too many holiday themed toys for Bear that was necessary.

After shopping for far too long by Shaw’s standards, they all stopped at a holiday themed café for hot chocolate and cookies. Shaw didn’t mind the snack break. As they were sitting enjoying their holiday treats, Root got that Machine look on her face. Shaw knew that Root Machine look all too well, she nudged Root’s knee with her knee under the table.

“What’s going on?” Shaw asked in between bites of snowflake shaped cookies.

Gen noticed the small physical action Shaw did under the table with her knee, another point for romantic partners.

“It’s work,” Root replied while taking out her phone and typing something on it.

Gen furrowed her brows, a point also for work partners. Before she could ask a question, Root and Shaw excused themselves to talk privately. The almost teenager watched the two intense women become even more intense with each other as they looked like they were arguing. Shaw threw up her hands and walked back over to the table.

“So kid, wanna work another mission?” Shaw let out a deep sigh.

“Yes! My Christmas wish came true!” Gen pump fisted in the air, jumped up from her chair and smiled at Shaw and Root.

The Machine had informed Root who had instructed Gen and Shaw that they were to infiltrate a Christmas tree lot as workers to help someone. What surprised Root was that both Shaw and Mini-Shaw as she was calling Gen now, refused to wear their costumes for the mission.

“No, we are not going to be elves,” Shaw crossed her arms against her chest and Gen mimicked her action.

“Yeah, no way,” Gen scoffed and followed Shaw’s stern look.

“Hey, if she’s not doing it neither am I. And she runs a Santa blog so there,” Shaw pushed the elf costume Root had given her back into her hands.

“How do you know about my blog?” Gen asked with wide eyes. She moved closer to Root and Shaw and whispered to them, “I guess as spies you two are like Santa, watching every hour of every day. Seeing everything.”

Both Shaw and Root turned to each other then just nodded and shrugged.

“Well, no elves. No mission,” Root tilted her head to Gen and raised her eyebrows, adding a hard stare.

Gen only had to think for half a second before she knew she wasn’t going to miss her chance to work on another real mission again; even if that meant being in a dorky holiday costume.

“C’mon Shaw, let’s elf it up,” Gen gave Shaw a smile.

After Gen convinced Shaw to be the angriest elf, they were dressed from head to toe as Santa’s helpers, complete with jingle hats and pointy shoes. Gen got into the mission spirit, not the holiday spirit in her outfit as they began their task of locating and saving the number while Shaw remained grumpiest elf ever.

Thankfully, saving the number was one of the easiest missions. The three elves saved the day and their fellow elf worker at the Christmas tree lot and without telling Gen about the all-knowing artificial intelligence checking the naughty and nice list, not only twice but a few googol times.

Gen couldn’t contain her excitement as they walked the streets after their successful mission, “That was so cool!”

“It would be cooler if we could change out of these silly ass outfits now,” Shaw grumbled.

Root stopped walking, Shaw and Gen turned back to her to see what caught her attention.

“Do you want to build a snowman?” Root asked Shaw and more specifically Gen.

“Let’s go and play,” Gen’s face lit up, making her look even younger than her twelve, almost thirteen years. And she was so dangerously close to breaking into song but judging by Shaw’s scowl she decided against it.

“No,” Shaw spat out.

“It doesn’t have to be a snowman,” Root grinned to Shaw. “We could build a snow person and we could win a prize.”

Root pointed up to a sign that read – ‘BUILD A SNOWMAN CONTEST’.

One of the borough parks was taken over and turned into a holiday village with all kinds of activities from building snow people and ice-skating to competitive snow ball fights.

Shaw shook her head; she guessed it made sense since a lot of New York snow was disgusting from garbage and urine. She let out a long, deep sigh as she resigned herself to participating in more holiday crap.

“Fine, I’ll help build a snowman as long as nobody sings that song,” Shaw headed towards the holiday village with two happy elves following behind her.

Gen ran and caught up with Shaw, “You know the song?”

“I know it’s a very annoying ear worm created by Disney to sell toys,” Shaw glanced over Gen and was surprised such a smart kid was taken in by a princess story.

“No, it’s not. It’s a song about estranged sisters and one girl dealing with being different than everybody else and embracing it and loving herself,” Root said, with a raised voice laced with passion.

Both Shaw and Gen looked at Root surprised.

“What?” Root looked at both Shaw and Gen with her eyebrows raised. “Elsa is a cultural icon…and gay.” Her smile was wide, and she did her ‘wink’ towards Shaw.

“You have a crush on an animated character?” Shaw shook her head and squinted her eyes at Root.

Gen put another point down on romantic partner versus work partner since Root basically acknowledged she was gay or bi and Shaw was clearly jealous of Elsa. And she made a note to talk Root and Shaw into getting Bear an Olaf stuffed animal.

As the three elves entered the contest and gathered their supplies, the Machine started talking to Root, giving strategy and best building techniques. Things were going well until a few teenagers wandered past the three elves building their snow person and heckled.

Shaw whipped her around to see what the annoying teenagers were saying. “Gen, do know those kids?”

“Unfortunately, we go to school together,” Gen rolled her eyes and kept her focus on the snow person building.

Root and Shaw gave the kids the side eye as they continued to build their snow person.

“Leave it to Genrika to still believe in something as lame as Santa Claus, she’s probably writing fan fiction about him and his elves,” said one of the heckling teenagers.

“Hey, that’s disrespectful to fan fiction,” Root blurted out to the rude teenagers.

The tweens looked shocked Root and talked back to them. They lost interest in watching the three elves building a snow person and started to walk away.

“It’s pretty cool though that Gen has two moms,” said one of the tweens as they walked away.

Root, Shaw and Gen all froze. Then Gen got a huge grin on her face when she saw how angry Shaw looked.

“Not a word,” Shaw glared at Root who was beaming heart eyes at her. She picked up some snow, made a quick snowball and threw it Root.

Gen giggled so Shaw threw a snowball at her too.

The three elves worked together building a big snow person with big muscles, Shaw insisted the snow person have snow muscles. Root insisted the snow person be holding a candy cane in each hand. She was going to say two guns but Shaw cut her off before she finished verbalizing her idea.

All three of them were surprised they ended up getting third place. Shaw was mad, she felt they deserved at least second place, she lamented this on the walk home many times. Root and Gen laughed watching how invested Shaw had become over the contest. Once Root and Gen started singing, ‘Do You Want To Build A Snowman?’, Shaw rolled her eyes and walked further ahead of them; putting as much distance between herself and the two nerds.

*****

The rest of the few days went by quickly, even Shaw agreed. The three of them did some holiday related activities along with some more Root and Shaw activities. Shaw taught Gen how to dissemble and reassemble six different types of guns. Root taught Gen how to hack into her school system and few other places that Shaw didn’t know about. Gen taught Shaw and Root how to play her favorite video game. Bear was happy to have another person around to play and rub his belly.

When Christmas morning finally arrived, three people who haven’t had the best Christmases in the past were all pleasantly surprised to wake up to find a tree filled with presents underneath.

