sociopathic heart

by fuckinghellbruh

Summary

In which, Shaw impregnates Root before she gets captured by Samaritan. An inside look to Shaw's mind as she deals with Root's news, her capture during the time of Samaritan, and after.

Post 4x07-5x09 + a series of one-shots Post-Samaritan.

Notes

I promised a happy fic, didn't I? And while there's a bit of angst here (it should have been a lot more intense, but I decided this needed to be happier than I set it out to be especially with the day we all had yesterday). I do however warn you that this is a G!P Shaw fic and there are explicit, shameless sex scenes here that might make you uncomfortable, so if that's not your kink, I advice to read with caution.

This is definitely a story I can pick up again if need be. Actually, I'm going as far as to say that you can send me prompts for continuation if you want to. Have fun! I hope this makes you all feel better :)

sociopathic heart

Food and sex. Those are two things that make you happy -- oh, and gun fights, lots and lots of them.

Sometimes, you think, these are the reasons why you tolerate Root to the point that you haven't killed her. Everyone knows you would have -- should've -- done it a long time ago with how annoying she is, but you've found out long ago that there's no way to get rid of her because her demise would be too easy -- and okay, as much as it pains you to admit, Root is someone you need on your side to win this war against Samaritan. She's smart, hot, good with a gun (two guns, which turns you on more than you like to admit), and really, really great in bed. It helps that she knows exactly what food you're craving for and where to take you to satisfy them.

(Which is weird, but food is food, and you've never been one to deny a hot person who knows where the good foods are at.)

You don't tell her any of these things and you wouldn't be caught dead saying these things to her with what's left of your short life. It's only a matter of time before the shit you did in your time with the ISA and the things you do to save other people bite you in the ass, especially with an adversary as diabolical as Samaritan.

You don't mind, you really don't, and you've found out long ago that Root doesn't either; it's a trait that you admire even if she's an idiot who thinks having a robot overlord whispering in her ear makes her invincible to bullets, leaving you to deal with her wounds because there's no one more competent in your team than you.

(John's stitches are amateur at best, and you'd be damned if you let the bullet magnet in your team jump into missions with half-baked stitches.)

It's no longer a surprise -- to any of you, really -- when she comes back from a mission with a bloodied shoulder (it's always her god damned shoulder). The sight of her all roughed up used to amuse you to no end, thinking there's no other person in the world who deserves a bullet or two (or three) more than Root. But since she's proven herself a useful ally, the thought of her recklessly risking her life even when it isn't necessary leaves you boiling with rage at her idiocy and the Machine's lack of foresight to know that Root would risk her life for it; it's like the fucking ASI intentionally wants to lose to Samaritan by losing its precious Analogue Interface, especially after Root's close call with that blonde operative.

It's ridiculous and frustrating; you don't know exactly when you started caring about whether she turns up dead or alive, but it leaves you with an uncomfortable pit in your stomach and a twinge in your chest that you can't identify, making you revert to your default emotion -- anger -- because she of all people should know that you can't afford to lose anyone if you're going to win this war.

(And it's definitely not because you care or have feelings for Root. You don't. You're a sociopath.)

You thought that was the explanation for whatever it is you feel in your stomach and your chest, until an enticing invitation from Tomas to leave for Barcelona (and be thieves and have lots of hot sex) made you realize that you've never been more wrong.

You've been denying it for a while now, fulfilling your self-diagnosis like a prophecy because it has never failed you before. It's the reason why you're good (the best, actually) at what you do. There was always a part of you that knew you cared; your parents, Cole and Gen had and have been at the receiving end of your begrudging care -- Jesus... even Finch, Reese, Lionel and Bear (especially Bear) already make the cut -- but Root... Root, you realized, is a different story altogether.

Root, who tried to burn you with an iron when you first met; Root, who tasered and drugged you to get you to work with her; Root, with her annoying voice, ridiculous innuendos, stupid pet names, pretty chestnut bambi eyes, structured nose and jaw, and smug smirk; Root, who makes you want to punch, shoot, and/or kiss her -- she snuck into you and got under your skin.

Against all odds, you care about Root, deeply (how deep is something you refuse to accept), and the worst thing about it is that you know she feels the same way about you -- and then some.

You may be a sociopath, but you're not oblivious to other people's emotions. You don't understand them and you don't feel them, sure, but you know other people aren't like you. And Root, you learned, is someone who feels too much but hides it behind playful smirks and terrible innuendos that anyone who didn't know her well would miss what she was really feeling.

You have a good grasp of her feelings, what with how many times she's bothered you during your missions; it's inevitable for you to get to know her and her little quirks. (You were trained for that, after all). And for some reason you still can't understand, Root allows herself to be comfortable around you -- comfortable enough that you know when she's being an Eeyore instead of the perky psycho you know.

It's how you know she's in love with you, and though it leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth, it's enough for you to tolerate it and not too much for you to run for the metaphorical hills.

Maybe that's the reason why you rejected Tomas' offer, because as much as Root annoys the fuck out of you, there's a part of you -- a traitorous part -- that doesn't want to disappoint her. And maybe, just maybe, it's also the reason why after making sure Tomas was safe, you tracked her down and got there just in time for Finch to part ways with her.

She'd looked lost in thought that it was easy enough for you to sneak up on her, finally.

(There has been an advantage to The Machine being silent, after all, such as sneaking up on Root -- but that's about it.)

The look on her face was amusing, and in true fashion, she responded playfully even though you knew she was on Eeyore mode again. You became certain of it when she asked you where Tomas was, again with her teasing tone, but underneath that, you heard the wariness in her voice, and you realized then that she was jealous of Tomas -- of how open you were of your attraction to him. For some reason, that was enough of a reason for you tell her an ounce of the truth -- about how Tomas gave you a hard sell to go with him.

"I guess there are some things that I care about here," you'd explained when she probed you, looking directly at her at the last part and thinking -- hoping -- she doesn't ruin this by teasing you endlessly. That was a futile wish on your part, of course.

"And... is that why you came to see me?" She'd asked with a teasing glint in her eyes that hid the hope etched in her voice.

One truth was enough for the day, you thought, so you'd decided then to break it apart by telling her no, and that you came to see her to decode Finch's decontamination instructions. Again, the look of disappointment and incredulity on her face was worth it.

(You've done your residency, and you definitely knew what to do to decontaminate; it's a no brainer.)

But Root has always been tenacious (nothing stops that idiot), and you'd expected the innuendo coming from a mile away as soon as she'd seen a glimpse of the instructions. Somehow, you let her have that, and even let yourself flash your own smirk at her as she'd smirked right back, knowing full well how your night was going to end.

As soon as you entered your apartment with Root in tow, you immediately stripped yourself of your clothes on your way to the bathroom, and by the sounds you heard behind you, you knew Root wasn't far off.

For a while, you thought it would be a peaceful shower with no other agenda -- you're supposed to decontaminate. You and Root have shared your fair share of showers where nothing but strictly showering had happened.

(In hindsight, that should have tipped you off that this thing with Root was different in addition to the fact that you've broken your three-nights-only rule.)

You'd expected it, maybe even hoped for it, but when she wrapped her arms around you from behind and proceeded to let her hand travel down to your flaccid member while her other hand played with your breasts, it still came as a surprise that you froze for a second before relaxing again. It didn't take long for you to be hard, throbbing, and needing -- with Root, it never takes you long -- and soon, she was jacking you off slowly, kissing and nipping at your neck as she did so.

Normally, you'd snap at her for teasing you; you like it fast and rough after all. It was probably because the pleasure was enough to shut you up, but you let her take her time until your orgasm ripples out of you after 15 minutes of doing so.

(You were both prickled by then since you'd forgotten to turn off the shower while she was pleasuring you; you were that distracted.)

After turning off the shower, she turned you around, kneeled before you, and gave you her signature smirk just before using her mouth on you. This time, you'd been powerless to stop yourself from thrusting your hips in time with her mouth, and with her expert hands wrapped around your member it didn't take long for you to come again.

You wanted to wipe off the smug look on her face, but scowled at her instead as you tried to get your breath back.

"I hope you still have energy left for me, Sweetie. I did say this was going to take all night long," she'd winked, before stepping out of the shower, wiping herself with a towel, and then sauntering out of the bathroom with an extra sway of her hips that you knew was for your benefit.

It was enough to spur you on, of course, and you spent the rest of the night teasing her the way she usually teases you.

(You finally understood why she gets a kick out of doing it to you. You won't admit it to her, but looking down at her as you thrust into her and her looking at you -- moans escaping her as she pleads at you with her mouth open -- she looks absolutely beautiful. You've never seen anything more breathtaking than Root on the verge of coming; even more when she finally does.

You'd dismissed the thought and cursed yourself for even thinking so -- you'd never called anyone breathtaking before, goddamn it.)

Now, five rounds later, both of you catching your breaths from your earlier activities, you let her curl into you.

It's futile at best, but you convince yourself that you're letting this happen because you're tired. You're definitely pushing her away once you have the energy. It's not at all because you feel good and you're comfortable where you are; nope, not at all.

With her head on your right shoulder and her right leg draped over yours, she draws lazy patterns on chest that help you get your breathing back -- so much so that you feel yourself relaxing with your eyes closed. It feels good so you indulge yourself. You're just about to fall asleep when she speaks.

"Thank you, Sameen."

It's said in a soft whisper that you almost miss it, making you open your eyes.

"For what?"

She lifts her head from your shoulders and looks at you. There's so much in her eyes that you suddenly feel overwhelmed, but you maintain eye contact anyway, and think if this is what she needs, you'll give it to her.

(Root's eyes have always been expressive; it's both mesmerizing and suffocating at the same time especially when it's directed at you.)

She smiles softly, "For staying."

It's simple, but you know exactly what it means. Thank you for not leaving with Tomas, for not leaving me alone. Your jaw clenches and you suddenly feel yourself getting nauseous, averting your gaze and blinking as you try to get a hold of yourself.

She sighs, and a part of you berates yourself for knowing her too well, because you know what that sigh means. She's disappointed, and rightfully so. You'll never be able to reciprocate her feelings; it's one of the reasons why you've tried to keep her at arms length. As much as she annoys the fuck out of you, you don't like hurting her (well, sometimes).

You're pulled out of your thoughts when she turns your face back to her, leaving you with no choice but to look into her eyes. She leans into you and plants a soft kiss on your lips. You kiss her back, softly, telling her in no words that you're sorry. You don't know how long your lip-locking lasts, but eventually, she pulls away, and with one last smile that doesn't reach her eyes, she gets up from bed and proceeds to your drawers, pulling out one of your shirts.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm borrowing this?"

You shake your head and nod at the same time, sitting up using your elbows, confused at Root's sudden departure. You clear your throat, "The Machine give you a mission?"

She fixes her hair once she's all dressed up, chuckling but it still doesn't sound right. Something's wrong.

"Since when did we spend the night together, Sam?" she smirks, pausing, "Well, except for that time in the CIA safe house, of course."

You feel a pang in your chest. She's right. You've never spent the night together and you've never seen the point. You were always the type of person who leaves once you get what you need for the night. You still are. No muss, no fuss. But for some reason, you don't mind the idea of Root staying for the night. The thought that she's not going to is making you feel things, and it makes you irrationally angry.

"You didn't answer my question," you snap, scowling at her.

She smiles, this time it reaches her eyes but only for a moment.

"No mission. I just thought I'd give you some space. I don't want to overstay my welcome," she says as she's retrieving her guns and her phone.

You grunt, "I haven't actually kicked you out yet, Root."

She turns to you, smiling a teasing smile that's all too smug and innocent at the same time, "Watch out, Shaw, you sound like you want me to stay the night."

"I don't," you growl all too quickly, making her smirk at you knowingly as she makes her way to the door.

"Hmm, as much as I really like the idea of morning sex with you, Sweetie, I'm still sore from riding you all night," the memories of your earlier activities makes your cock twitch, and she smirks when she notices. "Rain check?"

You roll your eyes and glare at her, angry at yourself for letting her have that effect on you.

"Just go, Root."

She chuckles lightly as she turns the knob on the door. "Good night, Sam."

You stare at your closed bedroom door, and only when you hear your front door close do you realize that you don't have any idea if Root has any place to stay in. The Machine probably has her covered, but the thought of her scrambling for a place to stay for the night leaves you uncomfortable.

You fall back to your bed in frustration, covering your face with your arm as you sigh. Damn it.

You really, really wanted her to stay.

-

With one last punch, you finally bring the number, who turned out to be the perpetrator, on the ground. You retrieve the zip tie from your pocket and proceed to tighten it around his wrists, making sure to hear him howl in pain and kicking him one last time before leaving him groaning on the floor.

You normally wouldn't bother hurting an opponent when they're down, but after the problem he gave you -- the tent between your legs that's now making it uncomfortable for you to move around -- an extra kick is less than what he deserves.

Panting, you click your earwig, "Finch, I'm done here."

"Perfect. I've already contacted Detective Fusco to pick up the number. Thank you, Ms. Shaw. I'll be calling as soon as we get another number. But for now, you should head home and get some rest."

"Over and out," you click the line off, trying to fix your erection in your jeans, grumbling to yourself. Seriously, how did you not notice him spiking your drink? Molly combined with Viagra, no less? You scoff when you remember how he knew to spike you with the latter.

"You're obviously packing, girl. Have some fun while you're at it. You look like you need it," he'd said, winking at you with a sinister look.

You're lucky you're a trained operative; you have a good grip of reality even when you're compromised. You're as high as a kite, but your anger is enough to push away the temptations to do something about it. But your cock is starting to hurt from the strain of standing erect for half an hour now, and you're pretty sure you still have more than two hours before it subsides.

Great, you roll your eyes, stepping out of the club once you've fixed the bulge in your jeans enough for it not to be noticeable at first sight, and making your way home. Normally, you'd make sure to stop by Park's Deli or a Steakhouse or any other food stands to take home something to eat, but tonight you couldn't be bothered.

Your walk home helps sober you up a bit, but not enough to completely remove the high. You're already feeling yourself sweating and flushing. It takes far longer than it usually does (5 minutes later than usual) for you to get to your apartment, the strain in your jeans not exactly helping with the way you walk, but when you're finally face to face with your door, you already know that something's wrong.

Picking up your gun, you turn the key with your other hand and open the door, making sure not to alert the invader to your presence. Just as you enter your apartment, gun raised in front of you, a voice you know all too well stops you.

"Hey, Sweetie."

You roll your eyes, dropping your hands and tucking your gun into the waistband of your jeans. You should've known. No one else other than Root dares to invade your personal space after all.

You open the lights, finding Root seated at your leather couch with a bag of what looks like take-out beside her legs.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She tuts and smiles sardonically, "Now, now, is that how you greet someone who brought you your favourite food after a rigorous mission?"

You scowl, not letting her see your excitement over eating steak. But from the little tug on her mouth, you're pretty sure she knows anyway.

"Did the Machine send you to baby sit me?"

"As much as I love taking care of you in any way, Sameen," she 'winks', only now noticing that she's wincing from pain. "I sort of need your help."

You already know what that means. You don't waste any time to approach her just in time for her to open her leather jacket with a wince, showing you a bullet wound an inch left from her heart. You sigh. Idiot.

You immediately make your way to the kitchen cabinet where you keep your med kit, removing your shirt and jeans on your way there, hearing the clutter of gun on the floor as you wipe your sweat with your hands. Oops. It's too hot, you think, and then remember that it's probably the drugs.

You fill a glass with water, drinking it in one go, and then use the same glass to pour whiskey for Root to drink, before making your way back to her.

As soon as you set yourself up in front of her and give her the glass of whiskey, you get to work. Root is obviously in pain, so you don't bother to ask her to remove her clothes, and instead cut her shirt. Immediately, you're met with the sight of an obviously poor attempt to stop the bleeding of the wound, and Root's delicious brea-- Stop.

You sigh and shake your head, trying to ignore the sudden flush of arousal you feel heading south between your legs.

"Did you do this?"

Good news, it's a through and through, and it looks like it didn't nick an artery. You pour whiskey on the scissors and proceed to cut the stitches on the wound, before removing it altogether.

It's only when you're about to insert the needle and start stitching her up that you realize Root hasn't answered your question.

You look up and see that her eyes are focused somewhere else and her mouth wide open. Normally, you'd be happy at the sight of a speechless Root. But when you follow her line of sight to your crotch and see that the head of your cock is peeking out of the waistband of your boxer briefs, you grumble a few curse words under your breath and try to fix it.

"Sameen," she whispers, looking amused and concerned at the same time.

You roll your eyes, "Don't act like you haven't seen it, Root."

"I know, I mean, it's just..." she stutters, before looking up at you, seemingly recovering as she smirks, "Do I excite you that much, Sweetie?"

You insert the needle and scowl at her, smirking triumphantly as she yelps in pain, hissing and glaring at you, before you put your focus back on stitching her wound. You're almost done when she lays her hands on yours, making you look up at her, and... Shit, that feels so good.

"Sam." Why does that feel like music to your ears?

"I'm almost done, Root," you grumble, batting her hands away, but she doesn't relent.

"Sameen, your pupils are blown. You're high," she says, concern unmistakable in her voice.

"I'm fine. It's helping me focus. Now let me finish this," you bat her hands away again, and this time, she doesn't fight you but you can feel her gaze burning through your face.

"Stop that."

"What?" She asks innocently.

"Stop staring," you growl, packing up the utensils and placing them inside your med kit once you're done applying the dressing on the wound.

"Why are you high, Shaw?" Shaw. She rarely calls you Shaw. She only calls you that when she's serious or when she's trying to call your attention. You sigh, exasperated, settling yourself beside her on the couch while you open the boxes of take-out she brought for you and her.

"Number spiked my drink with molly and Viagra," you grumble, glaring at her when you hear her chuckling beside you and shoving the box of orange chicken lo mein to her face. "Eat."

You've only bitten your first slice of steak when, "Hmmm. I don't know, I think I'm hungry for something else now."

The sudden flood of arousal makes you choke on your steak, making you scowl at her as you try to chew through it properly.

"Root."

"Sameen."

"Eat. Your. Goddamn. Food."

She pouts, looking at your crotch one more time, before finally taking a bite of her food. "You're no fun."

You roll your eyes, devouring your steak, nodding and moaning in approval. These steaks have never tasted better. It doesn't take long for you to finish it. You try to scramble for some more food, but don't find any. Luckily, Root picks at her food like a bird and she readily gives you hers, which you find has been marginally decreased, making you nod in your head in approval. At least she's finally eating.

You're two bites in, eating with your eyes closed, enjoying all the sensations in your mouth, when--

"Sameen."

You grunt in acknowledgement. This is good food.

"I really think you should set the bird free."

You choke over the chicken, and this time, it's too much that you have to cough as you feel your eyes watering from the pressure. You feel soft hands gliding up and down your back, and it does nothing but make you feel even better as you feel your member twitching inside your boxer briefs.

You shrug her off and scowl at her, "You did not just call my dick 'the bird.'"

"Mmm," she smirks, biting her lips as her gaze flits between your eyes and your crotch, "Has anyone ever told you that you're huge, Sameen?"

Giving her your blankest look, you realize that she's never going to stop pestering you about the tent between your legs, judging by the mirth dancing in her eyes. Two can play this game, Root. Shaking your head, you try to stop yourself from smirking as you finally get the opening that you need to play right back.

"I've been getting it a lot recently," you shrug, trying to play it cool.

You feel more than see her freeze for a fraction of a second as you busy yourself finishing off the food, before she recovers, clearing her throat.

"Oh yeah? Like Tomas?" she challenges you, and the hint of jealousy does not go undetected.

This time, you don't even try to hide the smirk on your face as you look at her, riling her up. "Especially Tomas."

All hints of amusement leave her face as she looks away, blinking, clearing her throat before giving you a smile that's meant to be playful, but only shows the opposite.

"I thought you didn't sleep with him."

You put the box down on the floor, shrugging as you take a drink of your soda, "I don't recall telling you I didn't."

"Well, did you fuck him?" she asks, bitterness seeping in her tone, making you look at her.

She's not even trying to hide the fact that she's jealous anymore. In fact, she looks like she's about ready to cry, and with your high, you can't deal with this right now. Normally, this is exactly the type of behaviour that you don't like from the people you sleep with. But then again, Root makes you break your rules. There's a twinge in your gut at the thought of Root crying, so you finally relent and chuckle.

(She's cute when she's jealous... not that you'll admit that to her.)

"No, Root. There was only one person I fucked that night."

Her whole body deflates as she relaxes at the news, but like an energizer bunny, she immediately straightens up with renewed vigour as she crawls to your side of the couch, smirking sinisterly, making you lean back as she leans into you, leaving your faces centimetres apart.

"That wasn't nice of you, Sam."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you retort innocently, secretly loving the way her pupils dilate even further as she casts another look at your erection before placing her mouth on your ear, biting your ear lobe, resulting in you closing your eyes and groaning. Fucking drugs.

"I don't believe you."

She licks from your ear to the underside of your jaw, nipping every now and then. One of her hands lands on your thigh, and with your heightened senses, it's enough to make your cock twitch in excitement. She lets her hands travel higher until she's finally massaging your hard-on through your boxer briefs, making you groan. Shit.

You vaguely hear her chuckling, obviously enjoying her effect on you as she turns your face to her, leaving no space between your mouths as you look at each other, both of your breathing laboured.

As if hearing a cue, both of you lean in at the same time with the same animalistic vigour, your lips fighting for dominance as both of you try to bite each other's lips. But with your drug-addled arousal, you win, biting and pulling at her lower lip as you pull her into you. Root doesn't waste any more time as she straddles your legs, wrapping her arms around you and grinding herself down on your cock as your kiss turns from animalistic to soft, intimate, but not without losing its passion.

Your hands travel from her hips to her lower back, sliding inside the waistband of her pants, before completely enveloping her ass cheeks, squeezing and pulling them to you. Her moans are enough to make the feeling of her heated centre on your shaft a lot more pleasant. It's the last straw of self-restraint on your part and you don't waste any more time standing up, her legs wrapping themselves around your waist as you take her to your bed, laying her down as gently as possible despite your arousal.

"Sameen, please," she whimpers, pleading with you to take her.

And that right there, the view of her lying on your bed, hair spread out, breathing laboured in arousal, looking at you with so much want, is the most breathtaking thing you've ever seen.

You help her out of her jacket, taking care not to hurt her bullet wound, before stripping her shirt off of her, making her gasp in your show of strength, pulling a smirk out of your mouth. You lean in and nip at her bottom lip just because you can't resist, pulling away before releasing it with a loud 'pop,' before moving your hands on the button of her jeans and dragging it down along with her underwear until she's naked in front of you.

You take your time admiring what's in front of you as you strip your sports bra and your boxer briefs, finally releasing your cock as it bounces, standing proud against your toned stomach. The sight is enough to pull a gasp and a whimper from Root.

You pull her ankles into you until her ass is on the edge of the bed, before kneeling down in front of her. She watches you with her mouth open as you kiss your way from her ankle, to her calf, to her thigh, before transferring to the other leg and doing the same thing.

"Stop teasing," she admonishes you, making you smirk.

"Now you know how it feels."

You kiss her pubic bone just above the place she needs you the most and it pulls out the most strained whimper you've ever heard from her. The smell of her heady arousal makes your cock twitch.

"Fuck, Sameen." Hot. So hot.

You finally take pity and envelop her clit with your lips, sucking, which pulls out a pornographic moan from Root as she fists your head, pulling you closer to her. It hurts, but the pain is enough to encourage you to do more, licking her up and down her labia, before finally focusing on her clit. Wanting to taste more of her, you let your tongue travel down her opening, and lift her by her ass, before shoving your tongue down inside her.

"Oh, fuck!"

You keep your eyes on her as you thrust your tongue in and out of her, revelling in her beauty as she moans and gasps with her eyes closed, fisting the bed as she thrusts her hips in time with your tongue.

"Your fingers, oh God, your fingers, please," she moans in request and you follow through, not bothering to waste your time as you insert two fingers in her, pulling them out with a curve towards you where you know her g-spot is. "Oh, yes, right there!" she moans obnoxiously to the point that you're sure the whole building hears her; you know you've hit the right spot. With each thrust, you feel her walls tightening around your fingers, and you know it's only a matter of time before she comes.

You release your mouth from her clit, which pulls out a whine from her, before you kiss your way up through her stomach and spend your time alternating between her breasts, licking and nipping at her nipples, which makes her shudder in pleasure. When you're satisfied, you leave marks on her collarbone, neck, jaw, before finally kissing her lips as you continue to thrust your fingers into her, her hands wrapping around your shoulders.

"Sam," she moans, closing her eyes from the pleasure as she scratches your shoulders. You brush the hair out of her sweaty forehead, before caressing it with the hand you're using to hold your weight up.

"Look at me," you demand, wanting to see her come and making her whimper. "Open your eyes, Root."

When she opens her eyes, you stare at each other as you push into her and curve your fingers one last time, before she moans, shuddering as she comes under you, making you feel a flip in your stomach, and the sight is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

You help her ride through it as you continue to thrust your fingers, all the while kissing and biting her neck. You're not usually one to leave your marks, but you suppose it's the drugs.

(It's not.)

With one last shudder, she pushes your fingers away, and you wipe them on your sheets before using it to support your weight as you wait for her to get her breathing back. When she finally opens her eyes, she gives you a satisfied smile, cupping your cheeks as she kisses you.

The kiss quickly turns hungry when you unconsciously thrust your hips into her, the edge of your dick poking her entrance. You switch your positions so she's on top and you're at the bottom, not wanting to hurt her. She seems surprised by this, but immediately takes the lead as she straddles your hips, grinding her hot wet centre on your length, making you groan and lay down on the bed while guiding her hips.

She follows you down and leans towards you for another heated kiss, your tongues dancing against each other as she continues to grind on you, before finally releasing you and sitting up, guiding you into her before bringing herself down slowly.

"Fuck," you groan, feeling your cock twitch inside of her, making her moan in turn.

"Oh, I definitely plan to, Sweetie," she teases you in a breathy moan as she adjusts to your size inside of her, clenching around your shaft, sending waves and waves of pleasure as you fall down on the bed, your hands steady on her hips to guide her.

Slowly but surely, she grinds into you, her clit coating your pubic bone with her arousal. When she's finally adjusted, she brings herself up, holding her weight on your shoulders, before pushing herself down on you, making you thrust up to her in pleasure. She does it again, slowly, until she forms a rhythm for the both of you which you quickly follow, thrusting up in time with her as her hands move to knead on your breasts. The pleasure is enough to make your stomach clench and cock twitch inside of her, making her throw her head back.

"You feel so good," she moans, making you feel like all the blood is rushing south, and you know you're about to come.

"Root," you groan into her as you continue to pound into her from the bottom, "I'm gonna..." she pulls herself away from you and grabs your dick, running her hands up and down your shaft, before you finally tense and spurt after spurt of come shoot out as she massages them out of you.

When you're done, she licks the underside of your shaft from the base to the head, before enveloping it in her mouth, making you moan in pleasure as you watch her head bob up and down on you, feeling your eyes roll back as the Viagra helps you harden up in no time.

She spends the next few minutes alternating between sucking you and licking the crown of your dick, before she finally sits up and positions herself on top of you again. This time, you sit up and wrap your arms around her and soon find a rhythm as you thrust into her, the sounds of your skins slapping and Root's moans enough to careen you into her fast and hard, and it doesn't take long before you feel her clenching around your shaft, which only results in you thrusting up into her faster and harder.

"Sameen," she whimpers, holding on to you tighter as she bites on your shoulder, the pain only encouraging you to take her over the edge as you continue to pound, until you finally feel her tighten around you as spurts of her come surround your length inside of her, feeling yourself about to do the same thing and immediately pull yourself out from her just in time for another round of shots to come out of you.

You fall down on the bed and bring her with you when you're done, both of you panting from your activity. You're glad to finally feel your cock softening after what seemed like two hours of erection at the same time as the drugs wearing out of your system, making you sleepy.

Root's breath starts to even out on top of you, making you sit up and bringing her along with you as you scramble to get the comforters, before laying back down and placing it over your sweaty bodies, preparing for sleep.

You feel her tensing at the realization of her staying the night and immediately try to calm her down by sleepily running your hands on her back and kissing her head.

"It's okay. You can stay," you whisper, effectively calming her down.

"Are you sure? I can still go."

"Stay," you insist harder this time, not wanting to commit the same mistake again, and her body relaxes fully in response.

You feel a kiss deposited on your neck, before she makes herself comfortable on top of you.

"Okay, Sameen."

-

You wake up the next morning disoriented, not sure what woke you up in the first place. You stretch and feel around the bed for Root when you realize she's not there with you, and the sheets are cold.

Sitting up, you look around your bedroom and notice her clothes are still on the floor, until the sounds of retching enters your ears and your attention is pulled to the bathroom. You make your way there without bothering to put your clothes on and see Root kneeled over the toilet as she empties her guts.

"Hey," you pull her hair out of the way and use the extra hair ties you keep in the cabinet of your bathroom to tie her hair in a ponytail, before awkwardly running your hands on her back since people seem to be comforted by it whenever they're vomiting.

She sits up and leans her back on the wall across the toilet when she's done, eyes closed as she gets her bearing. You try to feel around her forehead and neck if she's sick, but find that her temperature's normal. You feel something at the pit of your stomach and your gut tells you it can't be good, but you ignore it.

"Are you okay, Root?" you ask and scowl when you realize you sound like you're worried about her.

She nods slowly as she opens her eyes, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know, 15 minutes to half an hour?" she responds, voice shaky and confused, having lost all her energy from puking.

"You didn't tell me you were feeling anything last night," you say, trying to think through your medical knowledge of what's got Root sick in the early hours of the morning, but only coming up with dreadful possibilities.

"That's because I wasn't. I only felt it this morning," she replies, which scares you even further of the possibilities.

It can't be, you always make sure to pull out, you reason with yourself, but even then it falls short. You of all people should know that withdrawal isn't always safe.

You're starting to feel claustrophobic from the idea alone, but swallow it down for Root's sake.

"Do you think you can get up now?"

"A little help?" she smiles, extending her hand to you, and you pull her up easily, putting your other hand on her lower back as she wobbles on her way to your bed before sitting down, smiling at you playfully. "Do you have any medicines for the nausea, Doc?"

The feeling in your gut worsens, bile forming in your mouth. Your gut is always right, and you're pretty sure you've gone and fucked it all up this time. The lack of reply on your part is enough to concern her as she frowns at you.

"What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

You breathe, trying to calm yourself down as you pace around your room, not looking at her.

"Is this the first time?"

She pauses, "Yes. Why?"

You nod, taking stock of her answer, but it only makes you feel worse. Your feet are itching to run away from here. Taking a deep breath, you finally ask the million dollar question.

"When was the last time you had your period, Root?"

The look on her eyes tells you that she's caught on to your train of thought, shaking her head as she laughs it off, albeit falling short.

"No, no, it can't be. I'm right on time, I--" she stops speaking, her eyes suddenly unfocused, and you know the Machine's probably talking to her, before she straightens up and looks at you. "She says I'm due on November 20."

You freeze, dread washing over you. Oh, shit.

"Shaw? What's the date today?" she asks, frantic, and you turn around to face her.

"Root, it's already the 23rd today."

The mortified look on her face tells you that she's probably forgotten the date due to her ever changing identities, but it doesn't help relieve the nausea that you're now feeling.

"No, it can't be," she breathes out a fake laugh, shaking her head, "and even if it is the 23rd, I get my period late sometimes--especially when we're active in a month."

You sigh, trying to push the bile back to your stomach as you dress up quickly with the same clothes you wore last night.

"Where are you going?" she asks, panic written in her voice.

"Stay here. I'm coming back with a PT," you order her sternly, to which she accedes to with a nod.

For a hot second, you're surprised at the lack of resistance from Root, but you feel the nausea coming back in full force and you leave your apartment without a second glance. You start to breathe a little better the further away you get, but just as you exit your building, all the bile comes rushing up your throat, and you vomit as soon as you reach the nearest flower pot.

You ignore the indignant 'hey!' from somewhere above you and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, dialling John's number as you make your way to the nearest convenience store two blocks away.

"Detective Riley," he answers after one ring in his usual monotone, the sounds of hurried footsteps lets you know that he's looking for an empty place to talk. "Shaw? Do we have a new number?"

"No. I was calling to, uh, ask for a favour actually," you say and roll your eyes at how bashful you sound, hoping John doesn't notice.

"I guess there really is a first time for everything," he teases you, and of course, he notices -- he's a professional dick.

"Don't be a dick," you grumble as you pick up two different brands of PTs, feeling yourself growing grumpy as he chuckles lightly, "I can't work numbers today and I'm not in the mood to hear Finch's lectures. So, can you cover for me?" You grit the last part, growing more and more irritated with your situation.

"Okay," he agrees, concern replacing the playfulness his tone held earlier, "You're out of breath. Is everything alright? Anything I can help with?"

You realize that you are indeed panting and immediately cover it up by trying to regulate your breathing. Get your shit together, Shaw.

"No. Just--something came up. I owe you."

"Shaw--" is the last thing you hear from him before you hang up the phone, paying for your purchase and making your way back to your apartment.

As soon as you step through the apartment, Root -- now dressed up --stands up from her position on the couch and grabs the bag from you silently before hastily making her way to the bathroom. You don't follow her inside, but you do pace around your bedroom as you wait for the results with your fists clenched, looking at the open door of the bathroom every once in a while.

You can't breathe, and your chest feels like it's constricting and folding into itself. You realize for the first time that this must be what it feels like to be scared. Out of all the times you've faced your death during your time in the marines, with the ISA, and with Finch, you were never once scared for your life. You live for danger; you live for the adrenaline that shoots through your veins in the face of death.

Death, for you, is an inevitable part of life. You've always believed that every person in the world has their own time and it's completely out of your control. Bothering yourself with things out of your control is a total waste of time. You'd much rather stress yourself with things that you can control, and even then, you're rarely stressed.

You're level-headed and unemotional in the face of trouble. It's the advantage of having an Axis II personality disorder; you're rarely fazed by anything. You're always in control.

But this, the possibility of having impregnated Root... it's sucking the life out of you more than any injury you've ever had.

A loud thud coming from the bathroom gets you out of your thoughts, and thinking that something might've happened, you rush to see if everything is okay, but the sight in front of you only confirms what you've been dreading the whole morning -- or your whole life.

Root is on the floor, leaning her weight to the wall across from the toilet with tears running down her eyes as she stares at the results, mumbling "no" over and over again as she shakes her head, and only stopping when she finally realizes you're there. Wordlessly, she hands over the stick and wraps her arms around her knees.

You've never seen Root so vulnerable until now and something about it makes you want to comfort her, your chest constricting doubly at the unusual sight -- you're not sure if it's because of Root or because of the results you're now holding in your hands -- but even so, you can't find it in you to do something about it and instead focus on the answer on your hands.

Two lines. Positive.

The result flushes over your body like you've just been drained of your life source, and the feeling leaves you unbalanced, making you hold onto the wall for support to keep you up. You lean your back on the wall as you bring the stick up to your eye level, scratching your eyes and blinking alternatively to make sure your eyes aren't deceiving you, but you know it's a wasted effort.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," you hear Root sob from the floor, and it only serves to anger you because if anything, this is your fault. Not hers. And because of your lack of self control, Root has to deal with the consequences. She shouldn't be sorry. You should be sorry.

You can't find it in you to tell her to shut her mouth because your vision suddenly blurs and you realize you haven't been breathing since you've seen the results. Your heart is beating out of control and you need to get out of there.

"I--I need some air," you declare shakily as you put the stick down on the sink before hastily making your exit.

"Sameen," you hear her pleading as she follows you out. You don't dare look back at her -- you can't -- not even when she tugs your elbows just as you're about to open the front door. "Shaw, please..."

"I can't talk right now. I'm sorry," you shrug her off and run outside your apartment, but not before hearing the most gut-wrenching sob that you know belongs to Root.

You have no sense of direction. All you know is you're running; it's like an exit strategy code built into your system, and right now, you don't know how to push the stop button except follow what it's telling you to do. You keep running, and you're pretty sure you're bumping into people, but you don't care. You don't know how long you've been running, but when you finally stop, panting and leaning on your knees for support, you're in the middle of Central Park, which is a good 30 minutes away from your place via car.

Feeling your muscles cramp, you limp your way to the nearest bench and sit down, leaning back and closing your eyes as you try to catch your breath. You revel in the pain of the cramps. It's the only thing that's grounding you to who you are -- to who you've always been, because this, this isn't you.

You're always in control. But right now, you're not. Feelings you don't understand are going haywire inside of you, and for a brief moment, you remember Gen telling you that your feelings have always been there but the volume is turned way down, and the memory makes you want to laugh because right now, it's turned way up and you have no idea how to deal with it. You can't even grasp what it is you're truly feeling except anger.

You're angry at Root for thinking this is her fault, you're angry at yourself because you will never understand how you let Root get under your skin, you're angry at yourself for letting these emotions affect you, and you're angry at the feeling of being trapped -- and this only directs more of your anger to Root because now you can't help but feel like she's trapped you into a commitment both of you have never talked about.

Sure, Root is the only person you've been sleeping with since the CIA safe house, and you're pretty sure it's the same for her. For all intents and purposes, both of you are exclusive, but both of you have never labelled whatever it is you have. You're not dating; as far as you know, both of you are free to see other people. But now, the thought of Root shacking up with someone else fills you with more dread, and you smack yourself in the head for letting Root get this far inside you, earning the attention of some strollers.

One in particular dares to approach you and, as if your death glare isn't enough, said person dares to ask you if you're okay in an accented voice. Isn't it obvious?

You snarl, "Fuck. Off."

"Okay, okay, jeez..." the person backs up with his hands raised in surrender, mumbling something about New Yorkers being ungrateful, before hastily running away from you. Good. You would've killed him with how angry you are right now.

Not wanting to gather any more unwanted attention, you head straight to the nearest bar. It's probably nowhere near noon, but you order your favourite brand of scotch anyway, smack a hundred dollar bill on the bar, and order the bartender to keep the drinks coming. He tries to shoo you off, telling you that the bar isn't open until the afternoon and that you should come back later, but one glare always does wonders and soon you're drinking the bar dry.

The burn of the alcohol in your throat and in your stomach is another thing that helps rein in the anger that you feel bubbling inside of you. You know you're supposed to eat; drinking without stuffing your stomach with food is what makes people drunk after all, but now is one of those rare times where food doesn't interest you in the slightest. You'll probably regret this decision later, but right now, you don't care. Or, you don't want to care.

Commitment. Root. Unplanned pregnancy. A kid. Samaritan. No matter how hard you try, these thoughts keep circling in your head, making you drown yourself drink after drink after drink.

Later, much, much later, you find yourself chuckling at the stories being told from a person who'd sat down beside you and decided to keep you company. He's in his early 30's, clean shaven, wealthy from the looks of things, but it's clear that he's probably one of those people with troubled marriages. He looks the type.

You had initially snapped at him to go fuck himself, of course, but he wasn't like anyone else. He didn't take your shit; he threw it back at you, and you think after the day you've had, you can have this.

He orders food for the both of you, and the food helps sober you up a bit. It's mostly fun because for once, someone's not trying to get into your pants, although even then, you're pretty sure he doesn't want what's between your legs. It's such a rare thing for you to be at a bar, drinking with someone who doesn't have ulterior motives. It's the break you never knew you needed, and so you give him a piece of yourself as both of you get back on the drinks.

(You're glad you're drinking with someone who can keep up with you for once.)

He's been doing the talking for both of you and he doesn't seem like he minds. In fact, you think, it's what's helping whatever it is that's troubling him, and you're glad to give him a lending ear or whatever it is you're doing. But then, things take a turn when he tells you that he hasn't a clue what he's doing with his life, wishing he could just end it with his wife but couldn't -- can't -- because of their kids, and it reminds you of the reason why you're here in the first place.

You clench your jaw and nod, drinking your glass dry of scotch, before pushing it towards the bartender who wordlessly pours more than usual just as he's done since you've gotten here, and your companion, who you haven't exchanged names yet, takes notice.

"Ah, touched a nerve there, didn't I?" He slurs in his accented voice. English, but it's obvious he hasn't been living in England for a while now.

You snort a laugh, drain the glass and push it towards the bartender again.

"I don't care," you slur, enjoying the pleasant buzz of the alcohol.

"Right, because that answered my question," he retorts, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he chuckles, "You may think you don't, but you obviously do, mate. You've got that look in your eye."

At this, you feel the irritation crawling up your spine and straighten up, raising your eyebrow at him.

"What makes you think you even know me, mate?" you snarl, but it doesn't affect him. Not like it affects anyone. Just like Root. Fuck, not again, you shake your head, ridding your thoughts of her.

"Oh, I know just the type of person you are. You're aloof; you don't smile much because you don't let yourself feel. You like to think you don't care about the people around you, but you do."

You snort, "And you got this from, what? My sunny disposition?"

"Oh, your sense of humour really does a lot of wonders," he retorts, matching your sarcasm as he chuckles, "But no. I think I have a pretty good grasp of someone with an Axis II personality disorder."

You look sharply at him at that, alarmed that you might've been followed by Samaritan, checking around the bar to see if there are any suspicious people, but he stops you when he notices. In your attempt to make yourself feel better, you've totally forgotten about the bigger picture.

"Relax. It takes one to know one and all that."

You stare at him in disbelief.

"You?" you ask, he chuckles and nods. "But, you don't look like one with an Axis II. You better tell me who you are before I---"

"Jesus Christ, calm down, mate, yeah?" He interrupts you, "I'm a psychiatrist. It's another reason why I know. It's the reason why I'm having trouble with my wife actually."

At that, you relax but pay attention (as much as you can in your state) and watch out for any suspicious persons in the bar. You find none.

"Does she know?" You ask, shaking your head minutely at the fact that you even bothered to ask.

"She does, but I think she expected more than I told her to, thinks maybe her love would 'cure' me," he explains, drinking from his glass, "I mean, that's true for the most part, yeah, but there are times when I don't feel like being with her--with anyone, actually. Not even our kids. I do fight myself whenever I get the temptation to run away, but, there are times when I just feel empty, you know? Not numb per se, but it feels like--"

"Like the volume's turned way down," you provide for him, for once finding yourself sympathising with someone else. Shit, what the hell happened to you, Shaw?

"Exactly," both of you share a smile at that, before he turns serious again. "Nearly ran away too when I knew she was pregnant."

You swallow, blinking, this is too close to home. This conversation is quickly sobering you. But you gather yourself, drink your glass dry, and clear you throat.

"So, uh, how did you deal?"

"Drank myself stupid. I tried to listen here," he thumps his chest, "as much as we think that we don't feel, we do, just not as much as other people do. So I did, and I realized I would rather tie myself to her than lose her over my dumb prophecy of not wanting to be tied down."

"Does it get easier?" Seriously, what's with you and your questions? It's the drink. Yup, it probably is.

"Sure, but not when you don't know what you want."

Well, that's not exactly comforting. As soon as the bartender fills your glass, you drain it dry again, and you feel the buzz coming back again.

"Look, you've obviously got someone you really care about--"

"Again, what makes you think you know me?" you growl, glaring at him for being spot on.

"That look in your eye... it's the same look I had in my eyes when I knew she was pregnant," you avert your gaze at that, he continues, "The only thing I can tell you is this: listen. I think you already know what you want, you just won't let it be the answer because you're afraid of something, obviously. But I can tell you right now it's worth it."

For a while, it gets you thinking that maybe, just maybe, he's right. But everything's too fresh and you're too buzzed to be thinking of something life changing, so you wave him off and he chuckles and thankfully moves on to other topics.

He leaves not too long after that conversation, giving you a knowing look before paying for the rest of your day's drinks. It wasn't necessary, and you almost punch him for it, but you're too disoriented to even do something about it. Instead, you take advantage of his generosity and drink some more.

It's a miracle you're still sitting up with the amount of alcohol you've consumed, but that's another thanks to the stranger who ordered food for you. You're enjoying yourself until a horny idiot decides to ruin your time. You don't even think twice when he sets his hand on your waist, twisting his wrist and delivering a punch to the back of his neck, effectively knocking him out as his face hits the bar before he slides down the floor. You snort drunkenly as you realize you did all that while sitting down.

The bartender looks like he wants to kick you out, but is only holding out on it because of the money you've given him for the night. You make the decision easier for him as you step down and put down another 20 for his troubles, before standing up to a moving world. It feels like there's an earthquake and you're actually aware that you're having trouble walking yourself, but you stand tall and get yourself out of there.

You don't know how long it takes for you to get home, but when you do, it's already dark out and Root has thankfully made herself scarce. You have food delivered to your place, pay a huge unnecessary tip, and scarf down on the steak you ordered before shedding your clothes and collapsing on the bed when you're done.

A wrinkly texture distracts you though, and you push yourself off from the bed and see a note there.

I'm sorry. Call me when you're ready to talk.

You crinkle the paper and throw it away from you, huffing in frustration. How many times does she have to say sorry for something that is your fault? Ugh, this sucks, you think to yourself and collapse on the bed, lying on your stomach. The alcohol helps you fall asleep, and soon, you lose consciousness, with your last thoughts lingering on Root.

-

And then, you died.

Or, more accurately, you sacrificed yourself and got yourself captured.

For the team. For Root. For your kid.

The decision, when it all came down to it, was a no-brainer for you. Your team needed to escape and there was no way in hell all of you would get out of there without pressing the override button, not without all of you dying. You couldn't have that -- couldn't allow Samaritan to have this.

Out of all of you, you were the most expendable. Fusco has a kid to get home to, The Machine needs both Finch and Reese to take care of the numbers, and Root... Root, who you couldn't let Samaritan kill, was a mother to be.

You? You were dispensable.

It's a shame on your part that you never got to talk about what you would do about what's growing inside Root. You hoped through the last kiss you shared that Root got the message, that you wanted -- needed -- her to keep what was left of you.

You've been selfish for refusing to talk about what was essentially your responsibility, incredibly so, and if you ever make it out of this alive, you've vowed to make it up to her.

But as soon as you wake up from your death, in a stale white room with a mirror in front of your bed that's obviously two-way, machines beeping around you, and with Greer standing beside you looking for all intents and purposes like you've just given him what he wanted -- what Samaritan wanted -- you know getting back to your team is not going to be easy.

You've always been able to come up with exit strategies whenever your back is against the wall, but now you're not so sure you could even escape this hell hole they placed you in... wherever the hell it is.

-

You wake up with your eyes closed, focusing on breathing in huge gulps of air through your mouth as you struggle to calm your heart, which feels a lot like it's about to explode. The zip ties on your arms and legs holding you to a chair don't help. The room smells a lot like acrid sweat, your sweat, and that, coupled with your difficulty to breathe are about the only things you can hold on to at the moment.

Somewhere in front of you, you hear Martine chuckling to herself, walking around the room as she prepares another rollercoaster ride for you.

"Just tell us where the Machine is, Sameen, and we can end this," she tells you in her sultry voice, which only sparks a fresh wave of anger in you as you open your eyes lazily and smirk.

"I dunno...I think...I'm having fun here."

It's not the wisest thing you've done, being smart when it's only your first day of torture, but riling up Martine makes up for the pain your body's going through at the moment. She's torturing you like Control tortured Root -- a barbiturate in one arm to knock you out and an amphetamine in the other.

You're already shaking, and it's taking too much effort for you to keep yourself conscious, much less find your breath, but you manage.

Martine tuts, smirking at you as if you've given her the answer she wants.

"That's a shame, Sameen," she says just as she plunges another barbiturate in you, making you sit up from the chair as you freeze over the pinch of the needle.

"Don't...call me that," you growl, glaring at her as your vision fades, until you lose consciousness.

The moment you wake up, your tremors have worsened, and it's clear to you that you may or may not have 2 rounds left of this before your heart explodes. You're usually able to withstand pleasure with pain, it's your favourite thing in the world after all, but this... this pain is like no other. But you make do, even though your world is partly spinning from too much drugs, even though you're just about ready to projectile vomit in front of Martine, who's cackling with delight at your obvious discomfort.

You spit in her direction, which lands on her brand new shoes. She looks down at it with a devilish smirk.

"You're really making this easier for me," before you know it, your head is reeling to the right from the pressure on your left cheek, the pain spreading to your face just as quick. You don't give her the satisfaction of knowing you're hurt, so you look at her in what's left of your blurred vision and smirk in her direction.

"You might...as well kill me...now. You're...not...get-ting any...thing from...me," you manage to say through your tremors, which results in you getting another punch, this time on your right cheek.

Just as soon as you're facing her, she gives you another shot of barbiturate, knocking you out cold.

A door opens, light footsteps stopping beside Martine who's ready to inject the amphetamine on their captive.

"I think she's had quite enough for the day, Martine," Greer commands, resulting in a reluctant nod from the blonde, "We'll continue this tomorrow. For now, it's time for our pet to rest."

"What's our next course of action, sir?"

"Electrocution."

"And if it still doesn't get us the answers that we need?"

Greer huffs an amused breath, "Not to worry. Samaritan already has an alternative torture, my dear. One in which I'm sure will surely break our soldier here."

The blonde smirks, pleased with the news, before she packs her materials and leaves the room, ordering their men to get Sameen back to her room.

Tomorrow, she will have her fun.

-

They use the Parilla technique on you the next day, and for once, you find yourself lucky for having met a kinky partner in Root, who has tasered you more than a couple of times during sex.

Of course, the voltage is a lot higher than that of a taser, but the memory of it allows you to think about all the good times you've had with Root -- which involuntarily leads your thoughts to the baby she's carrying inside of her. You're not a sentimental person, but the thought of coming home to something -- someone -- helps you get through the torture.

The combination of barbiturate and amphetamine damages your heart, and so combined with Martine's fascination of electrocuting you, you almost die, if not again for your darling saviour Greer who, this time, doesn't keep his cool and chides his reckless operative for almost killing you.

You chuckle breathlessly when you hear Martine's reluctant submission, resulting with her giving you another punch to the face, which does nothing but make you laugh even more. You never thought you'd have fun, but riling up Martine is almost worth the torture.

When Greer leaves with a stern command to pack things up and bring you back to your room, Martine grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back, the pain is enough to bring you to attention as you glare up at her.

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Sameen. I'm sure Samaritan will realize that we won't have any use for you, and I can't wait for the day I get to dispose of your body," she snarls, and you smirk, but it only lasts for a little while as she knocks you out cold with a punch.

-

The first thing you come to when you wake up is the smell of steak. When you open your eyes, you realize that indeed, you're back in your room, strapped to your bed like an animal ready to pounce on its prey.

As much as you want to attempt your escape, which you already know will be fruitless, the amount of physical torture you've been through in the past couple of days wouldn't allow you to. You're weak and you're pretty sure you've only eaten once.

The second thing you realize is that they have you on dextrose. You can't read the liquid's label from here, but you're sure it's the one keeping you alive at the moment. It probably has something in it for the drugs they've injected you with two, three days ago.

When you turn your head to the left, that's where you see Greer standing, hands in his pockets, smiling when you finally meet his gaze. You look towards the table positioned to his left where you see the steak, and glance back at him, scoffing.

"Bribing me already, Gramps? Sammy can't think of anything else to torture me with?"

"Oh, you're mistaken, Sameen. This isn't for you," he says in his usual condescending, patronizing English accent. Bastard.

"Oh, I get it. This is the new torture technique--making me smell my favourite food without letting me eat it. Hmmm, I'm definitely going to give you the location of the Machine," you retort dripping with sarcasm, making him smile wider.

"I'm glad you could still find humour in this, my dear Sameen, because I assure you, what Samaritan has planned for you will not be pleasurable in any way," he walks to the door, but turns back at the last second just as three of his men enter the room, "Eat, my dear. You'll need it to endure the next phase."

It's safe to say you didn't eat the steak. You, however, beat the shit out of the three people he sent in. Punched the throat of the first, kicked the balls of the second, and poked the fork through the third's eyes. It's enough entertainment to keep you fed, even though you get yourself knocked out for the third time in a row.

-

When you open your eyes, the first thing you see is the operation lighthead above you. You look around, confused. Greer didn't say anything about an operation. Did you injure something? But your questions are answered when a surgical doctor in a mask leans over you.

