Chapter Text
Root opens her mouth, and Shaw almost expects clouds of poisonous smoke to curl between elegant lips. There is no smoke; only words (perhaps they are worse).
“You found me,” Root comments pleasantly. She is combing her hair in front of her vanity, unperturbed by the gun Shaw has pointing at her back. She is still looking at the mirror, eyes flickering between her own reflection and Shaw’s, as if she is uncertain on whom to concentrate more.
“You wanted to be found,” Shaw replies. Root smiles. Shaw knows she made it easy for her; she’s too smart, too good at what she does, not to be obvious.
“Did I?” she replies. She puts down her brush, and Shaw tightens the grip on her gun. Root notices, and Root smiles.
“Relax. I’m going to be late for work.” She opens her lipstick and painstakingly applies it to her lips. "How can I help you, Agent?" Shaw does not miss a beat.
"Who is Control?" She demands.
"The person in control.” She’s smiling. Shaw raises the gun from Root’s chest to her head.
"Are you playing games?" Shaw snarls in a dangerously low whisper. Root smiles at her reflection.
"It's all I am good at. Indulge me." She rubs her lips together, running a perfectly manicured index finger along her bottom lip and smiles.
"Give me a name," Shaw snaps. Root twists on the stool so she is no longer talking to reflections.
"Names are so frivolous, Shaw,” she explains with a condescending smile. “Go hunt for something else. I hear information is a good trade these days." Shaw bristles.
"A name is all the information I need."
"Are you sure you wouldn't just prefer a number?" Root asks. She gets up; high heels click on the floor. She straightens her elegant black skirt carefully and then takes the blazer from the side of the mirror. She wears clothes, ordinary clothes, but she wears them differently. A dress on Root's body is like a skirt made exclusively of knives. And she relishes it. She relishes cold metal and sharp cuts. Shaw’s grip on the gun tightens, minutely.
"I'll take nine digits if you have them for me," Shaw snaps, watching Root put on the blazer. Root smiles, flicking her hair over the collar and straightening her blouse carefully.
"I have seven," she offers in return.
"Good enough," Shaw snaps. Root picks up her phone and Shaw immediately tenses again.
“Relax,” Root soothes her with a smile. “I’m just checking the time. I need to leave for work soon.”
“No, you’re going to be late,” Shaw repeats. Root raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “You’re going to be late because you’re going to give me some answers first,” Shaw explains, her voice almost monotonous.
“No, I’m going to be late for work,” Root starts, walking towards Shaw and standing at the muzzle of her gun, “because I’m going to tie you up.”
To this day, Shaw has no idea how Root knocked her out so fast.
(Root’s apartment has an unbeatable security system; it is triggered by a word from the admin, and it releases a tranquilizer from the tranquilizer gun stored under the beams. The accuracy of that gun is 98%.)
Shaw wakes up in a different city three days later, missing her wallet and her gun. Her neck aches and her legs are unbearably stiff, and she’s just a tiny bit more curious.
Root is like poison, and Shaw knows a thing or two about that.
More than anything, Shaw knows all about the acute pain of a stab in the side as a man she once respected knocks her out in the middle of a crowded street in New York City.
To be fair; she still respects him.
Poison is excellent subterfuge.
(She still shoots Root in the shoulder later. Just to get her back for that.)
Shaw exhales, and sits down.
Root smiles; her white teeth glisten.
“Hello.” Warm words that slip like knives, unseen, between rib cages. Eyes that undress and words that graze and thoughts that slip and stab and bleed; a woman, or a switchblade? Shaw can't decide.
"Your hands aren't made for killing." They are sitting across a table. Root's legs are crossed, her hands are clasped, and her smile is demure.
"Humans have no purpose, Agent Shaw," she says, voice deceptively sweet. "My hands were not made for killing, or for braiding, or for reading.” She gestures around at the library around them dramatically. “My hands were made. That's it."