The opening of presents went by in lightening fast rounds as no one had patience to wait much longer to see what was underneath. Shaw got some more black tank tops along with a new gun she wanted. Root got a new leather jacket and along with a start of the art high-powered server stored in a remote location that no one could hack. Gen got everything she could possibly wish for and more.

Root went digging around the tree and pulled out one more present and walked over to Gen.

“There’s one more present for you,” Root smiled as she handed over the wrapped represent to Gen.

Gen excitedly tore off the wrapping paper revealing top of the line headphones.

“Wow, these are top of the line headphones. For spying right?” Gen’s face lit up as her eyes darted back and forth between Root and Shaw.

“And noise cancelling…” Root looked over at Shaw longingly. “…for later when I give Shaw one last Christmas present.”

“Ew, gross,” Gen replied even though she was smiling. And that point pushed the tally over the edge, romantic partners for the win over work partners.

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #shoot #person of interest #hufflepufflovespizza

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

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Shoot Secret Santa by @ackerthehacker!

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #shoot #person of interest #ackerthehacker

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

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Cops and Robbers

Shoot Secret Santa by @hackersandhammers!

It was dark and cold as winter engulfed the town forgotten somewhere along Route 66. Shaw opened up a package of disposable hand warmers, placing one into each glove. Enjoying the warmth, she leaned back in the driver’s side seat of her police car. She went by the name Officer Shaw when in uniform.

These last few months had been dull. Here she was, age 31, retired military without a clue what to do next in her life. She took this job because she didn’t want to be stuck behind a desk. Only six months into the job and she wished she would have researched the town before taking the assignment.

This whole place was boring, nothing ever happened to get her adrenaline going. Occasionally, Shaw was lucky to catch a few speeding tickets but that was it. This place had no action.

Her watch beeped at 11pm and she was now officially off. Cole was going to take her place patrolling the streets tonight. It was a slow night and she counted vehicles pass her in the last hour. No one was speeding and her radio had been completely silent the entire time she was out on the street. Three of the vehicles she passed were semi trucks and two were old clunkers that looked like they couldn’t get past the speed limit if you floored the gas pedal. She started her own car and drove off.

With her old job and her old life behind her, she was bored. Shaw thought police life would be close to what she had in the military but she was dead wrong. In this town, everybody knew everybody. No murders, no robberies, voted the safest city in the southwest. Her most exciting week was when I cow got out from one of the local farms and started walking in the street. The locals called her to help bring the cow back.

Shaw made it to her apartment, closed the door, and stripped off her police uniform, tossing it on a nearby chair. Walking to her bedroom, she opened her closet and pulled out a tight black dress. She slipped it on and picked out black heels to go with it.

With the boring day she had, Shaw was intent on doing something fun tonight. She pulled down her hair, fixed some lipstick, and exited her apartment building.

The music drummed in Shaw’s ears and she tapped her finger to the beat. She scanned the crowd of guests. It had been two hours since she pulled off her police uniform. Now, she was at a club outside the city limits. No one from work ever frequented here. That was something she made sure of.

For the past three months Shaw had been visiting this spot to blow off some steam. Sometimes she’d just drink, sometimes she’d just dance, but other times she’d find someone among the crowd and find a cheap motel. It was a mediocre existence Shaw thought and far from her dream of being a doctor or her time deployed in far off lands in the military.

“Hey, sweetie,” A woman’s voice said over the sound of the music.

The voice brought Shaw out of her thoughts. She turned around and came face to face with an attractive brunette in a blue dress.

“You look lonely standing there all by yourself, mind if I join you?” the woman purred in Shaw’s ear to be heard over the loud music. She was standing dangerously close.

Shaw hadn’t seen her here before, she was already familiar with all the regulars and she would have remembered a pretty face. This woman was either from out of town or just moved here.

“Be my guest,” Shaw said, and gave the woman a once over. The brunette noticed and gave Shaw a grin once their eyes met again. Shaw smiled back, noting that the woman seemed to be into it. The woman was hot, her dress plunged down her chest and Shaw wondered how ‘into it’ she really was. If Shaw played her cards right, she would be lucky enough to find out later.

“Care to dance?” The woman held out her hand, motioning to the packed dance floor with a slight tilt of her head.

“Sure.” Shaw took her hand and let the woman lead her into the crowd.

The music was fast and the woman wasn’t shy. She had brought Shaw into the middle of the crowd. They didn’t have a choice, they had to dance close because the crowd around them was pushing them together. The woman didn’t seem to mind, it was clear that she was interested in Shaw.

It usually took some time to get the feel of another person and what they wanted out of the night but it was completely obvious what this woman wanted. It was clear that the woman was attracted to her.

“A little forward, aren’t you?” Shaw said.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not all all.” The music slowed down enough for them to catch their breath. The woman grabbed Shaw by the hand and pulled her out of the crowd and to the bar.

“Care for anything to drink?” The woman asked Shaw.

“I’ll take a Corona.”

“Ok, a Corona and a water,” The woman said to the bartender over the wooden table.

Shaw gave the woman another once over while she wasn’t looking. She looked super attractive but this location didn’t seem to be her scene. She seemed out of place but Shaw pushed that feeling to the back of her mind as the woman handed her the Corona.

“My name is Root by the way,” The woman said as she casually leaned on the bar. It was a strange name but Shaw didn’t question it. She wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t the woman’s name at all.

There was only one thing Shaw wanted from this encounter tonight. Names were of no interest to her. They were probably of no interest to Root either by the way she was looking at her.

“I’m Sameen,” Shaw said, not in the mood to make up a false name tonight. She had never seen Root here before and she’d probably never see her again. Root was too forward and too out of place.

“That’s a pretty name.” Root smiled. She was still leaning casually on the bar with her free hand resting on the wooden table. Her eyes had this mischievous twinkle behind them, it was almost as if they were daring Shaw to do something reckless.

Placing her beer on the table, Shaw placed her hand on Root’s free hand, taking Root’s glass of water with the other. Root’s hand felt warm under her’s and she felt Root flip her hand palm up. Long fingers ran down to Shaw’s wrist. There was no question that Root wanted something more out of this encounter.

“Do you always take things that aren't yours?” Root said and stood up straight, taking the water back from Shaw, she was standing inches away from Shaw’s face now, challenging her.

“Only if it interests me,” Shaw said smiling, biting her lip to get the point across, “want to get out of here?” She could feel eyes starting to latch onto them from other partygoers but she was more interested in Root and the intensity of her stare.

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

“What else could, ‘Want to get out here’ mean?”

“I know, I just want you to say it,” Root continued to play with Shaw’s hand, rubbing her fingers down Shaw’s palm and placing her hand on top, “Want to start again, sweetie?”

“Ok, do you want to sleep with me?”

“Yes.” Root smiled. Shaw was definitely looking forward to this. She had never met anyone so confident. Root was going to test her the whole way and she was up for the challenge. Tonight, Root was a welcome distraction from her boring life.