"How are you doing, Sameen?" he asks, bringing up the scalpel in his hands.

You realize then that whatever it is they're about to do to you, it's not good news. Your breathing changes as you start to panic, looking around, trying to plan your escape, but the doctor and the nurses block what's beyond their circle. When you bring back your focus to yourself, you notice there's a mask over your mouth and nose, making you realize that you're under anaesthesia.

Suddenly, you feel a part of your skin opening just behind your left ear.

"A little more irrigation, please," the doctor says, planting what looks like a chip inside of you, which results in you panicking even more, "Soon you'll forget it's even there. You might feel a tiny pinch," you scrunch your face in an effort to control your breathing, "Almost done," as soon as he says this, you feel him closing the wound, and slowly, you feel yourself losing consciousness.

You're high on sedative once you're done with surgery. You feel numb and feel like you're floating, like you don't have the strength to move. Another doctor places what looks like goggles over your eyes, and you basically ignore pervert Stewart, the doctor who introduces himself, telling you that you have beautiful eyes. He's already made it to your shit list and you've only just met him.

Various images cut one after another, and you don't know what it is about these images, but something about the whole thing feels odd. You can't put it into words, but you're sure that you're being tested, especially when the images cut to the faces of your team. Reese. Finch. Root. Damn it, what the hell is this?

For the first time since you've been brought here, Jeremy Lambert makes his appearance. He gets on this long-winded speech about Samaritan and how it sees full potential in you, selling you the idea that you've been working on the wrong side of this battle. He also tries, like really tries, to tell you that your team has long since given up on finding you. You don't believe that for a second of course. You know they haven't. You know Root hasn't.

You scoff and turn your head to the side, "Did it tell you to bore me to death?"

"Oh, well, if it were up to me, I would've abandoned you long ago--like your so called friends," he says, standing up beside you.

"First thing I'm gonna do when I get out of these straps is make you bleed."

His eyes widen as he retorts sarcastically, "Promises, promises."

Before you know it, you feel another needle being injected, before you feel yourself losing consciousness.

When you wake up, something about the mirror fascinates you. You put a chair in front of it, sit down, and stare at yourself. You don't know how many days it's been since the Stock Exchange, but you're definitely looking pale. You have bags under your eyes and you have already been hit by muscle atrophy. Being in bed for most of your stay other than being operated and tortured is something that's definitely made you thinner. It doesn't help that you haven't eaten anything they've given you -- well, not that you know of.

You notice a patch behind your ear and tilt your head to look at it, and that's when you remember the chip they've implanted in you. You remove the patch and touch the wound. Your world suddenly feels like it's closing in on you, breathing deeply as you caress your wound. Whatever it is that's happened, you need to get out of there.

You smash the mirror in front of you, and already a warning buzzer echoes throughout wherever it is they keep you. Grabbing one of the shards of glass, you prepare yourself for the onslaught of operatives coming your way.

You're definitely not disappointed when your expectations are met; two operatives come inside to put you down. You kill the one with a slash to his throat, but you feel another needle injected on your neck as the other operative holds you in a chokehold. It doesn't take long before it effectively knocks you out.

As soon as you regain your consciousness, you realize that you're slumped sitting on a moving wheelchair, hearing two voices talk behind you.

"She's like an animal. I've never seen anyone so determined to get out of here," says a voice you don't recognize. It's probably one of the naive nurses. She sounds stupid.

"It's to be expected. Don't worry, once Ms. Shaw here decides to be cooperative, a wild animal will be the least of your worries," another voice you recognize says. Lambert.

You roll your eyes. You can't wait to kill the guy. Unfortunately for him and the nurse, they didn't even think to check your hand as you feel the shard of glass on your hand, giving you the perfect chance to untie yourself discretely while you pretend to be unconscious.

As soon as you're wheeled into the elevator, you cut yourself completely and tackle the nurse, turning her around when you see Lambert drawing his gun from the corner of your eye and putting her in front of you as soon as Lambert fires away. He hits the nurse, which allows you to draw the nurse's gun and shoot away at him. Safe to say you don't shoot him in the kneecaps as he falls down on the ground with a loud groan.

You pull him into the elevator and shoot the camera in it as soon as you do. Picking around his pocket, you find a tube of BZD in his coat pocket. Perfect. It's definitely feeling a lot like Christmas, you think, as you lecture him on the effects of that much BZD in his system, before making him swallow it and taping him on his mouth.

As soon as the door opens, you position yourself behind him just as two operatives come into view. You shoot them both in the kneecaps, both of them missing and hitting Lambert instead. When they're down, you check the status of your captive and find that he's dead. You snort, checking around his pockets for a key card, before patting him.

"That's what you call a team player, Lambert."

You run as fast as you can to the nearest exit that you can think of, but as soon as you're out, you're met with gunfights. Confused, you look around, and realize that your team is actually there to save you, in a helicopter no less.

Finch is obviously driving the whole thing, Reese is on the sidelines trying to protect him, while Root is somewhere on the ground covering for you as you don't waste any more time running to where they are. You land with a thud on the floor, Root close behind as she lies down beside you.

"We've got you, Shaw," she declares in her usual lovesick manner, and for the first time, it comforts you. "The Machine needs you."

"Thanks for saving my ass," you smile, panting in relief as you try to catch your breath.

She cups your face with both hands, "Of course. I looked everywhere for you."

That's when you realize that things are odd, frowning at Root's behaviour. Normally, in the direst situations, Root finds a way to give an innuendo or two your way when the opportunity presents itself. Even when both of you have refused to talk about her pregnancy (mostly you), she's found a way to flirt with you, albeit not as usual as she did. You've basically just presented an opportunity, and all you got was a serious declaration.

"What? No innuendos?" you ask, sounding petulant.

She looks confused, blinking, "What do you mean?"

That's odd. You blink at her, before looking around you in the helicopter, finding John and Finch looking at you for an explanation. And that's when you realize, all of this, the escape... it was too easy. It's the chip in your head forming images in your head.

You look back at Root, cupping her face in your hands and caressing her cheeks as you say, "This isn't real. You're not real."

The last thing you see is Root's sad smile before lightness engulfs you.

-

"Wow. I've never seen anyone catch on as fast as she did. I guess it doesn't help that Samaritan doesn't seem to know her teammates," Stewart remarks as he saves the first simulation on his laptop.

Greer tuts, "It appears we have wrinkles to iron out."

"Do we start again, sir?" Lambert asks from behind him as they watch through the glass window.

"Of course. Start the simulation again. Samaritan will learn to duplicate the Machine's acolytes as we go through simulations, and soon, we'll know where it is located."

"Alright, here we go," Stewart presses on a few things on the laptop, "Simulation number 2."

Immediately, the laptop plays a real-time simulation video of Shaw opening her eyes at the operating table.

-

The same thing happens. Except, when you finally get out of the facility, there's no helicopter; no Finch, Reese and Root. For a moment, you think this may be another test that's being done on you through your chip, but everything feels so damn real.

This time, you realize you're in an island, with no means of transportation to get across to where you want to go. But any chance at an escape is something you'll take.

You decide to swim across the ocean, and you're halfway there until the chip inside your head decides to activate, and soon, you're drowning in the pool as you seize, feeling your lungs fill with water, and think, this is the lamest way to die, before your vision darkens.

When you finally come to, the first thing you do is cough out all the water you've inhaled from the water. For a moment, the feeling of water filling in your throat, the tightness of your breathing makes you think that maybe you've managed to escape after all. But when you open your eyes, you find yourself at a shore, and think, it's impossible. This is definitely another test.

"If you want me to believe anything I see, you better make situations that are believable!" you shout to the void, ignoring the looks you gather from passersby. They're not real anyway.

With one last look around you, you inhale and hold your breath, and proceed to dive underwater and drown yourself before another light engulfs you.

-

"Okay," Stewart remarks, dragging out the word, "That was the worst simulation ever. Are you sure Samaritan isn't malfunctioning?"

"Quite sure," Greer answers, sounding grumpy at the unexpected simulation, "Start again."

"Sir, are we sure this is going to work?" Martine asks, doubtful of the whole process. She wishes she can just torture Sameen just as she's tortured her two days ago.

"Patience, Martine. Samaritan is still trying to learn. Soon, these simulations will be as real as Agent Shaw's reality," he says, nodding to Stewart to start again.

"Alright, simulation number 3," Stewart declares as he presses the button, which prompts another real-time simulation video of Shaw opening her eyes.

They don't let Shaw rest until they've reached the 453rd simulation, all of which have ended in the worst ways possible as Samaritan looks like it's using every escape strategy known to man or machine, no matter how stupid, which ends with Shaw always figuring out that she's in a simulation.

She kills herself in all of them.

-

You don't even know anymore.

You're aware of the simulations; aware that you've been through 3532 of them. Samaritan, for all its stupidity in the first couple of simulations it ran, drastically improved when you challenged it to do better.

The simulations felt even more real every time you entered new simulations, and each time, without fail, you find yourself wishing it was until such time in the simulation where you notice that you're being pushed to lead your team to the Machine.

In those 3532 times, you've killed Reese. You don't even know if it's because you wanted to kill him. You don't know who's in control anymore; is it you? Is it Samaritan? But you do kill him, anyway, and each time it leaves you confused -- sometimes, you don't know if you've killed him for real anymore.

Finch isn't safe from you either. You've killed him a few times, if only to stop Samaritan from finding out where the Machine is located.

But in all those 3532 simulations, you've never been able to kill Root. You can't -- couldn't. You've pointed a gun at her 3,000 times and each time you think you're ready to finally end her life along with the others, you doubt yourself. You think it's the baby bump on her stomach -- an information you accidentally slipped in one of your simulations, when you eavesdropped that you've been here for 4 months and you'd wondered out loud why she still wasn't showing in one of your simulations, which Samaritan quickly took note of -- but it's not just that.

When you were still in the ISA, you'd been trained that if you were ever tortured to take your mind somewhere else -- somewhere you think is safe. A safe place, they'd called it. You'd remember scoffing at the idea, which had Hersh quickly clock on you with a glare and a smirk.

"Laugh all you want, Agent Shaw. But even a person with your condition has a safe place," he'd admonished, garnering you the attention of several other agents who had watched on in interest.

"He's right, you know," Cole had whispered in your ear, chuckling at you.

"Shut up," you'd elbowed him and scowled, whispering as Hersh continued his lecture, "You of all people should know that I don't have a safe place, Cole."

"Maybe for now," he'd answered, always the naive optimist, you thought as you looked at him sharply. "I think you just haven't found it yet."

You'd scoffed and chuckled then; shaking your head, "Don't think I'll ever have one."

You've never been more wrong.

Root, you realized only after a hundred simulations, that she was -- is -- your safe place. You still don't know what to do with that shocking revelation.

Sometimes, you think, it's only ever harmed Root and you blame yourself for it. You're the reason why Samaritan found out about her cochlear implant. You're the reason why they know Root's an expecting mother-to-be -- with your kid, no less.

(You can just imagine how Greer had had a field day when he knew about that. You can't wait to kill the bastard if anything happens to them.

Them, for fuck's sake. You're already considering Root and your kid a package.)

You've done nothing but harm Root -- emotionally, physically -- you don't even know if she's even alive out there and looking for you. But every time, in each of your simulations, you can't help but seek her out.

There's something to be said about finding solace and comfort from a person you've initially wanted nothing more than to kill. You're still baffled by the whole thing, but you revel in it. Each time you're with Root in your simulations, you allow yourself to indulge; you allow yourself a moment to be vulnerable around her. You allow Simulation Root to know the truth through your actions -- you care about her, deeply. You can't say you're in love with her, but if the pinpricks in your chest, the flip in your stomach, and the head rush you feel around her are any indication of what love is supposed to be, then you might as well be in love with her.

It's the reason why each time, without fail, with no second thoughts, you kill yourself instead of killing Root. You save her from Samaritan, save her from yourself, because against all odds, you need Root (and your kid) to be alive -- even if it means you can't live with them.

But for all of your indulgence, you've opened up yourself not only to Samaritan, but also to yourself. For the most part, you don't mind. You don't care anymore. It's a simulation, isn't it? This is a simulation. So, you open yourself up, you become emotional in front of Root; for fuck's sake, you cry in front of her.

And then you kill yourself for her -- for them. Over and over.

You don't regret it. Not even if one day, you might not come back alive at all.

-

You don't remember the last time you've had a proper meal. As in, a non-simulation-proper-food-with-proteins-and-carbs meal.

It's been nine months, they said, but to you it doesn't feel that way. You don't even sleep anymore, even when you know you're not in a simulation. You're afraid that when you do that the memories you have of the past become one with your simulations. The lines are already blurry as it is.

Sometimes, you find yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, you haven't really told Root about the scars on your back. But then it's impossible, you're pretty sure you have, and it's the recent Simulation Root who doesn't have a clue about them. You don't know why you don't end yourself right then and there -- end simulation 6741.

Maybe it's because you're losing hope, maybe it's because this is the only chance you'll get to feel Root, to feel closer to her, but your indulgence has exceeded your allowance. It frustrates you to no end that your time with Root is the only time you only feel that anything is real, but even then, it turns out to be a fucking simulation.

You berate yourself endlessly for letting yourself this vulnerable -- for letting yourself feel, but damn it, Root is like a drug. Her presence is addicting to you, even when you know that Samaritan is only using her to get to the Machine.

You kill yourself for her anyway. But this time, you kill yourself not only because you want to save her, but because she's turned out to be the most dangerous place you could go to.

She's no longer your safe place.

Not anymore. Nowhere's safe.

-

It goes on and on until you've hit simulation 7053, where Greer uncharacteristically greets you after your simulation. He's usually absent, only standing in the background giving orders to start another one, but this time, he looks like he's had enough of this.

He takes you on a field trip, brings you to Manhattan and offers you your favourite sandwich, Beatrice Lillie from Park's Deli, but you don't take the bait. Instead, he shows you white balding men in suits in different venues and the troubles they've been causing around the world, particularly hunger in different areas of Asia and Africa, only because they're greedy for money.

You know what he's doing. He's trying to tell you that Samaritan can save them all. It's a futile effort at best, but you can't deny that it gets you thinking. What if? What if the Machine doesn't have the capability of doing this -- saving the world from the perils of rich white men and their greed?

At the end of it all, he lets you meet the one person you didn't know existed, until now.

"Your friend didn't mention me?" the kid asks, shocked at the revelation. "We had a nice talk. She's what you would consider pretty, isn't she?"

Samaritan's Analogue Interface.

He proceeds to tell you that you have no other choice but to join them or else the world dies with World War III. You get a glimpse of it, too, and it's then you realize it isn't real. It will happen in the future, he says, if you don't join them.

You don't believe him for a second.

But then, you really don't know what to believe in anymore.

And then the world fades to white and you wake up in bed.

Another fucking simulation. Goddamn it.

This time, you think, maybe this is your endgame. Maybe you're stuck here until they deem you unworthy.

Maybe, just maybe, there's no more use for you and your team isn't looking for you.

You've lost hope.

-

Lambert takes you on a field trip next. You've learned that it's all just a simulation from your trip with Gramps, so you don't even bother listening to his lectures.

You don't know how many times you roll your eyes that day. He bores you to death. He talks too much. They should know better; you're all action, no talk.

When he finally tells you what the scientist is doing, you don't hesitate to grab the gun from his holster, open the door, and shoot her.

You already want this simulation to be over with.

-

And then you learn from the nurse that you murdering that scientist wasn't a simulation at all. The radio confirms it.

She injects you with another sedative, but you fake its effects. All you could think of is: you're done. You'd rather be dead than go through another simulation. So, you successfully shove her out of your room, but not before you steal the needle.

You slide down with your back against the wall, ready to plunge it into your eyeball and straight to your brain, when you hear it.

....-

Morse code. 4.

.-

..-.

You get a pen from the floor and start to write down the message on your forearm, which is thankfully looping on the radio.

....- .- ..-.

4AF. Why does that sound familiar?

"You and me together would be like a four-alarm fire in an oil refinery," you'd said to her you crossed your way to the elevator, guns blazing.

"Four-alarm fire," you breathe in realization, feeling a little tug on your lips. "Root."

That alone is enough to give you hope. She's still looking for you. Someone is still out there waiting for you.

You don't even mind it when they drag you and knock you out when they put you on the bed for your latest troubles. You don't care at all.

You're glad. You're so fucking glad.

Root is waiting. She hasn't given up on you. It's enough to restore all the hope you'd lost.

The next day, you escape. Whether or not it's real, you don't care. You get to kill Lambert. It's enough.

-

It takes you a week to get back to New York. You avoid all cameras and stick to the shadow map that you still remember; Samaritan knows you all too well that it will only take a second or two of observing your gait before it recognizes you.

You stay off-cam. You avoid all electronics with wireless connections. You don't risk your team's cover being blown, so you don't risk visiting the subway and seeing the team -- seeing Root and your kid. You avoid it at all costs. If this turns out to be real, if it turns out that you've escaped for real this time, then you wouldn't allow your friends to die because of you. So you keep to yourself, but you prepare for the worst. You get yourself an unregistered gun and a burner phone.

It's been a quiet day back, but that's until you receive a text from an unknown number on your burner phone.

Central Park . 2PM.

It's 12 noon. You frown, wondering who would even send a text your way when you haven't contacted anyone, when it clicks. There's only one possibility.

The Machine.

You look around and realize that you're standing in front of a surveillance camera. Not wanting to draw too much attention, you draw up your hood and walk away from the camera's field of vision and make your way to Central Park.

You're an hour early, but you don't mind. You take your time strolling around, albeit with caution, and later settle with a cone of ice cream on a bench in the middle of it all, where you've been asked to wait through another message from the Machine -- or you hope it is.

When the clock hits exactly 2PM, you look around and see three men in suits. Ex-military from the looks of it and the kind of people Samaritan would hire. Suddenly, you figure out what the Machine wants you to do. It wants you to kill them.

You grin and draw the gun from your back, but stop when your phone buzzes with another message.

Don't. Follow with extreme caution. Use the shadow map.

You groan but nod minutely to let the Machine know that you understand, before rolling your eyes at the realization that you're already working errands for the Machine and you're only back a day. Still, you don't mind, especially if it gets you to kill Samaritan's operatives.

You follow all of them throughout the day. When it gets harder for you to use the shadow map, you step out of it, but walk in the least surveilled areas to make sure Samaritan doesn't get wind of you. You also take extra precaution by changing your gait every once in a while.

It's boring for the most part. They're obviously checking out Samaritan sites to make sure that everything's secure. It only gets interesting when it's finally dark and they change their routine.

They enter a building where they climb up to the rooftop through the stairs. It's obvious that they have a covert mandate to accomplish, which intrigues you, hoping you'll get the action you've been craving for soon since you followed them 6 hours ago.

You follow close behind, making sure to keep your legs light as you climb the stairs. The weight loss does wonders to keep you stealth, and once they open the door to the rooftop, you follow closely behind before it shuts and hide at the nearest wall as you watch them approach a guy who's obviously doing something for Samaritan -- something that will help it spread, from the looks of the electronics in his hands.

A buzz in your phone alerts you to another text from the Machine and it only says one word, Now.

You don't waste your time and shoot the guy with the electronics, before shooting two of the operatives, ducking and hiding behind the wall when the last operative shoots back at you. It gives him the perfect opportunity to escape, but he's not fast enough to outrun you as you follow after him.

When you finally exit the building, that's when you notice it. From across the building you came from, you notice a shadow. Someone else is tailing your guy, too. It's enough to make you take extra precautions as you follow him around the city, making sure you're not visible to both the Samaritan operative and the shadow as both of you chase him to a park full of trees.

You place yourself behind a tree that gives you a clear line of sight of both the operative and the shadow. You duck, wondering to yourself who the shadow is, when the operative finally peaks out to shoot. You don't hesitate to point your gun and shoot him in the knee, smirking as he falls down groaning.

You hear a baffled, "What?" that sounds all too familiar on the side and don't waste any more time approaching your could-be killer. Just as the shadow -- a woman, you realize -- faces you, you take them down on the floor with two easy hits.

The woman gasps with her eyes closed as she hits the ground, and that's when it hits you. It's not just any woman at all. It's---

"Root?"

"Shaw," gasps Root in disbelief.

This isn't another simulation, is it? You weren't supposed to see her. You're not supposed to. This is going to risk her life. You force yourself to move away from her, but can't. It feels too real for you to move away from her, but at the same time it feels surreal to finally be in front of the woman you never thought you could miss.

She laughs disbelievingly, her smile falling and widening in a way that you know means she's being cautious, making sure you're real as you're doing the same, staring at her.

You feel one of her hands cup your cheek and the other grab your arm as she pushes herself off the ground.

"Sameen."

Jesus. You never thought you'd hear this again, never thought you needed her to say your name like she never used to in your simulations, like she always used to before you were captured. Only this time, it's full of surprise, awe, and delight.

You wish. You really, really wish this is real and not just another simulation as she stands up, her eyes roaming all over your face, breathing out a smile as she sees that it's you. You don't know what to do with your hands as it stays upright, touching but not touching her all the same.

"You're really here," she smiles and after a pause pulls you into her for a hug, cradling your head with one of her hands while the other is wrapped around your back, gasping in excitement. "She brought you back to me."

Root has never hugged you before, not even in your simulations, but with all the simulations you've been through, you assume the worst. You don't hug her back even though it's taking all of your will to stop yourself from doing so.

Somehow, the hug grounds you. Unlike your simulations, this Root is clearly without a baby bump--and you hope more than anything that she kept your baby. But you're scared, too scared to know if she kept a memory of you, too scared to know if she even wanted a part of you, so you dismiss the thought. If the Machine wants you to take down Samaritan's agents, you can't have this as a distraction--whatever the answer may be.

You push her away, if only to see her face and she does the same, grinning at you with unabashed happiness, before she frowns.

"Wha--What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking down Samaritan one agent at a time," you say matter-of-factly, resulting in another delighted smile from her.

The beating of your heart doubles, triples, at the sight of her smile--a smile you never thought would be the thing makes you feel safe.

You push her back and look away from her when she tries to hug you again, looking down on the floor. It's too much. If this isn't real, it's too much. And if it is, it's too risky.

"I gotta go," you say and leave, walking away from the person you've wanted to see for such a long time.

"Hey--go where?" she asks, hearing her footsteps following behind you. "Wait, when did you escape?"

You shake your head. You don't even know if you escaped for real at all and you don't want to talk about it. "It's complicated, Root. I---"

She turns you around and grasps your arms, pleading, "Then explain it to me. Please."

"I escaped a week ago," you start, not having the courage to look into her eyes and see her reaction--see the possible betrayal or sadness that might seep into her eyes as you tell her the truth. "I couldn't come and find you because it wasn't safe."

"Why?" pain. She sounds like she's in pain, again, thanks to you.

"When they had me, they put me through these tests--these simulations," you explain, this time you look at her, and the confused frown on her face is enough to make you uncomfortable.

"Simulations?"

"Over 7000 of 'em, and always with the same goal: To turn me against all of you. To kill you."

She shakes her head, cupping your cheek with one hand, and you look away from her.

"Well, obviously they failed."

You wish they did, but they didn't. Memories of John and Finch falling biting a bullet from the gun of your hand in many different ways replay in your head.

"No," you shake your head, "they didn't. Because in all the simulations, that's exactly what I did."

She recoils slowly, blinking as she registers the fact that you've admitted to betraying your team. You don't want to wait for the rest of her reaction so you make your leave, but just as you're about to turn away, she grabs your arm and pulls you to the side, again cupping your cheeks in an effort to ground you. This time, you indulge yourself as you look into her eyes--eyes that are pleading with you to stay with her, eyes that are pleading with you to believe her. You hold onto her, if only to feel the reality of this Root.

"You're no longer in a simulation, Sameen. This is real. You're safe," she pleads, then gives you the biggest smile, "I can take you to your son if you don't believe me. Sameen, I kept your son."

You shake your head, refusing to let yourself believe something you've always wanted to believe in. You can't risk it. You can't have it when this turns out to be a ploy to get you back to the Machine. Not now when she's just told you that she kept that part of you--that you have a son.

"Sameen, please, you have to believe me. This isn't a simulation. This is real," she pleads, putting one of your hands in her chest, and you feel the beating of Root's heart. It feels so real. "You're safe now. Let's get back to the subway."

And just when you thought this was all real.

"No," you recoil and draw your gun, pointing it at her, shaking your head, "We can't."

"Shaw..."

"The simplest way to break someone is to rob them of their reality, and they did that well. And maybe you're right, maybe I am safe... but as long as I'm alive... You'll never be safe. He'll never be safe."

"What do you mean?" she asks, shaking her head.

"I could turn on you at any moment," you say, needing her to understand. "and even if I don't, I could lead them to the Machine."

Stubborn as you remember her, she shakes her head again.

"That will never happen."

"I don't know if I'm calling the shots anymore. And neither do you," you smile in disbelief of what you're about to say, "7000 simulations. I killed a lot of people, but the one person I couldn't kill... was you."

She smiles at that information, and it crushes you, because if this turns out to be a simulation, you'd rather kill yourself than endanger the team. You'd kill yourself for her to live--for your son to live.

"So I killed myself. Over and over again," you admit, before pointing the gun to yourself just as you did thousands of times. "And I'd rather do that here and now than to risk your life."

"Okay, Shaw," she says, putting the safety off her gun as she points it to her head.

Wait, what?

"What the hell are you doing?"

"We'll play it your way here. You can't live with me..." she approaches you, her eyes wet from unshed tears, "I can't live without you. So if you die, I die, too."

Unbelievable. Why is she pulling this stunt? She has a son, for fuck's sake!

Shaking your head, pleading in a whisper, "Put that down. You can't do this to---"

"Sander," she cuts you off with the name of your son, making you swallow down the lump that forms in your throat. It makes it all the more harder for you to leave--not when the name of your son makes it even more real, and you think for a second, that maybe Root knows this. "Samuel Alessandro. That's the name of our son, Sam. Your son."

Tears pool in your eyes at the knowledge that she named him after both of you, but still refuse to believe it as you shake your head.

"You could just be making that up. Samaritan could just be making this all up."

She chuckles humourlessly, shaking her head.

"Maybe I am. Maybe if we pull the trigger, this might be a simulation after all," she gives you a determined no non-sense look, "But Samaritan doesn't know you--doesn't know us," but it does. It knows you. "If you really want to believe that, Sam, we might as well make Sander live without his mothers."

You can't believe this. She's insane. She's fucking insane. You watch as her finger curls on the trigger of her gun -- your gun, you realize -- seemingly ready to press it. And you can't have this. You didn't die thousands of deaths just to see her hurt herself. You died to see her live.

"Guess we're about to find out, aren't we?" she probes you with a challenging smile and tears in her eyes. What a fucking idiot.

"Damn it, Root."

She smiles at your exasperation, and for a second you think that Samaritan never quite duplicated it. Never quite made it feel like the sun was shining on you, never quite made it look like she loved you the way you didn't deserve. Maybe this is real after all.

You click the safety off moments after that as she does the same, before putting down your hand, Root following as you do and tucks her gun in her waistband.

It's quiet, both of you staring into each other's eyes, and as if prompted, she cups your face with both hands, leaning her forehead against yours. If this is real, you're embarrassed that you're letting this PDA crap happen, but you indulge nonetheless. You're hidden from view anyway, aren't you?

She breathes you in, eyes closed, lips smiling tightly, and you watch her. You can't take your eyes off her. The warmth of her hands grounds you. All of this is giving you a head rush with the way your heart is pounding wildly in your chest.

She breathes in deeply, pulling away from you as her eyes open, making you lose yourself in those chestnut orbs, just as it always has.

"Let's get you home, shall we?"

At this point, you're powerless to stop yourself from nodding your assent. Home has never sounded better than when Root says it.

You let her drag you home, wherever home is.

-

It's when you're in front of the door of one of Harold's safe houses does the fear in you kick in.

Root's just about to let the two of you in, when you shrug her hold on your wrist and step back. She stops opening the door and notices your grim expression, doesn't hesitate to cup your face again.

It's real, you convince yourself. Root doesn't hold your head like this in your simulations. She never did. Not once.

"Sameen---"

"What if I forget this is all real? How can you trust me with--with him? I don't know if I can trust myself to remember this is real," you voice out your fear, and she caresses your cheeks.

"I'll be here. Every step of the way," she presses, smiling. "Sander will keep you grounded."

"How do you know that?"

She smiles with pure unadulterated happiness as tears form in her eyes, kissing your forehead before letting you go altogether to open the door.

She lets you in first, and you step in tentatively, looking around the loft apartment as Root locks the door behind you. Your gaze doesn't stray too long until you see Fusco's unmistakable form moving inside one of the bedrooms, holding the most delicate, most beautiful little person you've ever seen even from a far.

This is real. It's real. Lionel's here. He was never in your simulations because Samaritan didn't know.

He doesn't notice you as he busies himself holding the kid upright, as if he doesn't have a kid of his own, while grumbling to himself.

"Seriously, Cocoa Puffs, I need sleep, y'know? And I have a son of my own. Maybe you forgot about that?" he grumbles with sarcasm, and you can just about imagine the scowl on his face as he does so that it almost makes you cry from happiness -- if only you were emotional, but you're not. You don't do that thing. No.

He still hasn't noticed you. What a dunce, you think, stopping yourself from chuckling outright.

"You should be thankful that Sander over here takes after Miss Congeniality instead of you. I don't think I have it in me to take care of a little nutball after the day I've had at the precinct, so thank you for putting this down on me. Why can't Wonderboy do this? He's the one who doesn't mind staying up late."

You look at Root for confirmation of that, and she looks back at you with an adoring smile of her own as she chuckles.

"Sorry, Lionel. I was kind of busy, but if it makes you feel better, you're officially and indefinitely relieved from your baby sitting duties."

This time, you see him moving out of the bedroom with more determination, Root meeting him halfway.

"What're you talking about? If this is another one of your--" he stops, mouth gaping wide open in disbelief when he realizes your presence by the front door.

He looks at Root first, who's now carrying Sander -- your son -- before doing a double take on you. He shakes his head, stares at Root and Sander as if confirming that he's still awake, before looking back at you.

"Y'know, I don't know if it's just your family or not--I think I'm turning fucking crazy just by being near you," he grumbles, "But am I really seeing Shaw by the door?"

Root chuckles softly, obviously taking care not to rattle Sander in her arms as he coos at her peacefully. The sound of it makes you smile involuntarily in disbelief. Everything fades away and the only thing you can focus on is the little bundle in Root's arms.

Christ, you have a fucking son.

"She's back. I found her," is what she says to answer his question, bringing you out of your daze when you realize Sander's getting nearer and nearer to you until he's a feet away from you.

Root raises his arms your way, and says in the softest and most tender tone you're sure she only reserves for your son, "Look, who's back, baby."

It takes a few more encouragements from her part, but finally, finally, Sander glances your way, and all the breath leaves your lungs at the sight.

He's beautiful. His hair is brown, but a lot lighter than yours and Root's combined, which you're sure he got from Root. Looking at him, it's obvious that he's an amalgamation of you and Root's looks. But the thing that takes your breath the most, the thing that tells you that this is real, that Samaritan can never create this in your simulations, is his eyes.

He has your eyes; dark, curious, but still maintaining that soft quality in them that comes from Root's. But it's mostly yours.

Suddenly, Root's fierce determination and belief that Sander will help ground you make sense. And it does, because you're finally able to convince yourself for the first time that this is real.

You don't know what to say as you stare at him, but what comes out of your mouth in a whisper is, "He has my eyes."

A tear slips down from Root's eyes, smiling happily as she steps closer to you, trying to respect your boundaries.

"Yeah, and your sunny disposition, too," Lionel interjects from beside you, making you jump in surprise, forgetting for a moment that he's still there.

And of course, he breaks the fucking moment. It's definitely good to be back.

Root rolls her eyes annoyingly at him as you do the same, only yours is done with a touch of amusement.

"Way to kill the mood, Lionel. I'm glad you're still as whiney as ever."

"And I'm glad you're back," he retorts, seriously this time, "Seriously, don't go anywhere else, alright? I don't think we could handle any more of her crazy if you were gone a little longer."

You allow yourself to chuckle at that, can't help yourself as your lips widen in a smile especially when Root scowls his way.

You missed this. You missed your team dynamic. But you know that out of all of them, Root and Lionel are probably the only two people who can trust you fully. Finch and Reese would doubt your presence, would probably think you're a sleeper agent. You'd be disappointed otherwise.

"Thank you, Lionel. I think you should leave now and let us have a proper reunion without your unnecessary comments," Root says with a scowl, but the mirth you see in her eyes lets you know that she's half-joking, all this as she's tenderly stroking Sander's little amount of hair in his head.

"Gladly," he retorts with a scoff and a shake of his head as he opens the door, "See ya around, Lucy and Ethel," and then puts on a soft smile on his face that you only remember seeing when he bought you a drink for Persian New Year more than a year ago. "Goodbye, little Sander. Don't let these crazies turn you into one," he waves at him, which gets a coo out of your son before he leaves.

When the door closes, silence envelops the apartment. It isn't stifling, but it's uncomfortable in a way that you find comfort in it.

You feel a light hand land on your shoulder and freeze. It leaves your shoulder then hits you again and again and again, and you know that it's Sander as you turn around slowly to face him, his hands tapping you where he can, until it finally lands on your face.

You want to touch him badly, but you still don't trust yourself to break, and Root obviously knows this as she steps closer until Sander's the only thing between you and her.

"It's okay, Sam. You're safe now."

You look at her and feel reassured when she flashes you a smile, and then look back at your son who still has his hand on your face. He reaches out with the other and Root complies by bringing him closer to you as both hands reach out to touch your face, curious eyes roaming around yours, and it feels like at such a young age, he's already trying to manipulate you.

You reach out and grasp one of his hands tentatively, and the touch catches his attention as his gaze flits from your face to your hand on his, which you squeeze softly as you try to feel him for the first time. The squeeze pulls a coo out of him as he finally reels back in Root's arms and looks at her, his lips curling slightly in what looks like a smile.

It takes your breath away, and you're pretty sure you're staring at him in awe.

Root grins and rocks him slightly, "Yes, that's your mama. Mama Sameen." He coos again in her arms, looking at you, still with his lips curled up.

"Can I..." you offer before you even know your mouth is opening.

Root looks up and she knows. Just knows. You don't know how she's always known what you want to say without you needing to say it, but she does -- always has.

"Of course you can, Sweetie." Sweetie.

The sound melts the hardness that's gathered in your chest and sends chills down your spine, and you release an exhale at the comfort of finally hearing that stupid pet name again.

She hands you Sander, who looks on in interest as he's transferred from Root's arms to yours. You already know he's going to be a smart kid just by looking at his eyes, and you couldn't be happier for that.

When you're finally holding him in your arms and when his hands land on your face again, you feel yourself smiling in disbelief. You can't believe that someone like this came out of you and Root. You can't believe he's yours, and yet he's everything you never thought you wanted in your life.

You look up at Root, who leans her forehead against yours when you do, and close your eyes, cherishing this moment.

Samaritan is still out there. This isn't over. And now that you're back, now that you have a family, it's enough to push you that this has to end. You're going to end this. It has to end.

You pull back from Root and hold Sander closer to you, rocking softly as he continues to look at you with the curiosity of a child. Grabbing one of his hands, you squeeze it, looking at Root with more determination than you've felt in your life.

"We're going to end this. We're going to beat Samaritan."

Root smiles devilishly, "Oh, Sameen. We will win now that you're back."

You share a smile at that, before you realize that Sander's fidgeting in your arms, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"He's hungry," is all you say from your medical knowledge, and Root knows this, doesn't waste any more time as he gets him from you and heads straight to the bedroom.

You follow, until Root lifts her shirt and her bra after sitting on the bed, stopping yourself by the door as you look away.

You hear Root chuckling at you, "Sameen, don't be a prude. It's not like you haven't sucked these yourself."

You groan and bump your head behind you on the wall. If there's anything you didn't miss, it's her pick-up lines. Unbelievable. She has the gall to flirt with you while feeding your son.

"Root, please don't make breast feeding weirder than it should be."

"But you make it so easy."

Even without looking, you know she's sporting that stupid smirk on her face. You fight the smile that's threatening to come out of your face and shake your head.

"Seriously, Sam. Come in. If you're really uncomfortable, I have some of your old clothes in the walk-in closet. You can take a shower if you want to."

So you take her advice and avoid looking at her at all costs, feeling yourself breathe a little easier once you're in the confines of the shower. You don't know how long it's been since you've had a warm shower, but you're certainly pleased when you find there's a dial for it. You're even more pleased that the walk-in closet indeed had some of your old clothes in it. It's been a long time since you've worn something that's yours.

You shed off your clothes as quick as you can and turn on the shower, warm water scalding your skin with a pleasing pain that makes your body throb and relax at the same time.

The shower allows you ample space and time to think, and you realize that this all feels domestic -- clothes in the walk-in closet, a bedroom that looked like it's fully furnished and child friendly, and Sander.

It should feel uncomfortable, it should make you feel like running for the metaphorical hills, but all it does is make you feel like you finally have a home to call your own. Granted, it's Harold's, and you'd much rather get a place that's exclusively paid by you -- and Root, in this case -- but it's home for now.

And maybe the idea of that makes you squirm a little. After all, this is exactly the kind of thing that you've been avoiding all your life -- settling. But with Root, and now Sander, it makes sense. It's like the last puzzle piece you never knew you needed to slot in that hole you've always felt you had in your life.

This is your home now. And your sociopathic heart is okay with it.

You beat the hell out of Samaritan a month later. You're all wounded, some even more so than others (including you), but you survived. All of you did.

You finally get to live in peace with the family you never thought you wanted.

like mothers, like son

Chapter Summary

In which, Sander almost gives Finch a heart attack from his antics.

Chapter Notes

thank you so much for all the kudos, kind words, and suggestions from everyone!! :) as a thank you, i'm going to continue this (until there are no more prompts and until i have time to write) for you guys. i haven't actually gotten around to making a tumblr specifically for your prompts (as per someone's suggestion. thank you, whoever you are), but i'm working on it and i'll post it here. thank u!!

work is unbeta-d. grammar mistakes are all mine (english isn't my mother tongue).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harold doesn't know when this happened; this being looking after Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw's son when they're out on a mission.

It doesn't happen often, seeing as Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw would rather either one of them stay behind with Sander while the other is out on a mission. But when it does, it's because of a relevant number that needs taking care of.

(Ms. Shaw, he notes, has been adamant about doing the relevant numbers with Ms. Groves ever since she came back and they beat Samaritan -- even going as far as threatening the Machine, which Harold does not approve of.)

He doesn't mind it, mostly. Sander is a wonderful little boy who's obviously going to take after his mothers' brilliance -- although, Harold admits, that thought isn't exactly comforting, considering Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw's penchant for destruction, of which to this day Harold still doesn't understand.

He does find it endlessly fascinating, however, how at such a young age of 8 months old, anyone can see which of Sander's traits belong to one of his mothers.

Sander is a naturally curious boy, as any child is, Harold imagines, but there's a different glint in his eyes that lets Harold know it's different. It's the same glint he has only ever seen in Root's eyes. What makes this particular trait of his more fascinating is that he has Sameen's eyes, but holds the curiosity and glint of that of Root's.

His appetite, however, obviously came from no one else but Sameen. Not even Mr. Reese eats as fast and as many as her, and Harold can just imagine little Sander's appetite when he grows up. It had been a topic of conversation many a times between him and Root, who finds it amusing, but at the same time exhausting as she's been subjected to long hours of breast feeding.

(Sameen is exceedingly proud that her son takes after her in that respect, frighteningly so, if anyone asks Harold.)

It had also been one of the reasons why Root had to take a back seat with the missions before and after they had defeated Samaritan, but Harold knows Root doesn't mind. Root loves her child more than he ever imagined she would, and Harold's proud to have witnessed her transformation from a cold-blooded assassin to a doting mother.

It's no surprise to Harold that Sander seems to have an affinity for meeting new people, or rather, charming them to him. It's definitely something he's taken from Ms. Groves, but he does all of this with less emotions -- something Harold knows Sander inherited from Sameen.

He wouldn't call it an Axis II personality disorder, far from it, but he definitely expresses less than that of a normal child, or that Harold knows of.

It's a bonus, Harold thinks, because he doesn't think he can handle a wailing child while assisting Mr. Reese, Detective Fusco, or the ladies during their missions.

Sander is a breath of fresh air in that respect; he's fine with playing his toys in the corner without bothering Harold, except when he's hungry (of course). Even then, he doesn't even so much as cry for attention, but instead lets out a grumpy sound (definitely a trait from Sameen).

It also helps that Bear has taken a liking to him, and vice versa. Sometimes, Harold even thinks that Bear is enough to keep the young one happy.

A ringing from the computer pulls Harold out of his thoughts, signalling a call from one of his colleagues. He shakes his head with a fond smile towards Sander who's content sitting on the floor playing with Bear, before returning his attention back on the screen to see John calling.

He presses enter on the keyboard, "Mr. Reese, how's the number?"

"Finch, Reyes is in a lot more trouble than we thought," Reese's breathy deadpan sounds from the speakers, before gun shots follow.

He sits up straight at that, worried, "Mr. Reese, is everything alright?"

More gun shots sound through the speaker, Harold lowering the volume down so as not to alert Sander.

There's a pause in the line, and then, "Turns out Reyes has been trafficking narcotics for the Templarios on the side and decided to call it quits--gangsters aren't taking it too well."

"Shall I call Detective Fusco?" Harold asks, his hands already hovering over the detective's speed dial button.

"No, I got it."

He hears a grunt in the speakers, another gun shot, the sounds of combat fighting, and then silence.

"Who are you?" asks a frightened unfamiliar voice who Harold deduces is Mr. Reyes.

"Detective Riley, homicide," John monotones as he pants, "Next time you think it's a good idea to steal drug money, maybe you'll remember this particular night."

"I--I didn't mean to, I swear it won't happen again! Please don't arrest me!"

"Sorry. Can't do that."

Harold listens as John makes a call to his old contacts in Narcotics, pleased that the number is safe and well taken care of as he relaxes in his chair.

It doesn't last long when he hears a sudden burst of amusement from Sander that seems a little far off from where he was watching him earlier. Immediately, Harold turns around and sees horror as his heart plummets to the ground in fear.

"Oh, no."

"Finch? What's wrong?" sounds John's concerned inquiry through the speakers.

There, sitting in front of one of the weapons cabinet stashed in the subway, is Sander, holding a box of semtex in one hand and a flash grenade in the other with a huge smile on his face. When he sees Harold looking, he raises it up to his direction and gurgles in laughter.

Whose bright idea was it to stash explosives on the lowest shelf of the cabinet? He thought, furious.

"No, no, Alessandro. That's not a toy!" Harold shoots up from his chair and limps his way to him in panic.

Sander deposits the semtex on the ground gently, before handling the flash grenade with both hands, the other tugging at the pin, smiling excitedly at Harold.

"Oh, dear! Alessandro, put that down, please--it's not a toy!"

"Finch?" John's amused tone chirps in his ear.

"I'm afraid little Sander has taken a liking to explosives, Mr. Reese. He's holding a grenade---with a huge smile on his face!"

John chuckles on the other end of the line.

"What did you expect, Finch? This is Root and Shaw's son you're talking about."

"I hardly think this is a laughing matter, Mr. Reese," Harold snaps, appalled by John's lack of concern.

"Relax. Sander's not strong enough to pull the pin. Just pry it away from him."

Harold gently pries away the grenade from Sander's hands, whose brows furrow in confusion, probably wondering why his new toy is being taken away from him as Harold places both the semtex and flash grenade above the cabinet.

He sighs in relief. When he looks back at Sander, he's already sporting a grumpy expression that looks too much like that of Sameen's.

"I've taken away the explosives from him, John, but now he's grumpy."

Another raspy laugh from John.

"Sounds just like Shaw to me."

Harold rolls his eyes at John's lack of assistance, before crouching down to Sander's level.

"I'm sorry, Alessandro, but there are things here," he pats the cabinet, "that aren't suitable for your age because they're a danger to your health. The good news is, you still have other toys to play with. And Bear--Bear!" the dog comes bounding to them with an excited yip, tongue lolling out of his mouth. "Bear's always here to play with you. But this," he pats the cabinet again for good measure with a shake of his head, "is a no, no."

"No-no," Sander echoes, curious and innocent, with his own head shake.

"That's correct," Harold sighs in relief, hoping he really understood before carrying him back to the subway car and placing him on the computer chair he'd vacated earlier.

"Look at you, Finch. That's some parenting skills right there," John's teasing tone chirps in his ear, irritating Harold further.

"Mr. Reese, how many times do I have to remind you to place your weapons where it's not reachable by Alessandro?"

"Finch, all my explosives are placed on the top shelf of my cabinet. I don't think he got that from mine."

Harold closes his eyes in realization. Of course his mothers would forget, they're stubborn. He shakes his head.

"Thank you for your work today, Mr. Reese. You may head home now if you wish. I'll contact you when another number comes up."

"You sure you don't need help with Sander? I can take him home with me and drop him off to the ladies' place first thing tomorrow if you like."

"No, it's alright. I can take it from here. Good night, John."

"Good night, Finch."

As soon as the line clicks shut, Harold doesn't hesitate to speed dial Root. It takes longer than usual for her to answer, but when she does, someone else does.

"Ms. Shaw?"

"This better be important, Finch, or I swear I'm going to shoot someone. And not in the knee," Sameen growls through the phone, aggravating Harold.

"Need I remind you that we work the numbers not to kill them, but to save them? Must you be this hostile, Ms. Shaw?"

"Yeah, yeah, just get to it."

"It's your son," Harold snaps, not pleased with Sameen's attitude. Why is she always like this?

"What?" He hears Root yelp in the background, sounds of the phone transferring, sheets rustling, and a few pained groans and grumbles here and there, making Harold wince.

Oh, dear. No wonder Sameen is grumpy.

"Harold? What's wrong? Is Sander alright?" Root asks, concern laced in her voice.

"Alessandro is fine, Ms. Groves. But I would appreciate it if you and Ms. Shaw take my advice and place your weapons in a higher shelf where he wouldn't reach it."

"What? What happened?"

"He held a semtex in one hand and a flash grenade in the other, Ms. Groves. Almost set off the flash grenade by pulling the pin on it as well--all this with a smile on his face!" Harold exclaims.

"That's my boy," he hears Shaw's amused and proud interjection from the background, making Harold close his eyes and shake his head in exasperation, before a loud smack on flesh and a chuckle meets his ears. "What? Start them young and all that crap, right?"

Harold shakes his eyes at Sameen's ability to even joke about this.

"No, Sameen. There's no way Sander is getting involved in this. He has to decide that for himself," Root chides, before sighing, "Don't mind her, Harry. She's just pissed you interrupted our horizontal dance."

"Root--"

"Ladies, please, I don't need to know all of this," Harold interrupts Sameen before this conversation blows out of proportion.

Root chuckles, "Relax, Harry. Can you put us on speaker, please?"

Harold presses the button to accommodate her, "You're on."

"Hi, baby," Root's tender tone sounds through the speakers, catching Sander's attention as his head snaps up to the computers and his lips widen into a smile.

"Ma-ma?" Sander coos excitedly, looking to Harold for confirmation, which he gives with a nod, before looking back and reaching towards the monitors with his hands as if expecting his mother's face to show up.

"Yes--yes, it is. Mama misses you, little boy," Sander gurgles as if he understands and Harold can't help the fond smile that spreads on his face despite his frustration with his mothers. "Don't give Uncle Harry a hard time any more, okay?"

"Yeah, buddy. Don't give him a heart attack," Sameen interjects with a chuckle, which catches Sander's attention as he gurgles again.

"Da-da?" Sander coos, shocking Harold to silence. What?

"Wait, what? Who's he calling dada? He better not be calling you his dad, Finch," Sameen warns him with her low gravelly voice.

"I--" Harold starts to explain, but is immediately and thankfully interrupted by Root's amused chuckle.

"Sameen, stop scaring Harold. You're the one Sander's calling dada."

"What? No way, he calls me mama when I'm around."

"Well, yes, but--"

"Ladies, please," Harold sighs, effectively silencing the two from arguing further. He knows it will never stop. Honestly, to this day, he hasn't a clue how their relationship works, but he admits that they fit together.

"Sorry, Harry!" Root sing-songs through the speakers, "We'll just get back to our horiz--"

"We'll pick him up bright and early tomorrow. Thanks, Finch!"

The line clicks after Sameen's hurried goodbye, and for that, Harold sighs in relief, not wanting to hear any more of Root's innuendos.

On second thought, Harold wishes he doesn't end up like them. But he knows it's only inevitable, judging by the look on his eyes that's too much of a copy of Root's and Shaw's combined.

He looks back at Sander, sounding for all intents and purposes like he's chuckling to himself because of his mothers' antics. Harold sighs and shakes his head.

Oh, dear.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter will be a prompt sent by one of you lovelies! Send some more for me :)

mother knows best (or not)

Chapter Summary

JustRedO's prompt: Root has a mission, Sander gets sick while in Shaw's care, Shaw doesn't know what to do and calls Root who saves the day, ending with smut (i'm so sorry if it's short lol).

Combined with: a flashback of Sander's baby steps, Reese + Sander, and Team Machine helping Shaw with Sander.

As soon as Root leaves the subway, you sigh in relief and roll your eyes at her 'wink', before looking back at Sander who's happy to stare at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

You smile back, can't help it, before ruffling the hair that's been steadily growing the past few months.

"Looks like it's just you and me, buddy."

He coos and reaches out his arms towards you from his sitting position on the floor for you to carry him, but you don't take the bait as you stand up and help him up from the floor.

"I'm only carrying you if you take more steps for me, buddy. Can you do that for me?"

Sander has had quite the milestone recently, and one of which is finally being able to take baby steps. You know it's normal for his age at 11 months old, but what makes you proud is that he seems to improve everyday.

(Or maybe you're just biased. Or a proud mother. Or both.

You still remember the day he'd started taking baby steps a little over a month ago; 46 days ago, to be exact. It was one of those rare days where you and your family were alone in the subway while the boys ran their own errands.

Root had been playing with Sander on the floor then, when she'd pulled him up to stand -- something both of you had been trying to make a habit of as an exercise for your kid. With Root as his anchor, he'd stood up, and cooed at you, when he did the unexpected and actually fucking stepped towards you.

You'd been in too much shock that you didn't realize your eyes were getting misty and that Root's eyes were shining as well until Sander had fallen back on Root's lap, seemingly chuckling to himself.

Root, of course, recovered quickly and smirked your way.

"Aww, Sameen. Are you crying?" she'd teased, all while she'd been crying and laughing at the same time. The hypocrite.

You'd wiped away the tears and sniffed, focusing on Sander who's still smiling at you.

"Something poked my eyes. Must be the dirt around here in the subway," you'd said as an excuse, but even then you knew it was the worst possible lie you could come up with.

"It's okay to cry, Sam," she'd told you then, this time with a softer and affectionate tone devoid of teasing (sort of).

"Shut up, Root. I'm not crying."

She'd chuckled, not believing you for a second, and you couldn't resist so you'd done the same thing as both of you stared in awe at your son.)

The small frown on his face lets you know that he knows what you want from him but doesn't want to do it, but that he doesn't have a choice anyway so he doesn't pout and soldiers on.

(Thank Christ he doesn't. Root's doing it enough for both of them as it is.)

Once he's up and on his feet, you position yourself behind him and hold on to his raised arms, before taking a few small steps of your own to make him move.

"Come on, buddy. You can do it," you encourage and he does, albeit slowly, but you wait patiently as he completes the step, and another, and another, with you guiding him out of the subway car.

You look up when you hear footsteps coming towards you, seeing none other than Reese smiling at you and Sander, who completely stops and coos when he catches sight of the tall man in the suit.

"Standing tall today, huh, little guy?" Reese greets Sander in his own drawly baby talk that's still somehow delivered in a deadpan.

You roll your eyes but smile anyway when Sander coos and leans towards Reese, who catches on to what you're trying to do and crouches, opening his arms.

"Why don't you come here and show your uncle those steps of yours?"

You pull Sander back to prevent from falling face first on the floor when he leans too much, before pushing him softly to walk towards Reese who's a good 4-5 steps away from both of you. It's a stretch, but Sander's your son and you're confident he can manage.