"You misunderstood," Shaw snaps. That’s not what she meant; that’s not it, at all. Root uncrosses her legs and leans forward. Shaw doesn’t move.
"I didn't,” she murmurs, smiling. “I chose to follow a different line of an ambiguous thought."
"Stop following it then," Shaw snaps. Root tilts her head and smiles.
"You're the one who implied it." Shaw sighs and sits back, face expressionless.
"You're the one who wanted to talk." Shaw gestures at her position in the library. “Here I am. Talk to me.” Root tilts her head and smiles.
“I wanted to see if you would come if I called.” Shaw wants to punch her. But she just clenches her fists and breaths out.
"You brought me breakfast?" She is cheerful and delighted and Shaw is annoyed. Annoyed that Reese is out chasing people; annoyed that Finch and Bear chasing another lead and annoyed that she has to babysit the prisoner in the library.
"Finch is out," she growls. Root gets up and smiles at Shaw. Shaw doesn’t react; she puts down the tray and makes to get out again.
"Wanna stay?" Root offers, tilting her head. Shaw shakes her head.
"Not today."
"Tomorrow then," Root says, bowing her head and smiling. The smile reminds Shaw of a shark; inviting and dangerous.
"Whatever," Shaw leaves. She doesn’t have the patience for that today. Whatever ‘that’ is.
Shaw is standing on the mat, testing it for weight. She bounces and smiles; it will soften the blow of a hard landing. She smiles, almost predatorily at Root, and tilts her head.
Even Inmates need exercise, and Root can’t be trusted on runs. Reese made this suggestion, and now here they are.
Shaw lifts her arms up and stretches. Root is more careful. She slips off her shoes and stretches her arms quietly. Shaw tilts her head.
She reckons Root is fast. And….she narrows her eyes.
“She’ll be able to predict my moves if you listen to Her,” Shaw points out. Root tilts her head.
“What do you want me to do, take her out?” It’s a joke; Root would never sever her connection. “Anyway, are you worried you’ll lose?”
“Against you?” Shaw is all arrogant confidence. Root grins.
They start.
Shaw bounces, muscles bunched for an attack. She lashes out, fist making contact with Root before she means to follow it up with a powerful kick to Root’s left side. Root blocks the kick with an almost effortless parry before she aims and executes her own kick to Shaw’s hip. Shaw jumps back, bouncing on the balls of her feet again, surprised. Root lets Shaw circle her, watching her, hands up in front of her face protectively. Shaw steps forward again with two speedy punches aimed at Root’s face. Root ducks, delivers a powerful kick to Shaw’s thigh and rolls out from under her. Shaw moves in again, undeterred; Root side steps Shaw’s second punch and grabs a hold of Shaw’s arm, flipping her onto the mat. Shaw rolls up in one succinct movement; she is now standing on the other side, bouncing on her feet again.
“You’re fast,” Shaw gasps; to her own disbelief, she is panting.
“You’re strong,” Root agrees; although she doesn’t show it, her shoulder is smarting from Shaw’s well aimed punch.
Ascending three chords; Root steps left and avoids Shaw’s next attack. Shaw growls, and then attacks again, ducking down and slamming into Root’s stomach. Root falls, winded. Shaw sits on top of her, grinning;
“Omniscience can only ever get you so far,” she murmurs, and Root’s body hums at the soft way Shaw says ‘omniscient.’ Shaw stands up and offers Root a hand. Root smiles and grabs her wrist, allowing herself to be hauled up.
“Rematch?” Shaw offers, rolling her shoulders. Root grins.
“Always.”
She’s bouncing on the mat again, and Root watches her carefully. Descending tonal chords; Root blocks right and stops a well-aimed kick aiming for her core, but then suddenly Shaw’s knee is in her back and she has yanked both of Root’s hands behind her, forcing her into the floor. Root, face first in the mat, twists around so she can look at Shaw.
“You won again,” she points out, voice muffled by the mat.