>>>

The next day Shaw woke up suddenly, the light was filtering through the windows of the motel room. She moved to cover her eyes from the unwelcomed light with her pillow when she finally remembered that she had brought someone to the room. Whipping the pillow off her face, Shaw looked to her side. The bed was empty beside her.

Flashes of the past few hours started to play back in her head from last night. She remembered being in her police car, changing, and going out. Shaw remembered the beautiful brunette from the bar. Root. The woman with the mischievous smile and a sense of danger in her every move.

Getting up, Shaw placed her bare feet on the carpet and picked up her dress from the floor. There was no evidence that Root had been in the room. She didn’t leave a trace. It wasn’t like Shaw was expecting anything because she never left her number either. It was unusual for her to be the one left in the bed because Shaw was normally the one to cut out in the middle of the night.

Walking to the bathroom, Shaw turned on the shower. The steam from the water started to fill the tiny room and she got under the water. Today, she didn’t have to work so it didn’t matter that she had slept in till noon. It was also easier that Root cut out first because she got the motel room all to herself. When she was done she walked back to the bed and checked her phone.

She had five missed calls, all from work.

“Shit,” Shaw exclaimed and checked her voicemails. They were all from early in the morning.

“Shaw, we need you right away. Call me back as soon as you get this.” The voicemail beeped and Cole’s voice was heard on the other line. Her co-worker seemed stressed. It was unlike Cole to seem so tense. He was a pretty happy go lucky guy and that always got on Shaw’s nerves. Especially, when she had to go on patrols with him.

Beep.

The phone clicked and the voicemails continued.

“Shaw, where the hell are you? We need backup. Call me back.”

Beep.

“Shaw, we’re short staffed, we need you a.s.a.p. Call me.”

Beep.

“We made an arrest, we need you down at the Precinct.”

Beep.

“Shaw, Call me.”

The voicemails ended. Immediately, Shaw dialed Cole back. Her first instinct was an intense need to get ahold of Cole as fast as possible. A good soldier is there for their squad and she wasn’t there for Cole or the station last night.

“Hello, Shaw? Where were you!?” Cole was heard on the other line, “Well, never mind, you missed it.” He sounded deflated at the end.

“Missed what?” Shaw’s sense of urgency dissipated but she still was hurriedly laying her clothes on the bed. Unfortunately, all she had was what she had worn last night. The tight dress and the heels.

She had gotten a Lyft with Root to the motel and didn’t even bring a change of clothes. She was going to need an Lyft back to the club to pick up her car and to drive back to her apartment to change. It was going to be awhile before she could get to the station anyway.

“We had a break in at the Museum of Film History last night, followed by a car chase.”

“I miss all the fun.” Shaw mumbled as Cole continued.

“We blocked off the road but the culprit still got away. We made some arrests that need questioning. So, get down here, ok?”

“Alright, I’ll be there.”

“Just get here fast. The boss isn’t happy.”

“Right, Simmons is an ass,” Shaw said. He was an uptight boss and normally that wouldn’t have been a problem for Shaw. It was just that something seemed off about him and Shaw couldn't really put her finger on it.

“Ok, agreed, but get here fast or I’m the one who’s going to get it if you don’t show up today.” Cole sighed and the phone went dead.

Shaw hung up, tossing her phone on the bed, she took a good look at her dress lying over the unmade blankets. Pulling it on, she reached for her phone to get another Lyft. She had to admit, last night beat out a car chase.

>>>

Shaw arrived through the front door of the police station an hour and a half later. She knew that it didn’t make her look good, not showing up for an emergency call last night, and showing up so late after actually getting ahold of Cole.

“He’s questioning the suspect,” Laskey, a young officer informed Shaw as she walked in the door. Making a b-line for the back office that was meant for an interrogation room, Shaw found Cole outside the door.

“The suspect is in there,” Cole nodded towards the door, “She’s alone for now, I’m trying to make her sweat. So, I’m taking my time getting back in there.”

“Any details?”

“Yeah, I arrested her this morning near the road that we had blocked off.”

“What are the charges?”

“Right now, just holding her on an expired car registration until we can get anything else off of her. I have a feeling she has something to do with everything that went on last night.”

“Uh-huh, anything that makes you think that Sherlock?” Shaw said, not believing him for a minute. Arresting a random person and keeping them under bullshit charges was in no way a great idea. If this was a bigger city this wouldn’t have worked but it was around the holidays in a small little town off of Route 66, so, whatever.

“She was the only one on the road this morning and I’ve never seen her before.”

“Bullshit, Cole. We’re going to get sued if you keep on making arrests like that.”

“Its off season for tourists, even if she didn’t do it, she could have seen the person that did.” Cole continued his excuses.

“Well, got any answers off of her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Ok, so what happened last night while I was gone?” Shaw asked, genuinely curious. She should have asked that first when she came in but Cole was extremely worked up over his arrest.

“Yeah, right, last night the Museum of Film History was broken into and the suspect fled the scene. A priceless ruby ring was stolen. We attempted to pull over the suspect but they took off and we ended up shutting a road down to attempt to trap them.”

“Where does you’re suspect come in?”

“I arrested her driving near the locked down road. She was the only one in the area, mostly everyone in the center of town is still asleep besides the occasional truck driver.”

“Ok,” Shaw was processing the information. Maybe, the arrest didn’t seem so far fetched after all. She was a little disappointed she missed a car chase though, “What kind of car was the suspect driving when they fled the museum?”

“A grey Honda,” Cole looked disappointed, “She wasn’t driving a Honda but a white Pontiac. The suspect had time to change cars in the middle of the chaos. It took us a while to shut down the road. We were understaffed.”

“Ok,” Shaw knew the understaffed dig was partly aimed at her and she deserved it.

“Got any good info out of her?”

“No, that’s the problem. She keeps on rambling about some weird stuff. I can’t figure out if she’s just crazy or if she actually believes what she’s saying.”

“Want me to take a crack at it?”

“Be my guest, Shaw,” Cole said, walking her to the closed door that held the suspect inside. He opened it and Shaw walked in first and Cole followed in behind her.

The woman’s left wrist was handcuffed to the desk, she was turned away from them but Shaw recognized her immediately. Her silhouette was etched in Shaw’s memory. The woman turned to them and smiled.

“Hi, sweetie,” The woman’s eyes burned right through Shaw, glinting as mischievously as they did last night in the motel room. The woman handcuffed in the room was Root.

Shaw didn’t let Root sitting in the room phase her. The handcuffs were a little unnecessary though and Shaw moved to remove them. This whole situation was extremely unprofessional. The grounds on why Cole arrested Root and the entire reason why she probably ended up driving through the center of the city so early in the morning.

“I’m Officer Shaw,” Shaw said, removing the handcuff from Root’s wrist and sitting down across from her.

“Officer Shaw,” Root repeated as though she was feeling out the name. Cole stood at Shaw’s side.

“Can you repeat to me what you were doing last night at 3am?” Cole asked. Root immediately turned to Shaw and raised her eyebrows.