"Come on, buddy. You can do it," you encourage him, walking forwards as he makes a step of his own. "Now your other leg," he follows through, albeit slowly, but manages anyway. "That's it, Sander. Just 3 more steps now."

Sander manages two and a half steps before falling into Reese's arms who catches him and carries him by his armpits, raising him up in the air as he spins around while cheering for Sander, who laughs at Reese's antics.

"Who's a good boy, Sander? Who's a good boy?"

You watch all of this with a grimace, not knowing whether or not you should find it hilarious or disgusting, but you can't deny that it's definitely a nice change from all the frowning Reese does.

(It's about damn time, but you don't call him out on it because it's a lot like the pot calling the kettle black.)

When that's done, Reese hands him over to you and ruffles his hair, before making his way to his cabinet.

"Why are you here? Thought you had a desk full of cases," you ask while he busies himself putting several mags into his trousers' and coat's pockets, looking a lot like he's preparing for war.

"Well, Shaw, desk work isn't exactly my expertise," he jests with a smirk your way, "Besides, Lionel's not really up to working the numbers today--something about his body aching."

You snort, Sander gurgles in your arms at the sound.

"That's because he needs more exercise."

"That's what I told him, but you know how he gets."

You chuckle, Sander sounding almost like he's doing the same thing with what looks like a mini-version of Root's smirk, which only makes you roll your eyes.

"You, my handsome little boy, are going to break hearts with stupid pick-up lines. I'm calling it."

Sander smiles as if he understands, his hands squeezing behind your neck, before his head falls on your shoulder. You change his position so that he's overlooking your shoulder to make him more comfortable, rubbing your hands behind his back.

Just then, another set of footsteps, this time uneven, echoes in the subway, letting you and John know it's Finch as both of you relax imperceptibly.

(It's been a healthy 8 months since the fall of Samaritan, but you've all been traumatised with what all of you had to go through that you still can't help but tense every time someone enters the subway.)

"Ah, I'm glad you're here, Mr. Reese. We have a new number," Harold greets Reese with a smile, stopping he sees you. "Good morning, Ms. Shaw. I take it Ms. Groves has a mission of her own?"

"Yep," you reply, making a popping sound with the letter 'p.' "You know how it gets with her and her all-seeing other half."

Harold nods with raised eyebrows, knowing all too well what that means, before walking behind you.

"And how is this fine young one doing?" You watch as Harold softly touches Sander on his head, before pulling back. "Hmm, is he not feeling well, Ms. Shaw?"

Alarmed, you look at Sander and find that he's only staring at Finch, albeit without the usual cooing, but it isn't at all unusual especially when he's sleepy or he's just woken up.

"Probably just tired. Made him do steps today," you explain, rubbing your hands on the back of his head, Sander's eyes falling of their own accord and him trying to open them but failing. You feel your lips tugging at the sight.

"Well, I suppose that explains it," Harold says, before entering the subway car fully and greeting the robot overlord.

Reese follows him inside soon after, and you leave them to it as you walk away and make your way to Root's obnoxious bedroom.

Honestly, the amount of purple, the lava lamp and the bat cat pillow are all ridiculous, but you can't deny that the bed is very comfortable. And Sander seems to like it a lot here, so you don't really mind.

You lay him down on the bed as gently as possible, and as soon as your hands leave him to fix the blankets to accommodate both of you, his eyes open and he whimpers, reaching out to you.

"Shhh, it's fine, buddy. Mama's here with you," You sooth him right away by rubbing your hand over his stomach while you busy the other removing your boots.

It works, but he still has that uneasy look on his face, so you work faster than usual and lay down beside him as soon as your boots are off, laying him down on top of your chest when he fidgets for more contact.

He isn't usually this clingy, and it's something both you and Root have been grateful for obvious reasons. But you don't mind it when he is. He's your son after all. You'd give up all your emotional rules crap for your little guy (and his other mother--if she's not annoying).

"Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," you kiss the top of his head, before settling back on the pillow, closing your eyes and enjoying the weight of your son on your chest as you continue to rub his back.

It's only when you hear whimpers and feel fidgeting on your chest later that you realize you fell asleep. You open your eyes and look at Sander, who's already looking at you with a grumpy expression on his face and tears running down his cheeks.

You sit up right away, bringing him along with you turn him around to make him face you.

"What's wrong, buddy? Why are you crying?" you ask as you methodically try to check for any bumps that would indicate he's hurt, but find nothing. Next, you check his diapers and find out that it's definitely time for a change. "Sorry I fell asleep, buddy. You must have been uncomfortable. Why don't we change this, huh?"

Sander sniffles, but cries silently with a grumpy expression on his face. Your chest expands at the image in front of you, leaving you with a feeling of guilt for having fallen asleep on him. Some parent you turned out to be.

You lay him down on the bed gently, which gets a whimper from him, but you're quick to reassure him through soothing noises that you're there and you're not leaving, while preparing his change of diapers, a towel, and baby wipes.

Changing his diapers doesn't take long, but even when he's all new and fresh, he continues to whimper and reach towards you for comfort.

"Dada," he coos with a sob.

You flinch, still not used to your son referring to you as his dada whenever he's excited or uneasy -- which, to be fair, rarely happens.

"I'm here. Dada's here. You're okay," you carry him and pull him towards you, rocking yourself gently to sooth him, but to no avail. "Okay, I'll get you something to eat but you have to relax for me, buddy."

It's a good thing you're good at multi-tasking, but you admit it's not coming out as successful as it should be seeing as one part of your task isn't working -- your son hasn't stopped whimpering and sniffling since.

When you've opened up the container with Root's prepared food for Sander, you set him down in his eating table, before placing the food in front of him. That seems to have the desired effect as it stops him from whimpering as he fingers his prepared food and eats.

You leave him to it then and start preparing a bottle of milk, but as soon as you get back to him, halfway through his food, he's already looking green. You don't even need to look for a second longer as you set down the bottle of milk and carry him to the nearest sink in the subway, and get there just in time for him to vomit.

You hold on to him and rub his back while he does so, especially when he starts sobbing after every vomit. Feeling around his forehead, that's when it hits you: he's having a fever. Why you couldn't have thought of that when you first caught sight of him crying -- which is again rare -- leaves you feeling angry at yourself.

You're a doctor, you should have fucking known this was it. But then again, your son has always made you forget what you're good at, and it's only because you don't want to fail him that you end up fumbling around him.

"Oh, my. Is Alessandro alright, Ms. Shaw?" Harold's inquiry comes moments later, which surprises you a bit that you end up snapping at him.

"Does it look like he's okay, Finch?"

Harold is used to you snapping at him that he doesn't so much as blink or flinch when you do, and instead makes himself useful by collecting Sander's baby towel before coming back to you.

"Do you need me to call a paediatrician?"

"I'm a doctor, for fuck's sake," you growl and then sigh, taking the towels from him and wiping Sander's face and hands when he's done vomiting. Why do you have to be such an asshole? "I think I got it. Thanks, Finch."

He nods, but doesn't move as he places a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm sure it's just a fever, Ms. Shaw. Alessandro will be fine."

You nod, not trusting yourself to not snap his head off for intruding, and thankfully he gets the message as he pulls away and makes his way back to the subway car.

There's a feeling spreading in your chest that feels like your heart is being squeezed, and you know it's because you're scared for your son -- Finch probably knows about it, too, hence the hand comforting shit. But you set that all aside and focus on getting Sander better as you make your way back to Root's room and set him back on his seat before taking away his food.

"Stay right there, buddy. I'll just get you water, okay?"

He shakes his head and sobs, and you feel an uncomfortable constricting feeling in your chest for your son, before leaving him to fill another bottle with water, before handing it to him. He shakes his head at you again and protests. "No!"

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. This is the first time you've seen him throw a tantrum, and boy, they really are annoying.

"Sander, I need you to drink water before giving you your milk."

"No," he shakes his head again and again, making you sigh.

"I promise. Just a little sip, and then you can have your milk so you can rest. Alright?" the explanation is enough to silence him for a bit before he drinks from the bottle with your help. He takes more than you ask him to, and it leaves you satisfied as you give him the bottle with milk in it.

You wait for him to stop on his own, trusting that he knows how much he can take, before putting the bottle down and laying him down on the bed for him to rest. He whimpers again when he feels you leaving.

"I'm here, buddy. Just sleep."

You only leave when he's finally asleep, but not before checking his temperature, which as you've already guessed, is a fever. He hasn't shown any signs of a cold or cough, which means it's not a flu of some kind that he might've caught somewhere. Thank Christ for that.

Stretching your limbs, you make your back to the subway car where Finch is busy directing Reese out of the funk of a number he's found himself taking care of.

"You sure he doesn't need help with that?" you ask, making Finch jump out of his seat from surprise. You chuckle, resulting in a narrowed eyes pointed in your direction before he faces his computers.

"Detective Fusco is en route to Mr. Reese's location, so there's no need to worry. Besides, Alessandro needs you more than the number--speaking of, how is he doing?"

"Better, I hope. He's got a fever, but so far he's not showing any flu-like symptoms, so I guess there's that," you shrug, hiding the fear that's been rearing its ugly head since Sander started crying.

"Good," he smiles, before sitting up straight, "That reminds me... Ms. Groves checked in earlier while you and Alessandro were taking a nap. She said to tell you that it might take her a while before she gets back from taking the number." Not like you expected anything better.

You roll your eyes, "Figures."

Just then, Finch's screen goes blank, and then words appear.

Probability of Analogue Interface's survival: 93.543%

"That's not at all creepy. Stop reading my mind," you scowl at the screen, which thankfully goes back to its original state.

Finch looks at you like he wants to reprimand you for being hostile, but thankfully doesn't say anything more as he returns to assisting Reese and Fusco with the number.

You sit beside him and watch their progress on the screens through the several surveillance feeds that the Machine is providing for Finch's benefit, and provide your unnecessary comments every now and then, which results to Reese chuckling, Fusco grumbling, and Finch sighing in frustration -- like he's starting to regret why he hired all of you. But your fun is cut short when you hear Sander crying, again, which leads to you running back to the room as fast as you can and carrying him to sooth him.

"Shhh, you're okay. Ma--I mean, dada's here," you feel around his forehead, but his temperature doesn't seem to have improved.

He whimpers in pain, frowning as tears fall down his cheeks, and you want to punch something because you're a doctor, but you don't have a fucking clue what to do.

"What's hurting you, buddy? I don't know what to do until you tell me," Sander just shakes his head in response, holding on to you tighter as you rock him gently, before changing him out of his clothes and replacing it with new and lighter ones so as not to suffocate him. That might be a good start.

Once he's dressed up, you make your way back to Finch with Sander in your arms, still crying silently from unease.

"Finch, I don't know what to do."

"You've fed him and changed his clothes, correct?"

"Uhuh."

"And he's taken another nap, correct?"

You nod.

"Hmmm."

"Then I think what's missing here is some TLC, Tiny. I know ya struggle with that thing, but you gotta give a little if you want Sander to feel better," Fusco's Brooklyn accent booms through the speakers, which only serves to irritate you.

"Are you saying I'm not capable of giving TLC to my son?" you snap, which results in a chuckle from Fusco.

"I'm just saying--"

"I think Ms. Shaw is capable enough of giving Alessandro tender loving care..." Harold's interruption drifts off when your glare is directed towards him, daring him to continue. "...in her own way, I suppose?"

You roll your eyes and shake your head, giving your attention back to your son when he pulls his head away to touch your face.

"What is it?" he pouts in response, which you know is his way of saying he wants to go home. "You wanna go home? Will that make you feel better?" he nods, making you sigh and nod your head back as you face Finch. "I guess we're out here, Finch."

"Please don't hesitate to call me if you need a paediatrician, Ms. Shaw. Take care. I hope Alessandro feels better."

"Thanks, will do."

But even home doesn't make Sander feel better, and the fear is starting to grate on your skin that it leaves you no other choice but to bother Root because she's so much better at this than you will ever be.

"Hey Sweetie, how are you and my favourite little munchkin?"

"How long until you get back home?"

You hear her pause on the other end of the line. "I'm almost done here. Is something wrong?"

"It's Sander. He's sick, I've tried everything and he's still not feeling any better. It's not a flu, but his fever is pretty high. And I--I don't know what else to do. I--"

"Sameen, baby, relax," Root sooths you, in the middle of a gunfight that's just started. A fucking gunfight. "Have you given him a bath? It usually makes him feel better."

Why the hell haven't you thought of that? Fuck's sake, Shaw.

"Not yet," you grumble, annoyed with yourself, making your way to the bathroom to prepare Sander's bath, all while listening to Root running around and gunning people.

Root chuckles and pants, "There you go, Sweetie. Make sure it's with lukewarm water; otherwise you'll make it worse for him. If he still doesn't feel better, just stay with him. I'll be back as soon as I'm done with this."

"Fine," you mutter, before regaining your voice. "And don't come back here needing stitches. I've already had a handful with Sander today."

Again, she chuckles, making you roll your eyes.

"I'll try my best. Give him a kiss from me?"

You roll your eyes, "Whatever. Just... come home soon."

You give Sander a kiss from Root anyway as soon as you put the phone down, before stripping him off of his clothes and diapers, depositing him in his mini-bath tub.

True to Root's word, the bath seems to have soothed Sander to the point of silence. His temperature has also gone down a bit, so you decide to put him in his crib to take a nap. But as soon as his back touches the bed, he whimpers again and stretches his arms towards you, not wanting to be separated.

You roll your eyes affectionately, because of course he's needy when he's sick. Just like Root.

Settling yourself on the couch with Sander in your arms, you turn on the television and turn it to the lowest level while your son sleeps in your arms.

The next thing you know, your stomach is clenching and your spine is arching from pleasure, making you open your eyes in panic as you sit up, hearing a muffled 'mmph' between your legs, where Root pulls her mouth from around your shaft just in time to smirk at you as your semi-hard on bounces in the air.

What the hell?

"About time you woke up, Sweetie. Now I can reward you properly for being such a good mother to Sander," she says in her sultry tone, your cock twitching at the thought.

You push her back slightly, looking around for Sander. "Jesus, Root! What the hell are you doing? And where's Sander? Is he okay?"

"Sander's doing much better thanks to her doctor mama."

She sits down on your lap, leaning down to kiss your neck as she gyrates on top of you. The feeling of her hot centre on your shaft makes your eyes roll back into your skull, making you put your hands on her hips.

"Root," you groan, not sure whether or not you want her to stop or keep going as she nips and bites at your neck. "Are you sure Sand--"

She pulls away, puts her arms around your neck, and kisses your lips softly.

"Yes, Sameen. Sander's fine and he's sleeping in his room. Now, will you please just fuck me?"

Your self-restraint flies out of the window then as you growl and kiss her roughly, pushing away her leather jacket as you do so. She kisses you back with the same vigour, pulling away to remove her shirt, before kissing you back just as rough, moaning into your mouth.

The sound only makes your cock harden further, and she feels this, pulling away from you to stand up and unbutton her jeans. You watch as she removes it, slowly, with a smirk on her face, while you do the same with your jeans and boxers. As soon as her jeans and underwear are off, the glistening lips between her legs is the only thing you can focus on.

"What's got you worked up?" you ask with a smug tone as she takes her rightful place on your lap, holding on to your shaft as she lines it up on her labia, before grinding on your length, making you groan as you guide her by pulling her ass.

"You, mostly," she moans, before kneeling up to line up your cock in her opening, before sinking down on your lap with all your length inside of her tight walls.

"Fuck, Root."

"Do it, Sam. Fuck me."

And you do. You fuck her all night into oblivion until both of you are a heaving mess on the couch with her lying on top of you.

If this is the kind of reward you get for babysitting, then you'd much rather take care of Sander (and do Root later) than do the numbers.

Or maybe that's just your cock talking. Whatever. (It's not.)

play date full of swingers

Chapter Summary

Nesi23's prompt: Jealous/protective Shaw. Little family in a play date, but Shaw doesn't want to let Sander go and carries him the whole time.

this didn't end up exactly like the prompt. i honestly don't know what happened with this chapter. i'm still confused. hahaha. so please don't take it exactly as the prompt says, but i did try and i hope you still like it.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Do we really have to do this?"

You, Root and Sander are on your way to a play date that Root had the Machine check you in at some quaint little play ground that's definitely child friendly (you would know; you checked the area thrice to make sure).

You of all people know that Sander needs to socialize -- you don't want him to end up like you -- but you guess you have a valid concern for the whole thing; it's a social gathering after all and you hate anything social. You don't know why you had to come at all when you know Root can handle herself and Sander's security well enough on her own, especially with a robot overlord keeping watch over your son.

(The Machine's taken to him like Sander is its son, too -- Root and the Machine have a creepy connection like that. But you can't complain, not when your son gets the extra eyes you need if someone so much as thinks about hurting him.)

Root sighs as she buckles Sander in the stroller, before pushing it out of your loft as you follow behind her, begrudgingly. Seriously, this sucks.

"Sameen, how many times do I have to tell you that this is important? Sander needs to communicate with babies his age," she explains patiently while you wait for the elevator to arrive on your floor.

"I know that, Root. I don't exactly want him to end up like me," you explain, which gets an understanding look from Root which you roll your eyes at. "But do I really have to come?"

You're aware that you sound petulant, but you'd rather be running a mission than doing this.

"I thought you already did last night?" Root replies with a teasing smirk just as the elevator arrives at your floor, she winks at you before entering, which only makes you shake your head.

You did, alright, but that doesn't mean she can convince you because she was great in bed.

You follow her inside, placing yourself beside the stroller.

"Look, I just don't get why I have to come when you've been doing this on your own for a while now. I might actually end up shooting people here, Root."

She smiles sheepishly at you, but it only annoys you further when she still somehow looks smug while doing it.

"I may have omitted a little detail about the previous play dates I've attended," she admits, biting her lip. "I haven't been attending them alone."

This time, you couldn't have snapped your head in her direction fast enough that it's a miracle you don't get a whiplash.

"What the hell does that even mean? You found yourself another girlfriend that you haven't told me about?" you growl, aware that you sound jealous.

You are, for God's sake -- you don't want anyone else to be with Root. You didn't die 7,000 times and aren't living for her now only for her to go shack off with someone else along with your son. No can do.

As usual, she doesn't take you seriously, and instead a huge grin on her face appears just in time for the elevator to arrive on the ground floor. She steps off and pushes the stroller out with a bounce in her step, and you follow, stomping your feet as you make it out of the building.

As soon as you're outside, she turns back to you and grins.

"Are you jealous, Sameen?"

"In your dreams," you scoff, scowling. "Answer the fucking question, Root."

She chuckles, slowing down her walk as she waits for you to catch up before scooping up your hand with one of hers. You try to pull away, but she only tightens the grip and you're left with no choice but to hold hands with her. It's a new thing between you two, and surprisingly, it feels good. But that doesn't mean she gets a free pass every time. You still hate making contact, after all. You just don't hate her -- sometimes.

"Relax, Sweetie. I wouldn't dream of finding someone else. Besides, I bet anyone other than you would be boring," she says, batting her eyelashes at you to annoy you.

It does.

"Yeah, until your robot overlord becomes a humanoid and you decide to shack up with it," you huff, rolling your eyes. "And you still haven't answered my question."

This time, she sighs and rolls her eyes affectionately.

"What I meant was that I had someone come along with me. It's usually either Harry, Lurch, or Lionel. And while it's fun seeing them in an unfamiliar territory--you should totally see Lionel trying hard to get the other mothers' numbers--I don't exactly enjoy the gossip that I'm rotating my fun between three men."

You stare at her, mortified at the fact that all of your friends have taken your place and assisted Root without your knowledge.

"Damn it, Root," you snap, walking faster as she tries to follow closely behind, your hands still linked together.

"I know how much you hate social gatherings, Sam. That's why I never bothered asking you."

"Yeah, but you never told me the guys had to take my place," you grumble, sounding a lot like a child throwing tantrums. You'd be ashamed of it if it wasn't Root you're talking to. "And now... what? Some of them think that one of them is Sander's father? No way."

"Of course not," Root chuckles, "But getting asked if I'm available for a threesome is really getting old just because they don't believe that I have a partner."

That detail only infuriates you further, and you end up dragging her forward to the location. Somehow, getting to shoot someone seems more of a possibility, and you're looking forward to it.

"Walk faster, then, or we might be late."

Root chuckles and shakes her head with an adoring look on her face that you can feel even without looking, and it makes you want to punch her in the face. And kiss her. Idiot.

Arriving at the play ground, however, is a different story altogether. Even from a far, it's obvious that this Manhattan play date thing that the Machine checked you in is a renowned one; so much so that there are a lot of squealing babies and mingling parents on the site.

It looks every bit like a nightmare to you. You don't know whether it's a lapse you're having from the simulations (you still struggle, but rarely nowadays) or it's constant vigilance as a trained government operative and a Marine, but every nerve and muscle in your body tenses at the idea of spending the day surrounded with so many people.

You of all people know that anyone, mostly the least expected people, turn out to be the bad guys. Suddenly, the idea that Root had one of the guys accompany her doesn't seem like a bad idea now after all, especially if it so happens that someone creates trouble here. That doesn't mean she's forgiven, because she's not.

You're aware that you're being paranoid and irrational, but just before you reach all the excited parents, you place one hand on the stroller, silently telling Root to stop, who does so with a confused frown on her face.

"What are you doing?"

You ignore her and kneel before Sander, who smirks at you from his place and reaches out to you once you unbuckle the straps around his body, and proceed to carry him as you stand up, before continuing your walk to all the excited mothers.

You hear Root sigh behind you, making you look back at her with a challenging eyebrow, and she meets yours with a disapproving frown.

"Sam, if you're going to do this, at least let Sander walk on his own."

He's already capable of walking on his own, albeit with a few falls every now and then -- something all those daily steps exercises have helped him with. But you don't really mind carrying him, which you voice out to her.

"Sweetie, No one is going to hurt Sander here."

You roll your eyes, "Can't I just hold my son?"

She looks at you like she doesn't know whether she should find the whole thing adorable, amusing or frustrating, so she ends up shaking her head with a confused chuckle before throwing her hands up in surrender. Ha! Score 1 for Shaw.

"Samantha! There you are!"

You turn around to see a woman in her early 30's who looks like she's from the suburbs fast approaching both of you with a delighted look on her face that's far too sunny. Jesus, it's 10AM, it's too early for this.

You glance back at Root with raised eyebrows at the name she used. Since when did she willingly use Samantha? She hates that name.

She smiles back at the woman, a practiced one that you can easily tell apart from all her other smiles, before she looks at you, one of her eyebrows rising subtly for your benefit, which you know to mean I'll tell you later, be nice.

"Oh my god, look who we have here?" she stops in front of you and pinches Sander's cheeks, who looks back at her with a tight smile on his face, before said woman looks at Root. For God's sake, she hasn't even looked at you. "He's grown a lot these past few months, hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," Root replies, the ever sociable one, you think as you roll your eyes, watching her air kiss the woman. "It's so nice to see you again, Dorothy. This is the partner I've been talking about," she places her hand on your waist, which makes you tense at the contact. "Dorothy, meet Sameen."

You nod at her when she looks at you, but she doesn't even return the gesture as she busies herself looking back and forth between you and Root with her mouth gaping wide open. Great. Looks like Root hasn't been forthcoming with her friends in this play date either.

You sigh and roll your eyes, elbowing Root.

"You didn't tell them you're a lesbian?" you whisper in a hiss, glaring at Root who looks far too smug at the moment.

"Now, why would I ruin the surprise?" she retorts in her sickly sweet voice.

"She looks like she's about to have a heart attack, Root," you scold her smug act, which only gets you a chuckle and a kiss on your cheek, making you glare harder at her.

"Oh my," is the first reaction Dorothy has as she blinks and forces a smile on her face. "I'm so sorry, I thought she was your sister."

Root chuckles, but it's obvious to you that if she had a choice, she'd cut this bitch up. That alone is enough to make you snort and forget how annoying it is that someone even dared to think that you're sisters.

"Oh, we get that all the time. But she's Sander's baby daddy, so..."

"Oh," she whispers, before flashing you a smile that's so fake you almost want to shoot her right there and then. "I'm being totally rude, aren't I?" you don't say. "It's finally nice to meet the whole family. We all thought she was kidding, but clearly..." you scowl as she turns back and points a thumb behind her. "Anyway! The rest are here already, you can go ahead and set up anywhere you want."

After one last smile to Dorothy, Root leads you and Sander to a bench under a tree where several other parents' baby things are sprawled out neatly because what else you can you expect?

"How do you even stand this thing? No wonder you're bringing in the others," you ask once you've reached the place.

"Dorothy's not that bad, just..."

"Homophobic?" you supply with a chuckle.

"Conservative," she corrects you with a smile, before pointing out the others. "The others aren't as bad as her, but they don't really know about Sander's baby daddy. I like keeping my surprises."

"No shit," you snort, shaking your head.

Sander fidgets in your arms, wanting to be put down, and you oblige him while holding one of his hands with yours, while Root's hand holds the other.

"Ready to play with the other kids, Sander?" Root asks, resulting in Sander grinning in response as he walks forwards with both of you following his lead. "Well, let's go then."

-

This. Is. The. Worst. Thing. Ever.

You haven't left Sander's side, not even when Root has pouted at you more than a couple of times from her mingling with the parents. That's what she gets for forcing you into this one. But karma seems to be on her side because as soon as you sat yourself in the kids' play mats, everyone congregated around you.

It was amusing at first, especially when one of the kids pushed Sander too much that your son actually ended up pushing him back. You couldn't help yourself from exclaiming 'that's my boy' then, even though you know you probably shouldn't have. He's your son, and you're sure that even Root would approve of you teaching him how to fight when he gets older. But when that little conflict was done, everyone decided that their toys are boring and you're way more fun.

It ended up with you lying on your stomach, with all the other babies trying to get on top of you on your back. Of course, Sander has a reserved VIP position sitting on the majority of your back, with all the others trying to sit on him or on you.

All this while they talk in their baby speak that you won't even pretend you understand (or maybe you're just not listening). It's all gibberish, but you suppose it's so much better than hanging out with a bunch of prudes.

But right now, you're hurting in so many places because of all the kicks, punches, slaps, that have been delivered to you. You don't even know what you did, but somehow, in their baby world, they decided that you're the villain and now they have to kill you.

Honestly, at this point, it's a miracle you haven't terrorized any of the kids, but that may be owed to the fact that Sander's presence alone is enough to calm you down.

"Hey, buddy," you grit through your teeth as you look at Sander who's seated right in front of you with a smirk while all the others on your back, crushing your weight. "Aren't you hungry yet? I'm sure you are."

He chuckles -- chuckles! -- before shaking his head at you.

"Come on, mama's tired. And hungry," you plead with a tone that you only use when you're alone with Sander.

"No," he shakes his head again, chuckling, before taking his place on your head. Great.

But all in all, you don't really mind though. Not when you get to make your kid laugh like that, even if it's at your own expense.

-

Much, much later, just when you're about to leave, one of the mothers approaches you with a sheepish smile on her face.

"Hi, I'm Alison. Sameen, right?" You nod and she extends a hand at you, which you return with a firm handshake of your own. "Oh, wow. You're strong. Samantha told us you're from the Marines?"

Root. Her name is Root.

You look back at Root, who's busy tickling Sander as she places Sander on his stroller, before looking back at her.

"That's right," you answer, terse, wondering where the hell she's getting at. You just want to go home and curl up on your couch.

"Oh, well. I just want to thank you for your service, you know? My brother died serving," she sputters, chuckling nervously.

What do you even say to her?

"Uh, sorry."

"Oh, no. It's fine. Just..." she bites her lips, looking you up and down, her gaze settling on your crotch, and a feeling of dread takes over you. Oh no. "I was wondering if you and Samantha would be interested to join my husband and I this weekend in a swing club."

"Swing club?" What the hell is that even? It sounds like a club for oldies.

"Yeah, you know..." the shy demeanour flies out the window then as she approaches you with what she thinks is a seductive face, but only makes you want to punch her. "A club for swingers."

God damn it.

You don't even dignify that with a response as you walk away and make your quick exit, dragging Root by her elbows.

Once you're out of the vicinity, Root shrugs you off, before grabbing your hand and intertwining it with hers while she pushes the stroller with the other.

"You got asked to a swing club, didn't you?" You look back at her with a scowl, which is enough of an answer as she chuckles and squeezes your hands. "I mean, I can't blame them for taking a liking to you... You're a stud."

You snort, incredulous. "Yeah, you would know about that, wouldn't you?"

"Mhm," Root hums seductively, before leaning towards you and whispering, "And right now, I want to go home and get some of that."

You growl as you feel your member twitching, before walking home as fast as you can.

Damn it, Root.

Maybe this day wasn't so bad after all.

Chapter End Notes

please don't hesitate to comment or give me a prompt. thank you so much for all the kudos :)

party crashers

Chapter Summary

Shaw works a number in a college party, and guess who else crashes the party?

Chapter Notes

this chapter is basically just me having fun with root and shaw. i needed something fun after the latest episode. shaw grieving is too much for me to take, and i think i haven't seen the last of it. hope you guys like it!!

thank you for all the kudos and comments!!! keep them coming! :)

"Finch, the only thing that's going to kill our number is the coke he's been snorting up his nose since this party started. I might as well leave now if I'm not going to be shooting kneecaps."

"Ms. Shaw, I know it's not a conventional threat, but shouldn't you... intervene?" Harold's aggravated voice flits through your earpiece, making you roll your eyes.

"I don't know; Henry looks like he's hell bent on drowning in his sorrows. Pathetic, if you ask me," you shrug, drinking the bottle of whiskey you had retrieved earlier in the kitchen where the number has been snorting lines of coke and making out with different women.

"Ms. Shaw!" Harold scolds you, appalled by your lack of conscience... or something in that area, you guess with another roll of your eyes.

"Look, Finch. I could be home spending time with my kid. Instead, I'm here at a lame ass college party that's filled with a bunch of wannabes who think drugs are the 'thing'," you hiss in reply, just in time for one of the college jocks you've clocked as soon as you saw him to approach you.

"I don't think I've seen you around...?" he asks with a cocky smile, looking you up and down. Will it be okay to shoot him now?

You force yourself to smile, entertaining him while keeping the number in your peripheral vision.

"That's because you haven't. I'm Sam," extending a hand towards him, which he takes with both of his. You resist the temptation to roll your eyes as he kisses the back of your hand.

"Well, Sam. I'm Jake. Why don't I get you something to drink? You look like you're not having fun." So he's not only cocky, he's also blind. Can't he see the bottle in your hand?

"That's Jacob Anderson, 22, and a full scholar in Columbia University as part of the Columbia Lions basketball team--although, his grades leaves much to be desired. I'm surprised he's still playing, but I guess that's the advantage of being the star player," Harold muses in your ear, before you hear more typing, "But he's clean, except for a few incidents of cheating and violence in high school. Other than that, his life only revolves around basketball--oh, and a lot of women."

You raise the bottle of Jack and fake a chuckle, expecting nothing else from a guy like him. Just another example of the type of guy you don't want Sander to end up as.

"I already have one."

He beams and nods at your choice of drink, impressed.

"Alright, my kind of girl." Ugh. Vomit. "But if you're already drinking that and you're still not enjoying... You think a game of beer pong will cheer you up?"

You've heard of the game, and you kinda think it's lame, but whatever. You're here now and you might as well beat the shit out of these guys the only way you can without the use of violence.

You smirk this time, "I thought you'd never ask."

As it turns out, it's the best choice you've made. Not only do you get to hand their asses to these assholes, but you also get to watch Henry, who's busy earning money from placing bets left and right for you to win.

It's safe to say that you're enjoying yourself. You don't know how many rounds you've played, but each time, you win, and that's how all the bets started.

It had all started out as a one-on-one play between you and Jake, which ended up with you winning again and again, until silly Jake got drunk. Apparently, winning earns you a rightful place on the table, so you stayed and waited for newcomers to come and challenge you with all of them ending up losing.

Just like now, the ball is in your hands, and with one last cup left for you to shoot in, it's only a matter of time before some of them get richer, some poorer, and for another name to be included in the long list of losers.

"Come on, Sam!"

"Fucking hand it to him already!"

"Boo!"

"Miss! Miss! Miss!"

Are all being chanted left and right around you over the sound of the booming speakers, making you smirk and concentrate more as you rotate the ball in your palm to get a handle on it. With one last bounce on the table, you catch the ball and raise your arms, your eyes locked on the single cup on the other end of the table, before throwing the ball.

It lands inside the cup with a 'plop!' of the beer inside, before cheers erupt around you as the guy on the other end of the table groans and drinks the whole cup.

You get all 3 red cups from your side and hand it over to him with a wink.

"Good game."

He grunts and nods in acknowledgement, before drinking all the cups you've handed to him one by one as you turn around and walk back to your spot.

"Having fun, Shaw?" Reese's gruff voice sounds through your ear piece.

You grin, drinking from the bottle of Jack.

"I am, actually. You should be here; might help you with all the brooding."

He chuckles. "I don't know, Shaw. I think I'm having my own fun here with Sander."

Wait, what?

"What the hell is Sander doing with you? Where are you?" you ask without moving much of your mouth so as not to alert anyone.

"Root had an important mission, dropped him off in the subway, and said it wouldn't take her long."

You roll your eyes. Of course.

"Well you better take good care of him, John--and for God's sake, stop feeding him chocolates, will you?"

He chuckles again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

With a final shake of your head, you focus on the scene around you and find that the tables, the cups, and the beers have already been set for the next round, before raising your arms.

"Anyone else wanna lose?"

People around you cheer and push their friends to the table, all of them backing out and shaking their heads no. Cowards.

"Challenge accepted!"

Silence envelops the heated space of the living room, everyone turning around to where the unnervingly familiar voice came from. A path clears from your right, and there, in all her smug smirking glory, Columbia hoodie, jeans and black converse is none other than Root. Damn. She looks good.

Your eyes widen by a smidge, asking her what the hell she's doing here. She smirks back and stands in front of you, extending a hand.

"Robin. It's nice to meet you...?"

You ignore the hand and nod your head towards the other side of the table.

"Whatever. Let's play."

All around you, college students exclaim their excitement at the new (old) rivalry that they're witnessing now.

"Damn! That's salty as fuck!"

"Robin, you better win this, girl!"

"Better watch out, Robin!"

Root, of course, having been used to you ignoring her, drops her hand and smirks even wider.

"Well, I suppose I have an incentive to win the game now."

"Oh, yeah? Are you going to talk all day or are we going to play?" you retort, which gets her moving as she finally makes her way to the other end of the table.

She nods, "I win, you tell me your name."

"Why don't you get the first turn? I'd hate for you to lose without a fight."

Again, everyone oooh's in excitement, while Root chuckles, obviously enjoying your competitive side (as she enjoys all your other sides).

She shrugs, grasping the ball from the rinsing cup.

"Alright, I hope you don't regret it."

You scoff, before nodding to her to take her chance.

She takes her first shot with a nonchalant look on her face, which shoots on the cup on top of your pyramid. Impressed, you take the ball from the cup and drink from it, waiting for her next throw... which again, doesn't miss.

"Regretting it, yet?" she taunts you with a smirk, making you scoff.

"Show me what you've got, Robin," you snarl, throwing one of the balls to her for her extra shot as you drink the beer from the second cup.

She catches it with ease, locks on to her next cup, before throwing the ball. It shoots, and a spike of annoyance shoots through you as everyone around you cheers again.

"Holy shit, Robin's got game!"

"Ball, please?" Root asks with a sickly sweet innocent tone, which makes you roll your eyes as you retrieve the ball from the third cup and throw it to her direction as you drink.

She lines up her shot and again, she shoots.

She's cheating, you think, suddenly remembering that she has an AI in her ear that's probably whispering the perfect calculations, but you can't exactly call her out on it now.

With another shake of your head, you get the ball, throw it to her, and drink from your fourth cup. No worries, you still have 6 cups left, and at least the buzz from the alcohol is helping your mood.

Root lines up another shot, but this time, she sends you a smile that you know means she's going to miss intentionally, which she does so.

"I'd hate for you to lose without a fight," she throws your line to her a while ago back to you, which only makes everyone around you go crazy from the banter.

Amused and annoyed at the same time, the idiot, you shake your head and stop yourself from smiling and chuckling, before lining up your own shot. You get 3 straight in before you miss. In turn, she gets 1 in, and then another 3 straight for you, which leaves you on the winning side, but not for long. Root makes sure to give you a fighting chance, until both of you have one cup left each on your side.

"Are you ready to give me your name, stranger?" 'Robin' challenges you from the other side as she lines up her shot, before throwing it and shooting it on the cup.

Everyone cheers for Root, while she smirks on the other end of the table with her arms crossed.

"Well, well, well... how about it?"

"Nice try, hot shot. You still have one more shot," you snap, hating the fact that you've basically lost this round... to Root, of all people.

She shrugs, "Okay then."

You lose, of course. But just as you're finishing your drink, Root gets that faraway look on her face that lets you know that something's happening now. You keep an eye on her as you drink, waiting for her signal, when she finally looks up sharply at you.

"6 o'clock!"

You turn around just in time to see someone pointing a gun at Henry, and you draw your gun and let out two shots for the perpetrator, one on the knee and one on his shoulder. As a result, everyone screams and ducks for cover, yelling all sorts of profanities at the sound of bullets going off.

"Ms. Shaw? Ms. Groves? Is everything alright?"

You ignore him, watching Root as she busies herself approaching the perpetrator; straddling his hips and pressing on his wounded shoulder while she retrieves his phone with her other hand.

"You're going to call off the others, unless you want all of them to end up like you."

The perpetrator nods in fear and groans again when Root pinches his bullet wound one last time, before dusting herself off and zip-tying his legs together.

"What the hell just happened? Who are you people?" Henry screams from his place on the floor. You grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up to stand.

"We just saved your life," you tell him in your low, no non-sense tone.

"Easy, Sweetie," Root interrupts you as she places herself between you and Henry, before grasping his shoulders. "Now, Henry, if you're planning to be a drug dealer, you might want to sell the product instead of using them if you don't want to be killed."

"Wha...what? Ho--how did you even know that?" Henry responds, shaking, blown pupils switching between you and Root.

"Let's just say my friend knows everything about everyone," Root answers in her I know something you don't tone with a wink.

You turn around to face the rest of the people who are watching you and clap your hands.

"Alright, kids! Party's over! Go home!"

"Oh, man. Seriously?" someone shouts, which is echoed by several other students as they make their exit.

"Harry, we're done here," Root informs him.

"Thank you, Ms. Shaw and Ms. Groves. Alessandro's waiting for you in your bedroom, Ms. Groves."

"We'll pick him up on our way home. Thanks, Harry!"

Soon, you and Root are the only ones standing there, and not even Henry, who owns the house, is in sight.

"Eh? Where the hell is Henry?"

"He's fine," Root points to the wall behind her, where Henry is slumped, unconscious.

"What the hell did you do to him?" you snap, glaring at her. She raises her taser as an answer, which makes you roll your eyes. "Seriously? You tasered him?"

She walks towards you with a smirk on her face that has mirth written all over it, which somehow ends up with your mouth drying as you watch her. You already know what that means, but somehow, the effect down south is still the same.

Unbelievable.

Root stops in front of you, wraps one arm around your shoulders so that you're nose to nose, before grabbing your crotch with the other, making you groan from the pleasure.

"Seeing you all competitive like that got me worked up. Do you think he'll mind if we fuck in his bedroom?" she asks with an innocent pout, which only turns you on more.

You growl and pull her in, hips flushed with hers.

"Why don't we fuck and find out?"

just a graze

Chapter Summary

A combination of JustRedO's and skimmonshoot's prompt: Shaw freaks out over a minor injury of Root's after a mission, Shaw leaves, Root thinks she's left for good. Angst and fluff ahead.

Chapter Notes

it's my birthday so here's a treat for all you lovely readers of this fic. thank you so much for the kind words :) although, i must say i had a rough time writing this bec it's in root's pov. i write better with shaw's pov but the prompts were better written in root's. i wasn't pleased with how i wrote this bec it was too damn hard, but i hope this is enough. let me know what u think!

Root hums to herself on her way home, excited at the prospect of finally being able to go home to her family.

The Machine had been relentless in sending her to missions here and there, and for the first time in 2 weeks she can finally catch a break. It's not often that She sends her to take care of multiple numbers one after another, especially since Sander, but when the time comes, Root doesn't deny her.

Of course, Shaw was not happy about it, but Shaw has always been able to understand her devotion to the Machine even when she doesn't like it at all.

(Root thinks the maternity of the Machine over Sander has something to do with it, which to think, is also something that had initially weirded her out even as Her prophet, as they call her. But now, she appreciates it, and Shaw begrudgingly does as well.)

To be fair though, Root has always been bad at finishing her missions unharmed. She's not heading home unscathed tonight either, and Root is sort of dreading Shaw's reaction. Lately, Shaw's been grumpier whenever Root comes home with a wound, but Root has always chalked it down to inconvenience and a bit of concern on Shaw's part.

It's the reason why Root has made sure to bring home two Beatrice Lillies from Park's Deli; one for Shaw, and the other for Root to share with Sander in case his baby formulas aren't enough (they're almost always not enough for him these days.)

Once she's on the front door of their (Harry's) loft, she leans her weight towards her right leg so as not to put pressure on her left leg where the graze is, before unlocking the door.

"Honey, I'm home!" Root sings through the loft with a smirk once she enters, finding Shaw seated at the couch watching TV with Sander and Bear.

This, Root thinks, is something she will never get tired of; something she will never get used to. Sometimes, she still has to pinch herself if Shaw choosing to live with her and Sander was -- is -- real. Even now, a year after Root found Shaw, it still feels surreal. It's ironic because if Root thinks about it, it's like Root was the one who experienced the simulations and not Shaw.

Shaw greets her with her characteristic scowl from the couch, which only makes Root smile wider at the sight.

"What took you so long?" Shaw grumbles under her breath.

Root smirks and extends the bag of sandwiches towards Shaw.

"Peace offering?"

Shaw rolls her eyes and trades the bag of sandwiches for Sander, which Root obliges with an affectionate eye roll, before carrying Sander who coos happily.

"Mama! Mama home!"

Root's heart doubles its beat at her son's voice, grinning as she kisses Sander's forehead.

"Hey, baby. I missed you. Did you miss me?"

Sander smiles, wrapping as much of his tiny arms around Root's neck, which she takes as an opportunity to pepper him with kisses all over his face, making Sander giggle.

The moment, however, is broken when Root looks at Shaw and sees her scowling at her legs. Ruh roh.

"Why are you leaning on your right leg?" Shaw asks with a raised eyebrow, her tone calculated. Root knows she's already toasted judging by the knowing look on Shaw's face.

Root smiles guiltily at her, which only results in Shaw scowling harder as she sets aside her sandwich, which Bear approaches.

"Bear, blijf," Shaw commands sternly with a point of her finger at the other end of the couch, which Bear dutifully follows with a whine, before she looks back at Root.

The silence is almost suffocating, until Shaw rolls her eyes.

"Damn it, Root," she sighs, exasperated, stealing Sander from Root as she walks towards his room with Root following closely behind and watching as Shaw deposits him in his crib. "Bear, hier. Hier, boy."

Bear follows dutifully and stays where Shaw directs him to, before Shaw exits with a 'we're not done yet' look to Root. Root follows her out to the living room, closing the door behind her.

"Well, I did try evading, Sweetie. But you know I'm a magnet of these things," Root smiles innocently, which only makes Shaw glare harder as she retrieves her med kit from the cabinet below the sink.

"Yeah, because you're a world class idiot," Shaw snaps, "Jesus, I can't believe this."

Root chuckles. Trust Shaw to make her feel better by hurling insults.

"Oh, Sameen. You sure know how to make a girl feel special."

She comes out of the kitchen with an incredulous look on her face, med kit in hand.

"You think this is a joke?"

"It's just a graze and it's nowhere near center mass," Root explains to calm her down, unbuttoning her black pants and pushing them down until their on her ankles, pointing at the wound on her outer left thigh. "I'm fine, see? I don't even need stitches."

Shaw doesn't waste time, kneels before her and cleans the wound, not even bothering to be gentle with it, making Root hiss every now and then.

"That's not the fucking point. This is your eighth wound in 2 weeks, Root. Your eighth."

Root smirks, touched that Shaw has been keeping score. Cute.

"I didn't know we were keeping tally of each other's wounds. Should I start counting yours?" Root replies with an amused smile just to annoy grumpy Sameen.

"Root," Shaw growls, pressing the bandage on her thigh harder than necessary. Root winces from the pain before sighing as she tries to appease Shaw who's clearly on another level of grumpiness.

"Honestly, Sameen, you know I've had worse than this. It's nothing I can't handle."

"Yeah, and what about me? Do I just have to wait for the day that you won't come back at all?"

Root blinks, surprised from the outburst. In all their times together, Shaw had never sounded this worried over her. Root knows she worries, sure, but not to this extent.

"Sam--" Root is cut off by a firm shake of Shaw's head as she points a finger at her.

"No, you listen. I don't think you care enough to take care of yourself. How many more times do you have to be shot for you to realize that you need back up?"

"The Machine wanted me to go alone. If I had asked any one of you to come with me, it would have affected the probability of success of the mission. You know this," Root explains, confused with Shaw's sudden outburst. It's usually cute, but this is a different story.

"Well, the Machine can suck my dick because clearly those wounds mean that you need back up," Shaw snaps. Root smirks, opening her mouth as she finally finds the perfect innuendo to appease Shaw when she's cut off with a glare. "And don't even dare make a joke. I'm serious."

Shaw places the med kit back under the sink. Root sighs, a little frustrated from Shaw's mood. This isn't how she wanted to spend her time home.

"Okay, look--" Root starts, but is distracted when Shaw scratches her head and starts pacing the room. "Hey, what's got you bent out of shape over this?"

Shaw stops, incredulous as she throws her hands up.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you? Root, you have a son. What am I going to do if one day you don't come home at all and he looks for you?"

The thought and the image are enough to sober Root up. It's definitely not something she wants to happen to Sander, not if she has anything to do with it. She doesn't want Sander growing up without either of his parents; something Shaw and herself had the misfortune of experiencing in their childhood.

"Shaw... that will never happen," swears Root, which only makes Shaw scoff.

"Because you have the robot overlord whispering sweet nothings to your ear?" Shaw retorts, sarcastic.

"She's looking over me. You don't have to worry--"

"But that's the thing; I worry!"

The admission is enough to silence Root into a stupor, trying to make sense of what's happening in front of her. She doesn't know what's happening; one minute she's on her way home, excited to finally be home, and the next minute, Shaw is angry and admitting that she's worried.

"Root, don't you get it? I can't do this without you. I don't know how. I need you. Sander needs you. We need you," Root feels her lips tugging at the admission as her heart melts, but is stopped when Shaw shakes her head before stomping off to the door. "Fuck this. I'm done."

What? Root shakes her head, getting whiplash from what's happening.

"Wait--Shaw? Shaw, what do you mean you're done? Are...are you leaving?" Root asks, feeling tears prick her eyes as she follows behind Shaw who's wearing her boots, making her panic as she haphazardly tries to pull up her pants. "Okay, okay... I'm sorry. Just--Shaw, please, don't--"

The slam of the door stops silences her as a feeling of dread washes over her body. Root blinks, suddenly feeling nauseous as she makes her way to the couch, before sinking down on it with a sigh as she feels her eyes wetting with unshed tears.

Fuck this. I'm done.

What did she mean by that? Done with the argument or done with worrying?

Fuck this. I'm done.

She couldn't mean she's done with her, right? There's Sander to worry about; Root knows how much Shaw loves their son, no matter if she's not vocal about it. Surely, Shaw wouldn't just up and leave Sander, right?

Fuck this. I'm done.

Shaw's last words replay in her head over and over again, and each time, the meaning becomes different. Each time, Root's heart breaks a little more, until she's a sobbing mess on the couch.

"Are you okay?" a voice cuts her off in her implant, making her wince from surprise. "Analogue Interface's heart rate is higher than average. Is everything alright?"

"Yes. Everything is fine and dandy," she snarls with sarcasm, wiping her tears. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"Primary Asset Sameen Shaw is safe, but her breathing is erratic. She seems furious."

Root chuckles humourlessly, shaking her head as tears fall down her cheeks. She doesn't know if the Machine's taking a piss at her, but it's definitely not helping.

"Don't pretend you haven't been listening to our argument," Root snaps at Her God, before sighing as sobs wrack her body. "Please... I need to be alone."

"I am sorry. As you wish."

Her moment of reprieve is cut short when she hears Sander wail in distress from his room, a rare occasion, making Root jump up from the couch as she runs to his room.

The sight that meets her breaks her heart further. In his crib, Sander's standing up with tears falling down his eyes, slamming his fists on the side of his crib. When he sees Root, he perks up a bit, but reaches out to her as he sobs.

"Mama!"

"Oh, baby. I'm so sorry," Root carries him, kissing him all over his face to try and sooth him, but it doesn't work.

"Dada?" He asks with a pout, bottom lip quivering, and Root feels her own do the same at the sight.

She soldiers on though and smiles, sniffing the tears back.

"Dada's coming back," she lies, hoping it's the truth.

But Sander has always been intelligent even at such a young age, and so the lie doesn't cut it as he cries even further and hugs Root with his tiny arms. Bear whines from his place on the floor, looking at her as if asking her if she's telling the truth. Her gaze flits between the two of them and she realizes she's staring at two of Shaw's favourites in the world. Somehow, the fact that Bear is still here makes her hopeful that Shaw's coming back.

"She's coming back," she repeats, firm this time, and both Bear and Sander whimper in return.

Root spends the next hours of the night in her bed -- their bed -- with Sander in her arms and Bear beside her, waiting for the front door to open with Shaw's grumpy face in sight, but it doesn't. She waits and waits and waits and waits, until Sander calms down, and they both fall asleep.

Root wakes to a weight dipping the bed, which makes her sit up in panic, even more so when she realizes that Sander isn't in her arms anymore, or anywhere in her bed.

"Wha...?"

A hand brushes away the stray hairs on her face, making her look up at the intruder and finding none other than Shaw looking at her softly.

"Hey," she greets, voice soft and hoarse.

"You came back," Root gasps, blinking to herself to make sure that this isn't all a dream. "I thought--"

She's cut off by soft lips pressing into her own, making her close her eyes and breath hitch from the contact, before said lips pull away from her, Shaw's forehead leaning against hers. When Root opens her eyes, she's met with dark eyes that are so much softer than when she last saw them. She then realizes that this is as close to an apology she'll get from Shaw; an apology she doesn't deserve. She should be the one apologizing.

"Sameen, I'm sorry," she apologizes, lips quivering as she feels tears pricking her eyes again. "I promise I'll take care of myself just please--"

"Shhh..." Shaw shushes her with another kiss to her lips, her hands cupping Root's face. "I shouldn't have left."

"You came back though," Root huffs in a breath of relief, smiling as tears continue to fall, "You came back to me."

Shaw smirks, kissing her again before pulling back.

"I always do."

Root's heart flutters at the words. She knows it's close to an I love you that she will get from Shaw.

She beams before crashing her lips with Shaw's, wrapping her arms around her as she pulls her down to lay on top of her, both of them letting their lips do the talking as they exchange soft and passionate kisses, until both of them slow down and Root ends up curling into Shaw's side.

Just before she feels Shaw drifting into unconsciousness, Root decides to take a chance.

"Sameen?"

"Hm?" Shaw sleepily hums, eyes closed.

"I love you too," Root whispers, kissing Shaw's neck as she does so, before burying her face in the crevice of her neck.

The answering squeeze she gets from the arms wrapped around her and the kiss on her hairline are the last thing Root remembers before she falls asleep.

no one else

Chapter Summary

JustRedO's prompt: Shaw gets drugged AGAIN during a mission, wakes up with no memories of the previous night in her and Root's bed with another girl, naked + so many other prompts of jealous/possessive Root.

Chapter Notes

thanks for the birthday greets! i'm sorry it took me longer than usual to update, but i had to follow up on sleep. i hope you guys enjoy this! i wasn't able to check for grammatical and spelling errors, so if there are any, please forgive me! i hope i didn't fuck this up. let me know what u think!