“As long as I do unexpected things, She can’t save you,” Shaw explains. She loosens her grip on Root’s arm; instead of getting up Root rolls onto her back, still underneath Shaw. Shaw settles on her, thighs straddling Root’s midriff.
“She doesn’t expect me to save me,” Root says, incredulous at Shaw’s mere suggestion. Shaw leans over Root and shakes her head.
“I won’t always be there to protect you,” she cautions. Root shakes her head, almost pityingly.
“Oh Shaw,” she breathes, “that’s not the point.”
She slithers out from under Shaw and bounces up. She re-ties her hair into a pony tail and tilts her head at Shaw. “Again?”
When Reese comes down to the dojo to tell Shaw they need her help with something, he comes down to the sight of Root’s knee in the small of Shaw’s neck while she twists Shaw’s arm. Resse raises an eyebrow.
“Am I missing something?” He asks.
“Nope,” Shaw says, her voice muffled by the mat.
“Agent Shaw was just teaching me a couple of moves.” Root steps off Shaw and smiles innocently at Reese. His eyes slide off her and back to Shaw, who has stood up now, sweat glistening on her forehead.
“Put your charge away; we need you.”
“I told you, Harold, we should have worked together.” Root blasts herself into a room, two guns held high and aiming them so well. Shaw ignores her relief and simply offers Root her hands, ignoring everything else.
“Cut me loose,” she commands.
Suddenly they are side by side, shooting guns at people Shaw used to respect. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wonders how she ended up here. A medical student turned marine turned rogue agent standing next to a sociopath who worships a machine and shoots two guns.
Most days, she doesn’t let those questions come to mind.
She just shoots.
(“go!”; its forceful and breathless and Shaw is thinking of the mission; she runs. Something inside her, something very quiet, clicks unhappily, and she feels unsettled, on edge.
She looks behind her at the car, but no footsteps follow
They drive off, and Shaw worries).
There was no need to worry, in the end.
Shaw flickers awake; there’s someone in her apartment. She jumps out of bed and whirls around, standing in her typical defensive fighter stance. Root is leaning against the wall, head tilted and smirk in place.
“What are you doing here?” Shaw demands, dropping her fists. Root grins.
“Testing your security,” she purrs, slowly walking towards Shaw.
“How is it?” Shaw asks sarcastically. Root’s grin widens, and she stands there, Cheshire cat smile and white teeth glinting in the low light cast by the street lights.
“Better than last time,” Root concedes. She’s standing in front of Shaw, looking down at her. She juts out her chin defiantly.
“I’m gathering you’re not here to taser me, this time.”
“No. This time I thought I’d just ask.”
“You need help?”
“Always.”
“Where?”
“New York.”
“Let me go get changed.”
They’re in a classified location in a parking garage; a man shoots and the shot is absorbed by Shaw’s body armour. She shoots back; blood blooms on his chest where he wasn’t wearing body armour. Shaw glances up at a camera, nodding, as if somewhere a collection of circuits and electricity will understand that gesture for thankfulness. She feels a bruise begin to bud beneath the vest, but she ignores it, and instead approaches him, reloading her gun.
“Who were you working with?” She asks, standing above this man. He looks up and grins and Shaw recognises the smile of fanatics when she sees it.
“You’ll never know,” he whispers. He bites down, and Shaw knows the tell-tale signs of cyanide poisoning. She growls, annoyed, and shoots him in the head anyway.
“Do you have all the information you need?” Shaw asks Root, clambering into the dead man’s van. Root hums happily and connects the man’s laptop to the internet with a couple of quick clicks.
“She will have access to all his records this way.”
“So she’ll tell us who he was working for?”
“Oh no. We have to find that out for ourselves. But now She knows.”
“She can’t just tell us?” Root closes the laptop and shakes her head condescendingly at Shaw. “That would be cheating,” she chastises.