“What was I doing last night at 3am?” Root repeated but she didn’t seem to be asking either Shaw or Cole but restating the question for herself, adding emphasis to the word ‘doing’ much to Shaw’s displeasure, “Do you want to tell him or should I?” Root asked Shaw with a lopsided grin.

>>>

Shaw plopped her keys down on her kitchen table. It was midnight and she just got off of work. It had been a long day. She had told Cole what she was up to last night herself without any intervention from Root. Unfortunately, she had to pull Cole outside of the interrogation room and tell him. One thing she didn't want was for Root to add any details. This whole situation was less than professional.

When Shaw told Cole about her night with Root, the whole hookup took awhile to process through his mind. It was really no one’s business what she did in her off hours. Shaw tried to tell him in the most boring and to the point way as possible, but she knew it still sounded bad. He had rubbed his temples with his thumbs before letting out a sigh.

“You’re going to be the one who’s going to have to fill out the report, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.” Shaw had shrugged. She’d rather be the one to do it anyway. It wasn’t going to look good for either of them.

Cole went back in the interrogation room, left the door open, and went in to tell Root that she could leave. She was free to go with her charge dropped. She couldn't have been the one to commit a break in and neither one of the officers were in the mood to ask if she had seen any suspicious activity in the area.

On the way out the door, Root had given Shaw a satisfied grin followed up by the most uncoordinated wink Shaw had ever seen in her life. This day had been one interesting 24 hours.

The whole ordeal took Shaw completely by surprise. Shaw never expected to see Root again beyond last night. Cole was angry at her, he had let her handle the police report and it gave Shaw several hours away from him. That was one thing she was grateful for. She then had to complete her night patrolling the streets.

>>>

It snowed the next day and it had been horrible to drive in it. The snowplows where just getting on the road when Shaw pulled up to her favorite sandwich shop. Ice was everywhere in the parking lot. Despite the road conditions, she wasn’t going to let it get in the way of ordering her favorite sandwich.

Feeling relieved that she had gotten the day off after yesterday, Shaw walked into the restaurant. A steady flow of customers was already arriving for breakfast. Shaw recognized all the regulars and the employees recognized her as soon as she stepped foot in the door. She didn’t even need to place her order, it was already logged in the register when she was the next customer to order.

“Good to see you Officer Shaw,” The young employee said with a wide grin. He was one of the young men that she had caught trying to break into a car. She had handcuffed him and brought him to her police car, had given him a stern warning, and let him go. He seemed to be forever grateful... or scared. It might have been a combination of the two. She was in no mood to small talk with him.

“Yeah, here’s a ten, keep the change.” She said bluntly. He seemed to get the hint and took the cash without another word.

Shaw stood to the side and waited for her order. The whole place was decorated for Christmas, complete with a tree and festive lights. To her it just meant that there was going to be more reported thefts in the area. She was looking forward to the rise in crime keeping her busy.

“Order 76,” The young man said and handed Shaw her sandwich from behind the counter. She gave him a polite nod and found an empty table to sit in.

“Mind if I join you?”

Shaw heard a familiar voice behind her and she turned her neck uncomfortably to see who it was.

“You again?” Shaw was surprised to see Root standing in the restaurant, holding a cup of coffee. Root sat down at Shaw’s table without waiting for an answer.

“Officer Sameen Shaw,” Root smiled at her.

“Look, Root, right?” Shaw said, unwrapping her sandwich.

“Right.” Root said, continuing to watch Shaw.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting and I’m sorry about you getting arrested.” Shaw took a big bite out of her sandwich and swallowed before continuing, “But I’m not looking into anything more than what we had that night.”

“You think I’m stalking you, Sameen?” Root took a small sip of her coffee and waited for an answer.

“Well, yeah.” Shaw wasn’t sure what Root was doing here. In the seconds that Root decided to sit down with her, Shaw was sure Root was going to ask her out.

“Hmm, maybe I was?” Root said.

“What?” Maybe Shaw was right, now she had a crazy stalker on her hands, “I can have you arrested for that.” She wasn’t sure what to think of Root. Where the hell did she even come from?

“Sounds like fun,” Root just cocked her head to the side.

“Order 79.” The young man behind the counter said and Root got up from the table. Taking another bite of her sandwich, Shaw watched Root take her order and sit right back down with her.

They both ate in silence. Shaw was too busy enjoying her sandwich then to let Root ruin her meal. Root didn’t seem to mind the silence sitting across from her. She had picked out all her black olives and scooted them to the side. She also seemed to calculate before taking each bite of her food. Shaw finished eating way ahead of Root and found it interesting watching her.

“I’m not looking for a date or a girlfriend,” Shaw finally said, breaking the silence.

“That’s good, neither am I,” Root put down her food, “I’m only here for a couple of days.”

“And how does that concern me?” Shaw asked, getting annoyed that this encounter was starting to drag on now that she didn’t have food to distract her.

“I thought that maybe you were looking into a little fun?” Root finished and scooted the second half of her sandwich towards Shaw.

Shaw looked at the sandwich cautiously. Was she going to let this woman into her life for the next couple of days? Maybe, it didn’t seem so bad. She did have fun the other night and Root was going to leave soon. There was nothing dangerous about that.

“I can do fun.” Shaw said, taking the sandwich and looking up at Root, making her decision. Something about Root made her ignore all the warning bells that went off in her head. It didn’t look like Root belonged in this entire town but Shaw didn’t care.

>>>

The morning was cold and Root was bundled up in a peacoat, scarf, and beanie. She looked over at Shaw in the driver’s seat. The heat was blasted in the car and they were slowly making their way to Shaw’s apartment.

Root had convinced Shaw to let her stay at her place for the remaining nights that she was in town. It was actually less convincing and more that she followed Shaw to her car and got in, asked where they were going, and invited herself over. It was that kind of thing. Root knew that she was pushing her luck with every second. She could get arrested at any time but that’s what made it fun.

Finally, Shaw pulled over to an apartment complex and they got out of the car. Root followed Shaw into a tiny apartment. There wasn’t much inside. A kitchen, a table, a couch, a tv, speakers, and a hallway leading to a bedroom. It wasn’t decorated and it barely looked like anyone lived in the place.

Root took off her jacket, scarf, and beanie. Shaw took them without a word and walked off to put them somewhere. It gave Root a chance to get a better look around.

“Interesting apartment, sweetie,” Root walked over to the speakers and found a connection for a phone. “Did you just move here?”

“Kind of.” Shaw walked back into the main living space and sat on the couch ignoring Root. “Six months.”

“Ah, ok.” Root took her phone out and connected it to the speakers. She flipped through her music library and found some music that was playing at the club that night. She then played it and walked back to the couch where Sameen was sitting.

Sameen just watched her. Root couldn’t tell what she was thinking, it was hard to get a read on her. Root couldn’t tell at what moment she was about to push the line too far.

“Where did you come from?” Shaw finally asked.

“Texas.” Root sat down next to Shaw.

“Oh,” Shaw said simply. Not seeming to want to extend the conversation.