You were drugged during your mission. Again.

This time, you don't remember shit, but you remember enough to know that you completed your mission and saved the number. Still, it isn't enough to stop you from thinking of the worst possible scenarios, but the fact that you feel a warm body beside you is enough to let you know that maybe nothing happened if Root's still sleeping soundly beside you.

You shift to your side to face her, still with your eyes closed, and notice something odd. She smells different -- orange tang with a hint of alcohol and cigarettes. Root doesn't smell like oranges; she smells like lavender. She isn't a smoker and a hard drinker either (she's a lightweight), so the smell must mean she also worked a number at a different club last night -- unless she visited you again.

As if sensing that you're awake, she shifts beside you and wraps her arm and leg around you, pulling you in closer, which makes you frown in confusion. While you don't really mind Root snuggling most of the time, she feels shorter and meatier than usual. Her bony legs wrapped around yours are usually lighter and longer than the ones currently around your body, and that's enough to send warning signals in your head.

You couldn't have done and fucked things up, could you? You reason to yourself, but her smell and her feel is enough to make you open your eyes, and that's when you realize that the person beside you isn't Root at all.

Root isn't a redhead. She doesn't have freckles on her cheeks. Her eyes aren't green. You look down under the covers and realize you're both naked; her boobs are larger and her pubes bushier than Root's (she's clean shaved).

"Hey, honey. Wanna go at it again?"

Her voice and her accent are wrong, so wrong, that you release the covers and look back at her with a wide-eyed glare. You wouldn't, you reason to yourself. You wouldn't cheat on Root. You care about her. You didn't, right? You think to yourself, over and over, until you hear the front door opening and Root's customary 'honey, I'm home!' greeting with the sound of Sander's coos.

Your wide-eyed glare turns into panic as you look between the woman in front of you and the door to your bedroom, but just as you're about to push yourself away from the bed, Root opens the door with a smile on her face that you've grown to like, thankfully sans Sander, before she catches sight of your state and your companion.

The smile turns into a full-on glare, something you only rarely see sported on Root's face, as her gaze switches between you and the redhead, before she stares at you in anger and disbelief. But the thing that makes it harder for you to breathe is how much hurt is displayed in her eyes right now and how she's obviously trying to stop herself from crying by biting her lower lip.

The moment, of course, is broken by your coy companion who sits up beside you and smiles sheepishly.

"Well, this is awkward."

You ignore her and make your way out of the bed with your hands raised, walking towards her, still naked.

"Root, it's not what you think," you reason slowly, your voice hoarse from only waking up.

She chuckles in disbelief, before putting on her coy smirk that doesn't reach her eyes. It looks so wrong, and an uncomfortable twinge in your gut makes its appearance.

"I didn't know I had to bring breakfast for four, Shaw. I would have bought something for your friend here," Root says, her voice cold and distant, and the pain that shoots in your chest is enough to make you panic.

Shaw. She just called you Shaw.

"Root... let me explain," you plead even though you don't even know what to say. You were drugged, you don't remember last night, and you're not even sure if you didn't do anything with the redhead in your bed, which is enough to make you curse yourself internally.

"I think your erection is an explanation enough, Sweetie."

You look down and see that you are having an erection, but it's not because of what she thinks. It's your morning wood, for fuck's sake! The timing couldn't have sucked more.

She walks past you with a sickly sweet smile that means nothing but as she approaches the bed and pulls away the covers from the woman, before tilting her head and assessing her. The redhead cowers from the intensity of Root's gaze as she tries to cover herself, before Root shakes her head.

"Well, I wouldn't sleep with her if I was in your position. But I can definitely see the appeal."

You shake your head and sigh, "Root--"

"Wow. Fuck you," the redhead gasps in disbelief, before standing up and hastily dressing up.

"Leaving already? Ouch. That must have been quite the sex if you're not up for round two... or is it round 3? Or 4?" Root muses loudly, which makes you roll your eyes and the redhead look at her in disbelief before making her exit.

You block the woman's way with a glare. There's no way in hell she's getting away with this; not when she drugged you and potentially destroyed your family.

"I have a Belgian Malinois that's ready to attack you on my say so if you even so much as touch the knob on the front door. Don't make me do it," you warn in your low gravelly tone, which makes the redhead shiver in fear as she shakes her head.

"Look, I didn't know you have a girlfriend. I'm going to leave so you can sort this out. I'm sorry."

"You're not leaving," you growl, which makes her nod in fear, before she makes her way to the living room.

When she does, you close the door behind you, just as Root chuckles humourlessly, and the sound is enough to make you look back at her. She has tears falling down her cheeks this time even with the mask of a smirk she has on place, and the sight in front of you is enough to make you weak.

"Possessive already, Shaw?"

You sigh, exasperated and a bit annoyed that Root wouldn't even give you the time of day to explain.

"Root, listen to me. I was drugged. I don't remember last night, but I--" you try to explain, but cuts you off when she shakes her head and a small sob comes out of her mouth, which she completely covers with a bite of her lip, before inhaling.

"You know there are easier ways to tell me you're getting bored with me, Shaw. This was extreme, even for your taste."

"Root, I... didn't you hear what I just said? I was drugged," you explain, annoyed that she wouldn't even listen to you. How can she not get that?

"So you fucked the next body you saw?" Root snaps, jealousy evident in her shaky voice, before she sighs, lips quivering. "I just... I'm sorry I even expected you to stay with me for so long after Sander. I should've known he wasn't enough."

But he is! You're more than enough!

"What the hell are you on about? I--" you growl in anger, before realizing that you really have no right to be the angry one here and sigh. "Root, I wouldn't willingly fuck anyone else besides you, okay? I haven't fucked anyone else since the CIA safe house. I stayed because I wanted to. Don't you get that?" you finish, pleading to her to get it as you approach her and cup her head with your hands.

She recoils, screaming, "Don't touch me!"

You pull away, feeling an uncomfortable burn in your chest at the rejection, before sighing and opening your mouth to explain again when she walks past you and opens the door before making her way to the living room where the redhead is.

You put on the shirt you wore last night and your boxer briefs, before hastily making your way there just in time for you to catch Rood mid-interrogation.

"--worth it?"

"I..." the redhead answers, confused.

"Did you drug her?" Root demands with a glare, looking just about like she's ready to shoot the redhead.

"I didn't!" the redhead lies, and you can see right through her defensiveness.

"She's lying, Root."

"Don't," she snaps, before making her way back to your bedroom.

You follow her inside just as she brings out her suitcase and packs her things. The panic you feel inside you is the last straw, making you snap at her.

"Alright. You don't want to believe me, why don't you ask your robot overlord, huh?"

She smirks, "That's a lot of confidence for someone who just cheated on her partner."

You sigh and roll your eyes, before looking at the camera Root conspicuously placed in your bedroom.

"You have nothing to say? The one time that I actually need you, you're quiet?"

It takes a few seconds of you watching Root pack her things, trying and failing to calm yourself, before your phone lights up on the floor. Finally.

"Primary Asset Sameen Shaw's drink was spiked with Gamma Hydroxybutyric acid, or what you people refer to as GHB. It is a known date rape drug used by sexual abusers."

You look at Root, ready to say I told you so when the glare on her face stops you.

"You're not off the hook. That doesn't explain why you came home in our house and slept in our bed with another girl naked," Root snaps, but her voice is a bit softer on the edges from the Machine's explanation. She faces the camera, "Well? Do you have any explanations for this?"

You pick up your phone from the floor when it lights up with a video, handing it over to Root as you stand beside her and watch yourself high off your rockers as you sway at the bar. You're almost embarrassed to see yourself in that state, but it explains why the redhead came home with you because you clearly didn't look like someone who could bring yourself home.

That's not to say her effort was innocent, because the feeds of you walking home from different CCTVs show her trying to make her move -- grabbing your crotch and your face to kiss you -- but each time, you push her away. She doesn't relent, you've got to give her points for being insistent, but even with your bed in front of you, you reject her.

You remove your clothes all by your lonesome before collapsing on the bed, falling asleep. She does the same to herself with a smirk on her face, probably to trick you into thinking that you had sex the previous night, snuggling into your side before your phone's screen turns black, signalling the end of the video.

"Primary Asset has repeatedly rejected Madison Johnson's efforts to participate in sexual intercourse. There is nothing for Analogue Interface to worry about."

Root blinks, staring at your phone, and you see her body deflate ever so slightly from the news.

She sighs, "Does this mean Madison over there drugged Sameen?"

You sigh in relief when she finally calls you by your given name.

"Yes. Should I contact the authorities?"

"Would you, please?" Root pleads, her tone soft and sounding exhausted.

"ETA is 5 minutes."

With 5 minutes left to spare, you make your way back to the living room and leave Root with the Machine, sitting beside Madison and glaring at her for the remainder of her stay. When the knock on the door finally comes and the warning of the police sounds through the door, you grab her by her elbows to the front door, opening it.

"We're looking for a Madison Johnson?" the head officer asks, which makes Madison fidget in your arms.

"Wait, what's the police doing here? I didn't do anything!"

"Madison Johnson, you're under arrest for drugging and attempted sexual assault," the officer deadpans as you hand her over to them.

She panics, turning back to you, pleading, making you roll your eyes.

"I--I didn't do it! I swear! You got the wrong girl!"

You wave at her sinisterly as they drag her towards the elevator, still explaining herself as you close the door to your loft, before making your way back to the couch and collapsing against it, your arms covering your closed eyes as you sigh in relief.

You never thought you would get to the point where you feel immense relief at the fact that you haven't cheated on a partner, much less have one, but you do, and you're happy you didn't do anything wrong even in your drugged state.

You suddenly remember that time when you were drugged with molly and Viagra before you were captured by Samaritan, and think to yourself that you'd rather that happened instead of being drugged with something infinitely worse where you don't even remember a thing.

It's definitely one of those days that make you glad you have an AI that's on your side to provide answers when you don't have them. It especially helps when you have a partner who wouldn't believe a word you say. That doesn't change the fact that the robot overlord still annoys you, but fine, whatever. It saved your family from falling apart, and damn it to hell, watching Root pack her things hurt more than you'd like to admit.

The memory of it is enough to make you panic, opening your eyes and sitting up on the couch just in time for Root to sit astride your hips, arms around your neck as she stares at you with apologetic eyes.

You don't know what it is about her eyes, but it never fails to make you feel lost in them as you find yourself staring back at her. After a while, she sighs, and you feel her fingers fidgeting behind your neck, letting you know that she's nervous about something. You squeeze her hips.

"What is it?"

"Did you mean what you said?" Root whispers.

You frown. "Which one?"

"When you said you haven't slept with anyone else after the CIA safe house?" Root asks, sounding and looking smaller as she looks anywhere but at you.

You realize then that for all her jealousy, Root has never asked you to change your ways, even before Sander came in the picture. She'd never forced you to be monogamous with her and had accepted the fact that you might occasionally find someone else to fill your fun in bed. While it was obvious to you that she'd hoped to have you all to herself, she'd chosen to love you whole heartedly and took advantage of the time you spent with her, even if one day you might leave her for good.

For the first time ever, you realized that Root doesn't even have a single clue of what that night in the CIA safe house did to you; doesn't even know that night made you break your rules for her.

"Root, look at me," she does, and you hold her head with her hands. "You're the only person I've been fucking since. Is that good enough for you?"

Root beams and the smile is enough to light up what started out as a bleak day.

"Yeah, Sameen. That's good enough for me."

You feel yourself smiling back at her answer, and before you know it, your lips are crashing against hers in a heated kiss. Wrapping your arms around her waist, you pull her closer to you, and she responds by grinding down to you, moaning into your mouth as you deepen the kiss. The effect it has on you is immediate, feeling yourself harden underneath her as she continues to grind on you.

Your hands slip inside the waistband of her underwear until they're at her ass cheeks, squeezing them and pulling her to you as both of your tongues dance against each other and fight for dominance. You feel yourself groaning when she deliberately slows her grind on your hardened shaft, moving herself back and forth again and again, until your cock is straining painfully inside your briefs, feeling pre-come oozing out of it.

Root, of course, knows the effect she has on you, pulling away with a mischievous smirk as one of her hands travel from your neck, to your chest, to your toned abs, before reaching your cock.

"Wanna have make up sex?" She asks, squeezing you, and making you groan in pleasure.

"I thought you'd never ask," you smirk, before standing up, her legs wrapping around your form as she continues to attack your neck with bites and kisses while you make your way to your bedroom.

As soon as you're inside, you kick the door closed, turn around and lean Root's body against the door, making her gasp from the force. You grind your cock against her center as you kiss her again, making her moan in your mouth, your tongue licking her lips as she grants you entrance, before you pull away from her with a bite on her lower lip, growling.

"You have too many clothes."

She chuckles and whispers coyly in your ear, "Undress me, Sameen."

You growl and hold her in place using your hips, using both hands to undress her as you rip apart her shirt, buttons flying to the floor as you do, making her gasp.

"That was my favourite shirt!" she whines, but her dilated pupils tell that she doesn't mind one bit.

"Too bad," you growl, attacking her lips as you unbutton her jeans, pulling away for you to remove it from her legs completely, thankful that she'd already removed her boots a while ago.

As soon as her pants are off, you go back to thrusting into her center, feeling just how aroused she is through the fabric of her underwear, making you growl as you attack her neck, marking her up. She grabs a hold of your head after a while and kisses you, your teeth clashing against each other as you thrusts become harder, until both of you are groaning into each other's mouths.

"I need you," she gasps when she's had enough, trying to pull down her underwear with one of her hands.

You pull away to help her, removing them altogether as you finally pull down your briefs, freeing your dick. She wraps her legs around you again and leans back against the door, grinding and coating her arousal around your shaft, both of you moaning at the contact. Finally having had enough, you grab hold of your dick and line it up to her entrance, before thrusting slowly into her, making her groan and wrap her arms around you.

"Fuck, Sameen," she whimpers, making your cock twitch inside of her as you continue to pull in and out slowly. She bites your lips, growling "Faster."

You smirk, not listening to her as you continue to thrust into her slowly, staying inside for a while and circling your hips, her head leaning back on the door in pleasure as she gasps from the pleasure.

"Sameen, please," she gasps, leaning forward and attacking your neck with bites to manipulate you, which works as you feel yourself thrusting faster and harder into her, feeling her clench around your shaft. She moans, "Oh..."

"Fuck, you're so tight, Root," you groan, feeling your stomach clenching at the pleasure, which only makes you thrust faster into her.

"So good," she moans, panting with her eyes closed, and she looks absolutely beautiful, making you careen towards her. "I--Sam, I'm gonna..."

You slow yourself down, pulling a whine from her as she leans forward and bites your neck in protest. You try to appease her by thrusting harder into her, drawing out a gasp from her as she wraps her arms tighter around your neck, before you stop completely with one last thrust inside of her.

"Why did you stop?" she whines, clenching her walls around you as a result to make herself come instead, which doesn't help your case at all as you feel all the blood travelling down south. You pull yourself completely out of her with a smirk. "Fuck, Sam, stop teasing."

You adjust her against the door, widening her legs, before running your dick over her wet labia, making her moan.

"What do you want, Root?" you challenge her with a pant, tempted to just put it inside her and fuck her, but not wanting to lose this either. She catches on to your game and smirks, before kissing your lips and grinding herself against you to tempt you. It almost works, but you stay put, careful not to let the head of your cock slip inside her as you grind against each other.

Having had enough, she pulls back, eyes pleading as she pants. "Please, Sam."

"Say it," you growl against her mouth, biting her lower lip.

"Fuck me. Just fuck me, please!"

You smirk, before entering her completely and thrusting inside of her faster and harder than you did a while ago, kissing and biting her wherever you can, and before you know it, she's already clenching inside of you, making it harder for you to hold on to your orgasm, and it's only a matter of time before she comes.

"Sameen!" she screams just as her orgasm ripples through her body as she shakes against the door.

You let her ride through it for as long as you can manage, but her come coating around your length is enough to push you over the edge, making you pull out of her just as spurts of come jump from your dick, landing on her stomach as both of you pant.

Her weight slacks against you after her orgasm, and you feel yourself getting tired as well, so you wrap her legs around you and carry her to the bed, lying on top of her as soon as you do. She leans up towards you and cups your cheeks with both hands to kiss you, which end up with both of you lazily kissing each other, until it turns heated again.

It's safe to say both of you don't get up from bed until you hear protests from Sander's room.

You finally understand what people mean when they say make up sex is the best. It is.

maybe someday

Chapter Summary

Prompt and non-prompt: Jealous!Shaw contemplates about her relationship with Root after a conversation with someone who she's already met before.

Companion piece to the previous chapter.

You don't deserve Root. You really don't.

Sometimes, you think, it's only a matter of time before Root realizes how much she's wasting her time on you when she can have what she really deserves from someone else; someone who can love her more than she loves you. You won't admit it to her -- to anyone, really -- how that thought scares the living shit out of you.

She doesn't know it; has absolutely no idea that the image of her packing her things when she thought you'd cheated on her with another person has been replaying in your head over and over again in the months that followed. Yes, it's been 3 months, and the scare you had then is something you can never forget.

It's the reason why after that incident, you've tried exerting more effort into... whatever this thing between you and Root has built over the years. Every now and then, you find yourself initiating contact, which you don't even really like in the first place, but find that the look of surprise on Root's face every time makes it better for you.

(Somehow, you think, the whole hand holding thing and hugging aren't so bad after all. Not when Root looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass. Not when, for a moment, you think Root will never leave you.)

Even if it's been more than a year (15 months) since you came back and took responsibility over your family, you strive to learn everything you can to make sure you're taking care of Sander correctly. You take over Root's responsibilities, such as helping him brush his teeth in the morning, when she's had a late night.

Once, you even volunteered to take him to the damn play date thing because Root sleeps like the dead, which ended up with you breaking a few bones because one of the fathers couldn't accept no as an answer to his "you and Samantha interested in a foursome with my wife?" question.

Root had been angry with you for having Sander banned from the play date, but whatever, it was fucking worth it (and it made Sander laugh, not that you'd tell Root that one). It's too bad that the most reliable and renowned play date had to be full of goddamn swingers. You did find a new one with the help of the Machine, which you think has helped you get back in Root's good graces if your sex that day was any indication.

(You've accompanied Root to Sander's play dates whenever both of you have days off, which isn't much in the first place.

You still hate it; you'd much rather kneecap some asshole than spend your time mingling with other people, but the sheer happiness Sander gets, and the loving and appreciative gaze that Root gives you every time a session ends is more than enough to compensate for your suffering.

Her eyes still leave you breathless, but they're no longer as suffocating as they used to be. They drown you, but you're slowly learning how to swim through the intensity of it.

You don't want to admit it because you don't want Samaritan to have the credit, but the simulations have helped you be in tune with your 'feelings'.)

Sex between you and Root has been so much better since you allowed yourself to slow down and enjoy the intimacy of it. You never thought you could enjoy sex that's nothing but fast and rough, but with Root, you do. You always have. It hasn't been fast and rough for a long time now, and you think over the years you've slowly progressed to pure unadulterated fucking to love making, even if the term still makes you grimace.

(You still remember the first time you'd allowed it. Root had looked at you with tears in her eyes and a mega-watt smile then. You'd felt overwhelmed by the emotions in her eyes that you'd fought hard not to look away from them, because if that's what Root needs, you'll give it to her. She'd looked so goddamn beautiful that time.)

There had been one time where you thought of just tying the whole thing up with Root -- to make it official -- because you know that's what Root wants. You've seen the wedding magazine with her comments in it in her bedroom, but you've always pretended that you haven't. But it was a thought you'd dismissed as soon as it appeared; you never wanted to get married. You still don't, but Root makes you think about it -- has been making you think about things you never thought you wanted ever since that night in the CIA safe house.

But it seems like the world is out to get you. Because just when you've decided to exert extra effort, it seems like all the guys and girls have decided to flirt excessively with Root even when you're out on the streets together with Sander. The amount of times you've had to terrorize people is ridiculous; can't they fucking see she has a family of her own already?

It doesn't help that Root finds the whole thing amusing, asking "Jealous, Sameen?" in that smug tone of hers, which you deny every single time with an annoyed eye roll.

It's so much harder to deal with her suitors when they are numbers, which is the case today.

Finch has a conference that's going to end soon and is probably on his way back to the subway, which left you in charge to be the nerd for Root along with Sander who's happy talking to Bear who participates as much as he can in the conversation with his whines and whimpers.

You'd obliged willingly when Finch had asked; you'll never let anything happen to Root under your watch. You haven't since you started your side missions.

Root doesn't know this, but sometimes when she's out on a mission, you let Sander spend a few hours with Reese (or Fusco) just so you can check up on her on the sidelines. The rest of the team don't know about this either, but you think Reese has caught on to it anyway. She hasn't needed your intervention since, but you'd much rather see for yourself how she's doing rather than ask the robot overlord.

And so this, watching over her through Harold's monitors is something you don't normally mind, except now it's making you furious.

Root is using one of her nerd identities, Shannon, to get leads on the new IT "hotshot" (whatever that means, you roll your eyes) Felix Reed, who's apparently building something up that might lead to another Samaritan. Something all of you want to prevent from happening again. But Felix isn't just a nerd; he's a nerd with a big ego who thinks Root is going to fall for his pick-up lines. It certainly doesn't help that Shannon is playing dumb with those damn glasses that make her look hot.

You watch the feeds provided by the Machine at the restaurant of 1 Hotel Central Park (because of course, Felix is filthy rich) as Shannon types on the laptop with Felix keeping watch beside her, his head sticking a little too close for your taste to hers.

Of course, Root takes all her identities seriously, and you're not at all surprised when you see her suddenly fumbling over the keyboard before covering her mouth and blushing.

"Oh, geez. What happened? Did I mess it up?" Root asks, turning her head towards Felix who leans towards her further as he looks at the screen.

"Hmmm, let me see... Oh, you forgot to put a bracket on both ends--let me just..." He leans forward and presses the corresponding buttons, before smiling at Root. "There."

Root giggles -- actually fucking giggles, that idiot -- before pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I'm so sorry. I'm just so nervous. You'd think with the years I've been doing this I'd start noticing these things."

Felix lays a hand on her to comfort her as he laughs. How fucking dare he?

"That's alright. I should've noticed it, but you're kind of distracting. Has anyone told you you're beautiful, Shannon?"

You feel your anger simmering inside of you, already knowing where this is going.

"Oh, well... Do you really think so?" Root asks in her sickly sweet, innocent tone, making you roll your eyes and scowl harder at the monitors.

"Root," you growl. "Do you have to say it that way?"

"Do you want me to show you?" Felix asks lewdly, and this time you can feel yourself boiling in rage at the suggestion as your hands tighten their hold over the table.

Vaguely, you hear Finch's uneven footsteps and Sander's coos in the background, but even that isn't enough to distract you from keeping a close watch on Root, who giggles in response to you and Felix.

"Show me? Show me ho--" Root's cut off by Felix's lips, making you freeze in your seat.

You see Root freezing as much as you did, before relaxing herself, but only minutely. Even then, Root's discomfort was that obvious to you, and it does nothing but make your blood boil over the whole thing as you stand up and smash the table with your fists in frustration.

"Ms. Shaw, what's happening?" Finch's horrified inquiry interrupts you, effectively bringing you out of your angry daze as you look back at him. He looks at you and then at the table, and if it's possible, his eyes grow larger.

You look back to see what has him so agitated and see that the table's surface is now uneven thanks to the impact of your fists. But you don't really give a fuck about the table, because someone is out there kissing Root.

"Ms. Shaw!" He scolds you, opening and closing his mouth to say something, until Root's flirtatious giggle comes through the speakers and interrupts whatever he's about to say.

"Oh," Root breathes, giggling, "Do you think you can do that again?"

"Oh, dear," Finch whispers.

"Root! What the hell are you doing?" you snap through the monitors, seeing red at Felix willingly doing her bidding. "Damn it. That's it, I'm headed there."

"Ms. Shaw, are you sure this is wise? You could jeopardize Ms. Groves' mission. I'm sure she is only doing this for the mission," says Finch, his vowels extended indicating his anxiety, following after you as you make your to your weapons cabinet to pack heat. When he sees that you've packed two guns, he gasps, "Is that much fire power really necessary, Ms. Shaw?"

You close the cabinet harder than you should have, the door banging loudly and echoing through the subway, making Harold wince.

"Well, Finch," you growl in your low tone, "For all we know, Felix over there could be a rapist. And I'm not going to just sit here and watch him molest Root."

You walk past him to Sander, crouching down to his level on the floor to interrupt his play time with Bear.

"Hey, buddy. Wanna eat? You can bring Bear with us if you want."

"Eat, mama!" Sander coos, clapping his hands as he smirks at you.

You chuckle, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead.

"I knew you'd want that. Let's go?"

"Carry," Sander extends his arms towards you, making you roll your eyes as you turn to Bear.

"Fine, just let me put something on Bear."

"I still think this is a bad idea, and bringing Alessandro along with you could prove harmful. I'm quite certain Ms. Groves can defend herself if the need arises."

You roll your eyes just as you're attaching Bear's leash and service vest, his tail wagging in excitement, before turning to Sander and finally carrying him.

"Don't worry, Finch. I won't do anything stupid," you say, tugging Bear's leash as you make your exit.

As soon as you're seated at the restaurant, with Root clueless as she's busy being kissed (more like molested) by Felix, the first thing you do is command Bear to sniff Felix's crotch (you made sure Sander wouldn't see Root), which effectively stops him from harassing Root as he jumps up from his seat. Root, of course, recognizes Bear and looks around until her eyes land on you and Sander, her eyes softening for a second before it transforms into a knowing smirk that you really want to wipe off her face. Idiot.

You call on Bear to stop and command him to stay with Sander, before making your way to their table, putting on your best fake smile.

"I'm really sorry about that. My dog--he has a nasty habit of smelling people's private parts when he's excited."

"Yeah, thanks a lot. I'm having a date here, so if you could get your dog to behave, that would be fucking dandy. Isn't he supposed to be trained? Fuck's sake, he has a service vest on," he snaps, blushing from embarrassment as he sits back down on his seat.

A date? A fucking date? Is he kidding?

You can see Root raise her eyebrows imperceptibly at his presumptuous announcement, before she gets back into character and giggles. You almost roll your eyes at the sound.

"I'm sure it wasn't intentional," she appeases him, before smiling at you shyly for Felix's benefit.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again. Have a nice date," you emphasize the last part with a subtle glare towards Root, whose eyes widen for a second before she smiles shyly and looks away.

"Yeah, yeah. Just go," Felix waves you off, moving his seat near Root's again, and you almost lose it there and then.

You really wish he's the perpetrator in this case. You can't wait to shoot him. Preferably not in the knee.

Sander proves to be an effective distraction for your anger. You focus all your attention to him as you feed him (and Bear) bits and pieces of your order (steak, what else?). You've also ordered him a glass of milk and have already asked the waiter to keep refilling it for his sake. He has a huge smile on his face, and you can't help but feel that warm tug in your chest that only he, Root and Bear can pull out of you.

You still keep a close watch on Root. You didn't pick a table that has them on your line of sight for nothing. Felix has since stopped kissing Root, thanks to her waving him off and making an excuse about them being distracted. The asshole doesn't relent, however, and still makes a show of wrapping his arm around her or caressing her thigh. It's a miracle you haven't shot him at this point, but you think the pointed looks that Root gives you every once in a while is the only thing that's stopping you. And Sander, of course.

After about an hour of watching them, Root finally gets the chance to speak with you when Felix excuses himself to head to the restroom.

"Enjoying your food, Sweetie?" she sing-songs through your earpiece, making you chew your food loudly for her benefit.

You've ordered another steak to fill your stomach. If you're going to sit here and watch Root flirt with another guy, you're not going to do it with an empty stomach.

You watch as she inserts her own flash drive into Felix's laptop, her fingers tapping at lightning speed.

She tuts playfully and sends you a smirk.

"Now, Sameen, that's not nice. Chew properly. I don't want Sander to get that nasty habit of yours."

You roll your eyes and sigh.

"Root, what the hell are you playing at here? Do you really need to flirt with him?"

"You know more than anything that I'd much rather flirt with you, Sam. But a little birdie told me he's into tall innocent brunettes with glasses."

"And the kissing? What the hell is that about?" you hiss, taking a drink of the beer you ordered.

She chuckles, removing her flash drive and tucking it in her pocket.

"Why, Sameen. Are you jealous?"

"Don't flatter yourself," you scoff. "How long is this going to take?"

She sends you a mischievous look and winks.

"Well, hopefully not as long as your bird."

You shake her head incredulously and throw you hands up. Un-fucking-believable.

"What the hell does that even mean?" you growl, Bear whimpering and Sander looking up at you when they hear your tone. You kiss him on the forehead to assure him that nothing's wrong and ruffle Bear's fur to make him relax.

Root chuckles to herself just as you notice Felix making his way back to their table.

"Patience, Sameen."

You huff and roll your eyes at her reply, feeling anything but patient. Root probably already has what she needs, thanks to Felix's restroom break, so what the hell is she waiting for? She should just taser him and get it over with.

Later, it becomes apparent to you that she's only sticking around to tie loose ends; to make sure that Felix doesn't suspect anything. She also rejects any advancement from Felix as well, which you find out later on he doesn't take too kindly to as he practically wraps both arms around Root and forces him to her.

The image is enough to make you see red again, and you're just about ready to march there and kick his ass, standing up from your seat, when a tap on your shoulder stops you. You turn around and see a familiar smiling face that you can't place.

"Do I know you?" you ask, terse, glancing back at Root to see that she's got everything handled even though Felix is practically pouting at her, before looking back at the familiar clean-shaven brunette.

"Oi, mate. Remember me? You know, paid for your drinks at the bar--more than 2 years ago, I think?" He asks in an English accent that is all too familiar, grinning, and that's when it hits you as you huff out an amused breath, pointing a finger at him.

"The one with the Axis II who doesn't seem like he has it. Yeah, I remember you."

"Right, that's me," he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief as he looks you over. "Wow, you've changed." You raise an incredulous eyebrow at another one his assumptions, making him chuckle again as he raises his hands. "I mean it in a nice way, yeah. You're smiling now."

It's only when he points it out to you that you realize that you really are smiling, immediately clenching your jaw to stop your lips from betraying how you really feel even though there's no point.

"Hey, that's fine. I guess everything worked out then, yeah? I mean, I'm guessing this handsome chap right here is yours, isn't he?" He asks kindly, walking towards Sander who looks up at him with a curious gaze.

You watch Sander look at him with a curiosity that matches that of Root's, and you can't help but smile at the image in front of you, never mind the fact that the English man can see you.

You shake your head, amused, clicking your earwig to put you off the line, before looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, taking a seat and nodding for him to take the one across from you. In the background, you can see Root tilting her head in a question you can't answer at the moment, before she moves her focus back to Felix.

"What about you? Were you able to save your marriage?"

He sits down with a sheepish grin, shaking his head.

"Sadly, that part of my life wasn't salvageable. I'm waiting for her and her lawyer actually--we're signing our divorce papers."

You frown. "It didn't work out?"

"No, it absolutely did. Talking with you helped, really, even though I seem to remember I did all the yapping then," He looks at you with narrowed eyes, which you roll your eyes at and wave your hands for him to continue, "But yeah, it worked, until she cheated."

"That sucks," you reply in a deadpan, trying to hide the fact that the same possibility is what has been scaring you for the past few months.

He chuckles, looking at your hands for a split second before his eyes return to yours.

"I see you haven't got a ring on. You still together with his... father? Mother?"

You don't know why you feel compelled to show him, but you do.

"Your 5 o'clock," you nod towards his back as you drink your now warm beer.

He looks around and follows your line of sight, noticing Felix's closeness with her, before looking back at you with a frown.

"I'm guessing it's the woman because there's no way I can see you with that guy."

You chuckle at his deduction and then nod, finishing your beer.

"I don't understand. What's her business there? And why is she letting this..." he stops, waving his hand towards them vaguely to indicate to whatever it is they're doing.

"Undercover work," you answer, giving him another slice of the truth just as you did all those years ago.

He raises his eyebrows, "I wouldn't even bother asking what for."

"Smart," you quip, getting him to chuckle again, before his attention is pulled from somewhere behind you as he sits up.

"Listen, I've gotta go. The devil's here."

You stand up to bid him goodbye even though you normally wouldn't. You chalk your manners down to respect. This guy has never bothered to invade your personal boundaries, and that's something you'll never forget.

He approaches you, claps one hand on your shoulder and the other he extends for a handshake. You take it, giving it a firm grip.

"It's nice to see you. If I were you, I'd put a ring on it."

"What if it doesn't work out? Yours didn't," You ask, aware that your fear is obvious.

He squeezes your hand firmly in his, before pulling away.

"My wife didn't love me for who I was; she loved me for who she wanted me to be. Call it a gut feeling, but I've got a feeling your girl over there isn't the same."

You look back at Root, who smiles softly at you when your eyes meet, and remember how she's never asked you to change.

"Aha! I can still read you properly," He exclaims with a chuckle, making you roll your eyes. He produces a calling card out of his tux and gives it to you. "Listen, if you ever need it, give me a call."

You take it with a raised eyebrow, reading the name Jack C. Abrams, M.D. on the card.

"What makes you think I would need this?"

"Call it another gut feeling."

You roll your eyes, nodding, extending your hand to him.

"Sameen."

He shakes your hand with a huge smile, before pulling away as he walks backwards.

"Ta, Sameen! Take care."

You turn around just in time to see Root standing behind you with a curious smile on her face. You look behind her and see that Felix is fast asleep on his seat, probably tasered.

"Making friends, Sameen?"

"Just some dude I talked to before," You roll your eyes. "You done kissing someone else now?"

She hums, smirking, "I knew you were jealous."

"Whatever. Let's just go."

"Alright, just one more thing," you scowl at her, but that's quickly wiped away when she kisses you on your cheek, before smiling at you softly. "Thanks for waiting for me."

"I wasn't," you huff, turning away from her to hide the smile on your face as you busy yourself with carrying Sander, before remembering that you haven't paid the bill yet.

"All paid for by the Machine. Let's go home," Root interjects, somehow knowing what you were worrying about, before you follow her and Bear out of the hotel as you carry Sander.

"You sure you got everything you need?" you ask as soon as you're outside.

She looks at you with heart eyes that used to suffocate you so much, before intertwining your hands with hers.

"I already have everything I need, Sweetie."

You look forward and try to fight the tug in your lips, but when she drops another kiss on your cheek, you know she's noticed anyway.

Maybe someday, you think, you'll put a ring on her.

Maybe soon.

You smile, squeezing Root's hand, and make your way home with your family.

get hitched or get ditched

Chapter Summary

In which Team Machine tells Shaw to just marry Root already!!!!

Chapter Notes

all the lovely comments i've been getting for this story are really overwhelming. thank you. this is as much as my happy ending as it is yours, and i'm only happy to deliver. please, please, if you have any prompts, don't hesitate to give me one! this isn't just my story. it's yours. thank you so much again for all the love!

You don't know when you've become an open book, but just when you've thought about doing something, it's like the people around you suddenly know what you're up to. You're starting to believe the world is really out to get you.

You're on a stakeout with Fusco watching your number 3 houses down as he mows his lawn. It's been like this for most of the morning that you really can't blame Fusco for snoring his life away in the passenger seat with his mouth gaping wide open. You were tempted to punch him just like you did all those years ago, or do something childish like insert a fly in his mouth, but decided that he needed the break anyway. Besides, he's been a good babysitter for Sander -- better than Reese or Finch.

Maybe you owe him a little for that, but it doesn't change the fact that his snores are annoying. You're already wishing for some divine intervention to come and swoop in and finally get this number started. You don't even care if you have to deal with dozens of hitmen; you'd much rather kneecap baddies than listen to Fusco snore all morning.

A knock on your window puts you out of your misery as Fusco snorts awake, looking around with bleary eyes with his mouth still open from your peripheral vision. You snort in amusement, before looking out the window to see none other than Root's smirk on the other side.

Frowning, you roll the windows down.

"Good morning, Sweetie. Breakfast delivery?" Root raises a bag of what smells like your favourite sandwiches inside, grinning at you. "She told me you were getting bored so I decided to drop by and give you something to fill your stomach. I know how much you--"

You cut her off by snatching the bag out of her hands, looking inside to see three Beatrice Lillies in it. You don't waste your time and get one, taking huge bites and moaning at the taste. So good.

Root sighs affectionately, "There was a time when she used to eat me up like that."

You choke on your sandwich, just as Fusco lets out a disgusted yelp.

"Ah, jeez! Too much information!"

Once you've recovered, you scowl at Fusco, before directing it to Root.

"Is this your way of saying you don't find my eating you pleasing anymore?"

"Of course not, Sameen," Root leans her arms on your door, looking at you with a mischievous smirk. "Maybe I just want you to eat me up later."

The thought makes your cock twitch inside your pants, and you have to sit up to cover the effect it's having on you, which doesn't really go unnoticed by Root who chuckles to herself.

"Hey, nutjobs, I'm still here, y'know? I don't really need to know what you crazies get up to in the bedroom," Fusco snaps. He tries to get the bag of sandwiches Root delivered, but you swat him away with a scowl. "Hey! What about me?"

"That's mine," you warn him with a low tone, fishing out your second sandwich and taking a huge bite out of it to prove a point.

"Sorry, Lionel. The Machine told me you were catching up on sleep, and you really looked like you were having a good one," says Root, smiling sheepishly while managing to look smug, which makes you roll your eyes.

Fusco scoffs, "Oh, is that it, Cocoa Puffs? This wasn't intentional at all?"

"Mhm," Root pouts patronizingly, before clapping the door and standing up. "I have to go. Harry needs me back at the subway. He's panicking over Sander again."

You and Fusco chuckle. There's nothing new there.

Root leans down again and smiles at you.

"Think you can give me one for the road, Shaw?"

You scowl, knowing what she's asking for. "I've given you plenty already."

"Please?" she pouts, puckering her lips for a kiss, making you sigh in exasperation.

"Root," you grit through your teeth, "I'll eat you up later. Just go."

"Jeez, get a room!" Fusco exclaims from beside you, closing his ears.

Her whole face lights up, "Is that a promise?" Dork.

"It is if you leave us alone."

"Okay, Sameen," she grins, her smile turning soft as she reaches over and squeezes your hands. "Be safe," she pulls away and waves at Lionel. "Bye, Lionel!"

Fusco grunts his goodbye and spends the rest of the time glancing petulantly at the bag of sandwiches between your legs. You ignore it, but it gets too grating to the point that you have no choice but to give in. You owe him, you tell yourself, before sighing.

"Fine, you can have the half of the last sandwich."

"What? Just the half?" Fusco asks, incredulous, making you glare at him.

"Take it or leave it."

He grumbles to himself, splitting the sandwich in half, before eating it with as much gusto as you did with your first two sandwiches.

"You know," he starts, his mouth full, "Nutella isn't half bad. Take out the crazy, and I would've wanted her to be my wife."

"She's taken, Lionel," you growl, feeling a tinge of possessiveness in your chest, which you internally scold yourself for. Root's not yours. She's her own person.

"I'm just sayin'," he chews the last of his food, swallowing, "And technically she's still in the market. She ain't married yet."

You pause, looking to the number and see that he's still mowing his lawn. How long does it take to mow a fucking lawn?

"What are you trying to say?"

He chuckles, throwing the plastic and his tissue inside the bag.

"What I'm getting at, Maybelline, is maybe you should think about bringing her to the altar."

You roll your eyes and scoff, finishing the last sandwich. See? The world is out to get you.

"What difference would a piece of paper make?"

"To you? Nothing. But to her? Everything. She really loves ya, y'know?" He says, his tone taking on a brotherly tone that's unfamiliar to you. You know despite his irritation with Root, that your time away with them has given them something to bond over. "I mean, Lord knows she should've just gone with me. We would've made a good couple."

"You're way out of your league here, Lionel," you snort, incredulous.

"Yeah, I know. Dirty cop isn't her type; crazy assassin is," he chuckles, as if he's just dodged a bullet. Like he even had a chance. "But seriously, this version of tall, dark and crazy is a lot better than when she's depressed, and I like to keep it that way for my sanity."

You snort, amused, shaking your head. You get the point, alright. You've been thinking about it, but it's not like you'll tell him that so you change the subject.

"Do you keep a book for all your pet names?"

"What? I'm a child prodigy, didn't you know that? You have a genius sitting right next to you. You're blessed," He gloats, making you chuckle and shake your head.

Just then, the number pulls out a gun from his waistband, and you immediately feel the rush of blood through your veins as your heart beats double in excitement. Finally.

"We gotta move," you say, quickly making your way out of the car, gun in hand, as he does the same.

You shoot the number on the knees, making him fall down on the ground with a pained groan just as Fusco procures his police-issued handcuffs, reciting the Miranda rights with a few choice words in between.

You head home shortly after that, his words echoing in your head.

-

Two days later, you're on another stakeout. This time, it's with Reese.

You've been at it for 5 hours now, and the number has yet to leave her apartment with her boyfriend. They'd looked so happy heading in that it's really a no-brainer to you and Reese what they're up to.

(You and Reese turn on the audio to the number's cloned phone, and each time, both of you end up wincing. The number is a screamer in every sense of the word.)

It would've been more fun if the boyfriend was the suspect, but you've since removed him from the suspect list since all evidence show that he's just a sick love puppy looking to propose to his girlfriend.

(The coincidence doesn't really leave your attention, which had you rolling your eyes once you knew what the boyfriend was up to.)

Thankfully, unlike Fusco, Reese is a welcome companion. He enjoys silence as much as you do; revels in it. And so you're not exactly forced to start a conversation or even participate in one, unless it's absolutely necessary. He does chime in every once in a while, but it's always about the number.

A beep in your earwig pulls your attention, and you sit up straight, Reese doing the same thing beside you, letting you know that he also heard it.

"Hey, kids. Having fun?" Root's strained teasing tone sounds through your earpiece, making you frown in amusement. What's up with her now?

"Everything alright, Root?" asks Reese, tone mixed with confusion and amusement.

"Fine, but I kinda want to talk to my girl."

You groan. "Root, there's a private line for this."

"Not when you left without a note; no, there's no private line for this," Root retorts, sounding annoyed and playful at the same time.

Reese smirks at you like he wants to say something and you glare at him to shut it.

"There was no time to leave a note. Why are you making a big deal out of this? You never cared before."

"It's a big deal, Sameen, because you promised to leave notes when you're out on a day off."

You still don't get it.

"So?"

You hear Root sigh on the other end of the line, exasperated.

"Sander is upset because his dada isn't home," She snaps, making you feel a little guilty. Just a little.

You sigh. "Stop using Sander in this."

"Shaw," she sighs, and you can practically hear her pouting on the other end.

Beside you, Reese chuckles silently, and you give him a solid punch in the shoulder for it, with him grimacing in pain as he rubs the spot, before rolling your eyes and sighing.

"Look, if it's going to make you feel better, I promise I'll make time to leave a note next time. Is that good enough for you, nerd?" you give in, sighing your way through your speech.

"I don't know. That doesn't sound sincere to me," Root replies, sounding as petulant as a child, making Reese double in silent laughter.

You're pretty sure Root's doing this on purpose to get back at you. It's not like you had time to write a goddamn note!

You feel the familiar spark of irritation inside you, but you breathe it in. Dealing with Root in this mood is just impossible, and your anger won't help.

"I'll leave a note next time for you, Root. Okay?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"Okay."

"Good. Now stop being a moody child and let me get back to work."

This time, Root chuckles, making you roll your eyes.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" She replies in her Texan accent, "And oh, don't forget to buy more milk for Sander on your way home."

The line clicks even before you have the chance to protest, making you groan and roll your eyes.

"Is she always like this at home?" Reese asks, amused smirk in place.

"Not really, but she's a pain in the ass," you grumble, and for some reason, feel your lips tugging into a smile. She's your pain in the ass -- well, not until she marries you, that is, you tell yourself.

"Gonna put a ring on her any time soon, Shaw?"

You roll your eyes. "Did Lionel put you up to this?"

"I had no idea you and Lionel got chummy," He retorts, making you scowl at him. "So?"

"What's it to you?" you snap, his features quickly sobering as he looks at you seriously.

"Shaw, when you were gone--" he stops, clearing his throat. "She looked everywhere for you; nearly burned the country just to find you. I was with her when she did that. I made sure I was there, especially when I knew about the baby," he frowns, jaw clenching. "It's like she returned to who she was before the Machine. That's how life without you is for Root--meaningless."

You feel a twinge in your chest at the image of Root looking everywhere for you, and it makes you irrationally angry at Reese for bringing this up.

"What's your point?"

"Shaw, you're the sister I never had--"

"John," you say slowly, warning him, "I don't know if you were bumped in the head recently or you're just experiencing temporary amnesia, but I'm not cut out for this feelings crap."

"--and Root, I never liked her. You know that. But when we lost you, we grew close. She loves you, Shaw. And besides the Machine and Sander, you're the only one who can put a smile on her face," he continues anyway, making you groan and bump your head at the headrest repeatedly. "Look, I know you claim you don't have feelings, but our lives--we're living on borrowed time. Do you really want to keep this from her for the rest of your life?"

"She knows," you insist, but the doubt that crept in at the end of your answer is obvious.

"Does she? Does she know how much?"

You scowl, feeling anger bubbling inside of you.

"What do you know about this, Reese? I don't see you marrying one of your girlfriends."

He frowns, hurt. "If Jessica was alive--if I had saved her on time, I would've married her."

You look away, your chest suddenly heavy from his confession. The wistful look on his face isn't any better either, and it really makes you think about this thing with Root. He's right, you suppose, if this is the only way you can emphasize to Root how important she is to you, then what the hell is stopping you?

"Number's on the move," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts as you turn the key in the ignition, the engine growling as you press on the pedal, wheels screeching as you follow the number and her fiance.

You find out later on that the number's mother placed the hit on the boyfriend. It doesn't take long for you and Reese to deal with her, and soon after, you're headed home with a bag full of milk in your hands and a confused but mostly decisive mind.

-

The next day, you confront Finch about it.

You don't know what compelled you to; maybe it's because he found Root first, or because you know deep inside, Root considers Harold as her father in a way.

You're in the subway, Sander is sleeping in Root's bedroom with Bear keeping close watch, leaving you and Finch in the subway car as both of you watch her progress with the number.

It's a dull number, and seeing as Root's in limbo at the moment, you take the chance and ask Harold to cut off the line for a moment. He does so after looking at you with a confused frown.

"What is so urgent that you don't want Ms. Groves to hear, Ms. Shaw?"

You swallow and clear your parched throat, feeling your heart double inside your chest. Are you nervous? You don't do nervous! You scold yourself, before rolling your eyes to yourself.

"I... What do you think about me marrying Root?"

He's silent for a moment, blinking at you as if to test if you really asked the question or not, before a soft smile spreads on his face.

"I'd say it's a long time coming. Are you planning to propose?"

You look away and walk towards a nearby desk, pulling out your gun and disassembling before cleaning it to distract yourself.

"Well, it's not like I have a ring for her or anything, but... yeah, I guess?"

He stands up suddenly and holds up a finger to you, before leaving the subway car. Confused, you frown, your movements on the gun slowing down, before shrugging and continuing.

When he comes back, it's with a huge grin on his face as he's holding up a velvet box in front of you.

"Finch?" you ask him, a million different questions in his name as you look at the box.

"Open it."

You take the box and open to see a double carat diamond ring that looks like it cost millions. Suddenly, you already know what Finch is doing, shaking your head as you close the box and push it towards him.

"I can't take this, Finch. This is yours."

He holds your hand with both of his, smiling.

"Please, Ms. Shaw. Take it."

"But... Grace--" he cuts you off with a shake of his head.

"You and I both know that's a relationship I can no longer revisit. I don't think she'll forgive me if she knew I was alive all these years."

You sigh, suddenly feeling overwhelmed as you look around, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Finch, we already live in one of your safe houses. I can't have your ring, too."

"Sameen," he calls your attention, stern but kind, "I may have not been able to marry the love of my life, but there's no one I would rather see wear this ring other than Root. She's already like a daughter to me. Please take it. It's yours."

"Finch, I--" you stop, feeling tears prick in your eyes. This is more than you asked for, damn it. You don't deserve this.

He places a hand on your shoulder and smiles, "I'm very proud of you, Ms. Shaw. I'm sure she will say yes."

"How sure are you?"

"Let's just say I know Ms. Groves is a fan of fairytales," He smirks, walking back to his chair where he opens the lines connected to Root. "Sorry about that, Ms. Groves."

"It's fine, Harry."

It's safe to say you spend the next hours in contemplative silence in Root's bedroom, lying down beside Sander until you fall asleep.

-

"Is everything alright, Sweetie?"

Root's voice filters through your phone, effectively distracting you from sleep watching Sander. You get the phone and place it on your ear so as not to wake your son.

"You're getting good at that," you deadpan, "imitating Root."

"Sorry," the Machine says, still in Root's voice, then, "Would you prefer this?"

You freeze. It's been 4 years since you last heard that voice, but you can't lie and say it's not a welcome one. You miss it.

"I take it silence means yes, Shaw?"

You clear your throat. "Yeah, sure."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Root."

"As always," it says, sounding almost like it's teasing you, the way Cole always used to tease you back then.

"Do you think it's a good idea for me to marry her?"

"I don't see why Root would think it's a bad idea. As far as I can tell, she's only waiting for you."

You roll your eyes. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean, Shaw? Be more specific."

You sigh, feeling exasperated. Why the hell are you even asking the robot overlord this question?

"I mean, if you run simulations, would it show positive results?"

"Of course, Shaw. Do you think I would let your relationship with Root prosper this much if I hadn't already thought of that?"

You frown. "You mean to say, if it showed negative results, you would have interfered?"

"I'm not wired to interfere in human relations. I respect free will, that's how Harold coded me. Even then, Root would have chosen to be with you regardless of the results. The question is: would you?"

That only makes you furious.

"What the fuck do you think I've been doing the past few years?"

Silence.

You almost put down the phone, convinced that the Machine is done talking to you, when it speaks again.

"Then you already have your answer. What else is bothering you?"

You sigh, can't believe that you're actually confiding to an ASI of all things.

"I don't know how to propose to her."

"It's simple. You ask the question, 'will you marry me?'"

"Ha-fucking-ha. I swear to God you have Root's humour," you deadpan, not at all amused with the Machine's sarcasm. It doesn't help it was delivered the exact same way you know Cole would have delivered it.

"Look, Shaw. Root doesn't care how you ask her. Just ask her; that's enough for her."

"Fine. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Sam."

You don't want to admit it, but that somehow removes the weight that's been sitting on your chest ever since Harold gave you the ring 3 days ago.

All you're waiting for is the right time to ask her. You can only hope she says yes.

mission accomplished

Chapter Summary

It's the chapter you've all been waiting for. It's a prompt from eeyore that I won't specify with additions from moi. Angst and fluff ahead.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It wasn't supposed to go down like this.

You had a dinner reservation with the help of the Machine, who had assured you that Root's number wouldn't take that long. Of course, you'd never fully trusted the Machine, not even when it's proven itself especially benevolent to your team and your family, so you had waited out on the sidelines while Root dealt with her number.

Watching Root work and shoot with two guns has always turned you on, and as much as you had wanted in on the action, you were content to watch her.

She's still brave to a fault; careless in her need to finish the number, but you can't deny that she's efficient. She may not be a trained operative like you, but Root's speed is definitely one of her many advantages -- if she was a tad slower, you think she'd have bitten it along time ago. You're glad that isn't the case.

Or at least you were.

Once Root had neutralized the number and wiped her hands together with a satisfied smirk, you made the mistake of letting her see you waiting on the sidelines by stepping out of your hiding spot across the street from her.

(To be fair, you were hungry, and you were almost late for your dinner reservation.

You're still denying the fact that your body was thrumming for different reasons like anxiety, because no, you don't feel anxious; you never do.)

As soon as Root had caught sight of you, her smirk had immediately turned into the softest smile you'd only seen her give you and Sander, as if she hadn't just been shooting bad guys.