They are in a room later, a room that is in neither of their apartments and furnished with enough computers to satisfy Root. She sets up a program, and then sets a timer. “We have forty three minutes until this program is complete, so why don’t you let me check that bullet wound.”
“My vest took a bullet. I’m fine,” Shaw brushes off, but before she knows it, Root has opened her vest carefully. She is leaning against Shaw, breath careful and regulated. Shaw exhales, slowly, willing her body to comply. But despite the fact that Shaw knows, rationally, that Root’s probes up her torso are to check for broken ribs and bruises, her skin can’t help but tingle. Her back arches and she hisses as Root presses on her bruise. Root lifts a tank top; Shaw’s skin is purpling under her hands. Her palm rests on the bruise; it’s warm, and oddly pleasant.
“Sorry,” Root whispers, and her apology feels oddly out-of-place.
Shaw doesn’t know whether it’s her glittering flesh, or Root’s reverence of it, or simply the jumpy adrenaline and excitement of a fight well executed. Either way, she leans up, and kisses Root. Her whole body has to angle up, but Root’s left hand slips from Shaw’s bruise to her hips, pushing her back against the wall. Root’s other hand tilts Shaw’s head upward, Root kiss her harder. Shaw whines inside Root’s mouth, and Root shivers, stepping into Shaw’s space. The hand at the back Shaw’s neck tilts her upwards, and Root licks deeper into her mouth; for a second, Shaw nearly feels weak in the knees.
It becomes messy quickly; Root bites down on Shaw’s lip and Shaw groans, grinding her hips against Root’s thigh even as Root tries to restrain her. Shaw emitted a sound somewhere between a growl and groan, and suddenly Root crams her hands down Shaw’s pants, by passing the zipper. A palm administers pressure and finger tease against underwear. Shaw groans and arches against Root’s hand hungrily, needing friction to ease the tension in her spine. Initially, Root does not give; Shaw’s spine straightens and she clenches her eyes hot, slamming her head against the wall. There is a low, dangerous chuckle, and Root’s hand begins moving in the limited space; Shaw opens her eyes to see Root watching her, pupils dangerously dilated and hungrily cataloguing the expressions on Shaw’s face.
“More,” Shaw gasps. Root extracts her hand; Shaw makes to complain, but hands are fiddling with Shaw’s zipper and pushing both jeans and pants to around her thighs. The fingers slip back inside Shaw, but this time the steady beat of them inside her is reinforced by Root’s hips, lending force as she grinds her palm right when Shaw needs it.
“Fuck,” Shaw breathes, and Root increases the pace of her hand, her own breath becoming ragged as Shaw threatens to combust beneath her. Root likes Shaw like this; begging, thrumming, and alive beneath her. She bites down on Shaw’s jaw lightly, listening, hypnotized, to the sound of quick breaths.
Electricity rips up Shaw’s spine; she freezes, her breath caught, and exhales. Root grins, a feral grin of success as Shaw’s eyes fluttered shut and her mouth falls open in wordless protest, her muscles relaxing into the pleasure Root’s fingers evoke. Root turns her head and sucks a kiss from Shaw’s throat, pleased as it leaves a mark. The mixture of pleasure and the quick light, soothed pain of a bite, coupled with Root’s skilled fingers pushes Shaw over the edge into a silent climax. She leans forward into Root’s body, her muscles failing her as she gasps. Root’s strong arm wraps around her hips and supports her, keeping her upright. Shaw’s eyes flutter open, and she watches as Root extracts her fingers from Shaw’s warmth and brings them up to her mouth to suck them clean. Shaw’s pupils dilate as she watches, breath catching.
“We have time,” Root assures Shaw. Shaw grins.
Something irrational pulls at Shaw; it’s like Root’s voice has a direct effect on her lungs. She can’t do this alone. Suddenly Shaw remembers Root’s fragile body underneath her, muscles in her back pushing against Shaw’s knee. She remembers Root’s pulse and Root’s smirk and Root’s voice.
“I’m going to help Root.”