“Is that surprising?” Root asked, resting her head on the back of the couch. She took a good look at Sameen. She was more casual than the night when they first met. Sameen was wearing a black tank top despite the cold weather outside and her hair was in a low ponytail. She was extremely beautiful.

“Yeah.” Shaw shrugged, “How did you get here?”

“Passing through for work,” Root said, telling the truth. The thing was, Root just needed an alibi that night. She wasn’t planning to spend more than a day here. She was just passing through town, needed to get a quick gig, and was going to be on her way.

“Beer?” Shaw changed the subject.

“No, thank you.” Root watched as Shaw was about ready to get up and grabbed her hand, preventing her from moving. “You're not letting me stay for awkward small talk.” Root stated.

“Yeah, I’m not,” Shaw said, not moving to pull her hand away.

“Good,” Root moved closer until they were inches away from each other. She let her hands wonder to Sameen’s shoulders, “Because I want a little more than awkward small talk.”

“Me too,” Shaw said, and Root could hear the smile in her voice.

>>>

It was late afternoon on the same day and Root was laying on the couch in a t-shirt and underwear. Shaw was making them hot cocoa in the kitchen, making it from scratch and said that it wasn’t any of that ‘packaged shit,’ from the store. Root didn’t really care about the hot chocolate. She was enjoying the view of Shaw in her boy shorts and bra.

Root got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen. She was having fun. It was rare that she’d spend time with anyone that she slept with but she wondered what it would be like with Sameen. Shaw was a cop, every second Root was pushing her luck, and every second had been worth it. It wasn’t just for the thrill of it but because Root found Sameen to be interesting.

“Need help, Shaw.” Root walked up behind Sameen.

“No, sit back down,” Shaw huffed.

“Oh, are you giving the orders now?” Root placed her hands on Shaw’s waist.

“Yes, now sit down.” Shaw wiggled out of Root’s grip.

Root did as she was told. She found out that when talking about food, Shaw was extremely serious. She should have guessed it at the sandwich shop this morning.

After a few minutes, Shaw placed a mug in front of Root. The mug was plain but the hot chocolate was complete with whip cream and sprinkles.

“It looks delicious,” Root said, genuinely telling the truth. She took the mug and let the warmth of it warm her hands.

The hot chocolate was as delicious as it looked and Root drank every drop of it. Shaw sat with her on the couch and had turned on the Christmas movie Jingle all the Way. It was the only Christmas movie Shaw said she was able to stand.

Root glanced at Shaw between the commercials in the movie. She didn’t lie when she said she was stalking Shaw. She had read Shaw’s file and knew what places she frequented but sitting with her on the couch like this made her human. It made her more than the beautiful woman at the nightclub and more than the cop. Shaw was more than the woman she already slept with twice.

>>>

Root slept on the couch that night. She was a little too long for it and she woke up feeling sore. The apartment was empty and Root vaguely remembered Shaw mumbling something to her before walking out the door in full police uniform. She knew Shaw had went to work.

Getting up from the couch, Root walked over to the bedroom and plopped down on the bed. She was going to get her remaining hours of sleep in a nice comfy bed. Quickly, she faded from consciousness and fell back asleep.

Several hours later she woke up. It was still before noon and she walked over to the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee. While it was brewing, she looked in the corner of the kitchen and found a tiny laptop stashed away. She knew that Sameen had a laptop because she had traced her IP several times before getting here.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and booted up the laptop. It was nothing fancy but it would do for now. She made sure Shaw couldn’t trace anything back to this little device and logged into her own accounts. It seemed like everything was going as planned. Logging off from the computer, she stashed it back in the corner she found it in.

Yawning, she walked to the bathroom and showered. She’d have to change back into the clothes she arrived in. Also, she’d have to buy a toothbrush on her way out. When Sameen didn’t stop her from coming home with her at the sandwich shop it was a surprise for Root. She just tried it on a whim and she actually didn’t get kicked out.

She changed back into her underwear and her t-shirt before taking a quick look around to where Shaw had put her coat. She found it in Sameen’s closet and quickly put her hand in the breast pocket. She had shewn in the tiny hidden compartment ages ago. Finding the metallic object she was looking for, Root pulled it out. She pulled out a ruby ring, smiled at herself, and placed it back in the coat.

>>>

Speeding down the road, Shaw had her police sirens blaring. Cole was in the car with her and they had just gotten a call for a robbery at the local bank.

“This is crazy,” Cole yelled as they slid to a stop at the front of the bank, “We never get this many calls here.”

“I know,” Shaw said, stepping out of the car and pulling out her handgun. The robbery might still be taking place inside. Cole followed her as they ran in the door. People where cowering on the ground and a lady shakily stood up and pointed out the back door.

“They went that way,” she said and in no time Shaw and Cole bolted to where she was pointing. It was too late. Whoever had robbed the place was gone and even when Shaw and Cole got back to their police car to try to catch up to the suspect, they couldn’t find anyone on the road. They had to go back and interview witnesses and gather security camera footage.

Back at the station, Cole sat at his desk shaking his head. Sameen walked up to him and leaned against it. The security footage was wiped and all the witnesses could say was a masked robber came in and stole some wads of hundreds. It wasn’t helpful.

Shaw didn’t know what else to do but she had a hunch and maybe it was time to look into it.

“Hey, can you do something for me?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Remember, that woman, Root?” Shaw asked. It was time she fully checked out her guest.

“Yeah.” Cole responded, he almost seemed to wince at the memory.

“Run the plates on her car again and give me the report.”

“Sure.” Cole was about ready to get up.

“Oh, and I need your results by the end of the day,” Shaw said, she knew that she only had a small window of time to find anything that was suspicious.

That morning Shaw had woken up and found Root still on her couch. Surprised to find that Root had stayed the night, she had expected Root to cut and run again. This time Shaw wasn’t going to ignore that strange feeling in her gut. She knew Root didn’t belong in this town. She was too pretty, too daring, and exactly what Shaw needed. She was too good to be true.

Shaw made the decision to look into Root when she got to the station. She wasn’t expecting to get sidetracked by a robbery. That had never happened here for as long as she was stationed here. It seemed to be that way for Cole too. He had been here several years and told her this was the most activity he had ever seen.

Saying that Root was somehow connected to all of this would be a stretch. Physically Root seemed non-threatening. Although, it was still her job to figure out who was behind the break in at the museum and the robbery that just occurred today. Even if it was far fetched Shaw had to look into it.

Cole came up to Shaw when she was filing away the interviews from the robbery a few hours later.

“Your going to want to take a look at this,” Cole said, as he handed Shaw an envelope.

“Thanks.” Shaw moved to her own desk, wanting to look over the materials by herself. The name on the plates didn’t match anyone living or even anyone that vaguely fit the description of Root. The papers had been falsified and Shaw was going to have to figure out why and by who.

>>>

The new clothes fit perfect and Root had a small suitcase filled with everything she needed for at least one more night. She had brought her rental car over and parked it in the apartment parking spaces. Bringing some personal items with her, she had everything she needed.