You weren't any better than her. For God's sake, you're a trained operative. You should have known better than to be complacent; a job is never done until you make it home alive without any other threats popping up. But Root's smile has always had that ability to completely blindside you, and the moment you'd noticed the shadow behind her, it was already too late.

One minute, your stomach was flipping pleasantly, and the next, it was flipping for completely different reasons as you watched her mouth open up into an 'o' after a shot rang through the night and hit her on the back, her body falling on the ground not long after.

You hadn't hesitated and drew your gun, putting the last gunman down with a headshot, not caring for his life at all in your anger, before dialling 911 as you ran and kneeled beside Root's body.

Everything else had been a blur to you after that. You're pretty sure you did your best to stop the bleeding before the ambulance came; your mind had entered medical mode to a point that you don't even remember the rest. The next thing you know, you're already in the hospital, pacing around the hallways as you waited for Root's surgery to finish.

It's only when you heard Sander's disgruntled "dada!" that you snapped out of your daze, turning around to see him being carried by a concerned Reese followed by Finch and Fusco. You don't even remember calling them, but there they were anyway.

It's been an hour since then, but to you, it feels like you've been spending the whole night in the hospital. You've tried calming yourself down for Sander's sake and you've succeeded for the most part -- he has resorted to whimpering and looking at you with eyes full of hope, because for some reason, he understands what's going on -- but you can't say the same thing about yourself.

You have one arm wrapped around Sander as he sits on your lap, while the other has been turning the velvet box in your leather jacket's pocket around, thinking of how the night should have went down. At this point, you'd rather have Root saying no to you than Root being shot.

You'd gladly take rejection over whatever this thing is that feels like your insides are burning with something that's making you feel restless at the thought of Root dying. Because she can't; you haven't given her what she's always wanted yet.

You know she's most likely going to survive. You vaguely remember her groaning something about you always being her knight in shining armour when you'd kneeled beside her earlier. The gall to flirt is really beyond you. She's a fighter and an even bigger idiot if nothing else, but all this waiting around with no updates from the doctors is really messing with your head in more ways than one.

A hand on your shoulder makes you freeze. You look up and find Reese looking down at you.

"Fusco and I will go down and get something to eat. Any preference?"

At the mention of the word eat, you feel your stomach grumbling in protest inside you. You're hungry; you always are, but you're really not in the mood to put something inside your mouth.

"I'm not hungry."

Reese and Fusco raise their eyebrows knowingly. You scowl at them in return.

"We'll get you and Sander something. Be right back," Reese says anyway, squeezing your shoulder one last time before walking away with Fusco.

Once they're gone, your hand inside your pocket resumes its movement, feeling around the velvet box that you probably should have opened by now had it not been for this incident.

Finch clears his throat beside you, catching your attention even though you refuse to look at him.

"Ms. Shaw--"

"Finch, if you're about to lecture me for killing the asshole, save it."

"I wasn't," he says, making you look up to see him sporting a thoughtful look. "I understand what you had to do. I seem to remember giving you the exact order when Samaritan had Grace in their hands."

You look away. You remember. You remember vividly feeling chills run down your spine when Finch had delivered that order to you and Reese, never having imagined in your life that someone as morally astute as Finch would ever tell you to kill a person. But you don't really want to talk about whatever it is Finch wants to talk about.

"What then? Are you going to tell me I did the right thing? Because I don't need your approval," you deadpan, staring straight ahead.

"Not quite," he replies. "Let me be clear, Ms. Shaw, I still do not approve killing anyone for whatever reason. We do not do what we do only to commit the same mistakes we are trying to stop from happening."

You roll your eyes, impatient. "Tell me something I don't already know."

He sighs, obviously trying to be patient with you.

"What I'm trying to say, Ms. Shaw, is that in these circumstances, we do terrible things for the people we love."

Love. You scoff at the term, but for some reason, you can't deny to Finch that you don't love Root because maybe... maybe the only explanation for this burning sensation within you is love. And maybe it's also the reason why you have a box inside your pocket that contains Root's happiness.

You clench your jaw in thought, tightening your grip around the box and your arm around Sander, who wraps as much as his arms can around your neck.

You're just about to tell Finch what you were planning to do tonight, when Reese and Fusco show up with bags of food inside. Fusco hands you what looks like an orange cheesy pasta for you and a small carton of milk for Sander.

"You should eat. I don't know 'bout you, but I don't want to be on the receiving end of Banana Nut Crunch's rage if she knew we didn't feed you."

You nod your thanks, and in the process, catch sight of the clock on the far wall to your right that your 20/20 vision allows you to see, and read it's already 9:30 in the evening.

"You should go home. Feed Lee," you tell Lionel as he sits beside you.

"Lee can feed himself better than I can feed him. Trust me, he's better off without me," he chuckles, before looking at you seriously. "Cocoa Puffs is family, too. We didn't survive an all-seeing wacko together only for me to abandon you lot of crazies when shit hits the fan. And don't even mention the fact that you killed--"

You freeze. "Lionel--"

"You forgetting you're with a genius who can make up stories? It's fine, Winter Soldier. God knows I should've arrested the lot of you a long time ago, but here we are. So no, I'm staying."

Despite yourself, you feel a little tug on the corner of your mouth and shake your head to school your features, muttering, "Thanks."

He grunts, gesturing for you to eat your pasta as he takes a bite of his burger. You roll your eyes with how messy he is, and do what he tells you to.

You only take two huge bites before the bile in your stomach makes you stop, and end up feeding the rest to Sander who happily chews the small bits you feed him. The smile on his face cheers you up a little, but it's not enough for you to forget that there hasn't been an update on Root when there should have already been one.

As soon as Sander finishes the pasta, you make your way to the nurse's station.

"Any updates on your GSW patient? Tall, brunette, and pale?"

The nurse looks up, annoyed at your sudden interruption, which makes you scowl at her in return.

"Name?" she asks in a bored tone.

Your phone buzzes inside your pocket. With your free hand, you retrieve it and find a text from an unknown number.

Samantha Grey is all it says, and you're pretty sure it's the Machine.

The phone buzzes again.

It's an emergency cover I made. I hope you don't mind.

You don't. It makes things easier even though it feels a bit overwhelming, but you ignore all that as you repeat the name to the nurse.

"Who's asking?"

You know it's hospital protocol, but you can't help but feel annoyed at the questions you need to answer before you get the answer you really need.

"Her wife," you snap.

"Right," she immediately types it in the computer, before looking back at you with a sigh. "She's just been placed in the recovery room. I'm sure a doctor will come out soon to--"

"Anyone here for Samantha Grey?" A doctor bursts through the doors, interrupting the nurse.

You ignore the nurse and stalk your way to the doctor. From your peripheral vision down the hallway, you see the boys standing up and making their way towards the doctor.

"Finally. What took you so long?" you say in lieu of greeting, which effectively stops the doctor. Dr. David Earnstein, you read his name in his pocket.

He looks at you, your son, and then the boys with a perplexed expression on his face, before looking back at you and your son.

"I assume you're her wife and this is her son?" you nod. He looks back towards the boys. "And the rest?"

"They're with me," you snap, feeling impatient.

"The patient's my sister-in-law. John Grey," Reese introduces himself in a deadpan.

Dr. Earnstein nods, looking at Finch.

"Yes, I'm Samantha's Uncle. Harold Sparrow."

It's silent. And all of you look towards Fusco who should have already introduced himself. Seriously, what's taking so damn long? You huff, glaring daggers at him, which prompts him to speak.

"Oh, I'm her brother."

Your eyes widen imperceptibly at that. He doesn't look anything like Root's brother, but you suppose it makes sense because of their hair. You look around and see that everyone is sporting a bemused look on their faces. It's not only you then.

"Right," the doctor says with a doubtful look towards Fusco, who looks at the doctor with an incredulous shrug.

"What?"

You roll your eyes, waving your hands for the doctor to continue. This whole introduction bullshit is taking longer than necessary.

"Just get to it."

"Yes, well, it was a tough one. EMTs lost her once in the ambulance and we lost her twice on the table. She's stable now, but she's still in critical condition."

You almost feel your heart stopping at the news. Almost, had it not been for the word stable, and you feel yourself relaxing a little.

"The GSW wasn't the problem. We were able to fix it up quickly, and the EMTs told me you were the one to thank for stopping the bleeding. They said you were a doctor?" He asks.

"Physician," you agree.

"Right. Had it not been for you, we would've lost her completely," the burning sensation within you intensifies, and he continues, "But the real problem was her heart. Was your wife ever addicted to drugs? Say, barbiturates and amphetamine?"

Control. God damn it.

You shake your head after a while, which raises his eyebrows.

"Are you sure?" you nod. He narrows his eyes. "Tortured, maybe?" you shake your head, not wanting Root to get in trouble. He shakes his head, shrugging. "We had to take a look at her heart; it's the reason why it took us a long time to get back to you. As of now, we can't see any specific abnormalities, but her fall must have put the right pressure on her chest."

You freeze. "You mean it could have exploded?"

"That's right, if the pressure had hit her directly on her heart, she wouldn't have stood a chance. Your wife is lucky. You're lucky. She seems like a fighter, and now I realize why," he says with a soft smile to Sander, who hides his face on your neck.

You rub his back. "Can we see her?"

"Of course, but she's not awake at the moment, and I can only allow you and your son. Technically, visitors aren't already allowed, but..." he stops, nodding his head in a you know manner.

You shake your head, and you're about to protest when a hand on your shoulder stops you.

"It's fine. We'll come back tomorrow," Reese says.

You look at your friends, the three of them giving you a smile.

"I'll let her know you were here," you tell them, and they all nod and watch you and Sander go as the doctor leads you to the other side of the building.

It takes longer than you thought it would, but it's a good thing the doctor doesn't try any small talk with you. He's silent on the way, greeting nurses and doctors in the hallways, some of them saying hi to Sander, who buries his face in your neck, until Dr. Earnstein stops in front of a door marked 765 and turns back to you.

"She's right in there. I'll leave you to it. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call," he smiles, before leaving you to it.

You don't know what it is that stops you from going in, staring at the door as if it would lead you to a place you won't be able to come back from. In a way it is the case.

For all the time you've known Root, you've never seen her down and out after she's shot; you've seen her go catatonic after you shot her for the first time, you've seen her down on the ground telling you the code to the elevator after rescuing you, Harold and Claypool, and you've seen her standing up with a stupid smirk on her face with a shot to her stomach.

Somehow, in all the times she's hurt, she always manages to be alive and present and smug, but never unconscious (except for that one time you punched the lights out of her).

You know she survived and that she's alive, but this makes it more real for you. Suddenly, John's words to you two weeks ago echo in your head.

We're living on borrowed time. Do you really want to keep this from her for the rest of your life?

He's right. He's goddamn right. Fuck.

Sander's coos bring you out of your head, pointing at the door with his little finger, looking back at you with raised eyebrows and curious eyes.

"Mama?"

You smile, nodding. "Yeah. Your mom's in there. You ready to see her?"

"Mama!" Sander coos, excited, and you chuckle.

With one last breath, you finally turn the knob and push it forward as you walk in, eyes set on the pale figure on the bed, closing the door behind you with the heel of your boot.

Sander fidgets restlessly in your arms and reaches out to Root when he catches sight of her, and you try to calm him down as you make your way to read Root's patient monitor. She's stable, but her heart rate is a bit lower than usual.

The most important thing is she's safe.

You make a mental note to check up on Root every now and then after this, before pushing the chair near the bed and sitting down on it with a sigh. Sander fidgets again, reaching out to Root and nearly crawling out of your lap had it not been for your firm grip on him.

"Sander, son, your mom needs to rest," you whisper, wrapping your arms around him as you situate him properly on your lap, his back to your front. But he's really determined to get to Root, and you're never one to deny your son anything.

(You'll deny to anyone that Sander doesn't have you wrapped around his finger, but you suspect Root knows anyway.)

"Dada," he pleads, and you sigh and roll your eyes at yourself. Damn it.

"Fine, but you gotta behave because mama needs rest."

That seems to have the desired effect as he calms down immediately, giving you the perfect chance to lay him down on Root's good side before wrapping her arm around him carefully without rousing her. For his part, Sander doesn't do much else other than lay his head on her shoulder, cooing "mama" twice, before relaxing with a pleased look on his face.

You sit back down and allow yourself the chance to finally look at Root properly since you got here. How is it possible that Root is so damn beautiful even when she's asleep? She looks peaceful; like she's finally getting the rest she deserves from all the vigilante shit she's been pulling through. And you know more than anyone that she needs it to heal, but you hope she wakes up soon.

You want her to wake up and smirk at you, maybe even give you an innuendo or two, and you'll roll your eyes at her and scoff, pretending it doesn't have an effect on you when it always does -- mostly it's just annoying, but you've gotten used to it already.

You sigh, grabbing her hand carefully and squeezing it. The burning sensation inside you is still there, and it irritates the fuck out of you because you can't understand what it means. But you know it has something to do with losing Root, which just can't happen. The thought of that happening makes you really angry, and it's only when you hear a groan from the bed do you realize that you've been squeezing Root's hand.

"Mama!"

You look up the bed and see Root blinking her eyes awake, before looking at her side where Sander hasn't stopped touching her face. She smiles at the sight of him, and the image is enough to make your heart stop again.

"Hey, baby," she greets him, her voice hoarse from sleep as she wraps her arm around him tighter, leaning as far as her head can to kiss him on the head, before lying back down with a wince.

"Careful," you scold her, which gets her attention as she looks at you and smirks.

"Mmm, I would've liked waking up to a sexy nurse, but this is so much better."

The burning feeling inside you intensifies again, and it's enough to send a spark of irritation inside of you as you shake your head at her. If she wasn't stubborn, you wouldn't have had the opportunity to hear one of her pick-up lines again. And the thought of that hurts, like something is squeezing your heart from within.

"Jesus. Of course the first thing you say is a pick-up line."

She chuckles, moving herself around before wincing in pain, and you quickly put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"Stop moving, damn it. Your body's healing."

She smirks. "Oh, Sameen. I love it when you play doctor."

She's incorrigible. She obviously doesn't know how close she was to dying, and that alone is enough to irritate you.

"Damn it, Root," you stand up and pace around the room with an exasperated grunt, running your hands on your face and through your hair.

"Shaw?"

"You almost died, Root. For God's sake," you snap, trying to make yourself relax but your heart is beating in double time.

"Sam, I'm alive. I'm okay," she tries to calm you down, but it doesn't work either. It only aggravates you further and the worst thing about it is that you don't understand why, and you pace even faster around the room. "You saved me. I remember. You--"

"What if I wasn't there? How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?" she opens her mouth to reply, but you cut her off before she even has to voice it out. "Sander almost lost you. Can you think about that for a second?"

It's silent, and you spend the rest of the time berating yourself for letting all your frustrations out on Root. But you can't stop yourself; you're burning from inside and the only way you can cool yourself down is by pacing around the room.

"Sameen, baby... c'mere," she pleads, patting the space you left a while ago. You slow down a little but don't stop, and she sighs tiredly. "Sweetie, please, can you be grumpy over here instead?"

You clench your jaw and stop, looking up at the ceiling before plopping yourself down on the chair, your hands immediately finding purchase inside your leather jacket's pockets. The box that you feel in your right pocket is enough to ground you a bit, and it only reinforces the reason why you can't lose her.

"There, that's much better," she sighs with a pleased smile, looking at you apologetically as she opens her hands up for you to take. You stare at it grumpily as she waits for you patiently, before taking it with the hand that's not holding the box.

"You can't do this again, Root."

"I know."

"I'm serious."

"I know, Sweetie."

"I don't like how it feels in here," you poke your chest with a finger, breathing out through your nose at the pain, and her look softens a bit as she squeezes your hands. "It sucks. I hate it."

"I'm sorry for scaring you."

You want to scoff and deny it, but it's no use. Even someone who doesn't know you as well as Root does will see how scared you are. Suddenly, the burning within you becomes too overwhelming, and before you know it, words are already coming out of your mouth.

"Goddamn it," you sigh, "I fucking love you, Root."

Root gasps, tears pooling in her eyes as she looks at you in complete disbelief and ecstasy, her heart rate increasing at your sudden confession.

"What did you say?"

You scowl. "You heard me."

"Sameen..." she opens and closes her mouth, blinking and shaking her head in a total loss of words.

You would've laughed if the circumstances were different because a speechless Root is always hilarious, but instead, it gives you the push to do what you'd intended to do tonight if both of you hadn't been an idiot.

"Fuck it. I was supposed to do this earlier but you ruined it. You owe me dinner, by the way."

"What?" she asks, confused.

You take out the box, opening it.

"Will you marry me?"

Pause.

"What?" she asks again, this time louder as she looks between you and the box you're holding.

You roll your eyes, exasperated but amused at the same time.

"Root, you idiot, will you marry me?"

There's another pause, and you're starting to feel impatient at the wait. You just want a yes or no answer, damn it, what's taking so long? Before you know it, all the tears fall down her cheeks at the same time as she laughs in disbelief. She stops after a while, frowning at the box, before looking back at you.

"Sam, is this serious?"

You sigh. "Root, if you don't want to, just say so."

"No!" she tries to sit up to stop you, but lies down immediately with a groan at the same time as Sander coos. "I mean, that's not what I meant, Sam. It's just... Are you sure?"

You scowl. "Of course I'm serious. You think this is a joke?"

"No, Shaw. I just don't want you to do something you don't want to," she answers with a small voice, looking down at the box with eyes full of want, and it makes you feel weird for not doing this a bit sooner.

You sigh, getting the ring out of the box and putting the box away, before grabbing her hand with your free one as you hold up the ring.

"What is it people say these days? Uh," you clear your throat, feeling uncomfortable but you ignore it. "You're it for me, Root. I'm serious. Will you be my annoying wife?"

Her lip quivers, sobbing with a smile as she nods.

"How could I say no?" she says, sniffing and grinning, "Of course I'll marry you."

The burning sensation within you finally dims as your heart expands pleasantly at the answer. You wear the ring on her and the smile on her face is a smile you've never seen on her before. Sander is also taken by Root, who looks at her and chuckles to himself.

Mission accomplished.

You sigh and sit back on your chair, closing your eyes.

"Sameen, what are you doing? You're supposed to kiss me," she sing-songs to you, making you open your eyes and scowl at her.

"Says who?"

"Sameen."

"Root."

"Sam," she whines with a pout, making you sigh and roll your eyes.

"Fine, you idiot," you grumble, before standing up and leaning towards her for a kiss.

She deepens the kiss almost immediately, wrapping her left arm around you to pull you in. Despite yourself, you indulge and let your tongue inside as she lets you in until Sander coos between you two and you pull away from her slightly, using your elbow to support your weight.

Root grins at you, before kissing Sander on the head, and you can't help but smile at the look on her and Sander's faces. You never thought you were capable of putting those smiles on someone else, but here you are and it oddly feels good.

You sit back down as she sighs, pleased, looking at the ring before smirking at you.

"Now I can finally have my fairytale."

You narrow your eyes, already having a clue of what she's planning in that nerdy brain of hers.

"Root, it's not happening."

"Come on, Shaw. We're only going to get married once. Let's make it big--complete with the doves and flowers."

"Why? It's a waste of money. We don't even have a lot of friends."

"Oooh, I'm going to need to call Zoe for the wedding plans. You think Lurch is still in contact with her?" she purrs, buzzing with delight.

You scowl. "Root, you're not letting Zoe plan our wedding."

"Come on, Sameen. You love me," she sing-songs, emphasizing the 'o' to annoy you further. It works.

"I don't."

"Yes, you do," she smirks, making you roll your eyes for the nth time.

"I should've killed you a long time ago."

She pouts. "Come now, Sweetie. That's not a nice thing to say to your fiancee."

"My trigger finger's getting itchy by the minute."

"You won't kill me. You love me."

No, you won't. And she's probably never going to stop pestering you about your confession. You almost take it back, but then the smile on her face right now is worth it, and you don't really have the heart to hurt her again.

You relax in your seat, listening to Root go on and on about her plans, and it's then you realize that this is actually happening.

You're marrying Root. You expected to run for it as soon as it was finished, but for some reason, you don't. You're uncomfortable, but it's not enough for you to take it back. Nope, it's not.

Chapter End Notes

i couldn't resist and actually gave shaw a new nickname from fusco. it felt right while i was writing it. the "we do terrible things for the people we love" line is from orphan black, and not mine.

so???? let me know what you think!!! i hope i didn't fuck it up too much!!

all day, all night

Chapter Summary

I think it's safe to say that this is a prompt from EVERYBODY. But specifically, Root can't stop jumping Shaw (Just A Suggestion), a little edging, just a little (YourSenpai), and Sander interrupts their sexy-time (Vale).

This is SMUT, fluff, SMUT. Just pure fucking smut, ladies and gentlemen. I am trash. NSFW.

Fair Warning: if G!P isn't your kink, you might want to sit this one out. lol. Otherwise, enjoy! ;)

"Bed rest actually means rest, not--" you forget the rest of your words when her tongue swirls around the tip of your cock, before sucking on it. Your hips arch on their own accord. "Oh, Jesus..."

She releases it with a wet plop, making you look down at her to find a knowing smirk looking back at you as she strokes your hard length.

"You were saying?"

You growl your frustration at her, which only makes her chuckle before putting her mouth on you again, making you groan and close your eyes at the sensation.

"Damn it, Root."

Ever since the hospital gave her a clean bill of health, you'd been adamant about her getting her bed rest and demanded that the robot overlord not bother Root with missions, which the Machine had acknowledged and had dutifully followed in the days following, much to Root's disappointment. But your proposal seemed to have worked wonders because she'd been in a perpetually good mood ever since.

Good mood to the point that she hasn't stopped jumping on you every chance she gets.

You'd tried and successfully rejected her in the first couple of days, determined to let Root heal first before anything else. But she's stubborn and ridiculously horny to the point that she's resorted to giving you head while you're asleep, only for you to wake up with a hard-on twitching inside her mouth ready to come. By then, it would always be too late for you to pull away and it wouldn't take long for you to come.

You don't know why you always sleep well when you're with Root. You were never that much of a deep sleeper at all in your life, but you suppose it's because Root makes you warm and comfortable to the point that your body just throws away all signs of warning that she gets to sneak up on you and give you head.

It only took a week for you to resist before you were fucking her from the bottom with her straddling your hips in an effort to stop putting pressure on the still healing wound on her back.

And now, two weeks since she's left the hospital, she's at it again, jumping you the second you'd stirred in bed.

(You're not complaining. Not at all.)

"Ah, shit..." you groan, feeling all the blood going south, stomach clenching in an effort to prolong your orgasm. But Root is so good at what she's doing that when she stops all of a sudden, you already know what she's trying to do.

Opening your eyes, you look at her and grab the back of her head, her eyes lighting with mirth.

"Root..." you growl slowly, canting your hips forward to her mouth. She takes both of your hands in hers and removes her mouth altogether, your length slapping against your stomach.

She chuckles, releasing your hands to caress your thighs before her hands travel to your breasts, pinching your nipple, which makes you close your eyes.

"Patience, my beautiful girl."

You scowl, opening your eyes. "Finch might call any minute with a number."

"Oh, my bad..." she teases, but doesn't do anything other than fondle with your breasts. It's not enough.

"Finish what you started, Root."

"I don't know, I kinda like the idea of you running around and saving people with a hard-on the whole day," Root muses and then winks salaciously. "If I was one of them, I'd beg for you to take your reward for saving me."

That's it.

You pull her up from her kneeling position between your legs, manhandling her until her head is aligned with yours. She gasps at your show of strength, but lets you have your way as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. You use your legs to separate hers and without waiting, align your cock into her entrance, before wrapping your arms around her and thrusting into her in one deep solid motion from beneath her.

"Oh, fuck..." Root sighs, her wet walls clenching around your length, which only makes you pull in and out of her faster, addicted to the feeling of her around you. "Yeah, Shaw... Just like that. Take me just like that."

Her gasps and moans only fuel you, but not wanting yourself to end right away, you slow down your thrusts a little, revelling in the feeling of being inside of her while kissing and nipping at her jaw. She adjusts her face so that you're lips to lips, licking and biting your bottom lip as you continue to thrust into her at a slow, tortured pace, which she meets with a desperate movement of her hips.

You stop thrusting when you feel yourself nearing your climax, which pulls out a whine from her as she releases your lips with a bite.

"Shaw..." she breathes out, moving herself up and down your cock, before your hands on her hips stop her. Root clenches her walls around you as an alternative, making you groan and close your eyes at the feeling as you pant in unison.

"Root, if you don't stop that, I'm going to come before you finish."

"I can't help it, you feel so good," she moans, clenching herself around you again. "Mmmm... you're so big and hard for me, Sweetie."

Fuck. You've never been one to resist Root when she talks her way to you like that, and soon, you find yourself finding another rhythm. This time, you thrust into her faster, the sound of skin to skin slapping echoing in the room.

"Oh, yeah... Right there... Harder--oh, fuck!"

"Fuck... so tight..." you groan in between thrusts, your jaw and stomach clenching to hold out longer.

"Yeah... fuck, yeah... oh, god, yes!" she gasps, unwrapping her hands around your shoulders to cup your face, giving you a sloppy kiss. You try to return it, but it doesn't take long before she pulls away to whimper when you thrust harder. "Fuck, Sameen..."

She clenches harder around you with every thrust and you know that means she's close, her moans getting louder and louder you're sure the next door neighbours can hear you. You slow down, wanting to ride it out with her.

"Do--don't stop. I'm close, don't stop..." Root begs in a moan, and it's so damn hot to listen to her that you feel your balls constricting in the effort not to come, but at the same time not wanting to finish before Root. You circle your hips, your cock hitting her in all the right places as she moans louder. "Yes! So good... oh, that's so good."

"Shit, I'm close..." you gasp, pulling out before thrusting in with more force and speed. She clenches around you tighter, and soon, you feel her come coating around your length inside of her as she quivers above you.

"Oh, fuck, Sameen!" she moans, eyes closed and back arched, and the image in front of you is enough to push you over the edge.

"Fuck..." you pull out from her immediately, your cock jerking between you two as it releases seed after seed, both of you panting from your activities.

Just then, a phone vibrates on the nightstand, before ringing through the room. It's yours and you're pretty sure it's Finch calling.

You catch your breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly, before reaching your hand out for your phone. Root busies herself planting kisses on your neck just as you put the phone in your ear.

"Finch."

"Ms. Shaw, we have a new number," Finch's urgent but kind tone meets your ears.

You're about to answer, but close your mouth when you almost moan from Root sucking your pulse. You squeeze her hips, making her look up at you with a smirk. You glare at her, before remembering you haven't answered Finch.

"I'll be there."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and you realize that came out breathy.

"Is everything alright, Ms. Shaw? If you're not feeling well, I can always--"

"No, I'll be there," you hang up the phone just in time for Root to kiss you on your lips. You pull away not long after, pushing her on her back gently beside you, before sitting up and looking around the bed, noticing the pool of wetness on your sheets. "You should change the sheets while I'm out."

She hums behind you as you get clean clothes from your drawer to wear for the day.

"I like this... makes me feel like a good housewife while you save the world."

You roll your eyes at her doting, making your way to the bathroom with your new clothes and keeping the door open just in case she joins you.

She doesn't. You think it's better that way. You should've been ready the second Finch called you, but hey, it's not like you started it. Root did.

You're out of the bathroom and dressed in 5 minutes, wringing your towel on your hair before tying it into a ponytail, all this while Root watches from your bed, naked. It almost tempts you to stay a bit longer. Almost.

You zip your hoodie up after putting your boots, ready to move but not before giving Root a hard look.

"Bed rest, Root. I mean it. You're not fully healed yet."

She smirks, humming. "Anything for you, darlin'."

You roll your eyes and leave the bedroom, but not before hearing Root's playful "What, no goodbye kiss?"

You visit Sander in his room and give him one instead.

As soon as you're in the subway, Fusco chuckles and Reese smirks in your direction.

"What?" you snap, glaring at their direction. It's too early for their teasing.

Reese wisely gets back to cleaning his guns, still with a smirk on his face, while Fusco approaches you with an amused smile. When he's near you, he points at a spot on his neck while looking at yours, and realize that Root's probably marked you again for the nth time since she left the hospital.

(She's always marked you before, but always cautious enough to put it somewhere people won't see. But ever since you proposed, she's marked you relentlessly with no care in the world and it's really annoying.)

You huff, making no attempt to cover it up as you make your way to Finch in the subway car, Fusco's footsteps echoing behind you as he follows you.

"I guess that means everything's good with the Super Powered Nutball?" Fusco's rhetorical teasing sounds behind you.

You scoff, amused. That's one way to put it.

"I'm not having this discussion with you, Lionel."

"Fine by me. I can do without the nightmares," he retorts, chuckling to himself, catching the attention of Finch who turns around in his desk and looks between you two, lingering on your neck for a second, before it's gone.

"If you two are quite done bickering, we have a number to save."

You and Fusco look at each other at the same time and roll your eyes, listening as Finch sets off in a monotone with information on the number.

The mission didn't take too long. The perpetrator in this case didn't have the patience to plan his attack on the number, but he had enough luck on his side to score a slice on your lower right ribs before you had cracked his with a well-aimed punch.

It's a good thing the slice isn't too deep and doesn't need stitches, allowing you to head home as soon as Fusco had cuffed the perpetrator and led him to his car. No one had bothered you on the streets, but you'd seen lingering looks at the bloodied hand covering the slice from other people -- which, really, is a good thing.

You get home in record time, entering the loft as soon as you'd unlocked the door, and closing it behind you gently. You can hear Root talking to Sander and Sander cooing back at her in the dining area, probably feeding him. You almost head straight to them until you remember that you still have a wound to clean up -- a wound that's starting to sting -- so you head straight to the kitchen which is separated from their place with a bar.

You retrieve the med kit under the sink and sit yourself down on one of the stools, your back to them as you take your shirt off, feeling Root's eyes on you.

"Alright, baby. Eat some more, mama will be right back," you hear Root's tender tone, Sander's answering coos and Bear's whines just as you put alcohol on the cotton bud, before wiping it on your new 3 inches of slice wound.

You feel her before you see her, and before you know it, she's covering your hand that's cleaning the wound. You look up at her, her look asking for permission, and you give her a nod. Root gets the bud from your hands, resuming your cleaning.

"You got home early."

You grunt. "Perp was an amateur."

"An amateur who wounded my professional assassin," she quips, teasing you as she retrieves the antiseptic cream in the kit.

"He got lucky."

"Mhm."

You clench your jaw from the sting of the antiseptic cream as she applies it, watching her hand at work as the other caresses your toned stomach, the action almost makes you smile knowing Root's fascination with your abs.

"Do you want me to put dressing on it?" she asks as she closes the lid of the antiseptic cream. You nod at her, and she does with a gentle precision, and before you know it, your wound's all dressed up. She washes her hands, before turning back to you with a smirk.

The look is enough to make your cock twitch inside your jeans. Damn it.

"Now, what can I do to reward you for coming home alive?"

"Cook me dinner," you quip with your own smirk, which she returns with one of her own as one of her hands travel to your crotch, feeling your semi through your jeans.

"Mmmm, are you sure you're hungry for food, Sweetie?" she smirks, leaning to put her mouth on your ear, before whispering salaciously, "or hungry for me?"

Your cock stirs inside your jeans and it's obvious in Root's dilated pupils that she felt it. She squeezes you through your jeans, making you groan and chuckle at the same time as you place your hands on her hips. She's insatiable.

"What's got you so horny?"

"I don't know, everything about this sociopath being the best parent and best fiancee ever is really doing it for me," she answers, unbuttoning your jeans.

You grab hold of her hand and look behind you where Sander is still eating.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she swats your hands away and unzips you, before you grab her again.

"Root, our son is just behind us."

She smirks, pecking your lips, which you deepen before she has the chance to pull away. She hums in your mouth, biting your lower lip as she pulls away.

"I guess that means you have to be quiet."

It's only then you realize that you'd probably lifted your hips subconsciously for her to pull down your jeans and your briefs, because the next thing you know, she's giving you one last peck, before she skips right to your abs and licks them, smirking at you the whole time.

Jesus. Horny Root is a different force altogether. She's mostly inappropriate, but damn, you can't resist.

Root licks a straight line from your abs to the tip of your cock, swirling her tongue around it, making you arch your back and groan from the blinding pleasure that meets you.

"Jesus..."

"Just Root, thank you."

"Shut up."

She chuckles. "What my girl wants, she gets."

You roll your eyes, but end up closing them entirely as she sucks your head harder while her hand strokes half of your length. The feeling that spreads through your body makes your cock twitch inside her mouth, resulting in her humming, which only contributes to the blinding pleasure you feel as your stomach clenches.

"Oh, shit..."

Your moan pushes her to suck and stroke you faster, her head bobbing up and down between your legs all while she's eyeing you with brown eyes that are completely dilated from hunger. You don't know how she manages to do it so well without making it look like a porn star.

"Ah, fuck, Root..."

She hums again, before slowing down her ministrations. You hump into her mouth slowly to make up for the pace, which she immediately stops with a firm hand on your hips, before releasing your cock.

"Ah, ah, ah... Patience, darling."

You don't feel particularly patient at the moment, growling and fisting her hair to continue.

She hisses, smiling at you widely. "Play nice or I won't let you finish."

"You're too horny to push through with that threat."

She raises a challenging eyebrow, smirking.

"Watch me."

"Root," you growl, releasing your hold on her hair to let her have her way.

You're not disappointed when she licks the underside of your length before swirling the tip just like how she knows you like it. You pant, breathing through your mouth, which turns into a moan when her mouth envelops you again.

She sucks and strokes you with more vigour, feeling your stomach clenching as all the blood rushes down for release.

"Root, I'm about to... fuck."

She sucks you even harder if that's even possible, making you thrust your hips into her as you arch your back.

"Shit... Root--" you're cut off by the overwhelming need to finish, "shit, I... Jesus, shit!"

A few more strokes and...

"Shit!"

She stops and you freeze, both of you looking at each other in alarm. That didn't come from any one of you and could only mean... Sander.

Root pulls her mouth away and stands up, swatting you painfully on your shoulders.

"I told you to be quiet, Sameen!"

"It's not my fault you're good at that," you try to push her down again to continue, but you stop when she gives you a stern look.

"Seriously, Shaw... If Sander says it again--"

"Shit, mama!"

You groan and cover your face with your hands, from Sander cursing because of you or from your desperate need for release, you're not sure.

Root points a finger at you.

"I'm not done with you yet. And you're not allowed to do anything about that."

"What?"

Root washes her hands and her mouth in the sink, and leaves you to go to Sander, leaving you high and dry on the stool as you follow her with your eyes, vaguely hearing her telling him not to say it again because it's a bad word.

You don't listen to the rest, looking down at your cock that's bulging with a single vein, desperate for release. You want to finish yourself off, but you know Root would punish you if you even dare to do it, so you groan again as the pain starts to register.

Fucking blue balls.

"Damn it," you whisper to yourself as you reluctantly tuck your hard-on in your briefs, pulling up your jeans before heading to Sander and joining Root in telling him that it isn't a "good" word.

It takes a while before Sander gets it, smiling as if he's achieved something, which makes Root smile at him adoringly and you scowl at them both. You love your son, but you also love sex, and having blue balls isn't really a good experience on your part. You're aware that you might be pouting, and Root's amused chuckle beside you confirms it.

Suddenly, you have an idea you know she won't be able to resist and smirk. You lean towards her, putting your mouth in her ear, licking her there. Pleased with her shivering, you chuckle.

"Put him to sleep. I'll be waiting for you on the bed, ready to fuck you when you're ready."

She gasps, the hunger in her eyes doubling before glaring your way.

"That's unfair, Sameen. He's not even sleepy yet."

You chuckle. "Not my problem."

You leave her there after giving a kiss on Sander's forehead and head straight to your bedroom where you remove all your clothes, before lying down on the bed naked.

The next thing you know, you're waking up to the sound of the door opening, and see Root removing her clothes as she makes her way to you.

"That wasn't very nice of you to leave me there, Sweetie," she says in her playful, but also chiding tone.

You smirk, lifting yourself up on your elbows, watching as she removes her bra and pulls her panties down before stepping out of them, your cock twitching again at the sight of her naked. Damn, she's hot.

"How 'bout I make it up to you instead?" you husk to her, patting the space beside you on the bed.

As soon as her back hits the bed, you trap her body with yours, hovering over her as she smirks from underneath you, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you down for a kiss. It starts out slow, both of you revelling in the feel of each other, before it gains more vigour, and soon you're both passionately locking lips, tongues dancing in a symphony.

Root moans and pulls you closer to her, the tip of your length bumping into her arousal when your hips involuntarily seeks contact, making you groan into her mouth. You want to fuck her right there and then, but you resist, kissing your way down from her lips, to her jaw, sucking at her pulse for pay back, before kissing your way further south.

She gasps, her hands caressing your shoulder, before settling behind your head when you reach her pubic bone, nipping the area. You lick your way down to her thighs, right next to where she needs you most, kissing and nipping her there, her hips arching up to get you to where she needs you, but you resist with a smirk.

"Sameen..." Root whimpers above you, mouth hanging open with her elbows propped up, watching you. Something about that turns you on immensely, and slowly, you kiss your way to where she needs you most. "Shaw, stop--oh, god."

You stop, smirking at her.

"Stop, you said?"

"Don't stop," She whines in a breathy moan, pushing your head back down her wet centre, arching her hips towards you. The smell of her arousal only fuels your hunger, licking her from her entrance to her clit, circling your tongue around it before sucking it. "Oh, fuck, Shaw!"

You hum pleasantly at her taste; you've always loved how she's tasted, salty, but only enough to taste good. You do it again and again -- licking your way down to her entrance, playing your tongue around it, before travelling back to her clit, circling it around with your tongue, before enveloping it with your mouth and sucking.

"Oh, fuck... inside--your fingers... Shaw, please."

You plunge two in at her say so, curling it as you pull out, before plunging right in again, resulting in her gasping and arching her hips further into you.

"Yes, right there! Faster--" you follow her instructions again, causing her mouth to open into a bigger 'o' as she moans louder. "oh, fuck, yeah... Just like that..."

You continue plunging into her as you busy your tongue with her clit, building a rhythm which she meets with her own thrusts. You add one finger in to hit all the right places, resulting in her arching further despite the weight of your hand on her stomach.

"Fuck! Yeah, yeah... Fuck me, Sameen. Fuck me."

That only encourages you, and soon, you're plunging into her at full speed, her moans punctuating with every force, and before you know it, she's clenching around your fingers.

"Close... so close... don't stop."

When she's quivering under you, you stop altogether, resulting in her whining as she opens her eyes and glares at you.

"Shaw!"

"Not yet, I'm not done with you," you husk, kneeling on the bed. "Turn around. I wanna fuck you from behind."

Root gasps at the thought, before dutifully turning around and leaning on her elbows, looking at you salaciously. Goddamn.

"What are you waiting for? Take me, Sameen. I'm all yours."

You growl at her words, grabbing her hips and plunging into her right away, her tight walls clenching around your cock pleasantly.

"Fuck, Root. You feel so good."

"Oh, god... You feel so full like this," she gasps, moaning and meeting your thrusts as she humps back to you. You thrust faster into her, which she meets with a loud moan. "God, yes! Yes, yes... I'm so close, baby."

You drive into her with more force, feeling her clenching tighter and tighter around you with every thrust. When you feel her shaking beneath you, you wrap your arms around her torso, your hands fondling with her breast, laying back so that you're sitting on your heels and her sitting on your lap, thrusting into her.

"Oh, so good... I'm gonna... Oh, fuck, I'm coming!"

Root quivers on top of you, her stomach clenching with the force of her orgasm, while you continue to thrust in and out of her, slowly this time to ride it out, before stopping completely inside of her when you feel her stop.

You kiss her neck from behind, massaging her breasts and pinching her nipple, resulting in her head lying back down on your shoulder as she releases a breathy sigh, trying to catch her breath.

You're not done with her yet though, and before she has time to fully recover, you pull out of her, laying yourself down before grabbing her hips and putting her on top you. You don't waste any more time and plunge into her, wrapping your arms around her as her tight walls clench around your cock pleasantly.

Her come makes it easier for you to pull in and out of her, thrusting faster and harder to reach your own climax.

"Fuck, Sameen... you're so hard and so good for me."

"Ah, Root..." you groan when she moves herself up and down your length to match your rhythm, making it harder for you to hold onto your climax.

"Mmm... so good," Root moans, kissing you on your neck, jaw, and then at your lips sloppily.

You return the kiss as much as you can while thrusting into her, both of you moaning into each other's mouths. She pulls away from the kiss after a particular hard thrust on your part, gasping.

"I'm close again..."

You take her word for it, wanting to stretch it out, you slow down your thrusts -- in and out, in and out, in and out -- her clenched walls almost pushing you over the edge.

"Root..." you warn her, but she only moves herself up and down faster, cupping your face.

"It's okay, do it inside."

"What?" you ask, still thrusting into her, feeling full and ready to combust.

"I'm on the pill. Come inside me, Sameen. Come for me."

You hump into her from the bottom with more vigour, slower but harder, until her tight walls clench around your length, with her quivering again.

"Sameen!" she moans, panting, "Come for me."

As if on cue, you feel yourself jerking inside of her, freezing below her with your arms tight around her as you release spurts of come inside of her, both of your comes coating inside of her.

She kisses you, licking your lips with her tongue, letting her in your mouth, returning the kiss with your tongue as both of you recover. You only pull out when you feel your cock softening, which results in her whimpering at the feeling.

Both of you pull away from the kiss at the same time to catch your breaths, you with your eyes closed, and her with her head beside yours.

Normally, even before you and Root had started fucking without contraception, you'd never dare come inside a girl -- regardless if they're on the pill or you're using a condom. You don't know what it is about Root that makes you reckless in this aspect of your life.

It's ironic how your irresponsibility led to a responsibility you've never even thought you wanted. But Sander... Sander is special. You don't regret him.

You're scared that this might result to another accident; you're not sure if you're ready or if you're even capable of taking care of another human being besides Root and Sander. But somewhere, deep down, it feels like you're okay with it.

Root groans beside you, wrapping her arm and leg around you.

"I can hear you thinking from here, Sweetie. Stop, okay? Whatever it is, I'm right here with you."

You sigh, rubbing your hand up and down her back as a thank you, before your stomach grumbles.

"I'm hungry."

"Of course, you are," she chuckles, rolling her eyes as she pushes herself slightly off with her elbows to hover over you. She smiles, pecking you once, before standing up and gathering her night gown draped on the chair at the corner of the room. "I'll cook us something. Meet me there?"

You nod from your place at the bed, resulting in a grin from her before she leaves you in the room, pleased smile on your face.

joke's on you (or them)

Chapter Summary

Prompt by a Guest and so many others who seconded it: Shaw suffers a relapse and thinks she's in a simulation, packs her things to leave in an effort to save Sander and Root, until Root convinces her it's real.

I'm sorry it's shorter than usual, but I hope you guys like it.

Chapter Notes

just wanted to say thank you for the responses and the kudos from the silent readers for the past couple of chapters. you guys are awesome. :)

You don't know how you got here.

One minute, you've got everything under control, hitting all the gangsters on their kneecaps, all of them falling one by one on the ground with every bullet you shoot. The next, you're running away from another dozen of them, a number you'd managed to decrease to three until you'd no bullets and extra mags left. Not even the damn knife that one of the men had kicked out of your hands.

Just your luck, your phone had been discarded as well in one of your brawls, so there's no way for your friends to contact you.

It had been an easy number at first, until you realized you were dealing with a member of the new spawn of The Brotherhood, and of course it led to everyone chasing you around the city.

You suspect there are more, but the important thing is there are three idiots left at the moment. You curse yourself, running inside the City Square Pharmacy, which looks oddly familiar to you for some reason. Once there, you pull out your gun, and order the customers to leave the pharmacy because there's a "terrorist threat" within the place.

Every customer and employee follows your order, and soon you're alone, or so you thought you were until you hear footsteps behind you.

"I said, everybody ou--"

You stop, facing a naive employee you've seen so many times before. Shaggy hair, glasses, and looks like a total nerd... yeah, you've seen him before, and that's when it clicks.

You look around in alarm, walking around to see if everything is exactly where you remember them. You walk to isle five specifically, and see the same baseball bat in the same area where you found them.

You do a couple more check-ups, all while the employee follows you around frantically, asking if he can do anything about the blood on your bicep.

You turn around to look at him then, before looking at your hands, remembering another scenario where you had both of your hands covered in blood with the same guy in front of you.

A feeling of dread washes over you, your mind running a million miles per minute, thinking of all the possibilities this is real and not what you think it is, but coming up empty.

You chuckle disbelievingly, your shoulders sagging at the emptiness in your chest as you look at the employee in front of you.

"Say, would your name be Bobby Jackson by any chance?"

His eyes widen, and it's the only confirmation you need, before he shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, have we met before? How do you know my name?"

You chuckle again, nodding to yourself. You're impressed. This simulation has been the longest one so far, and it's only lasted this long because it's been believable for the longest time.

You can't believe you fell for it; fell for the idea of Root and Sander, when both of them have been simulations to get you to tell them where the Machine is.

You feel an itch at the spot behind your left ear and put two fingers on the spot, feeling around for an incision or a scar where there should be, but find smooth unblemished skin.

You look up at a camera in the corner of the room.

"Congratulations. You've really outdone yourself this time," you chuckle again, the humour in it lost, "You waited--what, a year and 6 months to show me that this is simulation number 7055? 7056?"

Just then, you hear three footsteps entering the pharmacy, and you know it's the three gangsters following you around -- three gangsters who are really Samaritan ops at this point.

"And nice cover up. The Brotherhood? Smart. Really smart."

"Uhm, I don't know what you're talking about," Bobby sounds off to your right, which makes you roll your eyes at him.

"Shut your trap, Millhouse."

You grab him and haul him to your front as you lead him to the back of the pharmacy, where you tape him up just as you did a couple of times in your simulations. All the while, you shush him and tell him not to wet himself, taping him on the mouth for good measure.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, shawty!" one of the gangsters sound off, making you groan in disgust.

"Seriously, you should do a better job. You've done well in the past year, why can't you do a better job with this one?" You hiss in a low whisper, knowing the damn thing can hear you anyway as you hide and wait for one of them to pass through your isle.

You're not disappointed when one of them carelessly passes through like he doesn't have a care in the damn world, and you easily disarm him of his gun, shooting him in each knee as he groans and falls to the floor. The sound of his fall alerts the others, and immediately, two running footsteps in opposite directions come to you.

You stand there out in the open, waiting for them to appear in the middle isle, before shooting both of them on their shoulders.

"Piece of cake," you snort, walking over their bodies to retrieve their weapons, before making your way to the exit. "I don't know 'bout you, but you should really train your operatives better than that. They're almost like those clowns in the streets... but I suppose that's what disguise is all about."

You leave just in time for you to hear sirens coming around the area and you easily disappear in one of the alleyways, making your way to the nearest street cam.

It's only late in the afternoon, and so when you stop right in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at the camera, people bump into you as they walk past.

"Alright, Skynet, let's talk."

People who hear you look at you, but you ignore them. It's not real anyway. You don't care.

"I've showed you where the damn Machine is, you know where the rest of the team are. For God's sake, you've probably killed them all--maybe even including my son. If I have one, anyway. So why not just end this, huh?"

The red light on the camera blinks, sending you a message in Morse code -- STOP.

You snort. "Stop? Is that the best you can do? What, you ran out of lame ass operatives to come after me?"

It blinks again, this time the message is longer.

THIS IS NOT A SIMULATION. GO BACK TO THE SUBWAY.

You chuckle again, incredulous, looking around you. It all feels real. Jesus, Samaritan had itself die in this simulation just to make it believable.

"Just end this. Haven't you had enough? Aren't you tired of watching me? Or does this mean you still haven't defeated the Machine yet?" you smirk, knowing that the Machine probably had a lot of fight in her, shackled or unshackled.

I AM THE MACHINE. GO BACK TO THE SUBWAY. ROOT IS WAITING.

"Nice try. That's not going to work anymore. So if you don't want to end this, if you want to watch me live in your fantasy world, I'm at least going to save my friends and my family in this simulation," you walk away, before turning around, shouting, "And you can suck my dick!"

-

PRIMARY ASSET EXHIBITING IRREGULAR BEHAVIOR

CONTACTING ANALOGUE INTERFACE...

"Hi, there. Something you wanted me to do?"

"Sameen is experiencing a relapse. I believe the situation is critical. Physical contact from you is a must at this very instant."

"What? Have you tried contacting her?"

"I did. But it did not work. Her phone is out of reach. She believes I am Samaritan."

"Where is she? Show me."

ANALOGUE INTERFACE SHOWING SIGNS OF DISTRESS

ACCESSING FEEDS...

TRANSFERRING FEEDS TO SUBWAY CAR MONITORS...

"I believe she is on her way to your apartment."

"Oh, Sameen..." pause. "Got it. Thanks for looking out for her."

"You are welcome. Please make it quick."

-

As soon as you'd arrived in your loft, you headed straight to the kitchen and fixed the bullet wound in your bicep. It's a through and through, which didn't need a lot of work on your part -- a good thing considering you were in a hurry.

Next, you went straight to your room and picked out your duffel bag -- large enough to pack heat and to fit some clothes in.

You should have been out there five minutes ago, but you've found yourself stuck and unable to leave, looking at one of the many portraits of you, Root and Sander together that Root had kept secretly hidden in one of your drawers, debating if you should take it with you or not.

You're not sentimental. There's no time for you to be attached to things that aren't real. But this simulation is as real as it gets for you; it really is your endgame. And if you're going to be stuck in this fantasy world, you might as well pack something that you'll remember by it.

You put it in the duffel bag, just when the door to the bedroom opens.

Great. You didn't even hear the front door opening.

"Sameen."

"Mama!"

Root and Sander greet you in unison, making you look behind them from your place in front of the bed.

You know this is supposed to be the part where you feel something; anything. Instead, you feel a dull ache in your chest, but it's mostly silent. Present, but not invasive. You're numb, but you're pretty sure your dial is turned way up.

You didn't even know it was possible to feel numb from feeling too much, but you suppose as a sociopath you'll never really understand feelings.

You look down at your left hand, looking at the ring Root gave you as soon as you'd allowed her to get out of the apartment to get some walks in, before looking up at her.

Root approaches you tentatively, pleading with her eyes as she looks at the bag you have packed on the bed.

"Where are you going?"

You shake your head, chuckling as you feel tears pool in your eyes, looking at her and your son. Jesus, they felt so real.

You remove the ring, grab one of her hand and put it in her palm. "Sorry, Root. I can't do this. It isn't my thing."

"Shaw, you don't know what you're doing. It's not a simulation. This is real. Sander and I are real."

You scoff, shaking your head as you look at the camera in your room. "If you think I'll believe a word Simulation Root says, you've got it all wrong," you snap, before walking back to her and cupping her cheek with one hand and Sander's with the other one last time. She leans into your touch, tears in her eyes. "You both feel so real."

"Because we are, Sweetie. Please. Don't leave."

You shake your head. "They've probably murdered you already in the real world. Samaritan's probably ruling the world right now. I--" you bite your lip, brows furrowing in your effort to stop being emotional. Damn it. "I can't have you die in this world, too. Not if I can help it."

You give each of them one last kiss, before hauling the duffel bag on your shoulder and walking past them.

"Wait, Shaw--Shaw!" she follows you to the door, with you trying to ignore the overwhelming urge to look back at her at the sound of her panicked shaky voice. Add to that Sander's disgruntled coos, sounding like he's about ready to sob.

Just as you reach the door, she turns you around with a hand on your elbow, still with her other hand carrying Sander, who's looking more and more upset at the minute.

"Sameen, look at Sander's eyes. They're yours. Samaritan wouldn't have known that. Please, Sweetie, you've got to believe me... this is real."

You look at him as he looks back at you, tears already pooling in his eyes. You have to go. You have to save him -- save them both.

"Sorry, son."

You turn around to face the door, when Root wraps her arm around you from behind.

"Shaw, feel me. I'm real. Everything's real."

You can't. You can't feel her, because if you do, you'll believe it's real. And the joke will be on you for falling for another trap. But you can't control the need to feel her one last time as you sink into her, feeling her perky breasts on your back, her frantic heart breathing, and her shaky breaths.

When you've had enough to last you for the rest of your simulation life, you unwrap her arm around you unkindly, before exiting the loft.

"Shaw!"

"Dada!"

You stop, grimacing at the pained voices behind you.

Fuck. Don't look back, Shaw. Don't look back.

You swallow, breathing one last time, before moving forward again. You hear a click that you know all too well, your eyes widening as you look back and see Root pointing a gun to herself again.

This time, Sander lets out a wail you've only heard for the first time from him.

"Mama! Dada!"

"Jesus, Root. What the hell are you doing? Put that down!"

Root smirks. "You still think it's a simulation?"

"Get that baby of yours to quiet down, will ya!" one of your neighbours shout from within their apartment, before looking outside to cast both of you a glare.

The old lady sobers up when she sees the gun on Root's hands, her hand ready to call 911 when Root points the gun at her.

"Do it and I will shoot you." Jesus Christ.

"Root!"

"Please, I--I won't."

"Good, get back inside, and go back to knitting your son's sweater."

The old lady looks bemused, ready to open her mouth again when Root points the gun to her chest. She screams, closing the door behind her, much to Root's amusement.

She looks just like the old version of her.

"Now, where were we?" she points the gun back to herself, Sander wailing beside her, the sound of it drilling your eardrums, making you wince.

"For God's sake, put that down! Sander's upset!"

"Tell me, Sameen. Would my simulation version ever dare kill myself? Does Samaritan even understand emotions, enough to tell itself how much I love you?"

"I--" you shake your head.

It doesn't. It never understood Root. And this version of her, simulation or not, is the perfect replica of who she really is. It doesn't even know that Root would kill herself if you couldn't live with her, because she couldn't live without you.

You touch the part behind your left ear again, finding smooth skin on it. You press, trying to gauge if you would ever feel pain, or feel like the world is closing in on you as the lights around you shift, but nothing happens.

Maybe it's real after all.

"If I have to kill myself for you to believe that you're safe, I will do it, Sameen. That's how much I need you to be alive."

For God's sake, this stupid idiot.

"How do I know Samaritan isn't making this up?"

She must have seen that you're already half-convinced that it's real, because she clicks the safety on her gun and tucks it behind the waistband of her jeans, before shushing Sander with a faraway look on her face.

It's the Machine.

"Come inside. The Machine wants to show you something."

You pause for a second, before walking past her to your loft, the door closing behind you as you set afoot the living room.

The TV turns on, before it's filled with static.

"Sameen Shaw. You are safe."

You snort. "Yeah, you said you wanted to show me something. What is it?"

It shows a clip from the facility they kept you in South Africa. Greer is standing beside your bed in your room, laptop open on the table in front of you, as you finished a simulation, panting on the bed.

"Have you had a change of heart, my dear Sameen?"

The screen goes blank, showing you a fast forward version of the events after that.

"I believe that was your 7054th simulation, dated back October 21, 2015."

The feeds slow down in some areas, which you assume the Machine is doing to emphasize that you had not undergone a simulation after that. It shows that you had really shot down that scientist and it wasn't a simulation. It cuts to the moment you were about to kill yourself, until you receive Root's 4AF message.

You hear Root gasp behind you.

"You received my message."

You huff an amused breath. "It's the reason why I'm still alive."

The feeds cut to the prison experiment you thought they had going on in South Africa, Lambert's efforts to convince you that you're living in a dream ending up with him shot in the chest. The Machine lets the feeds stay there, until his last dying breath.

"So I really killed the bastard?"

"That's correct. This was dated last October 28, 2015. You came back a week later in New York, where I had planned for you to cross paths with Root."

The Machine shows you the footage of your reunion with Root, and you can't help but chuckle, until the screen goes blank.

"I didn't know robot overlord played cupid."

"You know what they say, Sameen, God works in mysterious ways," Root quips behind you, a little of her teasing coming back to her voice.

You roll your eyes, sighing as you sit back down on the couch.

"This is real then."

"It is."

Root sits down beside you, careful to leave space between you two. She continues to shush Sander, who's resorted to whimpering every now and then with a grumpy expression on his face, as if blaming the both of you for the inconvenience.

You chuckle. He really is your son. You really have a son.

Suddenly, you feel guilty -- if that's even the right word for whatever's in your chest right now -- for causing this stress to Root and Sander.

You shake your head, clearing your throat. "I just thought--"

A hand on your thigh stops you, which you grab with your own.

"Hey, it's okay. The important thing is you know it's real. Samaritan doesn't have any power over you anymore. And even if another Samaritan pops up in the future, I won't let that happen to you again," Root promises with a fierce determination.

You look at her and see all the love and adoration she has for you in her eyes, and you let yourself swim in it. You pat the space beside you and she dutifully scoots until your thighs are touching each other.

As if she's read your mind, Root hands Sander over to you, who throws his hands around your neck as soon as he's in your arms.

You rub his back with your hand, the other cradling his head, as you apologize to him over and over again.

Root stands up a while later, pulling you along with her.

"Come to bed? I'm sure you're tired."

You nod, before tensing. "Can I..." you ask, looking at Sander, not sure how to say your request.

Root knows anyway and smiles at you.

"Of course, Sweetie."

You wake up two hours later in your bed, Sander sleeping soundly on your chest, while Root is curled into you. You feel your lips tugging in relief.

This time, you know it's real.

down, but not out

Chapter Summary

C's and QLB's prompt: Sick/needy Shaw who's being a big baby about it.

"Sameen, how many times do I have to tell you to stay in bed?"

"What? Can't I just sit on the damn thing?"

"Mhm. Nice try, Sweetie. Lie down."

Sameen scowls and grumpily lies back down on the bed, nose inflamed from her colds, making Root chuckle affectionately at how adorable she looks.

Root had never thought she'd see the day that something would put Shaw down. She still remembers the day she'd told John that nothing kills this cat, and it's mostly true; not even gunshot wounds or psychological torture can put a dent on her girl -- except a flu, that is; albeit a severe one.

She wants to stay home and take care of her, but apparently the Machine has other plans. And it's not like the Machine hadn't calculated other options to go about it, knowing Root's preference, but according to the Machine, the mission would involve a lot of technical aspects that no one but her can accomplish since Finch was busy assisting John and Lionel with their own numbers.

Other available assets that Root and the rest of the team have yet to meet don't meet the requirements, leaving her with no other choice but to put Sander in Finch's care for the day so as not to get him sick, before she would head to wherever it is the Machine wants her to be.

She'd woken up with quite a scare at the burn of Shaw's skin this morning. Of course, true to herself, Shaw had tried to convince her that she can handle herself and do the numbers even when she's sick, but that's until she stood up and fell on the floor. But Shaw has always been stubborn and has since tried to prove her strength, but to no avail, much to her annoyance.

Once Shaw has settled down on the bed, Root covers her with their comforter, making sure to wrap her in it so that she wouldn't feel cold.

"It's too hot, Root. I feel like I'm burning inside, but I'm also freezing on the outside. Can't you stay and warm me up instead?" Shaw grumbles from the bed with a grumpy pout. Cute.

Root sits down beside her and leans down to kiss her, before pulling away slightly.

"I know it's hot, Sweetie, but you need to sweat it all out if you want to put the fever down," she explains patiently for maybe the third time that day, still trying to wrap as much of the comforter around the darker woman's body.

Shaw's mouth pulls into a slight smirk, her eyes half-lidded as she wiggles her eyebrows.

"I can think of a better way to work up a sweat."

Root's retort is lost when Shaw pulls her down for a heated kiss, which she can't help but return, before pulling back with a smirk of her own.

"As much as I like you hot and sweaty for me, it's not the kind I need you to be right now," Root retorts with exasperated affection, leaning down to kiss the Persian one more time before standing up. "Don't worry, I'll be back after a little hacking and maybe also a little shooting. Fun, right?"

Shaw huffs and crosses her arms, grumbling to herself about how unfair everything is. Root sighs in adoration. She assumes it's the high fever making Shaw needy, but even still, she never thought she'd see this day.

"I'm sorry. I know you want to stay, but you really have to go," The Machine interrupts with her own voice through her cochlear implant, making Root sigh.

(Root will never get over the fact that the Machine chose her voice. It's weird and overwhelming to be chosen by her God, but at least she only uses it when there are emergencies and when direct conversation is needed. Otherwise, she still talks in her robotic voice.)

"She says I have to go."

"Fine, go and be with your all-seeing other half," Shaw retorts with a grumpy huff, looking away from her.

Root rolls her eyes affectionately. Trust Sameen to be overly dramatic when she's high on fever. She drops another kiss on her lips for the road, before standing up and making her way to the door, stopping and turning around when the gruff voice calls out to her.

"Yes, Sweetie?"

"Don't be an idiot out there," Shaw grunts from the bed with a warning glare.

If it had been said by anyone else, it wouldn't have meant something. But it's Shaw, and Shaw talks through subtexts that Root has learned to understand through the years, letting her know the meaning behind her words.

Take care of yourself.

Root's heart flutters, beaming at her.

"Okay, Sameen. I promise."

Shaw grunts from the bed and turns to her side, drifting off to sleep. Root spends an extra second to look at her, before leaving the bedroom and retrieving Sander and Bear in the living room.

"Alright, boys. You ready?"

Sander coos in delight at the same time as Bear lets out an excited 'whuff!' before the three of them head out of the loft.

Once out of the building, the chill morning air makes Root shiver as she sighs, one hand holding Sander's, the other on Bear's leash.

"Okay. Where do you want me?" she asks her God.

"One step at a time, Root. Say hi to Harry first, and then I'll let you know after."

She smirks. "You're the boss."

-

"No wonder you chose me for this job. This code is a piece of work."

As soon as Root had accessed the codes in the teenager's laptop, she'd understood why the Machine had asked her to do this.

Root is impressed to say the least. It's a state of the art virus he's creating, one that if he continues to develop over the years, can one day cripple the internet -- and by extension the Machine. But even at this point, it's a bitch to dismantle.

It's a good thing the Machine is keeping her company, pointing out areas she's missed every once in a while and telling her about the teenagers dorm neighbours, who are either spending their time getting drunk or high, with a few students in between sleeping or studying.

"Sameen is calling. Should I connect her for you?"

Root smiles as she types. "Yes, please."

"Root," Shaw's nasally, gruffer than usual voice comes through her implant, making Root grin.

"How's my favourite grumpy patient?"

"'m not grumpy," she huffs, sniffing. "Just called to make sure you're not making an idiot out of yourself."

Root chuckles, her heart beating double time at the implication of her words.

"I was a killer for hire, Sameen. I'm fine and unharmed."

"Until you come home with another gunshot wound on your shoulder," she scoffs, and then pauses, making Root stop her typing as she waits for her to speak. "Uh, thanks for the soup. They helped. A bit."

Confused, Root's eyebrows raise, before remembering the God they have on their side as she continues typing.

"It wasn't from me, Sweetie, but I'm glad you're feeling a bit better."

"Whatever. You almost done?"

Root smirks. "Miss me already?"

Shaw makes an exasperated sound and Root can almost hear her rolling her eyes through the phone, making her chuckle.

"Be quick about it."

The line clicks after Shaw's quick request, making Root pause in her worry as she looks at the webcam.

"How is she really doing? She's never needy."

"As well as anyone with a flu is doing. The soup I had delivered looked like it helped her regain some of her energy, but she still can't stand up for more than 10 minutes and has since resorted to following your orders to stay in bed."

Root sighs, shaking her head. "Let me know if anything happens?"

"Of course," the Machine replies.

Root spends the next hour between studying the virus and inserting codes to mess the effect of the whole thing up, when a line clicking in her cochlear implant distracts her.

"Sameen?"

"I've been meaning to ask, uh--do you think we should buy our own place?"

Not expecting the question, Root pauses from her typing. "Did you want to get our own place?"

"I'm asking you, Root," Shaw groans, making Root chuckle.

"Well, it does give us an excuse to christen another place, doesn't it?" Root purrs, which results in Shaw groaning.

"I'm serious."

Root bites her lip. She doesn't know what it is about Shaw being comfortable with domesticity, but it really is having an effect on her that's really not appropriate for the time being.

"Hmmm, domesticity befits you, Sameen. It's really doing it for me."

"Root."

Root rolls her eyes. "Look, Sam, Harry doesn't mind that we're staying there. Besides, I want Sander's tuition coming from our own pockets. But if you really want to move out, then we move out. A little hacking can replenish our money supply."

There's a pause, allowing Root to focus on her task, where she realizes she's made a mistake.

"Shoot," she hisses in frustration, before sighing, "Sweetie, I really need to go. Can we talk about this when I get home?"

"Fine."

The line clicks shut, making Root roll her eyes in part amusement and annoyance. It's been a long time since Shaw brought up the question of whether or not they should move out of Harry's safe house, which Root suspects Shaw only asked out of boredom.

She's 30 minutes in, feeling particularly in the zone, when another click distracts her.

"Root," came Shaw's whiny voice through the phone.

Root sits up straight, brows furrowing in concern. Shaw sounds worse than she did earlier.

"Is everything okay, Sweetie? You sound like you've been dragged to hell and back."

"Yeah, well I feel like it," Shaw snaps, the line cracking as she obviously breathes through her mouth. "How long 'til you and Sander come home?"

"Well, saving the world from a potential AI apocalypse takes a lot of time."

"Great," Shaw grouches over the phone, Root almost smiling at the sound.

"I promise I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Whatever," she grunts, hanging up the phone.

Root rolls her eyes in exasperation, before continuing her code.

She's almost done. She suspects she has another hour of doing this, the Machine confirming it for her if she continues to work at her pace. But of course, Sameen has other plans as she calls again 15 minutes later.

"Sameen, this is really cute, but--"

"How long until you finish?" Shaw interrupts her, her voice cloggier than usual.

Root sighs, scratching her head. "Longer if you keep interrupting me. Seriously, Sam, I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Well you're taking too long."

"That's because you keep distracting me."

"What's the matter, Root? Can't multitask?" Shaw teases her over the phone, sparking irritation in her.

"I'll have you know that I am the best at multitasking," she retorts, indignant.

"Yeah? It doesn't seem like it."

Root groans, frustrated at how much of a big baby Sameen is being, when she hears Shaw chuckling over the phone. Root finds herself smiling in realization despite her irritation.

"You're doing this on purpose."

Shaw chuckles. "Work faster, babe."

Root freezes, not sure if she heard Shaw correctly. Even then, her heart flutters wildly in her chest, her stomach doing back flips as she mulls over what she thought she just heard.

(Root thinks that from an outsider's point of view, she's probably ridiculous. She's already engaged to the woman, but most of the time, Shaw makes her feel like they've only just gotten together for the first time.)

Did she just...?

"Di--did you just call me babe, Sameen?" Root asks, slightly amused and confused.

"I didn't," Shaw denies quickly, confirming Root's hearing.

"You totally did!"

"Don't make a big deal out of this," Shaw snaps. "I'm sick."

"Uhuh, it's the flu's fault."

"Whatever. If you're not home in an hour, you're sleeping on the couch."

"Sam--" she's cut off by the line clicking shut, making her frown as she muses to herself, "Well, that was rude."

But the frown is soon replaced with a grin as Shaw's term of endearment -- her first time! -- replays in her head.

With renewed vigour, she finishes 15 minutes earlier than expected, and soon she's leaving the dorms with a copy of the virus just as the Machine informs her of the teenager coming back into his apartment.

Root picks up Sander and Bear from the subway and hands Harold the copy of the virus, while he informs her that Sander's had his lunch before heading back home to Sameen.

-

Once Root enters the loft, it's obvious that the apartment has been housing a sick person, judging by the smell. It isn't acrid in anyway, but it's the smell that one would know when someone is sick.

She immediately puts Sander in his crib, who thankfully doesn't protest as he's in deep sleep. Bear takes his position by his bed beside his crib, which Root thanks him with a scratch behind his ear, before making her way to the bedroom.

As soon as she sees Sameen's sleeping form on the bed, Root's heart melts. Shaw is obviously not doing well, made obvious by the fact that she's curled into herself, which is very un-Shaw like.

She looks at the nightstand and sees a towel, a drained glass of water, and several empty plastic foils of pills, which Root takes as a good sign.

Gently taking her place beside Shaw's prone form, she brushes the loose hair out of her face while she busies her other hand brushing away the beads of sweat that have gathered on her neck, which stirs Shaw into consciousness as her half-lidded eyes focus on Root.

"Hey, baby," Root whispers, "Wanna take a shower?"

Shaw groans, stretching her body, before nodding her assent. Root dutifully helps her out of bed, arm around her waist to guide her to the bathroom, where she starts undressing her.

Root takes extra time with her, careful not to rush her movements as she removes Shaw's clothing one by one starting with her tank top. Next, her sweatpants that Root has only noticed she's put on, remembering that she was only wearing her boxer briefs underneath the blankets earlier. She pulls down the waistband of her boxer briefs last, making sure to hold Shaw by her hips as she steps out of them, before pushing her down the toilet to take a seat.

Root undresses herself in record time in front of Sameen, who even with half-lidded eyes assesses her body like a tiger, looking for scratches or wounds. Pleased to find none, she relaxes, before Root helps her up and walks to stand under the shower heads.

She makes sure to set the dial warm enough for them both, before turning it on, both of them dripping wet in seconds as they stand under the showers, with Root standing behind Shaw, one hand on her hip to keep her steady as she busies the other soaping Sameen's body.

It gives Root the perfect chance to admire her fiancee's body, even if she already knows it like the back of her hand from the countless hours of exploration they've spent in bed. But somehow, this is a different experience.

It's more intimate, and Root revels in the realization that she's probably the only one Shaw has allowed to touch her body like this without it leading to sex.

Root busies herself washing her torso, back and legs, leaving out her crotch out of respect for Shaw's boundaries. But Shaw notices anyway and looks behind her, grabbing her hand and placing it atop near her crotch, nodding at her.

It's all the permission Root needs, soaping her length, careful not to put too much pressure. Her ministrations end up with Shaw having a semi anyway, which Root dutifully ignores, knowing it isn't what she needs at the moment.

After that, she puts a healthy amount of shampoo in her hand, before applying it on Shaw's hair. Root massages her scalp as she does so, Shaw purring in response, which makes her chuckle as she takes better care to slow down her movements for Shaw's sake.

She makes sure not to spend too much time under the showers though, and soon, she's rinsing the lather out of Shaw's hair, before taking her place in front of her and doing the same to herself.

Once done, she towels Shaw down and dresses her up in new clothes, t-shirt instead of the usual tank top, and sweatpants instead of boy short. Root dresses herself up with one of Sameen's baggy hoodies and her own panties, before guiding both of them to the bed, where Shaw immediately grabs her arm and wraps it around her until it's tucked under her chin and between her breasts as she turns to her side.

Root hums, shrugging Shaw's hold in favour of feeling around for her temperature, which results in a whine from Shaw.

"Root."

"I'm just feeling around for your temperature," Root assures her, glad that her temperature has gone down, before tightening her hold around Shaw as their legs intertwine with each other, and only then does Shaw relax.

"Feeling better?"

"Hmmm," Shaw hums, nodding ever so slightly, which puts a smile on Root's face.

"Good. Go to sleep."

"Would you stay?" Shaw asks, voice small and uncertain, which only makes Root melt even further as she tightens her hold, kissing Shaw's shoulder.

"Of course, Sweetie."

"Good. I like you better than the comforters."

Root chuckles, dropping another kiss on Shaw's shoulder, and another at her neck, before settling down behind her.

"Sleep, Sameen. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thanks, babe. Love you."

Root tenses from the sleep-induced words, knowing she'll never get to hear them again unless Shaw gets hit by another flu and becomes a big baby about it. She relaxes herself, her stomach doing flips inside of her as her heart expands, before allowing herself to grin.

She's half-tempted to wake her up and tease about it, but decides against it.

"I love you," Root whispers back even though Sameen won't hear her, before settling behind her comfortably, content with watching her sleep with a smile on her face and lightness in her chest.

"Are you happy?" the Machine whispers in her ear, which only makes Root smile wider.

"Absolutely."

ding-dong-they should have fucking ditched

Chapter Summary

Not a prompt. Just shenanigans.

Ding-dong!

"Sweetie, be a dear and answer the door, would you?"

You roll your eyes, ignoring her request as you continue to bench press. Whoever it is will get the message and leave soon enough.

"Six... Seven... Eight..."

Ding-dong!

You scowl. It's supposed to be a day off for you and Root. Why the hell is somebody trying to ruin that now?

"Sweetie? The door?" Root shouts from the bathroom of your bedroom, which you ignore in favour of finishing your reps.

"Nine... Ten..." you grunt, putting the barbell back at its place before sitting up and wiping the sweat that's collected on your forehead as you catch your breath.

It's silent for a little while, and you sigh in relief that you don't have to deal with petty visitors. See? They always get the message.

You lie on your back again to start another round, your hands clenching the bar, ready to--

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

"Sameen!"

You scoff. Why the hell do you have to be responsible for answering the door? Root didn't tell you she invited people in. She should answer the door.

You bring the barbell down to your chest with an inhale before lifting it from your chest with an exhale. One, you count to yourself. And do it again, and again, and--

Ding-dong! Ding-dong-ding-dong! Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong!

"Sameen Shaw!"

Oh, for God's sake.

You scowl, sitting up from the bench just as Root walks out barefooted from your bedroom, hair tied up in a messy bun, t-shirt and shorts a bit soaked in water, and both of her hands still covered in lather as she looks at you incredulously.

Hot. Seriously, you're so lucky.

"What's wrong with you? Answer the door."

But right now, she's annoying.

"You answer it."

Root rolls her eyes. "I'm giving Sander a bath, in case you haven't noticed."

"They'll go away soon."

"Shaw."

"God's sake, fine!"

You stand up from the bench, grabbing your USP compact under the coffee table, before heading to the door.

Seriously, if this turns out to be a useless interruption, you're going to shoot the person. You don't even care about the mess you're going to make.

"Day off, my ass," you mutter to yourself as you unlock the door, ready to tell the fucker off when you're met with the person you haven't seen in a long time.

"Shaw?"

Hair curled, face made-up, wearing red satin dress that hugs her figure, and Gucci heels -- standing in front of you is one of the few people that you know dresses to the nines every time they're out.

"Zoe? What are you doing here?" you ask, lowering the gun.

"It's nice to see you, too, Shaw. Although you could have at least told me you were alive," Zoe retorts, looking behind you to your apartment, frowning. "Sorry, I didn't know Harold gave you the safe house. I thought I was meeting John here."

"You are," Reese says from the end of the hallway, standing up next to Zoe as he reaches your door, catching his breath. "Sorry I'm late."

"John," Zoe looks at him, appraising his unusual casual wear of leather jacket, button down shirt, and jeans. "Long time no see. You look good."

"You're not looking bad yourself, Zoe," John returns with a soft smile that you know he only reserves for his women, which almost makes you retch, but you settle for a roll of your eyes instead.

"Can someone tell me what the hell you two are doing at my apartment?"

"Sweetie, don't be rude and let the guests in!" Root shouts from your bedroom.

You roll your eyes as you open the door wider to let them in to the living room, but not before seeing the pleased and amused look on Zoe's face as she walks in.

"Sweetie? Didn't know you were the relationship type, Shaw."

Reese chuckles beside her, making you glare at him. "There's a lot more you don't know about her."

"Oh, hi there!" Root exclaims as she appears right beside you, wiping her hands before extending one towards Zoe, which Zoe takes. "You must be Zoe Morgan. It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Root."

"Root, as in..." Zoe's eyebrows raise in realization, looking between you and Reese. "I thought she was a pain in the ass? Didn't she kidnap Finch?"

"Oh, believe me, she's still a pain in the ass," you mutter, Reese grunting in acknowledgement.

You can feel Root smiling fondly at you from beside you as she sighs dramatically. "Isn't she the sweetest?"

You roll your eyes, Zoe chuckling in amusement as she looks between the two of you.

"Interesting," she muses, smiling as she turns back to Root. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet anyone who can get under Shaw's skin."

You scoff. "Not to ruin this moment, but what the hell are you two doing here? Do we have a number? I thought it was our day off."

"No, Root asked me to--"

"I told the big lug to bring Zoe so we can finally plan our wedding!" Root interrupts Reese's speech with a grin, which only annoys you further.

Great. The wedding, yes. How could you forget?

Zoe doesn't hide her amusement this time, cackling at your expense, before pausing. "Am I hearing this correctly? You're getting married, Shaw?"

"She is," Reese confirms with an amused smirk.

You scowl at the both of them, more so when Root giggles beside you with an adoring look on her face that you really want to punch. Seriously, what's a girl got to do to get a quiet day in to catch up on your workouts?

You sit down on the couch with a huff, crossing your arms. Root sits beside you and wraps one of her arms around your shoulders.

"I'm sorry about Sameen. She's just grumpy she didn't get to finish her workout."

"You're damn right, I am. For God's sake, you should've told me they were coming," you grumble, trying to elbow her away but to no avail. Annoying.

"And ruin the surprise? Where's the fun in that?" Root sing-songs with a smug look on her face, which you're really tempted to punch away.

Luckily, she senses your mood and retracts, but not before pecking your cheek with a light kiss that you wipe away quickly.

"Anyway, Zoe and I have to get to know each other on top of planning a wedding. So, we'll leave you two to brood."

"I don't--"

"Oh, you totally do," Zoe and Root interrupt you and Reese before both of you can even protest, which ends up with Zoe looking impressed as she points at a smirking Root.

"I like her, Shaw."

You growl in frustration as Root leads a chuckling Zoe to the dining room, where you can already hear Root gushing over Zoe's work and the greedy assholes she has to deal with on the daily.

If it was any other person outside of your team, you would've already clocked them for having the guts to fool around with you. But Zoe is actually one of the few people you respect.

You respect a girl who can do her kind of job done. Being a fixer is no joke, especially if you have to deal with greedy assholes who do scandalous stupid shit but don't know how to hide them. The plus side is she does all of this without resorting to violence, and that is a woman you can respect.

A woman, who you only remembered, used to be Reese's extra curricular activity, which makes you smirk as you look at Reese sat on the couch across from yours.

"Didn't know you and Zoe were back together, John."

"We're not," He says gruffly with a look, which you return with one of your own. He sighs, "I haven't seen her in a long time, too, Shaw."

"That doesn't mean you can't have your little fun later," you retort, waggling your eyebrows at him, which resorts in him looking at you like he regrets setting the whole thing up. Serves him right.

"Where's Sander?" He asks.

You know a change of topic when you hear one, and so you indulge him by leading him to Sander's bedroom, where you find your son on the floor with Bear making him laugh as he puts his snout on Sander's face. The sight is enough to pull a smile out from your and John's faces.

"Hey, kid. Your Uncle John is here," you tell your son, who immediately recognizes the name as he looks up, cooing and pointing at Reese.

Reese crouches down on the floor to level with him, and you leave them for the shower with an amused eye roll.

When you get back in Sander's room 15 minutes later, hair tied in a ponytail, tank top, and boy shorts on, you find Sander and Reese in a somewhat serious conversation on the floor. Frowning, you make sure not to make a sound as you enter the room, and it's only then you realize what it's all about.

"No, no, no... it's a dog. Bear is a dog," Reese explains, obviously trying to be patient. "Let's try that again. What's the name of this animal?" he points to a picture of an animal on one of the baby books Finch bought for Sander.

"Bear!" Sander answers seriously, his 'r' ending up as 'w.'

Reese sighs. "No, Sander. It's a dog."

"Bear!"

You chuckle silently, which catches Reese's attention as he looks at you with an expression who's trying to be patient with someone he should've lost patience with a while ago.

You sit down beside him, making sure to leave some space between you two. "You're asking the wrong question, Reese. Here, let me try," you snatch the book away from him, and Sander crawls to you from his position in front of you, until he sets himself on your lap.

You wrap one arm around him and turn the page with a bear on it, pointing to it.

"What's this?"

"Bear!" Sander coos from your arms, which gets a smile out of your face.

"That's right, buddy. And now," you turn back to the page with a dog in it.

"Bear!" Sander points at it, before pointing at Bear.

You chuckle. "Uhuh, but what is Bear?"

Sander takes a second, looking between you, the picture, and Bear, before smirking.

"Dog!"

"What?" Reese groans from his position beside you, grabbing his head. "I spent 10 minutes trying to get him to say that."

You chuckle at his frustration. "You've been asking the wrong questions. See, if he hears 'name' he says bear."

"I tried that, but he kept saying bear," he mutters under his breath, frowning at Sander who's looking at him with a smirk on his face. "Thought we were friends Sander."

Sander chuckles to himself, cooing at Reese as if to say 'Fooled you!', which only amuses you further.

"Seems like parenting isn't your thing, John."

He grunts in acknowledgement, standing up and dusting off his ass.

"Root said to tell you to go to the dining room when you're done showering."

You frown, but follow him to the dining room, but not before hesitating whether or not you should take out Sander with you, too.

You're pretty sure Zoe is going to have a field day finding out that you have a son. You, Sameen Shaw, have a son. Even you're having a hard time believing that yourself sometimes. But then, Zoe probably already knows because Root has a big mouth on her.

"Fuck it," you whisper to yourself, careful to say it without Sander hearing it, before making your way to the dining room with your son in your arms.

Reese is already with them when you get there, all of them sharing laughs, which intrigues you. Root spots you first, and then Zoe who stands, looking at your son.

"Wait, is he yours, Shaw? Because he looks a lot like you," Zoe tilts her head. "I'm hoping this isn't another case of kidnapping because that's one thing I'll never touch."

All of you chuckle, Root humming in amusement. "He's ours. His name is Sander. Come here, baby."

You transfer him to Root, where he coos endlessly at the sight of his mother, before turning to face Zoe with a curious expression.

"Yeah, I can see it. He looks a bit like Root, too," Zoe muses, sitting down before humming and looking back at you with a smile. "Nice family, Shaw."

You scowl, ready for her to throw shit at you, but nothing comes. She genuinely looks happy for you, which doesn't also sit comfortably with you as you frown to yourself, taking your place beside Root.

"Anyway, Zoe and I are almost done--"

"Almost done? It hasn't been half an hour yet," you interrupt Root, curious and reluctant to know what they've already planned. Root sees right through you, of course, chuckling.

"Relax, Sameen. We didn't plan anything you wouldn't like--well, except for some things maybe," Root finishes with a sheepish look on her face, which makes you scowl.

"Root..."

"I'm kidding. But luckily, Zoe knows a priest who owes her for fixing his name to administer the ceremony, so that's a problem off our list. The guests we can always talk about that, not that we have many friends."

You grunt in acknowledgement. She's doing well so far.

"And for the reception--" Not so well then.

"Wait, who says I wanted a reception? I don't want any reception, Root."

"See what I'm talking about?" Root sighs dramatically towards Zoe, resulting in you rolling your eyes. "There will be food in the reception, Sam. All your favourites. I promise. No salads as well."

Well, you suppose that's an offer you can't say no to.

"Just as long as I don't see strangers walking about congratulating me like they know me," you warn her with a glare, which gets a smile out of her.

"Done."

"And... I suppose food is a better alternative to fucking you all night."

Root hums, winking. "Just as long as you leave something to eat for dessert, Sweetie, we're all good."

Root for dessert sounds really, really good. The reception is a good idea, then.

Reese groans from his seated position, covering his ears, while Zoe chuckles as she watches your back and forth with Root. When they don't continue, you shrug, confused.

"That's all?"

Root smirks, mirth in her eyes as she tilts her head. "Did you want a big wedding, Sameen? Because Zoe and I can get to it if you want."

"Don't you dare," you growl.

"Now, about your attire to the wedding, you don't have to worry about spending. I know a guy who makes the best suits and dresses in town that owes me a lot of favours," Zoe supplies, your eyebrows rising.

"Exactly how many guys owe you favours?"

Zoe smirks from across you. "I'm not the best in the business for nothing, Shaw."

"See? Zoe is an efficient wedding planner. I told you she's the right choice," Root adds from your right side.

"You should wear a dress, Shaw," Reese suggests with a challenging tone, making you look at him with your own challenging smile.

"Is that a challenge I hear? You think I can't wear a dress?"

"Kids..." you hear Root vaguely trying to stop your bantering with Reese, but both of you ignore her.

"I've seen you wear dresses, but it would be nice to see you in a wedding dress," Reese says, smirking at you, which makes you scoff.

"You really think I can't do it, can you?"

Root grabs your arm then, squeezing it, effectively catching your attention. "Shaw, you don't have to do anything uncomfortable."

"What? You think I can't wear a dress, too? You saw me working the make-up counter."

"How can I forget? You were the prettiest girl in there," Root purrs. You clench your jaw to stop yourself from smiling, rolling your eyes at her. "I just don't want you to do something just because someone--" she pauses to give John a look. "--is telling you to do so. Plus, I want you to be comfortable."

She has a point. You can always tuck in your extra appendage, but that would only make you uncomfortable for the rest of the day. The wedding itself is something you already have to deal with.

You shrug. "You're right. I'm going with a suit."

Reese tuts with a mock disappointed face and you flip him off for it.

Zoe sighs, "Well, that's settled then. I'm going to have to reach out to my friend for hotel reservations--"

Wait, what?

"Wait, hotel reservations? What's Zoe talking about?" you ask Root, panicked that she's done something really wrong.

"Reception venue," Zoe supplies before Root can open her mouth.

You groan, covering your face. "Root, what did I say about making this a big deal?"

"Sameen, it's not like the whole hotel is invited to the reception."

"Does it have to be in a hotel?" you grumble, feeling a headache coming on. Christ, you thought everything was doing so well.

"Well, it's not really a hotel. It's more of a resort." You glare at her effort to appease you, which gets an exasperated sigh from her. "Trust me, Sameen. We're going to be the only people in there."

You scoff, massaging your temples. "Anything else I should know?"

"Oh, and I invited a band--"

You don't even let her finish her sentence, dropping your head on the table, groaning to yourself as all of them chuckle at your expense.

"Damn it, Root."

harriet the spy

Chapter Summary

Two words, One name: Gen Zhirova.

Warning: There's a bit of smut in here for those who don't enjoy that sort of thing, so tread lightly. Otherwise, have fun!

The ringing of your phone wakes you up from your deep sleep. You groan at the interruption, cursing yourself for not putting it on silent while debating whether or not you should answer it.

You had quite the long night taking care of a number and had gotten home at around 4 in the morning with Root passed out on the couch, obviously waiting for you despite protestations from yourself not to.

It has been almost two years since you came back, but the feeling that someone else is looking out for you still doesn't sit comfortably in your stomach. You've gotten better at accepting the fact that there are people who care for you. Likewise, you've gotten better at showing people that you can care. But there are still times when you struggle with yourself -- living 3 decades of your life without letting anyone in (except Cole) does that.

Seeing Root on the couch made you feel things you can't describe. You suppose it's guilt with a mix of anger and affection because Root just doesn't quit; she'll always do the opposite of what you're telling her to do especially when it comes to your safety. Sometimes, you still don't know what to do with that, but you reckon returning the favour is enough.

You'd carried her to your bed after checking on Sander and Bear, and then changed into your tank top and removed your boots, socks, hoodie, and jeans before joining her, where she'd curled into you automatically -- and even that's still something you're getting used to (you'll deny to anyone that you actually like it when she does that).

You suppose you've only had 2 hours of sleep, give or take, before your phone started ringing, and you really want to shut the damn thing off but you're finding it hard to move, especially with Root sprawled on top of you.

She groans when the ringing continues, her nose scrunching in that way it usually does when she's confused, before turning her body to the other side of the bed, bringing the blankets along with her and curling to herself, her hearing ear on the pillow.

Good, you think. She doesn't have to hear the phone ring through the room because you have absolutely no plans to answer that call. You're all for saving the world, but surely Reese and Fusco, or someone else can take the number?

The ringing stops and you sigh in relief, closing your eyes and getting yourself comfortable to continue your interrupted sleep. But just as you can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness, the ringing starts again, making you groan.

If this is a fucking number, you can't promise that you won't end up shooting them with the lack of sleep.

You get up from bed and retrieve the offending device from the pocket of your jeans, before padding your way out of your bedroom.

"What?" You snap impatiently when you answer the call.

"Shaw! Why weren't you answering your phone?" A young girl's tone answers on the other end of the line, making you frown.

The voice sounds eerily familiar to you, but it's a lot less high than you remember it, which is the cause of your confusion. You haven't been in touch since... well, all the Samaritan shit happened, and you're not sure why she's calling now.

"Hello? Shaw? Are you there?"

You shake your head. "Gen?"

"Finally!" She exclaims, making you wince and lower the volume of your phone. "I thought you wouldn't recognize me."

"Jesus, Gen. What could be so important at..." you hiss, trying not to wake the rest of your housemates as you check the time. "...6 in the goddamn morning? And how the hell did you even get this number?"

"I forced Mr. Finch to give it to me," Gen answers proudly, and then with a small voice, "He came to visit me one day to tell me you were missing and I thought of the worst. I thought you were dead, Shaw."

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you sit on the couch.

You can't really blame the kid for thinking you were dead; even your team thought so, too. But you should have kept in touch with her the minute you had a handle of yourself after the whole Samaritan shit show, but there were other things that kept you busy.

You'd tried visiting her every time you got the chance, but when Samaritan had been online, you'd been forced to cut back from the communications. You can't imagine what that must have felt for her -- to suddenly have no one there to talk to.

"Shaw?" She prompts, bringing you out of your daze.

"Yeah, kid. Still here," you tell her, sighing. "Things were a bit messy for a while that's why I couldn't come and visit."

She huffs, petulant. "Mr. Finch said the same thing."

You roll your eyes. "How the hell did you even get in touch with Finch in the first place?"

"Oh, he left his contact number in the administrator's office--one of them, I guess. I called him because of school, and well... he apologized for not coming to my parent-teacher conferences for the last 3 years. And then he mentioned you!"

"Great, now that you know I'm alive, can I sleep now?" you grouch.

You're all for catching up with the kid, but it's too damn early for this.

"Not so fast, Shaw," she sings playfully, making you groan.

"What now? It's too early for this, kid. Can't we do this at a later time?"

"Weren't you going to invite me to your wedding?"

You freeze, sleep suddenly at the back of your mind.

"Finch told you about that?" you grit through your teeth.

"No. He said something about contacting you for an event you might invite me for and I guessed. You just confirmed it. So?"

You roll your eyes, sighing. Kid is too smart for her own good.

"Look, what can I do to get you off the phone?"

"Meet me today. You owe me that much for thinking you were dead for almost 4 years now! And I want to meet whoever it is you're going to marry," she demands in a tone that's for too chipper at this time of the day.

You groan. "Fine. Just... get off the phone and don't call for another half day."

"Wait! Where? What time?" you hear her ask through the phone just as you hang up the phone, already making your way back to your bedroom.

You're just going to have to text her when you've slept enough.

Making sure to put it on vibrate this time, you place the phone on the nightstand and lie down beside Root, who curls into you, arm placed on your stomach and head on your shoulder.

"Who was that?" Root asks, her voice hoarse from sleep.

"Gen."

"Gen? The kid who gave you the medal?"

"Mmm."

"Everything okay?"

You sigh. Manoeuvring the arm she's lying on around her body, before wrapping it on her back.

"Sleep, Root. Talk later."

"Okay, Sameen," she buries her face further into the crevice of your neck, sighing pleasantly.

It doesn't take long before both of you are asleep.

-

"Fuck, yeah, Sameen... Mmmm, fuck, yes..." Root moans, back arched from the wall you've placed her on, circling your hips and hitting all the right places.

"You really like that, huh?"

"Mhm..." Root nods, her mouth open as she watches your movements, clenching her walls around you. "Oh... Mmmm, so good."

You continue circling your hips, licking and biting her nipples, and switching between her two breasts as she scratches your shoulders, her sighs and gasps letting you know what she needs.

You nip her nipple, releasing it with a wet 'plop' as she moans in response, before licking your way to her neck. Root grabs a fistful of your hair to pull your head back, kissing you on the lips with more force, which you eagerly return, before she pulls away, eyes closed and your lips still touching.

"Fuck me," she whimpers, moaning when you pull out slightly, before thrusting in with force. "Yes, fuck, just like that... Fuck me, Sameen."

You do it again, thrusting in and out of her slowly to establish a rhythm, your stomach clenching from how tightly she's surrounded your cock.

"Shit, Root. You feel so good around me," you grunt, feeling all of your blood rushing down south as you continue pumping in and out of her.

"Mmmm... I'm so wet for you, baby..." Root moans, her dirty talk only spurring you as you start thrusting into her faster. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"

"Fuck, Root... Your dirty mouth is going to be the death of me."

She chuckles and it sounds so sexy that you end up careening into her, in and out, in and out, her walls tightening with every thrust, her eyes closing as she moans, "Mmm, yes, yes, oh god, Sameen... fuck, yeah, more."

You give her more, moaning yourself from how good it feels to be inside her. You can feel yourself getting close to where you want to be, and she's not that far behind.

Root starts meeting your thrusts with her hips, using you as an anchor to hump herself up and down your rod as you pound into her.

"Harder, Sam... Oh!" She gasps when you do as she says, pounding into her with more force, "yes, yes, I'm so close... fuck me!"

Your cock is starting to feel full, and you know you're a few thrusts to coming as you grunt with force.

"Root, I'm... fuck, you feel so good," you moan, burying your face in her neck to anchor yourself as your hips move, pulling in and out of her with more force and speed, your stomach clenching in an effort to delay your orgasm in favour of putting her first. "Shit, I'm close..."

"Yes, oh god, yes, oh... Inside, Sameen," she moans, you groan in return as her walls tighten around you. You thrust into her more, before she stops and quivers. "Oh, fuck!" she gasps, her walls clenching and unclenching around your still moving shaft as she comes. "Come for me."

You don't need her to tell you twice. You pound into her, feeling yourself getting closer and closer with the help of her clenching walls.

"Yeah, keep doing that... yes, so good, I'm about to come again..."

Your doorbell rings, effectively stopping you from your ministrations as you groan from the interruption, Root whimpering and scratching your back to continue.

"Sameen..." she whines.

"Shhh... Person outside might hear you, Root."

The doorbell rings again and it pisses you off, pushing Root further to the wall, making her moan at the depth of you inside of her. She grabs your face with her hands, kissing you.

"Ignore it. Fuck me," Root breathes in between kisses, and you feel your hips slowly moving on its own, and soon you're thrusting in and out of her.

"Root, the door--"

"The sooner you finish, the sooner you can answer the door," she moans in a whisper to your mouth.

You can't exactly fight with her logic (or your cock can't), so you thrust into her faster and harder.

"Yes, yes, fuck, just like that," she moans, clenching her walls around you to help you, your blood rushing down to your shaft, and it's only a matter of time. "Oh, I'm gonna... I'm coming!"

You thrust one more time with force, stopping when you feel your cock twitching as you release inside of her just as she comes.

"Fuck, Root..." you groan as you continue releasing inside of her. She cups your face with her hands, kissing you sloppily as she hums into your mouth.

Just then, the doorbell rings in quick succession, one after another, making you pull away from Root.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" you yell, effectively stopping the doorbell. You already have a feeling who's on the other side of the door.

"You just did, Sameen," Root chuckles, her legs and arms still wrapped around you with you still inside of her.

You roll your eyes, but smile anyway and you peck her one last time, before pulling out of her, both of you groaning from the feeling. Root sways as soon as her legs touch the floor, making you smirk smugly at her.

She rolls her eyes affectionately as she tries to hang on to you with her arms around your neck. "A little help, Sweetie?"

You lift her into a bridal carry and bring her to your bedroom, dropping her on the bed.

"Get dressed," you tell her, receiving a wink in return.

"Yes, ma'am."

You roll your eyes as you wipe yourself with tissue, before leaving the room and retrieving the clothes you'd shed in your haste to fuck Root earlier.

(Root has been eating a lot more than she usually does. Something about her increased appetite turns you on. That, plus her in nothing else but an oversized t-shirt of yours and panties while she cooks breakfast for you and Sander... you hadn't been able to help yourself.

You'd sported a boner throughout breakfast that Root noticed, smirking in all her smug glory across from you as she fed Sander. As soon as Sander was done, you'd placed him in his crib and fucked Root.)

As soon as you're dressed in your tank top and boy shorts, you remove the ponytail from your hair and leave your hair down, retrieving your gun from under the coffee table before unlocking the door. Gun at the ready, you turn the knob and open the door, only to be met with a blond girl who's a lot taller than you'd last seen her. Called it.

"Shaw!"

Gen tackles you into a hug as soon as the door is wide enough, barely giving you enough time to prepare for the added weight as she squeezes the life out of you.

You stand there, gun still in your hand, while patting the other on her back awkwardly. As if that wasn't enough, she squeezes you tighter and you grunt at the lack of breath.

"You can let go now."

She shakes her head that's tucked in your neck. "I thought you were dead."

You sigh, rolling your eyes and patting her head, before placing your hands on her shoulders and pushing her back, which she thankfully allows you to do.

"I'm here, kid. I'm alive."

She grins at you, which you return with a shake of your head as you gesture for her to come in.

It's then you realize she couldn't have known where you live, and just when you're about to ask her, you notice the figure standing by the door, who smiles at you when you notice him.

"Finch."

"Good morning, Ms. Shaw. I apologize if we came here unannounced. Ms. Zhirova had been quite insistent to see you, and I couldn't reach your phone so I took it upon myself to bring her here."

"Sorry. I was, uh, busy," you answer, which prompts Harold to take a look at your state, his eyes widening in realization as he flushes.

He clears his throat. "Indeed."

You chuckle at his embarrassment, your thumb pointed to the apartment behind you. "Aren't you coming in?"

"I'm afraid I can't stay. I'm assisting Mr. Reese and Detective Fusco with a number each."

You nod. "Sure they can't use a helping hand?"

"Oh, it's nothing you should concern yourself with, Ms. Shaw," he shakes his head, smiling kindly at you. "I'm sure that Mr. Reese and Detective Fusco can handle them. You already had quite the number to take care of last night."

You grunt in acknowledgement.

"Anyway, I should be on my way. Have fun with Ms. Zhirova."

"Call if they need back-up," you say in lieu of a goodbye, which Finch nods his head to before heading to the elevators.

Closing the door, you realize that it's been too silent that you already know what Gen is up to before you even turn behind. You're not too oblivious about the bug she placed on your boy shorts when she was hugging you either.

"Gen, remove all the bugs you placed in my apartment now."

You hear her freeze before you turn around with a raised eyebrow, her eyes wide, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I wasn't even doing anything," she says, her voice too high to be telling the truth.

"You suck at lying," you tell her, which still doesn't make her move. You roll your eyes. "Now, Gen."

She harrumphs, grumbling to herself as she grumpily removes all the bugs she's placed in your apartment, just in time for Root to come out of your bedroom, dressed in your hoodie and shorts.

Gen notices her in an instant, her head tilting.

"So you're the one Shaw's going to marry?"

Root smirks, amused, making her way down to the living room where Gen is stood. "Yes. And I assume you're Gen."

Gen's brows furrow as she studies your fiancee with a curious eye, before looking back at you.

"Does she save other people like you do, too?" she asks, as if it's the most important question.

You shrug. "Yeah."

"Cool," she exclaims, turning back to Root with a smile. "What else do you do?"

"I hack people," Root answers proudly, which gets her a glare from you because she's only provoking the teenager that you're not even surprised when Gen's eyes widen as if she'd just hit the jackpot. "You can call me Root."

"You're a hacker? That's so awesome! Can you teach me?"

"No. Absolutely not," you object with a stern look her way, before pointing at Root. "Don't even think about it. She's bad enough without the hacking as it is."

Gen scowls. "I haven't seen you for 4 years and you're still no fun."

"Yeah? Well, cry me a river," you retort. "Haven't you learned anything from before?"

"What? You're a spy, why can't I be one?"

Root chuckles. "She has a point, Sweetie."

You glare at Root, prompting a chuckle from Gen.

"I like Root better than you already, Shaw."

You scoff, rolling your eyes and shaking your head in exasperation as both of them giggle.

"You know what? Do what you want to do. Just don't call crying for my help when you're in trouble."

"I guess I'm going to have to get Root's number then," Gen retorts, which makes you snort as you look at her with a smirk.

"Yeah? Good luck with her, kid."

Root pouts playfully. "That's not nice of you, Sam."

You roll your eyes, making your way to Sander's bedroom to check in on him and Bear, but not before hearing Gen whisper, "she's so whipped for you" to Root.

"I heard that!"

You roll your eyes when you hear both of them giggling, entering Sander's room just in time to see him trying to climb out of his crib. You rush to him before he hurts himself, carrying him.

"Not so fast, buddy," you tell him, tickling his side, which results in him giggling. Bear barks at your feet, his tail wiggling in excitement as he watches you and Sander.

"No, mama!" he exclaims in between giggles, fidgeting in your arms as he tries to stop you from tickling him. You only stop when he starts to pant, kissing him on his forehead, before putting him down on the floor on his feet.

Bear whines, obviously asking for you to pet him, which you give after a roll of your eyes, scratching his ears and giving him a kiss on his snout, resulting in you being attacked by his tongue. You indulge in it for a while before pushing him away gently and making your way out of the room, Sander's hand in yours as he and Bear walk beside you.

Of course, as soon as you'd exited the room, a gasp sounds through the living room.

"Oh my god, it's the dog you were talking about! And..." Gen runs to you and hesitates, stopping right in front of you as she looks at Sander, Sander looking back at her curiously; all the while Bear sniffs at Gen. "He looks like you... and Root."

You roll your eyes, amused at seeing her gobsmacked. "This is Sander."

"Why didn't you tell me you have a son?" She complains, looking a lot like she wants to hug Sander, but settling for petting Bear instead who indulges himself. The traitor.

"Here he is. Happy now?" You tug the hand holding Sander's, trying to make him move forward.

He doesn't. He stands his ground, looking at Gen with an expressionless face that can match yours, making you chuckle. That's my boy.

"He's cute," Gen says, smiling now and waving tentatively. "Hi, Sander. I'm Gen."

Sander looks up at you, and you give him a nod, making him look back at Gen. "Hi."

Gen grins, looking up at you from her position on the floor. "Can I carry him?"

You shrug, which Gen takes as a yes, scooping up Sander in her arms.

"Oh, wow. He's a bit heavy. How old is he?"

"Turning 2 in 3 months," you answer, just as she makes her way down to the living room. "Where's Root?"

She shrugs, her attention on Sander, who looks at her curiously. "She says she's preparing lunch," she answers, before giving you a cautious look. "Is she a good cook?"

"The best," you grin, stopping in front of your bedroom before entering. "Play with him or whatever. I'll be back."

"Take your time!" Gen replies, giggling to herself. "We're going to have a lot of fun, aren't we, Sander?"

The lack of response from Sander makes you chuckle, but you know it's only a matter of time before he warms up to her.

-

Gen spends most of the day in your apartment, doing all the talking for both you and Root, while you mostly grunt every now and then and ask questions. Root, on the other hand, entertains her, and it's obvious to you that she's taken a liking to the kid.

You know their friendship from here can only mean trouble, knowing Gen's interest in dangerous things such as spying and Root being a huge conspirator. But for some reason, it pleases you to know that at least they get along. You wouldn't want Gen to be complaining about how much she doesn't like Root, seeing as she's as whiny as Fusco even on a good day, and that this day probably means you're going to have to keep in touch with her. Whatever.

You focus your attention on Sander who's sat on your lap, assisting him every once in a while with the book Finch gave him (it's his favourite, at the moment) as he tries and fails (sometimes) to pronounce the names of the animals, while vaguely listening to Gen tell you and Root about that one time she got into a fight.

"...and then she told me to not even dare think about telling the teacher about her cheating the exams, and I wasn't having it obviously. So I asked her what she would do, and she said she'd punch me, so I told her to do it. She did, and I punched her back."

This catches your attention.

"Did you at least give her a good punch?"

"Hell, yeah. I knocked the bitch out," Gen exclaims with a proud smile, making you glare at her playfully.

"Stop swearing in front of my kid," you chastise her, before chuckling. "But yeah, good job."

"Gujab!" Sander coos, repeating your words again, all of you chuckling as a result.

"So, when's the big day?" Gen asks after she recovers, trying to look innocent.