Every nerve in her body told her it was time to move on but she was having fun. She even did that last job on her own. She normally scouted out her location and hired others to pull off her elaborate schemes but today she was feeling good. She even did it in broad delight, without an alibi, and without a back-up plan.

In a way she kinda wanted Sameen to see her. She had a mask but she knew that she’d stick out like a sore thumb. Root knew that as soon as Sameen laid eyes on her she’d know who it was. She wanted to see the look on her face when Shaw found out.

Root never cared about her own safety and didn’t care if she got caught or if she died. Maybe, she was staying here because of Shaw or maybe it was because she was getting tired of running. She knew Shaw was different. Something about her threw Root off. Root didn’t even need the money anymore and there was no real reason for her to stay.

Shaw came home at two in the morning. Root had made herself comfortable in Shaw’s bed. She woke up to the heavy stomp of footsteps. Her eyes were adjusted to the light but she knew that Shaw’s eyes weren't yet. It was just the way Shaw was standing and the way she scanned the bed.

“Hey, sweetie,” Root said and sat up, watching as Shaw’s head followed her movements.

“Root?” Shaw said, cutting through the darkness.

“Still here.” Root grabbed Shaw’s hand and pulled her towards her, looking forward to sleeping with Shaw in the bed this time. Shaw was still wearing her police uniform and Root moved to unbuckle her belt. Shaw let her and started unbuttoning her uniform. Root tossed the belt to the empty side of the bed.

“Root,” Shaw whispered this time and pushed Root down on the bed, still half clothed in her police uniform. She unbuttoned Root’s pajama top and ran her hand over Root’s bare chest but it didn’t feel sexual. It felt like Shaw was looking for something.

“Something the matter, Sameen?” Root asked, letting Shaw run her hands where she wanted to. Shaw checked the elastic of Root’s pajama bottoms too but didn’t seem to find what she was looking for either. Root watched as Shaw stormed off into the hallway, turning on the hallway light. Root heard something unzip and she knew Shaw had found her suitcase.

Less than five minutes later Shaw stormed back in, the only light still coming from the hallway. Shaw plopped back on the bed and got on top of Root, pinning Root’s arm’s above her head with one hand, and kissed her deeply, until they were both breathless.

Root felt Shaw shift on top of her and felt Shaw pull away. When Root opened her eyes she was staring at a ring.

“Is this what I think it is?” Shaw asked, breathless. She was holding the ring belonging to the Museum of Film History. It had belonged to a famous actress, now dead. A collector now owned it but they had given it to the museum on a loan. The ruby glinted dimly in the low light.

“It’s exactly what you think it is,” Root responded, waiting to see what Shaw was going to do next. She had Root’s wrists pinned to the bed with one hand and she was holding the ring in the other.

“So, it really wasn’t a coincidence that you found me at that club,” Shaw stated.

“No. I picked you,” Root said, watching Shaw’s face but she was unreadable.

“Because I’m a cop?” Shaw asked, this time she looked angry.

“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” Root trailed on.

“So, what?”

“I don’t know?” Root finished. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to stay but she did it anyway.

Shaw let go of Root’s wrists and placed the ring between them, taking a good look at it.

“You’re trying to play Catch Me if You Can?” Shaw looked at Root again. Root stayed with Shaw, eye’s locked.

Root knew that she had tossed Shaw’s belt with her gun holster right next to her on the bed. She knew that she now had a chance to try to reach the hand gun. She slowly started to move her hands, one to Shaw’s chin, distractingly, the other to the gun.

“I’m sorry, you get to be Tom Hanks.” Root smiled, inching her way towards the gun holster.

“Oh, so that makes you Leonardo Dicaprio?”

“Well, not exactly. I’m not a expert forger but I am a pretty good thief and a liar.” Root quickly grabbed the handgun, she only had one shot at this. Root knew it was a just a chance but she had to try it anyway. One thing she had never done was jail time and that was something that wasn’t in Root’s plans.

Shaw was too fast for her, Root wasn’t even able to get the gun out of the holster. As Root pulled it toward her, Sameen grabbed the gun. They struggled for it briefly on the bed before Shaw wrenched it out of Root’s hands with one swift movement. Shaw drew the gun out of the holster and pointed it at Root.

Sitting up and scooting back towards the headboard, Root put her hands up, “Y’know the safety is on.”

“Shut up,” Shaw said, swiftly taking off the safety.

“I know you’re bored here.” Root continued, she didn’t move and stared directly into Shaw’s eyes. It was impossible to read Shaw in this moment, she was wearing her soldiers mask. The stone cold look that let Root know that she meant business.

“Shut up.” Shaw repeated.

“I know this isn’t the life you wanted here,” Root said, she was testing her luck again, “Someone like you wants a little more. I can give you that.”

“And you plan to do that how?” Shaw didn’t budge.

“Come with me.” This was Root’s last chance.

“You’re under arrest,” Shaw ignored Root, “Go get changed, I’m taking you down to the station.”

They were both still in a state of half undress. Shaw got up off the bed and pulled Root up by the arm, still holding the gun. Root decided to listen to her. She went to her suitcase and picked out a black bra, a dark red top, and some jeans. Shaw followed her fixing her uniform as she waited for Root to change in the hallway.

“Can I ask one thing?” Root was finally changed and she stood in the hallway, casually leaning against the wall.

“What?” Shaw walked up to her and pulled the handcuffs from her belt. She took Root by the arm, spinning her around, and then tightening the handcuffs over her wrists.

“Did you have fun?” Root asked, wincing slightly as one of the handcuffs pinched her skin.

It was quiet for a moment and Root didn’t think Shaw was going to answer.

“Yeah,” Shaw said, breaking the silence.

>>>

Officer Sameen Shaw was back at the station. Root was locked up behind bars and Shaw was at her desk filling out her report on what happened.

This whole thing had started on a hunch. She actually had no clue that Root actually had the ring but it wasn’t a surprise. Root’s suitcase also contained several stacks of hundreds and a mask that matched the description of the robber at the bank. It was true that Root really was too good to be true.

Shaw finished off her report and personally handed it over to her boss. Simmons just acknowledged her with a nod and a mumbled ‘good job.’ He wasn’t big on praising Shaw because she wasn’t one of his favorites. It wasn’t something Shaw cared about because she did her job and that was always good enough for her.

“Hey, got a minute?” Cole had just entered the station as Shaw was walking out of Simmon’s office.

“Yeah.” Shaw said.

“Ok, meet me in the back conference room in ten minutes?”

“Sure.” Shaw agreed, not sure what was going on. Cole seemed giddy with excitement but Shaw didn’t know why. The guy also got giddy when going for their weekly ice cream run while out patrolling the streets together. It was probably nothing important.

After waiting for ten minutes Shaw walked into the conference room and found Cole waiting with a laptop sitting on the long meeting table. A woman was on the screen and she appeared to be streaming live from another location.

Cole quickly walked behind Shaw and closed the door behind her and closed the blinds to the room.

“Hello, Officer Shaw,” The woman on the screen said. Shaw walked up to the screen and stared at the woman before the woman continued, “You can call me Control.”

“What is this?” Shaw asked, she had no idea what was going on.

“My apologies for meeting virtually. I’m here to offer you a job.”

“A job?” Now Shaw was really confused.

“Yes, you see, I know about you Officer Shaw. You did great work in Afghanistan and you are an exceptional police officer. I just heard about your latest arrest.”

“I informed her,” Cole chimed in.

“Yes, and we were wondering why someone with your credentials would settle for a position in the police force when you could come work for the government.”

“What?”

“You see, Cole was assigned to watch you and we like what we see. You could be working to neutralize national threats on a much larger scale than you can imagine. Does that interest you?”

“Yes,” Shaw said, it started to make a little bit of sense now. This was the first step in a job interview. This ‘Control’ was the person set out to hire Shaw and she worked for the U.S. government. It looked like Cole was much more than he first appeared too. He wasn’t just a police officer in a boring town.

“Good, I know I’m throwing this out to you a little fast so I’ll give you some time to process it. You don’t have to accept the job offer right away. When you’re ready, let Cole know and we will move on to the next steps in the process.

“Thank you,” Shaw really didn’t know what to say, this was all really sudden.

“Oh, and officer, good job on that arrest,” Control said, “Have a good day,” and with that the screen went blank.

Shaw turned to Cole who had a wide smile on his face. He walked up to shake Shaw’s hand.

“Congratulations partner! If you have any questions just ask me,” He said and patted Shaw on the back.

“Ok,” Shaw said, just hours ago she was handcuffing Root, a thief who managed to weasel her way into Shaw’s bed. Now, she was offered a job position as some type of government something? A spy or a government assassin? Shaw really didn’t understand the details yet. “You were in on this the whole time?”

“Yeah, surprise,” Cole was still beaming. Shaw just rolled her eyes. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“What the hell is the job?” Shaw blurted out.

“Right now, its classified but once you accept the offer we can go through the steps to get you the clearance needed,” Cole said and shrugged.

“So, basically you can’t really tell me anything.” Shaw was even more intrigued by the job offer. If she really thought about it, it was better than staying a cop here. She really enjoyed working as a soldier and would have made it as a career military officer if it was her choice. Certain circumstances didn’t play out and she had to go back to civilian life. This was possibly a way back in and Shaw was more than interested.

“Exactly,” Cole took the laptop from the table.

“Wait, did Root have anything to do with this?” Shaw asked. Everything seemed a little crazy. Could Root have been involved?

“What? No.” Cole answered, resting the laptop under his arm, “She had nothing to do with this personally, but I did recommend you for the job for the way you did the footwork on the arrest. You thought on your feet, found the right thief, and you have the military background that we are looking for.”

“Alright.” Shaw thought that was fair. In a way she was hoping Root was in on it. That this was just an elaborate test.

“I know it’s been a lot for you so I’ll give you awhile to think about it.” Cole left the room leaving Shaw alone. She went back to her desk knowing that she had a lot to think about.

The ruby ring that Root had stolen was still in an evidence bag resting on top of her paperwork. Shaw wondered what Root was doing now. They had vastly different days. Everything was going right for Shaw but Root was spending the night behind bars.

>>>

Shaw was starving, she had a long day at work and one of the best job offers she had ever gotten was still fresh in her mind. Driving back to her apartment, she decided to stop for something to eat. Her favorite sandwich shop was still her number one choice.

Pulling up to the parking lot to the restaurant, she got down and entered through the front door. The sandwich shop was steady, the same boy from the other day was at the register again. Like the other day, her order was already punched in when she went to order.

“Hi, Officer Shaw,” The boy said and Shaw rolled her eyes. She handed him the exact change this time and went to sit down and wait for her order.

The table that she had sat in with Root was empty and she pulled up a chair. Looking around, she scanned the place to see if she could spot a familiar brunette. No one in the building vaguely resembled Root. Her order was called and she went to go pick it up, sitting back down at the table. Today, no mysterious voice interrupted her while she was eating.

Shaw wanted to think about her new job and what exactly the change of occupation could mean for her. The problem was, her mind kept playing back the moments she had with Root. She remembered the night she saw Root at the nightclub. Root was wearing a blue dress that dropped in a wide v down her chest and her eyes sparkled dangerously as she smiled. Shaw was immediately drawn to her.

The next memory that came was the last time Shaw was at this restaurant. Root had surprised her again and had shown up out of the blue. She had sat down in the chair across from her and basically just invited herself over to stay at Shaw’s. It was a bold move and Shaw had found that extremely attractive.

Quickly, Shaw took the last few bites of her sandwich. Root was not supposed to be on her mind. She didn’t care about Root or that she was going to be locked up for a very long time. Root was a liar and a thief. She wasn’t attractive or fun or dangerous and led an interesting life. Nope. Shaw was a cop and Root was a criminal.

It was Root’s own interest in Shaw that got Root burned. That was it. Shaw wasn’t vaguely interested in her. Shaw told herself that one last time and walked out of the restaurant.

When Shaw got back to her apartment the memories of Root still flooded back to her. She hadn’t been back since she arrested Root that night. The hot chocolate mugs were still in the sink and the bed was still left unmade. Shaw stripped down to her boy shorts and a tank top and flopped down on the bed. The pillowcase still smelled like Root’s shampoo.

“Dammit, Root.” Shaw mumbled to herself. She should be thinking about if she wanted to accept Control’s job offer but instead her mind kept wandering to Root.

>>>

Two weeks later and Shaw was back to the same old routine. She was in her police car, fingers frozen as she watched a slow moving car pass by her within the speed limit. She wasn’t going to get any action tonight. Shaw sighed, opening up some disposable hand warmers and placing them inside her gloves.

Cole had gone on vacation for Christmas and had left out of state for the next two weeks. He left Shaw a phone number to get ahold of him but she was thinking of waiting until he got back. Right now, It was as if those really hectic few days didn’t even happen at all. It almost felt like a dream.

Root had been transferred to a women's prison far away in another state. It made it difficult because her identity had been hard to track down. She was under so many aliases that it was hard for the court system to make sense of her.

In the end, Root ended up escaping two days ago during one of the transfers. Her and the ring just vanished. By that point it was no longer Shaw’s problem. Cole had called her to tell her and that it didn’t change the job offer. It was still on the table but Shaw hadn’t bothered to call him back.

It was strange, that when Shaw first got the offer she was extremely intrigued by it. She couldn’t wait to get a change of scenery and some adrenaline pumping action. But the new job wasn’t where her mind was at. It should have been but it wasn’t.

Shaw’s watch beeped at 11pm, alerting her that she was now off. She sighed, started her police car and drove off into the main center of the town. The entire downtown was decorated for Christmas, complete with lights and trees. It looked nice even if Shaw wasn’t much for decorating. She drove slowly and stopped at a red light at an intersection. The town had become quiet again after Root left.

Back at her apartment, Shaw fixed herself a late night protein shake. She had a football game playing in the background as she finished blending her shake. Her phone rang and she almost missed it because of the noise from the tv and the blender.