You scowl. The kid's been hinting at wanting to get invited the whole day, but you're not having it. It's a school day for her. This is the first time she's done away with all hints of subtlety.

"Nuh uh. There's no way you're going."

She frowns. "Why not?"

"Don't mind her. You're invited," Root tells her. "It's on Tuesday."

You sigh in exasperation. "Really, Root?"

Root shrugs with a teasing smirk. "What? It's also my wedding. And I'm inviting her."

"She has school, Root."

"So? People my age skip school all the time," Gen reasons, making you roll your eyes.

"Fair enough," you nod, "But, can you get an appropriate attire in three days?"

This time, she pouts, crossing her arms.

"Aren't you going to help me, at least?"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Root says, which is really code speak for 'the Machine has taken care of it', that damn nosy Machine.

You roll your eyes, there's no way around these two, so it obviously means Gen's going to the wedding.

Your phone rings, saving you from dealing with the twosome, Finch's name flashing across the screen.

"Finch," you greet him as soon as you answer the call.

"Ms. Shaw, I'm afraid we're going to need your assistance. Detective Fusco has been shot, and it's not a through and through," Finch's anxious tone meets your ears, his extended vowels a clear give away of how bad it is.

You stand up, already making your way to your bedroom to dress up.

"I'm on my way. Is he conscious?"

"Yes, but I think he's about to be unconscious."

"Good, good. Uh, do we still have blood bags in the subway?" you ask, buttoning your jeans and tying your shoelaces.

There's a pause, before, "Yes, I believe so."

"Is that Tiny on the phone?" you hear Fusco grouch on the background, making you chuckle.

"Keep him talking and apply pressure on the wound. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Ms. Shaw."

The line clicks shut just as you finish tugging on your jacket, making your way out of the bedroom to bid your goodbye.

"Everything okay?" Root asks, concern written on her face.

You shake your head to assure her. "Nothing I can't handle."

A far away look dons on her face, which you assume means it's the Machine filling her in on what's happening, before a look of understanding comes on her face.

"Go. I'll be here with Gen."

You nod, turning to the kid, narrowing your eyes at her. "Don't think this means I don't know what you're planning once I'm out that door."

An innocent look comes through her face. "What are you talking about? Root and I will just talk."

"Right," you roll your eyes, making your way out.

As soon as you open the door, Gen whispers, as if you don't have a good hearing.

"Can you teach me how to hack?"

"I heard that!" you shout, walking away from the apartment with their giggles flowing through the hallway, making you shake your head in amusement.

four alarm fire part 1

Chapter Notes

i have nothing else to say except i'm sorry??? i didn't realize i haven't updated for a long time until i checked the date of my last upload yesterday. lmao. i'm so sorry. in my defense, this was pretty hard to write. the chapter was supposed to be the wedding + smut, but i ended up having to split this into two since it became too long and honestly, i've been making you wait long enough (incompetence at its finest, really).

i do implore you to take this lightly. i've been researching non-traditional wedding scripts, and they're all so different that i decided to mix them up for root & shaw. so if it turns out really unusual, it's because it really is unusual. lmao. i'm not particularly happy with the way this came out, but i do hope it comes out differently with you guys. let me know what u think!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

If anyone had told you before that you'd be married one day, you would have laughed at their faces and proceeded to kick their asses for even suggesting such bullshit.

If anyone had told you before that you'd end up marrying Root, you would have shot them and Root between the eyes, because it's just not going to happen.

You were just not one of those girls who thought of a future with someone else. You had always envisioned that with your personality disorder and the work you did with the ISA, you'd end up dying with no one to identify your body -- because that's just how it is for people like you who work in the dark, and it's something you'd been okay with.

But that's until you met Finch, Reese, Fusco and Root.

People... they never meant anything to you, except for a special few like your parents and Cole. You didn't care much for people's lives, that's why you were the best operative in the Activity, because you couldn't be bothered with who was at the end of your loaded gun. If they told you to kill someone, you'd kill that person, no questions asked.

Somehow though -- and until now you still don't know how this happened -- in between all the shit you've been through, with Carter, with Samaritan, these group of people who you now call friends have managed to teach you that each life matters; that there is value in life.

As if that wasn't enough, Root also taught you that you care, that you feel something, even if it's minute compared to how other people feel. And then Sander came along and completely changed it for you.

And now, today, with your hair down and face done, dressed in your white button down shirt, slacks, black necktie, and heels with the suit jacket on your arms, you're marrying the mother of your child.

You haven't seen Root since you arrived in Sun Castle Resort two days ago, where she had insisted that the two of you not sleep together and see each other until your wedding day, which you'd completely snorted at, telling her that there's no way in hell she can resist sleeping away from you. Turns out, she was serious about following through with it.

"I know we're not a traditional couple, Sweetie, but let's do this one thing. Let's be normal for once," she'd told you that day before splitting up with you and Sander after one last parting kiss, which you'd rolled your eyes and huffed at.

Honestly, you really don't get the point. Root isn't even superstitious, but then again, Root has this weird tendency of trying anything new, which is one of the reasons why this whole relationship thing with her is fun. But you kinda wish it wasn't the case in this; you'd really wanted to christen the townhouse you thought was reserved for your family.

After you got over Root's weird decision, you'd found that it provided you with the space to think, and since then your thoughts had and have been circling around one thing: you're getting married.

You're still not sure what to think about it, but it's mostly because you, a sociopath, are bothered about the fact that you don't mind it at all when you should be. You're aware you're making a mountain out of a molehill with this, and it's mostly led you to believe that you've made the wrong decision because it doesn't fit the narrative of your personality disorder -- of what you thought your life should have turned out to be.

It's the reason why you've been staring out into the lake from the window of the two-story cabin Zoe had reserved for you, toying a calling card between your fingers. You've been debating whether or not you should call the number on the card for a good hour now since you've been dressed.

You check the time on your phone, seeing that you have 45 minutes left before the ceremony. The boys should be here any minute now.

You sigh. "Fuck it."

You dial the number on the phone, placing the receiver on your ear, waiting for the line to pick up while simultaneously thinking you can't believe you're asking for someone's help.

"Good afternoon. Jack Abrams," the answer comes through after three rings.

Suddenly, you have half a mind to hang up. What the fuck are you doing, Shaw?

"Hello?" Jack prompts, impatient. "Look, I'm quite busy at the moment, so if this is another prank call--"

"No," you cut him off, clearing your throat. "Jack, it's me--uh, Sameen."

A pause, and then you hear drawers being closed.

"Sameen! Of course. I actually have an appointment, but I can always delay that for a friend of mine," Jack jests, and you snort at the unnecessary gesture. "So. Why'd you call?"

Straight to the point. Something you can always appreciate.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling your throat dry from having to confide with another person.

"It's, uh, my 'big day' today."

"Oh, Jesus. Sameen, that's great! I'm glad to hear this. I hope this call doesn't mean you're regretting it though... Are you?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Yes... No... I don't know, I don't think so. It's just... what if after the ceremony, I feel like I'm trapped?"

"Do you feel trapped?"

You don't. "No, I--she..." You sigh, rolling your eyes. You can't believe you're about to say this. "She feels like home."

He chuckles. "What seems to be the problem then?"

You know what he's doing. He's doing some psychological bullshit on you, but you can't deny that it's helping you figure things out.

"I mean, I'm a sociopath. Shouldn't I be bothered that this feels right?"

"That's your problem? You're bothered because you shouldn't be doing this because of your diagnosis like it's some kind of prophecy, even though it feels right? Is that it?"

"Well, if you put it that way, it sounds stupid," you mutter under your breath.

Jack chuckles. "Because it is, mate. You're over thinking this. But listen, I can't blame you, yeah? Just answer this one thing: do you think, in some deep dark hidden part of you, you're making a mistake by marrying her?"

It's a piece of fucking paper, but you know you're doing this for Root; you're doing this because you know it's what she wants and it's what will make her happy. And in your books, anything that prevents her from being an Eeyore is not a mistake. It will never be one.

Personally, you don't really care for making things official. You don't need a piece of paper to tell you that you're Root's, and always will be. But if this is what she needs, you'll give it to her.

"No, it doesn't," you answer him with finality, the stress you've been holding on for quite some time now finally leaving your body.

"There you go! Don't worry about the rest, mate. Just go out there and marry your girl, yeah?"

You shake your head in amusement at his genuine happiness for you. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He chuckles in return. And then, like an after thought, you clear your throat. "Uh, if you want, you could go to the reception. Sun Castle Resort. Lake George. Just, you know, if you want to."

"That's a three hour drive from here, innit?" you make a sound of agreement, hearing him sigh in return. "I'm fully booked, I don't know if I can make it."

"That's fine," you reply, not really bothered if he can't make it.

Just as well, you can hear someone knocking on the front door, which you assume is one of the boys.

"No, but I will try, yeah? Try to have fun. It's your day. Congratulations, mate," Jack tells you, sounding for all intents and purposes like you've known each other for a long time now.

"Thanks," you tell him, before hanging up the phone, heaving a sigh of relief. Well, that helped.

"NYPD! Open up!"

The shout prompts you to stalk towards the front door, opening it with an unamused look on your face.

"Really, Lionel?"

"What?" He chuckles, amused and incredulous at the same time. "You and Captain America really need to get some sense of humour."

You roll your eyes as he walks past you, leaving you standing there with Reese, who's appraising your get-up with a smirk on his face as he walks past you.

"Looking good, Shaw."

You smirk, appraising his Armani suit and bow tie. Reese has always been a good looking guy in your books.

"Not so bad yourself, John," you tell him, before looking outside, expecting a blonde figure to appear. "Where's Gen?"

"With Root," he answers, sitting down on the couch, before smirking at you teasingly. "I didn't know you were superstitious, Shaw."

"It was Root's idea," you groan, rolling your eyes and plonking yourself beside him. Fusco chuckles from the kitchen, Sander cooing in his arms.

(Sander is also dressed in the same miniature version of your suit and he looks handsome in it. His hair is a mop of wavy light brown hair, which only makes him look better. You're pretty sure Root's going to cry when he sees how good your son looks, knowing she's sappy like that.)

"I think it was a good idea if you ask me. I don't think the two of you would wait for the ceremony to start the honeymoon. Cuckoo's Nest may be crazy, but she cleans up nicely in that wedding dress," he appraises you with an impressed look, rocking Sander in his arms and then wincing from his still healing wound.

You glare at him. "I'm not fixing your stitches. Put him down."

He rolls his eyes, putting Sander down, who immediately walks towards you, before continuing. "'course, you look good, too. Better than I ever have in a suit."

"Anyone would look better than you in a suit, Lionel," you retort, getting a chuckle from Reese and an affronted look from Fusco.

"Hey!" he yelps, Sander repeating the word in your arms as Fusco pinches his new black tailored suit. "I spent a lot on this. Would it kill you to give a few compliments?"

You and Reese look at each other at the same time, talking with your eyes, before looking back at Fusco with blank looks on your faces.

Fusco scowls. "You two are really weird, you know that?" When both you and Reese don't move, his scowl deepens. "Whatever. Let's go. 'bout time you went to church and confessed your sins, Mr. and Ms. Congeniality. Isn't that right, little boy?"

Sander coos, amusing you and Reese as you finally let yourselves release a chuckle. For all your stoic and nonchalant attitude, you appreciate Fusco's efforts at humour and Reese's silent and unwavering support by your side.

As soon as you stand up from the couch, Reese takes the suit jacket splayed on your arm and assists you into them, fixing the lapels once you've worn the suit, while Fusco heads out with Sander.

He steps back, smiling at you softly. "There," he says, offering his elbow. "Ready to get married, Shaw?"

You snort, rolling your eyes as you walk past him and out of the cabin where Fusco's already placing Sander inside the sleek black Range Rover Sport. Damn, now that's a fucking beauty.

You whistle your appreciation, feeling Reese smirking the whole time as he walks beside you.

"Wanna give your gift a try?"

You look at him with narrowed eyes. "You stole this."

He chuckles, throwing the keys your way and entering the passenger's seat without answering your question.

You stare at the keys in awe. It looks brand new for it to be stolen. But then again, this is Reese you're talking about.

"What are you waiting for, Sunshine? Let's get you hitched!" Fusco shouts from the open window at the backseat, prompting you to move with a grin on your face. Let's do this.

15 minutes later, you're a huge bundle of nerves in front of the altar, the grin on your face gone. Reese is standing slightly behind you as your attendant -- whatever the hell the purpose of that is.

You're not sure where the sudden onslaught of nerves are coming from, but as soon as you'd step foot inside the church 5 minutes ago, you'd suddenly felt jumpy

You know you're nervous, but you're denying it to yourself because you don't do nervous. But it's Root, and Root has always been the only other person besides Sander who can make you feel things you haven't felt before.

It's a good thing you'd tucked in a small bottle of whiskey in your pocket from the refrigerator of the cabin, which you retrieve from your pocket and open with an ease, chugging it. The burn of the alcohol in your throat helps ground you a bit, drowning out the thumping in your chest.

Reese chuckles behinds you, and you feel him leaning in, "Nervous, Shaw?"

"I'm not," you snap, glaring at him. He flashes you a knowing smirk. "Shut up."

"What's wrong with being nervous? I'd be nervous too if I was marrying Fruit Loops," Fusco adds in from the front seat of the chapel. You scowl at his comment, which he ignores with a shrug. "Trust me. Marriage is a different ball game. If I could turn back time, I wouldn't marry the ex."

That isn't really comforting.

Zoe chuckles from the front seat of the opposite row where Fusco is seated. "You may want to close your mouth, Detective. You're not helping her."

"I'm just sayin'," he grouches, incredulous. "Look, both of you are lunatics anyway, so it doesn't matter. It will work."

"Don't worry, Shaw. I think Root's cool," Gen supplies, arm around Sander to keep him on his seat.

You roll your eyes, amused. "Of course, you do," you grumble.

Just then, the double doors of the chapel open, all of you straightening up as you wait with baited breath for Finch and Root to come in. After ten agonizing seconds, you finally see two figures. One in a navy blue bespoke suit, elbow crooked with a hand curled around it from the other figure; a figure you can't keep your eyes off of when you finally take her in.

If there was ever any lingering doubt left in you for choosing to marry Root, now you're certain there isn't. This, right here, Root walking down the isle with a huge smile on her face, is a sight that you'll always remember.

Root has always been beautiful in your eyes, even after she'd tricked you into thinking she was Veronica Sinclair the first time you met. If anything, the way she'd played you that time was what attracted you to her; you just weren't interested yet. But now, in her wedding dress, the word beautiful doesn't cut it.

The dress is simple; its colour a cross between white and silver, elegant enough for you to know that it costs a lot. It's a tube dress that hugs Root's slim figure in all the right places until just below her hips, the rest splaying itself in neatly folded patterns like that of a mermaid's tail, the edges dancing on the floor as she walks down the isle.

(You make a mental note to thank Zoe for the hook-up -- maybe give her a Beretta Nano she can tuck in her purse just in case she runs into trouble.)

You're vaguely aware of the smile plastered on your face, but you can't fight the irresistible tug of your lips. You stand a little taller with the knowledge that you get to spend the rest of your life with this woman.

"Mama!"

Sander's excited coo brings you out of your daze, Root in the same predicament as her gaze switches from you to Sander, who's now stood on the seat with a huge smile on his face, arms wide open as he looks at Root who's just walked past the front row.

(You don't know how long you've been staring at Root, and vice versa, but you're pretty sure it took longer than it felt if you've only realized now that she's almost right in front of you -- that's how breathtaking she is.)

Root pauses, a hand covering her mouth as she stares in awe at your son. You smirk at the reaction, expecting nothing less from the sap.

"Nice, mama," Sander coos as he points at Root, which is his usual speak for something he likes.

You watch Root melt on the spot, and it's disgusting and endearing at the same time.

Root pulls away from Finch briefly and scoops Sander in her arms. "My handsome little boy," she says, her greeting muffled by the kisses she showers in his face, before putting him down and returning to Finch, her eyes travelling back to you.

She grins all the way until she and Finch are finally right in front of you. Finch releases her, putting one hand on Root's shoulder and one hand on yours.

"I'm very proud of you both," he says, smiling kindly. You don't really know what to say so you nod in acknowledgement, Harold taking his place on the front row beside Zoe after.

"Hey, Sweetie. You missed me?" Root says in a form of greeting with a lopsided smile on her face, a funny fluttering feeling in your chest suddenly making its appearance.

You smirk back, remembering a line you used to tell her off. "Yeah. I miss you like I miss an intestinal parasite."

She smiles knowingly, obviously catching on. "I love your similes."

Both of you share an amused chuckle at the memory. You offer your elbow to her. She circles her hand around it, squeezing you in a way that you know means Thanks for showing up, this means a lot to me as both of you face the priest.

"Good afternoon and welcome, friends. Please take your seats," the priest starts, everyone behind you following him before he continues, "We are gathered here today to celebrate the unity of Root Groves and Sameen Shaw in marriage. Today, all of us become witnesses to a love..."

Everything else fades away when you suddenly feel uncomfortable. All the words being thrown around -- love, marriage, unity -- are words you aren't used to hearing in relation to you, and it's making you squirm.

You're almost embarrassed that you're here standing in front of your friends, to whom you've always sworn that you don't do feelings, and yet here you are.

Root picks up on your mood, her hand travelling from your elbow to your hands, interlacing it with hers. You look at your joined hands, before looking at her -- your high heels almost putting you at the same level as her -- to find that she's still looking at you with unabashed affection that you'll never think you deserve.

"Stay here with me," she whispers, squeezing your hands, which helps you relax a little as you sigh quietly.

You ignore the rest of the sappy shit the priest spews, Root's presence and the training you have of ignoring white noise helping you. It helps that Root looks fucking amazing, so you stare at her as she stares back at you, until the priest clears his throat.

The priest smiles knowingly, before he continues, "I've been told that you're exchanging your speeches in private."

Root nods and smiles her answer, still at a loss of words as she continues looking at you. You appreciate her effort to make you comfortable, and you let her know by squeezing her hands, running your thumb at the back of her hand, resulting in a grin from her.

"Alright, John. Will you do the honours?"

Clueless, you look behind you and see Reese procuring a rope from his pocket, grinning at you as he positions himself between you and Root.

"Hold hands, ladies," He says, both you and Root following him as both of you hold each other's hands while he prepares to tie the knot around your hands, before pausing and smirking your way. "Last chance to back out, Shaw. Sure you wanna be tied down? Thought you only did three nights tops?"

You glare at him as Root chuckles in front of you. "Shut up and get to it, Boy Scout."

He chuckles, tying the knot around yours and Root's joined hands perfectly; tight enough for your hands to be stuck, but loose enough for it not to stop the blood flowing.

Root tests it out, wiggling her wrists, humming with mirth dancing in her eyes. Oh, no.

"Mmm... You wanna test how tight this thing holds later, Sameen?" She purrs with a smirk, and your mouth suddenly dries from the images flashing in your eyes, gulping at the sudden onslaught of arousal. Jesus, she always has to be inappropriate.

The priest clears his throat, thankfully saving you from Root. "Let's move on and finish this, shall we?"

"I certainly can't wait to finish," Root agrees, making you groan as Reese, Zoe, and Fusco all chuckle in the background. That was terrible.

"Root," you chuckle and warn her half-heartedly to stop it. The priest looks like he's going to have an aneurysm if Root doesn't stop with the innuendos.

She chuckles, smiling patronizingly at the priest as she tilts her head. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. She looks so beautiful in that suit."

You clench your jaw and keep your face stoic in an effort to stop yourself from giving out an outward reaction to that, but judging by Root's smirk, she sees right through you anyway. Damn it.

The priest glares at her, before clearing his throat and looking at you.

"Will you, Sameen Shaw, take Root Groves as your lawfully wedded wife? Will you give her your hand, your heart and your life, from this day forward for as long as you both live?" he asks, and you suddenly sober up. This whole thing's suddenly becoming real and it's hitting you like a freight train.

You sigh, looking at Root, who's looking at you with what seems like all the adoration on this earth, and the only thing you can think of is you don't deserve her. But you're sure as hell going to try and reciprocate her feelings in whatever way you can, and this is the first step.

"I will," you say with a proud voice, even though your insides are churning. Whatever. Root's grin right now is worth it.

The priest smiles, looking at Root. "Will you, Root Groves, take Sameen Shaw as your lawfully wedded wife? Will you give her your hand, your heart and your life, from this day forward for as long as you both live?"

"Absolutely," she breathes out, tears pooling in her eyes. "I will."

"Rings, please?" The priest looks around, confused that the rings aren't anywhere to be found, before Reese whistles.

"Kom hier, Bear!"

Bear comes bounding in from the doors, his collar clinking against the box of rings hanging on it. The sight pulls a chuckle out of you, grinning at your best friend, because of course he has to be the ring bearer in this.

He stops right in front of you, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his tail wagging as he waits for someone to pet him. Reese does the honours, handing the box of rings to the priest, before petting Bear and ordering him to sit. Next, he unties the knot around your joined hands loose for movement.

The priest gives you the ring for Root, "Repeat after me: state her name, I give you this ring, as a daily reminder of my love for you."

This is what you hate the most. You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable twinge in your gut from having to do this in front of people, but soldier on anyway.

For Root, you repeat to yourself mentally.

"Root, I give you this ring, as a daily reminder of, uh--" you pause, clearing your throat. "--of my love for you," you finish in a rush, slipping the ring on her finger.

Root beams, tears falling down her cheeks as she gets the ring handed over by the priest.

"Sameen, I give you this ring, as a daily reminder of my love for you," she recites with a shake in her voice, slipping the ring on your finger, prompting you to shake your head in amusement from how sappy she's being.

"By the power vested in me, I now join you in marriage and pronounce you wife and wife. Congratulations, you may now--"

The rest of his words are cut off when Root decides to pull you in unceremoniously for a kiss, your friends cheering, chuckling and clapping at her enthusiasm.

You sigh when your lips meet, only then realizing how much you've missed doing this with the day you had to spend away from Root, and then freeze when you realize you're doing it in front of your friends.

You pull away, feeling a flush rise from your neck to your cheeks, busying yourself with removing the loosely tied knot around your hands. Root helps you with the rope, before dropping them in exchange for cupping your cheeks, while your hands fight and stay on your sides, resisting the temptation of pulling her in.

She leans in, and you know she's about to kiss you again, her lips a hair's breath away from yours. You tense in anticipation, until she stops suddenly, prompting you to open your eyes, only for you to see that she's smiling at the ground, where you find Sander there cooing at both of you, tugging at Root's dress.

"Carry," he says, sounding a lot like 'kewi', opening his arms to you, and you're powerless to resist, bending down and lifting him up by his arm pits, hoisting him on your hip. "Yay!" he raises his fist triumphantly, which results in all of you chuckling.

Root cups his cheeks, kissing him on his lips, Sander smirking back at her, nodding. "Nice."

The smile on Root's face is even better than the smile you put in there when you proposed. It's literally like looking at the sun directly in front of you; it's blinding, but in a completely breathtaking way. You can't stop looking.

"Everyone, I present to you Mrs. And Mrs. Shaw!" the priest announces.

"You mean, Mrs. and Mrs. Crazy!" Fusco shouts from the front row, everyone chuckling and Bear barking, while the priest glowers at his heckling.

A hand squeezes your shoulder, making you look back to see Reese smiling awkwardly at you.

"Congrats, Shaw."

"Thanks," you nod, feeling particularly awkward yourself. You and Reese don't do this shit to each other, and thankfully he pulls his hand away in favour of congratulating Root, who's just finished being told by Finch that he's happy for her.

Finch does the same to you, and then Fusco, and then Zoe and Gen follow afterwards, until it gets too much and you grow antsy.

"Alright, enough of this sappy shit. Let's eat!" you declare, everyone agreeing as all of you make your way out of the chapel.

You walk side by side with Root, who slips her hand into yours, the ring in her hand catching your attention. She squeezes your hand, prompting you to look up and see her doting smile. Thank you, she mouths, which you return with a smirk of your own, squeezing her hand in yours as you make your way to the reception.

Worth it.

Chapter End Notes

credits to thegoodbyegirl for reminding me of root's "absolutely" :)

four alarm fire part 2

Chapter Summary

Part 2! Longest chapter I've written so far, I think.

Warning: NSFW. It's a fuck fest. If G!P ain't your kink, you know the drill.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Root made good on her promise about the food in the reception being all your favourites, because the food was great. They're probably the only thing that made the reception tolerable in the first place.

But of course, even eating and watching Reese trying to get Finch drunk wasn't enough to keep you in place, because you'd much rather get on with fucking Root into oblivion.

Jack couldn't make it. It didn't help that she'd apparently invited the nerd herd she'd been working with during the time of Vigilance and Samaritan. She'd been busy talking nerd all night with them, until everyone decided it was time for drinks, resulting in all of you congregating in one table, where Root had sat beside you and teased you by running her hands on your thigh and squeezing with a salacious look on her face.

You'd tolerated it at first, even gave a good teasing yourself by running your own hands up her thigh, lightly brushing your fingers to her centre, before putting your hands on your own lap. You did this again and again, until Root's breath had hitched louder than it should have that it's a good thing everyone was on their way to being drunk then, thanks to you and your drinking games.

"Patience, Sameen," she'd purred into your ear then, making sure no one would hear, "Be a good girl. I have a surprise for you when we get back to the cabin."

That was 30 minutes ago, and quite frankly, it's been 30 minutes too long.

Everyone is considerably buzzed, except for Fusco and Gen who have decided to rest up with Sander and Bear in one of the cabins. Zoe and Reese have retreated earlier with a flimsy excuse to rest for the night. Yeah, right.

Finch, on the other hand, has a lazy smile on his face, face flushed from the drinks. He's been talking nerd with Root, Daniel, Daizo, and Greenfield, while you drink beside Root.

Root is still lazily running her hands up and down your thigh under the table, which doesn't help the growing situation in your pants at all, the buzz from the alcohol not helping you from imagining what Root's surprise is. From the look on her face while she said it, you're pretty sure it's something you really, really like.

Jesus, just thinking about all the possibilities is enough to make your stomach clench from excitement, feeling yourself twitching inside your trousers.

Root's wide eyes travel to you, having apparently felt the twitch, her eyes dilating with desire as she smirks and leaves her hand near where you need it most, her fingers leaving light touches on your thigh.

"Root," you growl in a low, impatient tone, grabbing her hand and placing it on your crotch.

She bites her lip when she feels just how much you want her, but soon recovers as she squeezes you through your trousers with a smirk on her face. You groan louder than you should have at how good that felt, catching the attention of the nerd herd.

You cough as an excuse, which they thankfully buy as they look away and continue their conversation. Root chuckles to herself, releasing your length to take hold of your hand, before standing up.

"Thanks for coming, boys. Sameen and I are going ahead," she pulls you up with her, and you expertly hide your bulge as the nerds protest loudly, which Root smiles playfully at. "Sorry, boys."

"That's fine, Ms. Gro--I mean, Mrs. Shaw. I'm sure you're eager to consummate your marriage," Finch says after the chorus of drunken protests, eyes full of mirth that you can't but chuckle that this is coming from him.

"Why, Harry," Root chuckles. "You just took the words right out of my mouth."

The drunken protests suddenly turn into cheers, making you roll your eyes as you take the chance to talk to Harold.

"Hey, Finch," you say, scratching your head. "Uh, thanks again for the ring."

He stands up, swaying a bit before finding his balance, before encasing one of your hands in both of his. "You're welcome, Sameen. Enjoy the rest of your night."

You nod, feeling uncomfortable, which he catches on to as he releases your hand with a kind smile before he sits down again.

"Don't worry about Alessandro. Detective Fusco, Mr. Reese and I will see to it that he's well taken care of. I'm sure the Machine will alert you if we need you back in Manhattan. You two ladies have fun."

You know that means that's as much of a vacation both Harold and the Machine are giving you, and you plan to take full advantage of it.

"Thanks, Finch."

"Thanks, Harry," Root says, wrapping her arms around his shoulder from behind and kissing him on the cheek, before making her way to your side and turning back to them. "Goodnight, boys."

You listen to the chorus of 'bye!' 'congrats!' 'goodnight!' as both you and Root make your way to your cabin, which is twenty steps away from the reception area.

Once you're inside, Root pulls you in for a kiss, her arms wrapping around your neck. You eagerly return the kiss as you wrap your arms around her waist, your heels thudding on the floor as you kick them off in the process.

You feel her tongue dancing on your lips, and you open your mouth to grant her entrance, sucking her tongue once she does, before entering her mouth with your tongue as both of you battle for dominance.

You move forward, bringing her with you as both of you kiss, Root gasping when her back hits the wall, giving you the chance to kiss her on her jaw and her neck.

She sighs, one of her hands brushing through your hair. "I've been waiting for this all day."

"Yeah?" you suck on her pulse, making sure to leave a mark, Root moaning in return. "You were the one with the stupid idea to bond with them."

She chuckles, "Doesn't mean I haven't wanted you all day, Sweetie. You look--oh, god--amazing in that suit," she says, moaning when you suck on a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

You slow down your ministrations and put your hands on her hips as you make your way back to her lips, sucking on her lower lip before pulling away, leaving you nose to nose with her.

Root's hands find purchase on your jaw, her thumb drawing patterns as both of you look at each other, and it's only then you realize that you're smiling back at her.

"I've missed you," she whispers, nudging you with her nose, eyes closed.

"It was your idea, Root," you snort, not wanting to admit that you feel the same way because Christ it was only a day, giving her a chaste kiss instead.

She chuckles, opening her eyes and smirking at you. "I know. I think you'll forgive me after my little surprise."

Your eyes widen imperceptibly at the smirk plastered on her face, and suddenly, all the blood rushes down to your cock, twitching inside your trousers. Your close proximity with Root allows her to feel it, which results in a delighted hum from her as her hand travels down to your crotch, squeezing it.

"Someone's eager."

"Shut up," you growl, sucking and biting on her lower lip.

"Make me," she purrs on your mouth, completely driving you crazy as you kiss her with animalistic force.

She matches your kisses, pushing you back and stirring you towards the stairs. You let her take the lead, both of you ending up as a mess of limbs with your eyes closed, groaning and chuckling when one bumps and falls, but never separating your lips from each other's.

As soon as you're inside the bedroom, Root pushes you off unceremoniously to a chair you didn't even know was set up in front of the bed. Sneaky idiot, she must have done this during the reception.

You try to stand up and pull her in to resume your kiss, but she pushes you back on the chair with a smirk.

"What the hell?" you ask, frustrated. You really want to get this on already.

She leans forward, putting her mouth next to your ear, licking your ear lobe. You shiver from the contact.

"Whatever you do, don't move," Root purrs into your ear. "If you touch me, you don't get to come tonight," she pulls away, but not before biting on your ear lobe, making you groan in both excitement and frustration.

"Fuck, Root."

"I promise, it will be worth it."

She turns around and removes the pins left holding her hair together, her hair swishing down and swaying beautifully when they're released from their hold. Damn. Root looks behind to smirk at you, brushing her hair aside to one shoulder, the zipper of her dress yours for the taking.

"Unzip me, Sweetie?" she asks in a sweet voice that makes all the blood rush down south, your cock twitching in response. Jesus.

You reach out to unzip her from your sitting position, careful not to move because there's no way in hell you're not coming tonight. Just as you're about to hold her zipper, she tuts playfully.

"Careful, Sameen. Remember, if you touch me, you don't come." You growl, determined not to touch her, which results in a chuckle from her as you carefully and slowly unzip her dress.

When you're done unzipping her, she sends you a stern look that turns you on more than you'd like to admit. Holy shit.

"Good. Now be a good girl and sit down with your hands behind you."

It's been a long time since both of you have done this, and you can't deny that you've missed it. This is how both of you had sex after all, until it became softer and more intimate.

You follow her instructions, and watch with a keen eye as she turns around to face you, slowly but surely removing her dress. You unconsciously lick your lips in anticipation with each exposed skin, until the dress reveals what Root has been keeping for the whole day and feel your heart stop beating at the sight. Goddamn.

Inside her dress is a black lingerie set that's almost see-through, and Root looks so damn good in them that it almost feels like the temperature in the room rose. She steps out of her dress with an ease, keeping her heels on as she kicks off the dress to the side, flashing you a teasing smirk the whole time.

Feeling yourself sweating, your hands move on their own accord to loosen your necktie, but stop when Root tuts at you.

"What did I say about moving, Shaw? Do I have to zip-tie you?"

You groan, putting your hands back behind you and shaking your head. "This is torture, Root."

"I think you'll find that you want this, Sweetie. A little patience goes a long way," she teases, turning around and making her way to the dresser where there's a speaker with a phone connected to it that wasn't there this morning.

It gives you the perfect opportunity to admire Root's form from behind as she does whatever it is she's doing. Root's body may be slim but she has muscles, only they're more subtle than yours are. But that, combined with her slim figure, only makes her hot -- hotter now that she's in that sexy lingerie set.

The sound blasting through the speakers gets you out of your wandering daze, looking up to see Root smirking at you sensually. Oh, you think, I like where this is going. Root's chuckle lets you know that you might have said that out loud, but you don't mind it one bit.

She starts swaying her hips from side to side to the beat a good distance from you, and oh Jesus, you have to roll your jaw and clench your fists in an effort to stay seated.

Does Root even know how to dance? As far as you know, she has two left feet. How is this even possible?

Root notices your dilemma and amps up her dancing, moving sensually, one of her hands on her hair, but she has you transfixed her other hand travelling from her neck down to her cleavage, to her stomach, and to her centre. She surprises you when her hand disappears into her panties, your nose flaring from the desire to replace her fingers with your mouth.

Root chuckles. "Like what you see, Sweetie?"

You look up to her, before your eyes stray back to her wandering hands as she continues dancing to the beat.

"You been practicing?"

She covers the distance between you two, until your legs are in between hers, her hands on your shoulders for balance as she grinds herself on your lap to the beat of the song, your eyes glued to her body.

Fucking hell, if only you could force her to grind on your--

"You like it?" She purrs, standing up and slowly making her way behind you, her left hand travelling from your left shoulder to your right, making you shiver from her feather light touch.

You gulp. This is driving you crazy.

She chuckles, leaning from behind you and placing her head on your shoulder, whispering in your ear, "I've been practicing all day yesterday... Alone... Grinding on the chair, imagining the feel of you against me as I grind on you."

The breath on your cheek makes you shiver and your cock twitch, your erection starting to strain in your trousers. Jesus, fuck.

Root chuckles, her hands travelling from your shoulders, one of them entering the space between the buttons of your shirt to caress your abs, the other further down south to your crotch, squeezing you, your cock hardening to its full length as a result.

"Root," you groan, panting even though you haven't done anything yet because you can't move.

Jesus, you want to fuck her already, but at the same time you're enjoying this side of Root.

Her hands travel from your crotch and your abs to the lapels of your suit jacket.

"I think it's about time we removed this, don't you think?" She purrs, her mouth on your cheek, and you willingly open your arms for her to easily remove the jacket, before you hear the garment hitting the floor.

Root moves back in front of you, sitting astride your hips as the song comes to an end. She removes the necktie and drops it on the floor along with her dress and your suit jacket, before her hands fly to the top button of your shirt.

"This, too?"

You nod, can't find the words to speak, and Root awards you with a smile that takes the breath out of you, before kissing you. Finally is the only word you can think of as you give her everything you can through the kiss -- your hunger, your desire to fuck her -- and Root moans from the intensity of it.

Root cups your cheeks, sucking on your upper lip before pushing your shoulders as she pulls away, and it's only then that you notice your shirt's already unbuttoned, revealing your sports bra and your tensed abs as you continue to pant from arousal.

She leaves the shirt wide open, before standing up and turning around, placing her hands on your knees to split your legs up. She stands right in between your legs, her back to your front. Just as the new song reaches its climax, Root drops her ass on your crotch and grinds to the beat -- forwards and backwards, side to side -- flashing you a smirk as she gives you a lap dance.

Goddamn if this isn't the hottest thing you've seen.

You grab the chair's hind legs to stop yourself from grabbing Root and taking her right there and then, and bite your lip in an effort to stop yourself from kissing her exposed back.

Root switches position after a good minute, turning around and closing your legs, before sitting astride your hips and continuing her earlier ministrations with her arms wrapped around your neck.

The feel of her centre grinding on your hardened shaft makes you groan, your eyes shut tight at how good and warm she feels as she does this for the rest of the song, the side of her head leaning on to yours, both of you panting at each other's ears.

You know you're not supposed to move, but you take your chance with your hips, canting upwards just in time as she grinds forward, making her moan and arch her back as you hit her in the right place.

"Fuck this," Root hisses.

The next thing you know, she's already kneeling between your legs, unbuttoning and unzipping your trousers before pulling it down along with your briefs until they're pooled around your ankles.

It all happens too fast that when she laps her tongue on the underside of your shaft, you can't help the loud moan that escapes you. "God, Root..." Encouraged, Root swirls her tongue around the crown of your cock, before enveloping the head in her mouth and sucking it.

"Jesus, yeah, that's it," you pant, groaning and moaning as Root starts to envelop your length in her mouth, sucking it. "Fuck..." you moan, closing your eyes, your hips involuntarily arching upwards as you seek for more.

She hums, the vibration only making it better for you as you feel all the blood flooding in your cock. You clench your stomach in an effort to last longer, but Root doesn't help your case when she suddenly grabs the rest of your length in one of her hands, stroking you while she sucks on the top half.

"Root, fuck, I--that feels so good," you moan, feeling yourself getting closer and closer as your moans only make her suck harder and faster. "I... off, Root. I'm about to--shit, I'm gonna..." you grit through your teeth, holding on to your breath, when suddenly Root pulls away and stops stroking you altogether just as you're on the edge, your cock slapping against your abs and almost turning purple from the denial.

"Root."

"I'm not done with you yet, Sweetie."

Using your thigh, she pulls herself up and drops a kiss on your lips, standing up and unfastening her bra in front of you, before pulling down her panties in quick precision and kicking off her heels. The view of her delicious breasts and pussy lips makes your cock twitch against your stomach.

"Fuck, yeah, come here," you growl, stopping yourself from reaching out until she lets you.

She turns around, positioning herself between your legs, reaching out behind her for your cock, stroking it as she lays it down, before dropping herself and grinding her wet centre on your shaft as she uses your thighs for balance, both of you moaning each other's names at the contact.

"Mmm... Always so good and hard for me, aren't you, Sameen?" she pants, gasping when the tip of your cock hits her clit, her back arching in response.

She continues teasing you and herself, your length coating with her arousal, until she stands up slightly and grabs a hold of your cock, lining the tip at her entrance, before sinking down slowly until you're fully sheathed inside of her.

"God, you're so tight in this position," you groan, her walls enveloping your shaft tightly inside of her.

"Fuck..." she gasps, leaning her back to your front, panting as she tries to catch her breath while she tries to adjust to your length. "I've missed you inside of me. You feel so good."

She clenches around your shaft, making you groan and lean your head on her neck, your hands still clenched around the back of your chair. Slowly, she starts grinding on you, the pressure increasing in your cock as she finds a rhythm, until she's bouncing herself up and down your dick.

"Oh, god, yeah... Touch me, Shaw," she orders in between pants, and you're happy to oblige as your hands fly around her, one hand on her breast, the other on her clit, swirling your fingers around it, resulting in her bouncing faster. "Oh, yeah... Keep touching me. Fuck, so good."

Your hips thrust upward just in time as she falls back down, feeling yourself about to explode. "Root, I'm gonna..." she increases her speed, and it doesn't take long before your whole body tenses, cock twitching as it releases your essence inside of her.

Root continues bouncing up and down to help you ride it out, her walls getting tighter and tighter, letting you know what she needs.

"Fuck, I'm so close..."

You pinch her nipple between your fingers and use the other to apply pressure on her clit, kissing and biting on her shoulder, applying more pressure on her clit as she bounces up and down, feeling it clench as her back arches further.

"Oh, god, yeah... keep doing that. I'm about to..." you swirl it faster, her walls clenching around you as she continues bouncing, before she stops and quivers in your arms. "Sameen!" she screams when she comes, and you wrap your arms tighter around her to keep her steady.

Her clenching and unclenching walls only make your cock harder again inside of her, resulting in her moaning as she falls on your chest, turning her head around to kiss you, both of you panting at each other's mouths.

"Mmm... god," she moans, and it only encourages you to thrust upwards, her mouth opening as she gasps, allowing you to suck on her lower lip. "Fuck... I can't take it anymore. Take me, Shaw," she pants, and you don't need her to tell you twice.

She gasps when you suddenly lift her up from your length, both of you whimpering as your cock slides out of her sex, before turning her around and putting her back on your lap. You grab your cock, sliding it up and down her length to tease her, making her grind on you as she wraps her arms around your neck and kisses you.

You return the kiss, both of your tongues fighting for dominance as she continues to grind on you, moaning into each other's mouths at the contact. You pull away with a bite on her lower lip, lining up the tip of your cock to her entrance, before sheathing yourself inside of her, the pleasure that shoots up from your body making you cant your hips forward.

"Shit..."

"Oh, god, Shaw," she gasps when you're fully inside of her, eyes closed and mouth open at the contact. The sight of her like that only encourages you, and soon you build a rhythm, thrusting your hips into her with more speed and vigour, her walls clenching around you in response.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck... Yeah, oh god, yeah, yeah, mmm... god, so good," she moans with every thrust, your arms tightening around her as you pull her closer to you to nip on her pulse, making her whimper. "Yeah, Shaw... Take me just like that. Fuck me."

You thrust into her faster and harder, panting on her neck as you feel your cock hardening further at the increase of pressure, Root's walls clenching around you in return.

"Sameen, I... Faster, baby--oh, god, yes!" she screams when you do as she says, your arms wrapping tighter around her to keep her steady.

"That's it, Root... Come for me," you growl, thrusting into her with more force.

"Mmm... fuck, I'm gonna..." she tenses, her body shaking as the orgasm takes over her. You don't stop thrusting into her, determined to give her another, her walls clenching tighter again. "Oh, don't stop... don't stop, baby, I'm about to... Sameen, I--fuck!" she moans louder this time, and it almost sends you over the edge.

You slow down until she can't take it anymore, stopping when her orgasm dies down, and showering her with kisses on her neck and jaw, until you reach her lips. Both of her hands fist through your hair as she kisses you back, slowly and unlike any of your kisses earlier today, until she pulls away to catch her breath, leaning her forehead on yours.

"Give me a minute. We're not done yet," she says, eyes closed, her words slurring together as she continues to pant.

You chuckle, kissing her lips, before pulling out of her, letting out an involuntary whine as you do so. You grab her thighs and stand up, Root yelping as her arms wrap around your neck and her legs around your waist, before you walk her back to bed where you lay her down gently.

You stand up straight, appraising her body while removing your shirt, followed by your sports bra, before stepping out of the waistband of your trousers and boxers, kicking them off when you're done.

Root watches you do this with a lazy smile on her face, and you take advantage of her attention by playing with your breasts and stroking your length, smirking at her. Her eyes widen and her smile turns into a smirk, humming in delight.

"Mmm, come here, Sweetie."

Instead of lying on top of her, you push her legs apart and kneel in between them, grabbing one of her leg and kissing her on her ankles. Her breath hitches, catching on to your plan as you lick and kiss your way to her thigh, stopping when you're almost at her centre, before doing it with her other leg.

You continue teasing her until she reaches for your head, pulling you down to her centre, where you don't hesitate to lick up and down her slit, making sure to pay extra attention to her clit.

"Fuck, yeah," she moans, her hands flying to the sheets and clenching around them as she arches her hips to your face for more contact. You hold her down with your hands on her hips, sucking harder on her clit. "Yes, yes, yes... oh god, yeah, just like that."

You alternate your tongue between sliding it inside her entrance, lapping it up her slit, and swirling around her clit before sucking it, again and again. It doesn't take long before her hands fist around your hair enough to hurt you, but you soldier on until she's a quivering mess below you, focusing all your attention on her clit to ride out her orgasm as she moans.

She pushes your head back when she becomes too sensitive, pulling you up to her level. You wipe her essence around your mouth with the back of your hand just before she wraps her arms around your neck and kisses you, both of you lazily running each other's tongue in each other's mouths and locking lips, enjoying the feel of each other.

You pull away after some time to catch your breath, using your elbows to anchor yourself on top of her. Her hands fly to your face, her thumbs caressing your jaw softly as she smiles at you.

God, you can't believe you get to call her your wife.

"Make love to me, Sameen."

If anyone other than Root had said that to you, you would've cringed and maybe vomited in disgust. You don't make love; you're not capable of doing it simply because you don't feel. But this is Root, and Root makes you feel what you think and feel is love, and so hearing this from her only turns you on.

With one elbow on the bed, you pull away slightly to take a hold of your length, stroking it slightly, before sliding it up her wet slit. She whimpers when the tip of your dick hits her clit, still too sensitive to touch, which you take note of as you finally line it up to her entrance, slowly thrusting yourself into her.

You watch her eyes roll back to her skull as you push your full length inside of her, her hands flying to your ass cheeks, pulling you into her until your hips meet with hers.

"Root," you moan, shaking from the feeling of being deep inside of her. You pull out and thrust inside of her, before building a rhythm with her as she meets you thrust.

One of her hands flies to your head, cupping your cheek as she looks at you. "Slow. Do it slow."

"Slow," you repeat to let her know you get it, kissing her sweaty neck and collarbone as you thrust in and out of her slowly, making sure to reach her front walls.

"Go a little faster--oh, right there. Just like that," she moans, squeezing your ass as you thrust in and out of her, both of you maintaining eye contact the whole way through.

This thing isn't exactly new to the both of you, but for some reason, this feels a little different; a little more intimate. It feels like something is changing between you two. You know it's because of your marriage; it feels like this is you and Root consummating it and making it official, and something about that turns you on.

The thought of you fucking Root -- making love to your wife -- makes the sex even better, and as if you're possessed, you careen into her harder while maintaining the slow pace, until you feel yourself about to come, your eyes shutting closed on their own accord.

Root's hand from your ass cups your cheeks with the other. "Open your eyes. Look at me." You do as she says, making her moan from the desire she sees in your eyes. "Let go, Sameen. Come with me."

As if waiting for her cue, you explode right inside of her, Root following close behind as her walls clench around your twitching cock. She pulls you in for a kiss, and you suck and pull on her lower lip again and again as she does it with your upper lip.

With a sigh, you pull away from her and pull out of her, both of you whimpering from soreness, before you fall beside her on the bed, panting from the intensity of the last round.

You open your arms just as Root curls into your side, wrapping her arm around you tighter and pulling you into her. You chuckle at her needy behaviour, tightening your arm around her back and kissing her forehead.

"I think you just murdered me," she sighs, burying her head further on your neck. "I don't think I can take anymore," she says, her voice muffled by your neck.

"What? That's it? No more rounds?" you ask playfully, feeling much like her yourself. "And here I thought I'd get to have you all night..."

She chuckles, raising her head slightly to look at you with half-lidded eyes. "Oh, you can have me all night in whatever way you want, Sweetie, but let your wife rest first, would you?"

A light fluttering feeling invades your chest when she refers to herself as your wife, making you smile. You cup her cheek, caressing it with your thumb, while she looks at you with a sated smile on her face.

"Are you happy, Root?" you ask, even though you have a good guess on her answer.

She beams, turning her head to kiss your palm, before laying her head back down on your shoulder. "Absolutely," she answers, before frowning slightly and looking nervous. "Do you regret it?"

A sinking feeling appears in your gut at the question, and you make sure to erase the look on her face quickly as you shake your head, dropping a kiss on her forehead, before looking at her straight in the eye.

"Never."

The frown on her face falls away just as quick, replaced by a contented smile as she buries her face on your neck, obviously trying to hide her grin.

"Good, because you're stuck with me now."

You chuckle, snorting. "Unfortunately for me."

"Hey!" she yelps, her head rising again to pout at you. Ugh, you really hate it when she does that. She makes you feel soft and... ugh.

You roll your eyes, closing your eyes and settling yourself on the bed. "Whatever. Sleep, Root. Nap first, fuck again later."

"Hmmm, I like the sound of that," she agrees, kissing you on your neck, before settling herself on top of you.

The nap lasts as long as 30 minutes before both of you are fucking like rabbits again, only stopping for restroom breaks, water breaks, and snacks, before going at it again.

It takes three days of fucking and occasionally checking on Sander through the boys before the Machine calls you back to Manhattan for a number.

It was the best sex marathon of your life; enough to light up a four alarm fire.

Chapter End Notes

thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos!! :)

hot mess

Chapter Summary

Root is a hot mess in more ways than one, and Shaw's just done with her.

Chapter Notes

Short chapter for y'all since the original next chapter is taking a while for me to write. It's a really long one (at least, I think) that I know all of you really, really want, but you're going to have to be patient for it. Until then, thank you so much for all the kudos and comments!

Everything is back to normal. Including Root being such a fucking mess.

"Root!" you growl as you trip on yet another one of her computer shit. Seriously, how many more of these does she need? It feels like you have to perform a general cleaning everyday because of this.

Root emerges from Sander's room, smile as radiant as ever. "Hey, baby. You got home early."

"Don't 'baby' me, Root. How many times do I have to tell you to clean. your. shit," you snap, feeling your irritation rise as you march your way to her.

Her eyes widen in realization, smiling sheepishly at you. "Oops. I got a little carried away."

"You think?" you snort, angrily shoulder-checking her to Sander's room, only to be met by more mess. This time, it isn't Root's, but Sander's. "Jesus Christ, Root. He's starting to be like you!"

At the sound of your voice, Sander stops playing and turns around to look at you, before his eyes light up in excitement, raising up the toys in your direction.

"Mama, play!"

You almost forget you're furious. Almost.

"Yeah, later, kid," you tell him, which results in him frowning. You leave the room before you fall for it, roaming the whole apartment only to find more of Root's shit spread around the loft.

"Sameen, please don't do this to him because of this. I'm going to clean up my mess, okay, just--" she stops in front of you, picking up a mouse that you almost tripped on, before standing up and panting as she flashes you a smile. "See? Cleaning up."

You roll your eyes, pointing at all her mess. "You think this is cute?"

She smirks. "I don't know, Sweetie, is it?"

You scowl. Of course, she's not taking you seriously. What else did you expect? Seriously, if Sander ends up like her when he grows up, you can't promise you won't strangle Root -- and not in the fun way.

The doorbell rings just as you're about to scold her, prompting Root to light up with excitement as she skips her way to the door. This can't be good.

She opens the door to a teen with a huge box on his feet, looking up at her and blushing as he realizes Root's state of... err, lack of clothing. Ugh. You should've answered the door.

"Uhm, delivery for... uhm, Root Shaw?" He stutters as he reads Root's name on a piece of paper.

"That's me!" Root exclaims, getting the piece of paper and the pen from his pockets, signing it, before giving it back to him. "Thanks!"

The teen still looks at Root like he doesn't even know if she's real or not, which Shaw rolls her eyes at. Fucking pubescent boys and their hopeless crushes.

"Would you like me to carry this in for you? It's quite heavy," he offers with more confidence this time, even managing to smile at Root.

Root, of course, takes advantage of this and opens the door for him. You cross your arms as you watch all of this happening, narrowing your eyes at Root who looks far too excited for this not to mean well for you and the state of your apartment.

The teen sets the huge box down on the living room with a sigh, standing up as he wipes his hands together with a smile towards Root's direction. You roll your eyes.

"Are you a gamer? I checked the specs on this one from the box, and it's really one of a kind..." the rest of his sentences blur together you register what the fuck is in the box. Unbelievable.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Another computer, Root?" you growl from your place on the banister.

You should've known this would happen the second Root coerced you to turn the guest room into her computer room instead of making your training room. In hindsight, you shouldn't have listened to her at all. But you were under duress, and Root had been smart enough to ask you during sex. Fuck's sake, Shaw.

The teen jumps in surprise, eyes wide as he looks at you, gulping at the look on your face.

"Don't mind her, she had a long day at work," Root chuckles sheepishly, pushing him to the front door. "Thanks for the help!" she shouts, closing the door behind him, before turning around to approach you slowly. "Sweetie--"

"Don't 'sweetie' me."

She rolls her eyes, before her look turns salacious she walks towards you slowly. You curse your body for almost responding to that look. Almost.