“Hello,” Shaw answered, pouring the liquid of her shake in a glass.

“Shaw?” A voice on the other line responded. Shaw knew that voice without her having to say another word.

“Root,” Shaw stated bluntly. She had to admit, it was a little bit of a surprise that Root called. Shaw wasn’t expecting to hear from her at all and thought that the whole arresting her thing would have turned Root off to her. Root was full of the unexpected, though.

“Work doing well for you?” Root asked on the other line. Shaw could hear muffled voices in the background. She must have been out somewhere in public.

“Just peachy,” Shaw rinsed the top plastic piece of her blender and put it in the sink, “Thieving doing well for you?”

“Depends, are you thinking of arresting me again, Officer Shaw?”

“You’re not my problem anymore,” Shaw was just saying the facts. Root wasn’t currently in her town so it really wasn’t her problem. Tracing Root’s phone number wasn’t on Shaw’s top ten things to do either.

“Do you want me to be?”

“Do you want me to hang up right now?” Shaw was rolling her eyes now. She couldn’t believe that Root was calling to flirt with her over the phone. There had to be another reason why she was calling.

“No.”

“You’re calling for something, you hate awkward small talk as much as I do.”

“I guess so, Sameen. I just wanted to tell you that my offer still stands. You want to run away with me?”

“Uh-huh, and just steal shit for the hell of it?”

“Well, there is the traveling and the danger, doesn’t that beat out the life you have right now?”

The offer was intriguing and Root was amazing. It had been hard to get Root out of her mind but a life on the run doing the things that she had spent the majority of her adult life trying to prevent seemed counterproductive.

“Sounds fun but I’m going to have to say no.” Shaw sat down on her couch, she took a big gulp of her shake before continuing, “I have a better job offer lined up.”

“Hmm, and what job offer is that?”

“Can’t say,” Shaw responded.

“Government, right?” Root said on the other line, the voices in the back faded away.

“At this point I’m not surprised that you know that,” Shaw said genuinely. She was starting to get used to the unexpected. “Where are you now?” Shaw changed the subject.

“Getting into my hotel room. I’m in New York.” Root said and paused for a couple of seconds, “You want to know what I did with that ring?”

“What did you do with it?” Shaw was curious, it wasn’t her problem to find Root or the ring anymore but she would like to know.

“I gave it back to its rightful owner.” Root sounded smug.

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways.”

Shaw knew her ways were probably illegal and the worst person to tell that to was a cop. Shaw already figured out that Root was a hacker. It had to be the reason why Root knew more information than she should. The small laptop that Shaw had also had some clues. Shaw rarely used it and it had been misplaced, the dust was gone from the top of it, and it made sense that Root had done some of her dealings on it when she was here.

“Care to explain?”

“You know that actress that the ring belonged to?” Root continued.

“Yeah.”

“Well she has a great granddaughter. The inheritance was meant for her and she’s currently in a New York homeless shelter.”

“That sucks.”

“I’m just in the process of returning it. You see, her already rich brother in law had the will altered. I was hired by a concerned citizen to put everything back where it should be.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’re playing Robin Hood?”

“Something like that, Sameen. Everything isn’t always the way it is seems on the surface. People hire me that have already gone through traditional methods of the law but have hit a snag somewhere along the way.”

“What about the bank robbery?” Shaw asked, taking in this information.

“You should really investigate your boss’s bank statements. The people that you are working for aren't the best cops in the world.”

“And you’re better?”

“Depends on who you ask. I can be if you let me.”

“So this is what you called me to say?”

“Yes, I’m here for a week, I’m going to leave my address with you. I’ll let you decide what to do with it.” Root finished.

The conversation ended. Root relayed her hotel address and hung up leaving Shaw alone again in her apartment. The football game continued to play in the background and she drained what was left of her shake. Shaw had already made up her mind. Picking up her phone again, she dialed a number on her speed dial list.

“Hey, Shaw, whats up?” A voice echoed on the other line.

“Cole, do you have a minute?”

>>>

It was the seventh day and the very last day that Root was going to be in New York. She had ordered herself a coffee at a nearby Starbucks across from her hotel. Root was hoping to have seen Shaw somewhere along the way. Unfortunately, it was her last day here and Shaw had never shown up.

Looking on the bright side, at least Root wasn’t swarmed with cop cars. Shaw could have very easily turned her into the New York police department. Maybe, Shaw really did have a soft spot for her even if it wasn’t the one Root was looking for.

Root walked back to her hotel, the cold air from the New York streets cut through her and the coffee hadn’t warmed her up completely. It had been freezing in New York since she got here. Shaw’s little town wasn't any warmer, it was just that it seemed warmer spending a chilly December with someone else. New York seemed vacant in comparison even with so many people walking around everywhere.

With only two days left until Christmas, Root didn’t really want to spend the holidays in New York. The city was going to be packed with tourists. First, for Christmas and then for New Years. She had already finished her job with the ring yesterday morning. Today, she was just waiting for her flight.

The airports were going to be overloaded with people too and she knew it. She’d rather be actively trying to travel instead of spending a boring holiday alone in her hotel room. The next couple of days would be more entertaining people watching in airports while she looked for another job.

Room service had already made up her bed and cleaned her room when she got back. Root walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, while the water was heating up, she pulled a change of clothes from her suitcase and stripped down. The water felt good and got rid of the chill from the cold New York wind. She got out of the shower and changed.

Her suitcase was packed within minutes. She had been living out of one for years and packing had become the easiest part of the trip. Putting on her coat, gloves, and boots, she opened the door to her hotel room. Freezing in place, she stood at the open door, not expecting to see someone standing in the hallway.

“Hey,” Shaw was standing across from her leaning on the wall casually.

“Hey,” Root, said surprised. It was the last day and Root had given up hope that Shaw was ever going to show up. Now here she was standing in front of her hotel room.

“What took you so long? I knocked twenty minutes ago?” Shaw said, clearly irritated.

“I was in the shower, sweetie,” Root said, she had not heard the knock at the door at all. At this point she didn’t care if Shaw was just playing it cool, Root was just happy to see her here.

“Figures.” Shaw rolled her eyes.

“What about your other job?”

“Turned it down the night you called me.” Shaw shifted her weight, standing up from the wall she walked towards Root.

Root could see that Shaw had brought a black suitcase with her, she was carrying it in her right hand. The reality of what Shaw was doing here started to sink in. Root could feel the smile on her lips, she was at a loss of what to say back.

“Are you just going to stand there or are we going to get something to eat?” Shaw smiled back to Root’s surprise as she handed Root her suitcase. Root placed the suitcase inside the hotel room and closed the door to the room behind her, meeting Shaw back in the hallway.

“Sandwiches?” Root asked.

“Yeah, sandwiches.”

They walked down the hallway together to the elevator. Root had a wide smile, she was going to have to cancel her flight and extend her hotel stay.

“Hey, Merry Christmas, Sameen.” Root turned to Shaw as the elevator doors closed.

The cold didn’t bother Root anymore.

++-END-++

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