"I know you're mad, Sameen. Is there any other way I can make it up to you?" She purrs, running her hands up your arms. You shiver, but stand your ground. "You know... maybe to help you relax a bit?"

You scowl, shrugging her off. "Oh, no. That's not going to work anymore. It's either you clean all this shit by the end of the day, or you can say goodbye to your computer room."

Her eyes widen, before it turns into a scowl. "You can't do that! You promised!"

"Yeah, watch me," you retort, raising your eyebrows.

"Fine," she pouts, grumbling to herself as she starts picking up her shit.

"And Root?"

"What?" she snaps, before she realizes what she's just done, and frowns. It only lets you know you're making the right decision.

"We're not having sex tonight."

You walk away as you hear her gasp in disbelief.

"But Sameen!" she screams from the living room just before you close and lock up the bedroom to catch up on sleep, chuckling to yourself as you finally lay down on the bed.

perky psycho

Chapter Summary

As requested, the companion piece to the first chapter written in Root's point of view.

Canon compliant + AU.

Chapter Notes

I FINALLY FINISHED IT. I'm so sorry I've been gone, but this has been a LITERAL headache to write. I have one as I am posting this because I had literally just finished this (lol). There's bound to be a lot of errors in this because of that, and I hope you forgive me for it. I tried to put in as much prompts as requested in this, too, and I think that's the reason why it took me so long to finish this.

I do have to make a shameless request though: PLEASE, if at all possible, refrain from asking flashbacks after this. I think you'll realize that I'm not really that much of a writer and that I suck at them. lmao. And even if you think otherwise, I'd really rather move with the story forward. Trust me, the end is exciting. Parts are mostly fast-forwarded because of it (sorry, not sorry).

Anyway, this is 18k worth of words. I hope it makes up for my absence!

Staying over at Shaw's for the first time ever did a number on Root mentally and emotionally.

In all the times they had spent hooking up, Root never thought that Shaw would allow her to sleep over one day, much less in a position where there was absolutely no space in between them. The kiss on her head didn't help either, because although Shaw had gotten less rough and less forceful during sex -- even to the point of being gentle sometimes -- Shaw was still Shaw; she didn't do what she would refer to as 'sappy shit', and that was okay with Root.

Samantha Groves would have been heartbroken over Shaw's lack of emotions, but Root wasn't.

She may not be as emotionally stunted as Shaw -- sometimes, she wished she was -- but Root didn't really care for relationships; didn't really waste time investing in them over the years. Just the occasional hook-up to complete a task, which she had done in more than a couple occasions, but rarely for the need to scratch an itch. Life as a hacker and a killer for hire didn't exactly leave her much room for creating relationships, especially if you had to be on the move every single time.

People never meant much to her; not since Hanna died. They were just bad code. Flawed. Irrational. She never really understood why people let their emotions rule their life. Root had learned early on to detach herself from anything and anyone. It made life easier, and she didn't really need the stress of fussing over someone else.

In a sense, this is what had made Shaw intriguing to Root when she'd gotten a hold of her file from hacking the Activity. Here she was, a person who had worked hard to learn how to detach herself from people and things, and had successfully done so over the years.

And then there was Sameen, who didn't even have a choice in the matter; who didn't even have to work hard to detach herself because her Axis II personality disorder made it a given. That made her a very interesting character to Root.

Root had worked with codes for almost all her life. She thrived in the adrenaline of getting to understand and decode strings of codes. But Shaw was a different code altogether; there was always something new to file, always something new to study. She was equal parts predictable and unpredictable, and that had only excited Root. Shaw made Root want to decode her, and Root was only happy to oblige.

Shaw was a breath of fresh air in that respect. Root didn't see her personality disorder as something that made her imperfect. In fact, to Root, it was what made her beautiful. What was on her file never did her justice.

(The fact that her medical records had shown that she was intersex had only added to Root's growing interest.

Looking back, Root should have known that she was screwed from the get go.)

Meeting her in the flesh and later getting to watch her work had thrown Root in a loop; so much so that she had resorted to flirting with Shaw excessively as a way to get under her skin. Shaw's eye rolls and death threats were more encouraging than disheartening, and Root had found herself a source of amusement. But somewhere between the flirting, Shaw's eye rolls, Shaw teaching her how closed-quarters combat and their occasional hook-ups, Root had found herself meaning more and more of her come-ons.

Against her will, she'd found herself attached to Shaw, and that had only resulted to Root amplifying her come-ons as a way to control Shaw -- as a way to control her own feelings -- because Root didn't do attachments, and Shaw would never agree to a relationship, more so with her.

(Root still remembered the first time they had sex.

She hadn't planned it; hadn't even known she was seeing Shaw that day, much less work with her. She'd wished for it, sure; been wanting it to happen since she'd first seen Shaw in the flesh. Root had only been following the Machine's instructions, and they were only given to her the second she had to do them.

She hadn't really minded the last second instructions; the only thing that mattered to her that time was that the God she'd been looking for was even giving her the time of day -- was trusting her to do Her missions, even if Root still hadn't been sold at the whole saving lives thing.

Being able to do it with Shaw had been a big bonus on her part.

Root remembered thinking that time how the Machine must have known her attraction to Shaw, and how She must have done it on purpose, because the next thing she knew, they were breaking and entering into a CIA safe house where Root would later have the most mind blowing and satisfying sex she's ever had.

After she'd made the call that the Machine had her do, Root had put two and two together and realized that she was the package. Finding the hood and zip-ties that the Machine had pointed out had been a bonus; it presented itself as another opportunity to annoy Shaw with an innuendo, and Root would be damned if she didn't take advantage of it. What she didn't expect was the reaction that had incited in Shaw.

Root had expected the usual scoff and roll of Sameen's beautiful eyes, but what she didn't expect was for the irises in her eyes to turn completely black as she looked between her and the zip-ties with her nose flaring. The look had been enough to turn on Root, and the next thing she knew she'd been tied up to the bed posts and had been thoroughly fucked by Sameen Shaw, and vice versa.

Finding out she was intersex had been one thing, but seeing Shaw naked as the day she was born was a totally different thing altogether.

Root had always preferred the fairer sex. She'd never really found phalluses attractive at all; had often found herself having to fake her orgasms when she'd had sex with men to get information.

Sameen was huge to say the least; that alone should have been a no-no for Root. But that, combined with the discovery that Shaw had the same sexual preferences, had filled Root with desire. It shouldn't have been alluring, but it only took Shaw for it to look good -- only took Shaw to make it feel good -- so much so that Root couldn't remember how many times she had come that night.

One round turned into two, two turned into five, and the next thing she knew, they had used up the 10 hours fucking each other senseless with a few breaks in between.

The second they were done, Shaw had sat up and dressed herself up, and Root knew then that their fun was over; that it probably wouldn't happen again, and that had filled her with an unexplainable and unwanted feeling in her gut that Root had expertly forgotten (or tried to) as soon as it reared its ugly head.

Not wanting to waste her last chance, Root had openly leered at Sameen, head leant on her hand, watching as she'd put on her clothes and loving the way Shaw's ripped muscles moved on her arms. Root had found herself licking her lips at the sight just as Shaw looked up and glared at her.

"This," she'd said, finger switching between the two of them, "doesn't mean anything."

Root had smirked, expecting nothing less from Shaw. "Aw, and here I thought we'd finally connected."

Shaw had scowled. "I'm serious, Root. I don't do this shit."

"I know. I'm not the relationship type either; ruins the fun most of the time," she'd said, scrunching her nose at the thought of a relationship, before sitting up and letting the covers fall. Root had seen Shaw's eyes fall to her chest, prompting her to smirk. "See something you like?"

Shaw had scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Get dressed."

"Mmm, I really like it when you get all bossy on me. It really does it for me," Root had purred, bringing up the memories of last night. She'd seen Shaw gulping imperceptibly despite the blank look she'd been sporting on her face.

"If you think this is happening again, you've got another thing coming."

Root had pouted playfully, which she'd been displeased to know that she'd actually felt it, but played it off instead.

"What, am I not good enough for you?"

"I've had better. Glad you know you weren't that satisfying," Shaw had retorted with a smirk on her face, which Root had quickly brought down.

"I know we're not the best of friends, Shaw, but you don't have to lie to me. We both know how much you liked being inside me."

Root had smirked at Shaw's flared nose at the memory that incited in her, fidgeting with her legs because of what Root knew was the effect she had on Shaw between her legs.

"Whatever. If you're not out in 5, I'm going to shoot you myself," she'd huffed, before leaving Root alone in the room, closing the door with a bang behind her.

Root had collapsed on the bed as soon as Shaw had left the room, with knots in her stomach and her heart beating double than usual, thinking to herself how screwed she was because she'd wanted to do it again even though she knew there was no chance in hell it would.

Later, Root had woken up locked in a cage full of books neatly lined up in shelves after Shaw had knocked her out with a punch. Sometimes, Root still thought that the Machine had planned whatever happened between her and Shaw for Root to end up in there, and felt a little bit betrayed.)

They had more sex after that. Somehow, in between the impending war with Samaritan on the rise, Root and Shaw found ways to relieve the tension from the war (and from each other).

Sex with Shaw was everything Root always wanted; rough, fast, but never lacking in passion, and always very satisfying despite Shaw's insistence to use a condom.

(Root thought it was a bit of a downer, since Root herself didn't like pills because of their side effects.

She could only imagine how sex with Shaw without a condom would have been like. Root had an inkling it would be so much more explosive than it already was.)

Root ignored her growing affection for Shaw in favour of taking full advantage of her three-nights-tops rule, which Shaw had told her was the limit she'd placed in every person she'd slept with. Root made sure that every one of their sexual encounters until the third would be memorable to Shaw, and although the thought of stopping filled her with a sense of longing she knew came from her attachment with the sociopath, she thought about how lucky she was she even got the chance to fill all three nights -- all this while stealing a jet to Anchorage to cap it all off.

And then it happened again for the fourth time.

Root didn't expect it at all, given the three months they had to spend away from each other since Samaritan came online. She missed Shaw during their time apart; was tempted so many times to visit her at Bloomingdale's to see how she was doing, but knew it wouldn't do their safety good. She couldn't even remember how many times she begged the Machine to allow her to visit them -- visit her, specifically -- but the moment She allowed her to, the first person she visited was Sameen.

There was something with the way Shaw looked that day othat Root couldn't resist throwing innuendos. The next thing she knew, they were fucking in an empty supply closet, this time with no condoms on, which she just barely and miraculously convinced Shaw to do without.

Shaw looked at her differently that day. The after sex was awkward for some reason, and Root couldn't explain it, but something about it made her think that maybe Shaw missed her, too. It was then that she realized it may be something more for the sociopath, but elected not to say anything else, lest Root ruined her chances. She was pretty sure Shaw would die first before admitting anything else.

(At this point, Root was already a goner. Her feelings for Shaw were getting harder and harder to ignore. Root knew that Shaw probably knew about her feelings then, not that she was making an effort to hide it either.)

The fourth turned into fifth, fifth turned into seventh, all of their sex escapades ending up with either Shaw leaving or Shaw kicking her out of her apartment as soon as they were done.

Root didn't mind it; decided to take advantage of the fact that she may be the only person Shaw had ever broken her rules for.

As much as Root wanted Sameen all to herself, she was realistic: she knew that Sameen was most likely sleeping with someone else other than her, or it may only be matter of time before Sameen got bored with her -- which, at the end of the day, Root wouldn't even take that against her. Root wouldn't dream of changing her, regardless of her personal feelings.

But it was totally different when the opportunity finally presented itself in the form of Tomas Koroa, the team's latest number.

Root remembered feeling like all of her insides were burning that night, especially after Sameen cut off the line to the subway. She never did jealous, never had anything to be jealous about; humans were flawed and all that. But there was no mistaking what was burning inside of her, and Root hated it.

She remembered thinking that was it -- whatever it was that was happening between her and Shaw had just ended. She didn't expect to end up in bed with Sameen that night; didn't allow herself to hope for more, but that was where she ended exactly after Sameen had admitted, albeit indirectly, that she cared about her.

But Root -- for all her crazy ideas, for all her devotion to the Machine, and for all her affections to Shaw -- was never delusional. She knew Shaw wouldn't feel anything remotely close to how she felt about her. And so when she let loose her feelings by thanking her for not going with Tomas, and when Shaw only looked away from her -- uncomfortable -- Root left.

At this point, one thing was true: Root was Shaw's, but Shaw will never be hers.

It was a good thing the Machine needed her to run errands outside of Manhattan. The space provided ample time for Root to collect herself and get rid of her unnecessary personal feelings. But after two weeks of being gone, she got herself shot after working a number. The Machine spouted off an address that she'd memorized in her head, and not wanting to bother Sameen, she tried stitching herself up. But the Machine insisted, and so Root relented and bought dinner for herself and Sameen as a way of appeasing her.

(Plus, the Machine suggested it; said something about how tired Sameen was from working a number.)

She didn't expect Shaw coming home intoxicated with an erection that was begging for release that night. Root couldn't stop herself from spewing innuendos left and right, and not subtly telling Shaw that she was hungry for her. For some reason (it may have been her fault), they ended up in bed again, and for the first time ever, Sameen told her to stay the night.

It would be cliche to admit, but that night, Root had the best sleep of her life, only slightly ruined when she woke up feeling nauseous and spent the morning puking her guts out in the bathroom. And then she found out she was pregnant with Sameen's kid inside of her, and Root knew she fucked up again; knew that she probably blew her chance with Shaw just when she thought things were starting to change, and that Shaw was probably somewhere running as far away as she could from Root.

Root never entertained the thought of having kids; told herself it's something she didn't deserve, and therefore something she didn't invest her thoughts in. Plus, with Samaritan, she didn't even think she would make it through the war, and that was fine with her.

She was prepared to die for the Machine. After all, a good end would already be a privilege for her.

Her being pregnant meant a lot of things: a chance to have a future she could have if they win the war; a chance to have a family she never had -- if Shaw would even let her keep what was inside of her. It meant changing the way she viewed her life because she was no longer expendable.

Root knew it was impossible for Shaw to even agree to this. Shaw lived on detachment. If Root kept it, it would have been like building a prison for Shaw, and that was the worst thing.

She felt like she had just ruined Shaw's life, even if it was something Root didn't want for herself in the first place.

She cried herself to sleep that night, and the rest of the days and nights Shaw didn't show up, or avoided her, thinking she'd rather go back to the time she didn't even know about the Machine and Her assets -- to the time when she didn't even care about anyone and anything at all. At least then, life was easy.

-

And then Samaritan trapped them at the basement of New York Stock Exchange and Root knew that this was it; this was the end that was long fated for her.

The Machine was spouting the probability of them surviving the ordeal, and safe to say it didn't look good. Her only wish then was that the rest of the team would make it, but as it would seem, all of them were about to be buried six feet under.

(Six weeks had already passed since she knew about her pregnancy, but Root hadn't done anything about the thing that was growing inside of her. Not even a formal doctor's check-up for fear of Samaritan getting wind of the news. She'd wanted it to be a mutual decision with Sameen -- whether they were going to keep it or not -- but Sameen wasn't really in the talking mood, and Root had been scared to bother her about it, choosing instead to go for normalcy whenever they were around each other and avoiding the elephant in the room.)

In that moment, seconds away from her death, the only thing that Root wanted was to know whether or not Shaw would have given both of them a chance; would have given their kid a chance.

Root called her for this exact reason, but of course Shaw ruined that by showing up like a knight in shining armour to save all of them -- in true Shaw fashion.

The Machine didn't expect Sameen's arrival, and it would seem Root wasn't the only one who was happy about her appearance as Shaw provided the cover they needed to make their way to the elevator, and by extension, increased their probability of survival.

Little did Root know that getting out of there with all of them intact had been impossible from the start, and that a sacrifice had to be made.

One moment, it was like Root and Shaw were getting back to their usual bantering, with Root even getting Shaw to admit a part of her concealed feelings.

"Root. No offense. You're hot, you're good with a gun. Those are two qualities I greatly admire. But you and me together would be a four-alarm fire in an oil refinery."

It spoke volumes to Root. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either. Shaw only said no because a relationship between the two of them would be messy -- explosive, chaotic, dangerous -- and Root wouldn't have it any other way. If they got out of there, Root would just have to give her a piece of her mind for the sake of what was growing inside of her -- she'd be lying if she said there wasn't a part of her that wanted to keep it; a huge part she herself couldn't understand.

Then again, things didn't go as planned, and the next thing she knew, Shaw was already offering to press the override button on the wall across the elevator.

Root knew what that meant. It meant Shaw going out there with no cover to block her from Samaritan's bullets. It meant Shaw sacrificing herself in favour of rescuing the rest of the team. It meant Shaw possibly dying and not being able to see their child grow up.

It was a completely selfless act; nothing anyone would ever expect from a sociopath. But Sameen had been a Marine after all, and Root knew that Shaw would gladly place herself in the line of fire for her comrades. And while Root couldn't help but admire her even more for it, the panic she felt incited a fear in her, because surely there was another way to go about it -- another way where Shaw survived.

Just as Shaw was about to walk out of the elevator, Root grabbed her elbow and pulled her back to her.

"Sameen, if you even think I'm gonna let you--"

"Oh, for God's sake," Shaw cut her off, shrugging her hold and turning back to give her an annoyed glare.

Root wasn't able to do anything but look at Sameen, not even hiding the fear that she knew was written all over her face, wishing that Sameen would just get it because Root couldn't do this without her.

They still had a lot to talk about. This couldn't be their last standoff.

She thought she got the message across when in those milliseconds, Sameen's eyes softened despite the hard determination in her face. But then Shaw grabbed the lapels of her leather jacket and pulled Root for a kiss, and Root froze from the feel of Shaw's lips on hers -- hard, rough; like Shaw was telling her something through the kiss.

The next thing Root knew, she was pushed back, Fusco wrapping his arm around her midriff to keep her steady, watching as Sameen locked up the elevator, before running to the override button as she released bullet after bullet.

No. This can't be. This shouldn't be happening. No, no, no! were the only things Root could think of, gripping the rails of the elevator as if that would save Shaw.

(The panic she felt at that moment was unlike any other times she felt in her life. Not even Control's spontaneous stapedectomy and her finding out about her pregnancy could match up to this.)

When the first bullet hit Shaw, the only thing Root could do was watch in horror, her heart hammering inside of her and constricting with pain at the same time, hoping that by some miracle Shaw could get herself out of there. If anyone could do it, it would be her. But then another bullet hit her, and this time, Root wasn't able to stop herself from screaming as she watched the only person she truly cared about fall down to the floor, vaguely aware of hands and arms trying to pull her away from the doors.

The last thing she saw before the metal doors closed was Martine's body standing over Shaw with a gun pointed at her head, Shaw's tiger eyes looking up at Martine as if she wasn't about to die, and another bang of a gun that reverberated and repeated itself over and over again in her head.

Sameen's sacrifice may have given them another day to live -- another day to beat Samaritan -- but to Root, it already felt like they lost the war.

-

Root couldn't remember how they were able to get back to the subway, but they'd managed -- minus Lionel, of course -- but they were alive, save for a few injuries that Root forgot she had herself until Harold offered to clean up the graze on her stomach.

The reminder that Shaw left a part of her in her only made things worse and Root wasn't able to control herself from sobbing on the seat beside the cot -- where John was hooked up with a blood bag -- prompting Harold to look at her sympathetically.

She couldn't take the look in his eyes and looked away, removing her leather jacket and lifting her t-shirt up until just below her bra strap instead for Harold to do his work. Thankfully, he got the message, and proceeded to clean up her graze with slow precision.

What happened to Shaw was unfair, and she couldn't help but despise the Machine a little for not making an effort to save her. She shouldn't even have been there today, she thought. It was only supposed to be the four of them trying to save the world, but Shaw had to show up and be their knight, and the Machine -- her infallible, all-seeing God -- didn't even see it coming.

Too many emotions are hitting her all at once that she couldn't even identify them. Not for the first time, Root wondered what it would have felt like to be Shaw -- to feel nothing -- because right now, she'd rather she didn't feel anything, especially the prickling, burning pain in her chest.

A hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her daze, looking up to see Harold with a sombre expression on his face.

"I'm terribly sorry about what happened today. I couldn't even begin to imagine how it must have felt to watch that happen in front of you. But it is thanks to Sameen that we live another day to fight Samaritan. She saved the whole world, Ms. Groves, including the Machine."

She felt red with rage then at the implication that Shaw's life was worth all of their lives -- because it wasn't.

"She shouldn't even have been there, Harold," she snapped, Harold recoiling slightly from the tone of her voice. "You were the one who taught me that each life matters. Why doesn't Shaw's life matter to you? Why didn't it matter to your Machine?"

Shocked, Harold explained, "Ms. Groves, that's not what I meant. I'm sure--"

"No, Harold. That's exactly what you meant," she pressed with barely suppressed anger, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Ms. Shaw is a valuable asset and a friend. I wouldn't wish her to sacrifice her life in exchange for ours, Ms. Groves, but weren't you the one who told me that war requires sacrifice?"

Root looked up, Harold using her own words against her only making her angrier.

She knew he was right, but it shouldn't have been Shaw. It should have been Root because she had something they wanted; she was the Machine's Analogue Interface after all. Root didn't need the Machine to tell her that had Root been in Sameen's place instead, the chances of her staying alive would be higher, and that thought alone was enough to set the waterworks free again, hating herself for showing her weakness in front of Harold.

And then a sudden feeling came over her. Root couldn't describe it, but maybe it was like a barely lit fire in her chest had suddenly casted its light on her.

Shaw was alive. She had to be. The sociopath was like a cat in so many ways. Root could feel it.

"We have to get her back," she announced, the sound of the cot shifting letting her know that John was conscious -- or at least barely in his condition.

Harold's eyes turned sympathetic again with her announcement. "Ms. Groves, we don't even know if she's alive."

"I don't care! She's alive, I can feel it," she said, barely suppressing the wince when the graze on her stomach stung as she stood up, before making her way to the weapons cabinet to pack more heat.

Harold's fast, uneven footsteps followed behind her. "Ms. Groves, I do not think this is wise," he said, appalled by her new determination.

Root snorted, smirking sinisterly at him. "Sorry, Harry, but right now I could care less about what you think is wise."

"Please, Root. Let's not put Sameen's sacrifice to waste."

Root paused and closed her eyes, letting the bag slide off her hand until it hit the floor with a thud. Harold only ever used her chosen name when he wanted to reach out to her. But as much as Root wanted to follow his lead, this wasn't negotiable. She had to save Shaw.

"I can't," she mumbled instead, picking up the bag to resume packing more magazines and guns, slower this time as tears threatened to fall again. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this. I have to save Shaw."

"Ms. Groves--"

"I'm pregnant, Harold."

The silence that met her was louder than any sound she's ever heard. In any other situation, she would've revelled in the effect she had on Harold, but this wasn't one of them. Instead, the silence only gave more room to her traitorous thoughts -- thoughts of Sameen probably being tortured right now -- and couldn't help but breakdown in tears again.

She looked back to see Harold's astonished face, mouth opening and closing as if looking for the right words to say. Root did the talking for him instead.

"It's Sameen's. I have to save her."

And then the unexpected happened: John rose from the bed, groaning and wincing and looking red in the face from pain, before limping his way to Root.

"I'm coming with."

Harold gasped. "Mr. Reese! I don't think this is wise. You're not even--"

"Root's right, Finch. Shaw could still be alive out there. We have to find her before they kill her," he said through gritted teeth, still in pain, shouldering the different rifles he had on his cabinet.

"I know that. But you need to rest. Both of you. You won't find her in the state you both are in," he pressed, the frown seemingly permanent on his face.

John stood up in front of Root, nodding at her -- and Root nodded back, not knowing what to say with his silent support -- before John turned back to Harold.

"Sorry, Finch, but we never leave our comrades behind."

"Mr. Reese! Ms. Gro--Root! Please!" were the last thing Root and John heard from Harold before they made sure that every single person that was working for Samaritan experienced hell on earth.

It only took Harold 12 hours before he contacted both of them to offer his technical assistance. John and Root wreaked havoc in five states in the space of two days -- including kidnapping Control and luring the ISA agents to get a worm uploaded on a Samaritan agent's phone in hopes of finding Sameen. But even that turned out to be a temporary reprieve.

The lead they found in Maple turned out to be equal parts fruitful and frustrating.

Fruitful because they finally saw a glimpse of what Samaritan was trying to do -- trying to study humans by taking control of a small state like Maple, observing their behaviours in an electrochemical level, and changing their lives.

Samaritan was basically playing God, and it was obvious how self-serving it was; not at all like the Machine.

But it was more frustrating, because just when she thought they'd finally found Shaw, it turned out to be someone else. Finding the neuro-implants and the transponders didn't prove to be helpful as well; it had only incited more fear in Root, and that fear drove Root unhinged.

She was aware of how destructive she was more than usual for the past couple of days, but she couldn't find it in herself to care about collateral damage. Samaritan took Shaw, and Root would do anything to get her back alive, to save the person who had willingly and selflessly saved them when all of them were supposed to be dead by now, but most of all, to save the mother of her child.

The Machine constantly voiced Her disapproval, albeit in different ways. She'd send her coded messages through the radio, through the flashing of a light bulb, through traffic lights, but never directly through her cochlear implant. She disobeyed all of them; she would've ignored Her, but Root didn't in case the Machine would finally relay Shaw's location, because Root knew She knew where Sameen was being kept.

It baffled Root to no end why the Machine refused to help, but Root didn't let that stop her, until after a week had already passed and all of their leads had ended up empty. She knew she'd be the only one willing to save Shaw at that point. She was pretty sure Harold had already given up on her.

Root stepped under the surveillance camera that day, uncaring if Samaritan agents would come and get her in broad daylight, asking -- begging -- where Sameen was because she couldn't live everyday wondering if she was alive. She needed an answer; an answer she thought she'd finally have when the phone rang, but was only met with one command: Sierra. Tango. Oscar. Papa. STOP.

After everything she'd done for the Machine, Root couldn't believe this was what she was getting in return. Out of all of them -- the Machine, Harold, John, and Lionel -- she expected Her to understand most why it was important for Root to save Shaw.

It became clear to Root that maybe the Machine wasn't as rational and benevolent and perfect as she'd thought She was, and for the first time ever, felt the need to ignore her God.

After saying goodbye to Harold, she disappeared and went back to her old ways. Every time she thought that the Machine was trying to communicate with her -- through the waiter in the diner, through another customer, even through a kid -- she ignored Her.

If the Machine wasn't willing to help, she'd do it on her own.

-

Root woke up crying, sweating and her heart beating erratically every day after that.

Her nightmare was always the same thing: Shaw gunned down on the Stock Exchange, Shaw's body on the floor, Shaw's blood, and the sound of a gunshot.

Root knew it was an image that would haunt her until the rest of her days.

By the end of the week, she came up with a decision: she was going to keep the baby.

-

It took a week before Root finally allowed herself to listen to the Machine -- a week of hunting down and torturing Samaritan agents with no results. Even then, She couldn't tell her where Sameen was.

"Probability of Analogue Interface's Survival if unapproved mission continues: 3.74%. Result unacceptable."

Root snorted, giving the camera on her laptop a sarcastic smirk. "Yes, but it was acceptable when it was Sameen, wasn't it?"

A pause.

"Primary Asset's capture undesired outcome. No available options left."

There was something to be said about an Artificial Intelligence created for the purpose of saving lives, but losing options for the people who worked at the behest of it -- of Her -- and that didn't sit well with Root.

She rolled her eyes, moving to close the lid of the laptop when She stopped her.

"Mission is not safe for Analogue Interface's pregnancy."

She sighed, opening her mouth to tell Her there was no convincing her out of this, regardless if it was safe or not, when the Machine spoke again.

"Primary objective: defeat Samaritan. Primary objective impossible to complete without Analogue Interface."

"I'm sorry, but unless you tell me where she is, I'm going to keep on looking for her and I won't stop."

She was about to close the laptop for good, when the Machine interrupted her again.

"Stop. Please."

If it wasn't for the borrowed, robotic delivery, Root could have sworn she heard the Machine sigh.

She closed the lid of her laptop after that, ready to torture more Samaritan agents.

The old Root would have been proud, but the reformed Root only felt more and more empty with each passing day.

-

After rescuing Harold from Claire Mahoney, Root had grudgingly resumed working missions for the Machine. She realized that if the only way to find Sameen was to defeat Samaritan, then so be it. But she wasn't subtle about her disappointment with the Machine; who resorted to apologizing to her and reminding her what was more important.

In the months following that, Root worked small-scale missions that were all related to the Machine's strategies against Samaritan. Sometimes, She would send her to do irrelevant numbers with John and/or Fusco -- mostly John, who for some reason, she grew closer to.

(The big lug wasn't so bad after all, if Root looked past his protectiveness and loyalty and general guard dog qualities to Harold -- and the fact that John stopped her from killing Martine when she already had the chance.)

It didn't escape Root's notice how John would always put himself in the line of fire -- how he would always place himself in front of her whenever they were about to clear a room -- or how he would pull her back just when she was about to recklessly storm in like she used to, because she knew she had the Machine in her ear.

Root both hated and appreciated it; it wasn't like she couldn't take care of herself, but at the same time, she knew it was John's way of doing his duty to Sameen by protecting Root and their child -- Root knew Shaw was like his sister after all.

(Once, in a particularly boring number which found Root and John in a stakeout, John had finally said the first thing he'd ever said about her pregnancy.

"So, you're keeping it."

It wasn't a question; it was a statement needing a confirmation.

Root had glanced at John with a raised eyebrow, as if to say 'duh', but answered him anyway, because the thought of doing something else only angered her.

"I am," she'd said, looking away from him when she'd felt herself getting emotional, and then shakily, "It's the only part of her I have left."

John was silent, taking in the gravity of her decision. Root, for maybe the first ever, hadn't minded the silence that took over the car that time -- she didn't need his pity and his approval.

After a while, he finally spoke.

"We'll get her back, Root," he'd said, and Root had looked at him, eyes full of hope, looking him in the eyes to see if he was telling the truth. Root could only see determination in his eyes.

The day after that, Root had been surprised to be summoned to the subway station by Harold early in the morning. Thinking it was Sameen related, or at least Machine related, she'd come without hesitation. What she didn't expect was a doctor with a large duffel bag on her feet talking to Harold, seemingly catching up on things. But Root already had an inkling to what this visit was for.

"Making new friends, Harry?" she'd said in greeting, catching both parties in surprise as Harold finally smiles, the brunette doctor smiling shyly at Root.

"Ah, Ms. Groves. Thank you for coming," he'd said, and then gestured to the woman beside him. "This is Dr. Megan Tillman. She's a physician in the city hospital here in Manhattan. John and I know her from a few years ago."

Root hummed, smirking at Harold to hide her nervousness at the thought of finally getting a check-up for her child. "Should've told me we were playing doctor today."

"Yes, well..." he'd cleared his throat, almost looking apologetic, the doctor leaving both of them alone as she prepared her paraphernalia. "With the present circumstances, I know you haven't been able to get your check-up. I know she's not an obstetrician, but I'm afraid with our limited resources--"

"You don't have to explain, Harold. This is more than enough already. I just wish you'd have warned me."

A throat clearing interrupted them, Dr. Tillman smiling at them shyly.

"Are you ready?"

Root had swallowed the knot in her throat, nodding as she'd made her way to the cot the doctor pointed her out to. Thankfully, the doctor hadn't bothered with small talk, choosing instead to tell her what she was about to do, which Root had appreciated immensely.

She'd gasped a little too loudly at the gel the doctor had spread on her stomach -- which had already been starting to swell -- surprised by how cold it really was. The next thing she knew, the ultrasound had been turned on, and Root could see a grainy picture of a fetus; a fetus which she'd later heard its heart beating.

Root hadn't been able to help herself then as she'd started tearing up and laughing at the same time, never having thought that the sound of someone's heartbeat could bring her so much joy. She'd wished Shaw was there to hear this -- to hear a part of her beating inside of Root.

"Huh, Harold told me this is your first check-up?" Dr. Tillman asked her, Root nodding in return as she couldn't find her words, suddenly nervous. "Well, from what I could see, your baby's healthy, but definitely smaller for a roughly 12-week baby."

Her heart had started beating double time, panicked that her recklessness may have harmed her baby.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Definitely not. You're just going to have to eat some more healthy foods, and I'm going to ask my obstetrician friends for medicines you could take so that your kid could catch up," she'd said, and Root had felt herself relaxing as the doctor had started packing up the paraphernalia. "I'm going to have to take urine and blood samples though. Would that be alright?"

The thought of needles made Root grimace, but she had no choice, so she'd nodded and allowed the doctor to get her blood, and had peed into a cup, before the doctor left, telling them that she would contact Harold as soon as she had the results.

As soon as they were done, Root had realized who it was behind all of this; it was John. She'd chuckled and shook her head in amusement at his subtle caring, but mostly, she appreciated the gesture; had learned to appreciate him even more. But that didn't mean she couldn't insult him, because he just made it too easy for her all the time, and Root was never one to waste an opportunity.)

Lionel only knew about her pregnancy when she'd finally hit 18 weeks. The swell of her stomach was bigger then, but thanks to the Machine delivering loose clothes, it wasn't that obvious.

(Root had been particularly hungry one day -- Shaw-level hungry -- it was the pregnancy hormones acting up. Dr. Tillman had already told her to follow her cravings, whatever they were, and to let herself indulge in them, so Root did.

She'd brought in bags and bags of snacks with her to Fusco's police-issued car, sitting down on the passenger seat with a flourish. Of course, she'd entered to a sleeping Fusco, who had snorted awake when he'd felt the car moving.

"Ever learn how to knock?" he'd huffed, scowl in his face.

Root had tilted her head as she bit into her sandwich. "Now, Lionel. When was I ever conventional with my methods?"

Fusco had rolled his eyes, before the bags of food caught his attention. He'd reached into one, which Root had zoned in on, swatting his arm away immediately.

"That's mine," Root had growled, briefly thinking how Shaw would have been proud if she'd seen this happening. If only she was here, Root thought, before doing away with all negative thoughts of Shaw that were about to eat at her again.

Fusco chuckled, incredulous as he raised his eyebrows. "Let's not kid ourselves, Cocoa Puffs. We all know you can't finish that so you might as well share some of that."

She'd raised her eyebrows in defiance and finished her sandwich, dumping the foil inside one of the bags, before fishing out a box of Chinese take-out. Orange chicken, her favourite. Still looking at Fusco, she'd dug into them, Fusco watching with his mouth wide open in disbelief.

"Jesus, you on your PMS or somethin'? I've never seen you eat like Short and Crazy."

Root, despite herself, had chuckled at the nickname. "Don't let her hear you call her that."

"Whatever. Point being: it's like you're eating for two people. Now that I think about it, you've been gainin' weight."

Root had rolled her eyes in amusement, only realizing then that Fusco still hadn't caught on to the fact that she was indeed eating for two. She was going to have fun with this.

She'd smirked in that way she knew had always annoyed Harold, Shaw and John, knowing it would do the same to Fusco.

"Who says I'm not eating for two?"

Fusco had chuckled, incredulous. "You mean to say Ms. Congeniality knocked you up? Yeah, right."

Root had only shrugged and raised her eyebrows as she took the last bite of her orange chicken, before moving on to her noodles, all the while watching as Fusco's smile had slowly sobered up until he's staring at her in realization -- all of which happened within a minute.

"Wait, you're not just playing tricks on me again, are you? Because lemme tell you now, this isn't funny, Nutella."

Root's smile had only widened to the point of grinning, choosing to annoy him further by putting down the box of noodles to retrieve a Nutella sandwich from the bag.

"Ding-ding-ding! Looks like we have a winner. And for that, you get a free Nutella sandwich," she'd said, biting her lip to stop from chuckling as she'd presented the sandwich in front of Fusco.

He'd scoffed and grabbed the sandwich from her hand before she changed her mind, looking at her incredulously.

"See, I'm havin' a hard time believing you because it ain't possible. Tiny isn't a family person, so there's no way in hell she sat with you to choose a donor. She hates you."

"Does she? Who says there was a donor?" Root had replied nonchalantly, having a lot of fun turning Fusco's gears. More fun than the number.

"But that ain't possible." Fusco, completely baffled by Root's retorts, had scoffed. "How's that possible?"

He obviously didn't know about Shaw's extra appendage.

Root had chuckled, smirking at him. "If I have to explain to you how you had a kid, Lionel, then we have a problem."

"What? What do you mean by that?"

Just in time, the teenager they had been following had stepped out of the shadows, meeting up with the higher-ups of the drug ring to re-up his stash. Root knew he was about to get in trouble.

"As much as I'd like to lecture you on biology, our number's about to get in trouble," she'd stepped out of the car in a hurry, knowing there wasn't much time left.

The last thing she heard was Fusco's baffled 'what?' before she stepped in to save the number.

The next time Root had seen Fusco, she'd been bent over the bushes, vomiting after a sudden bout of nausea that hit her after saving a number. The only thing Root was thankful for was the timing was perfect.

She'd heard footsteps before she'd seen who it was, raising her gun behind her in warning, before a familiar chuckle met her ears.

"You weren't kidding about the pregnant part."

Root had rolled her eyes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she stood up, still feeling dizzy. Fusco handed her his handkerchief, which she gladly took to wipe the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead.

"Why would I lie about being pregnant, Lionel? Why would anyone, actually?"

"I don't know, because you used to lie for a living? Still do on the occasion?" He'd retorted with a sarcastic flair.

Root had chuckled. "You have a point, but yes, I wasn't lying about being pregnant."

"Jesus. Just when I thought things couldn't get any crazier," he'd grumbled, pointing to your stomach. "And don't even get me started about the fact that two lunatics are having a baby. Can you imagine how crazy your kid would be?"

"Have some faith, Lionel. For all you know, the baby might take after Sameen."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm worried about," he'd scoffed, before guiding her gently into his car to take her to her identity's home.)

Harold was just Harold. Always there, always making sure she was okay, but never invading her privacy.

Sometimes, she and Harold would get into endless debates about different things -- viruses, latest technology, the Machine -- and Root would learn a lot from him, and she'd like to think it was a two-way street.

The normalcy, albeit still with a bit of trepidation on his part and a hint of paternal care, that Harry provided was comforting to say the least.

The boys made her pregnancy tolerable, and Root appreciated their efforts, but even they weren't enough to fill the gaping hole in her heart.

Not more than once, she would find herself thinking about all the things Shaw would be doing if she was here, alive and safe from Samaritan.

Like at around three o'clock in the afternoon when Shaw didn't have a number to take care of, she would take out Bear for a walk (and a treat that Harry didn't know about, which Root only found out courtesy from the Machine), before sitting down at a diner and ordering her favourite medium rare sirloin steak, and maybe even order a cheesecake if she was feeling like it.

Or, how during sex, when Shaw's fucking her hard and fast, her eyes would hold this intensity that Root couldn't keep her eyes off of, and sometimes it was enough to push her over the edge.

Or, how Root would come back after doing the Machine's missions with gunshot wounds or injuries, and it was enough to set off Shaw who would tell her how much of an idiot she was for thinking that having the robot overlord in her ear meant she was invincible. But how even after scolding her, Shaw would take care of her wounds gently, like she hadn't just been furious at Root, all without losing the eternal grumpy scowl on her face.

At this point, Root would prefer the latter. She would rather have Shaw here, angry and furious at her to the point of hurting her -- anything. Anything was better than Shaw somewhere out there and Root not knowing whether the mother of her child was dead or alive.

-

Harold and John refused to give her as much irrelevant numbers to work on, much to her displeasure. She'd hoped the Machine would back her up -- especially in matters concerning their fight against Samaritan -- but after her trip to China that had gotten her bone tired, She decided not to give any more missions to Root (she'd been getting tired easily lately).

Root hated it; hated the feeling of being useless. She wasn't used to staying in one place, even if it had only been hours since she'd landed from China. That was something she had in common with Sameen. Both of them always needed to be in motion; to always be moving forward. But being 22 weeks pregnant didn't really give her much room to move anymore either, and she had no choice but to stay in the subway.

-

But then a few hours later, for the first time in 3 months, Sameen's phone rang, and the hope that died inside of her suddenly sparked again.

She answered the phone right away, afraid that she might miss whoever it was on the other end of the phone.

"Hello?"

"Root. Are you there? It's me. I need your help, I--" Shaw's quick reply was interrupted by the line clicking.

"Shaw..." she breathed out, only now feeling how much she missed hearing her voice, until realizing that the line was cut. "Wait, Sameen!"

She slammed the phone down on the table in frustration, feeling tears pricking her eyes, biting her lip as she worried over Sameen's condition.

On the one hand, the confirmation that she was alive had given her a sense of a relief. On the other, Shaw never asked for help, and that was the scariest thing. What kind of torture could they possible be doing to her? was the question that repeated itself over and over again, the answers coming up in her head only making her more and more furious and determined to get back at Samaritan.

That's it, she'd thought, having had enough of getting their asses kicked.

"Let's go, Harry," she announced, putting on her leather jacket, scar, and trench coat.

Surprised, Harold stood up. "Ms. Groves, let's not be too hasty. This could be a trap."

"Fine. I'll go by myself," she said, and knew from the exasperated sigh behind her that Harold would come along anyway.

Root wasn't going to sit around after that call.

Of course, maybe she shouldn't have played chicken with the Machine. But it was the only way to get Her to speak, and she survived anyway, didn't she?

-

Harold was right. It was a trap. But the Machine rescued Root and Harold by giving itself up to Samaritan.

Everything was going to shit. They were losing; the God that she'd worked hard to get close to was on the brink of dying on the hands of another God.

The only good thing was that she was able to kill Martine. Snapped her neck like a fucking twig without even so much as a peep from her. She deserved it for hurting Shaw, deserved it for threatening Harold, and deserved it for even suggesting that Shaw would tell them about her cochlear implant and her pregnancy.

-

It had been a stressful week after that.

A lot of running. A lot of being chased down by Samaritan's agents. A lot of thinking it was probably going to be the end of her (and her baby).

They managed to compress the Machine's core DNA heuristics inside the briefcase that She had her steal months ago. But bringing the Machine back to working order hadn't been easy.

It certainly didn't help when they finally ran tests after 2 months and the Machine woke up with no sense of time and thought she, Harold and John were threats because of Her scattered memories -- even going as far as using her as a leverage by taking advantage of Root's cochlear implant, which didn't sit right with her baby who had proceeded to kick in stress that Root felt like she was about to give birth then. Not to mention the amount of numbers she sent out that didn't check out. But once Harold was able to talk Her down and tell her all about what they had done together for the past 4 years, it was all completely worth it.

Once the numbers started coming again -- this time with no fictional characters and already murdered people -- John and Harold went back to working the numbers again, while Root grudgingly accepted her fate. But the Machine's open system provided her with enough entertainment -- or would have, really, if only She could find where Sameen was, but even the open system couldn't.

She focused on other things instead. Like, making sure the makeshift bedroom she set up in the subway was child-proof in addition to it being designed according to her taste, buying neutral baby clothes (she'd opted to keep the gender anonymous to herself), milk solution and bottles, a crib, and everything else she would need in a few weeks' time.

Root achieved all of this through the help of the Machine, John and Harold, who despite being subtle about the little knick knacks they bought for her baby -- like how extra child-proofed the whole subway was (Harold and John), the Lion stuffed toy (Lionel), the baby bulletproof vest (Lurch), and the story-telling books (Harry) -- weren't exactly subtle about their anticipation.

(The day John gave her the baby bulletproof vest, she couldn't stop herself from chuckling. The sentiment was there, alright, but it was a typical John gift.

"Really, John?" she asked between laughs, John only smirking back at her.

"Just in case no one can take care of the baby when we're out on missions. That way, we wouldn't have to worry about giving it to a stranger."

She chuckled some more, muttering her thank you in between them shyly. John only huffed a chuckle, before Harold called him from the subway car for a new number.)

Once, she'd woken up to the sound of heavy grunts and sighs, and a lot of thudding, Root had wadded (yes, wadded; she was that pregnant) her way out of her makeshift bedroom, hand holding her back as she'd tried steadying herself, to see several medical equipment laid out in front of the subway car that she was sure hadn't been there the day before, with a sweaty and unkempt John in front of them all while Harold was stood behind him with a smile on his face.

She'd walked towards them, immediately catching their attention.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Groves. Were you able to sleep well?" Harold had greeted her.

Root wasn't even surprised that it was already well past noon. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Too much if I'm waking up to a completely new subway," she'd said, amused. "If I didn't know any better, Harold, I'd think you were making a hospital."

"Yes. Well, Mr. Reese and I finally decided to invest in more sophisticated medical equipment, considering our health is an occupational hazard."

Root had hummed to herself, impressed as she looked at all the state of the art equipment in front of her. This certainly cost Harold a lot, and he wouldn't have done this if it wasn't for her pregnancy.

"Thanks, Harry."

Harold had only smiled at her kindly. "You're welcome, Ms. Groves."

Lionel, however, avoided all attempts at subtlety, and actually asked her directly about her state -- compared to John and Harold who rarely confronted her with questions.

Since she couldn't get out of the subway, the only way for her to annoy Lionel was through phone calls.

Harold was out that day, helping John out on a number, and Root was bored enough that she decided to check up on Lionel to see how he was doing.

"What is it this time, Banana Nut Crunch? Kinda busy here," Fusco grouched into the phone, as expected, which made her chuckle.

"Can't a gal just check up on her favourite NYPD Detective?"

He chuckled. "What? Wonderboy ain't your type?"

"We all know he isn't a detective, Lionel," she drawled, covering her mouth when she yawned. "So how goes your day, Detective?"

"Look, Crazy Town Banana Pants, the only reason why I answered your call was because I needed a break from work. How about you talk about you instead."

She rolled her eyes. "There's nothing to tell except I'm very pregnant."

"Yeah, Wonderboy told me," he chuckled. "So, you know the gender of the little nutball yet?"

"No. I decided to make it a surprise -- for all of us!"

"Isn't that hard?"

She frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know, you gotta think of names. Maybe you forgot about the part where you need to give your baby a name?"

Root hadn't forgotten. But the point being, she hadn't chosen a name, and Fusco had a point. And so after hanging up the phone, she took Fusco's advice and did her research on baby names and their meanings.

The boys' efforts didn't end there, and Root appreciated the gestures.

She had elected not to say anything, knowing that the boys were embarrassed enough. And honestly, it was more support than she had ever imagined from them.

Once upon a time, this group of people looked at her as the villain, and now, in a surprising turn of events, they treated her like family -- albeit still with a little apprehension -- but still family. It was the first time she felt like she belonged even though there was one person missing.

-

Two weeks later -- in the middle of August, after 12 hours of excruciating pain -- Root gave birth to a beautiful boy. Her labour and delivery were all administered by John, who Root had no idea had been stressing himself over labour and delivery procedures since they couldn't call Dr. Tillman for fear of Samaritan hunting her down.

He'd looked exhausted after he had placed her son in her arms. It was the only other time, aside from the Stock Exchange, Root had seen him close to passing out from exhaustion, sweat pooled all over his face. But the uptick of his lips let Root know that he didn't mind; that he was relieved both Root and the baby were fine.

Root was speechless with tears, staring at the miracle in her arms that looked a lot like he was brooding and wailing at the same time; face red and scrunched together in disapproval, the small amount of his light brown hair damp -- a perfect combination of Shaw and Root.

She finally understood what parents meant when they said they never thought they could fall in love again, because right now, Root was sure her heart was soaring in cloud nine. And yet, at the same time, the whole thing still felt surreal to her.

Against all odds stacked against them, Root had survived long enough to give birth to this beautiful boy in her arms. She didn't know if she deserved it, but she would go to hell and back to take care of her son. Nothing matters more for her now than the boy in her arms, and she would make sure he will live in a world where no Samaritan exists.

She would make sure to bring his other mama back.

A flash of a camera pulled Root out of her dreamy gaze, looking up just in time to see John putting down his phone, smiling sheepishly at her.

"Sorry. Lionel wanted a picture."

Root chuckled, feeling drained and sweaty and gross.

"Should've just asked me, Lurch. Could've given our dear detective a smile."

He chuckled, fixing Root's cover from the waist down, just as Harold appeared from around the corner. She didn't even know he was hiding somewhere.

"Hey, Harry," she greeted him tiredly from her position on the cot, smiling as he and John looked in awe at her son.

"He's handsome, Root," he said. "Do you have a name yet?"

Root smiled, looking at her son with half-lidded eyes, who was still wailing.

"Samuel Alessandro. Sander... for defender of men."

"That's a beautiful name," he smiled, the meaning of her son's name not lost on him, squeezing her shoulders when he saw her eyes drooping. "Rest now. I'll take care of his papers."

Root kissed her son's head, before relaxing on the cot. "Thanks, Harry... Lurch," she mumbled half-asleep, before finally losing consciousness.

-

If her pregnancy hadn't been easy, the actual taking care of the baby was even harder.

Root didn't even have a single clue on how to take care of a baby, neither did John and Harold. They may be a group composed of a hacker, a reformed killer for hire and a highly trained ex-CIA agent, but baby care was definitely not of their skills.

And it wasn't like Root's identities were taking care of newborns. And this was different. This was her son.

Luckily, Lionel's there and was more than willing to teach Root the ropes. Somehow through his colourful choice of words and all of their combined efforts, they managed.

-

Sander reminded all of them of Sameen.

Not only because he was her son, but also because in all of his little quirks.

Like, how obvious it was when he was hungry that even John and Harold, who didn't have a single drop of paternal instincts within them, knew whenever he was.

(Root had been cleaning off her guns from having just worked a number, John suddenly came up behind her with an amused look on his face.

"Something amusing you, helper monkey?"

"He's hungry."

Root had chuckled, doubting Sander was. She had just fed him. "How sure are you?"

"Well, he has that look on his face." Root had levelled him with an unimpressed look. "You know, grumpy."

And true to form, when Root had looked at Sander, he had been fidgeting in Reese's arms with a grumpy look on his face that looked exactly like Sameen's when she was hungry.

Root had immediately grabbed him from Reese, heading to her bedroom to breastfeed him. As soon as her nipple was free, Sander had latched onto it, making Root chuckle.

"Sameen is going to be happy about this.")

Or, how when he needed a diaper change, and his furrowed brows would give it away.

(Root and Fusco had been in the subway car bantering with each other after the number they had worked when Fusco had suddenly released an amused chuckle.

"I haven't said anything yet, Lionel."

"What, you think you're funny?" Fusco had retorted, incredulous, nodding towards Sander in her arms. "It's little Sander. He needs a nappy change."

Root had turned Sander around in her arms to look at him, seeing a frown on his face, before putting him back on her lap.

"Or maybe you're not just as impressive as you think you are, detective," Root had smirked, prompting Fusco to shake his head in amusement.

"See for yourself, Cocoa Puffs."

Not one to back down from a challenge, Root had placed him gently on the changing pad and opened his diapers, only for her to scrunch her nose from the acrid smell that met her.

"Wow, okay. That's a lot of poop, baby," she'd said to Sander, Fusco chuckling as he handed her a new diaper.

"Ah, the smell of domesticity. What did I tell ya?"

"Go away, Lionel.")

Or, how when he wasn't impressed with something, he wasn't like other children who most often than not resort to wailing. He would level whatever or whoever it was with a blank look -- a look that Root thought could match that of Sameen's -- and just stare, like he was cataloguing everything that needed pay back for not impressing him.

("Oh, dear."

Root had looked up from the laptop to see Harold with a slightly horrified look on his face as he stared at something on the floor, which happened to be where Sander was playing with Bear.

"What is it?"

He had pointed towards Sander's direction. "It's the same look Sameen would give me every time I give her a 'boring' number."

Amused and curious, Root had looked at Sander and had seen the look Harold was talking about, making her chuckle.

"Isn't he wonderful?" She had gushed, head tilted as she watched Sander having a stare down with Bear. "He's like a miniature version of Sameen."

"Frankly, Ms. Groves, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

Root had chuckled. "Cheer up, Harry. He's a curious kid. Got it from both of his mommies."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better," he had mumbled under his breath, which only prompted Root to chuckle further.)

It didn't help that although he looked both like Root and Shaw, Sameen's features were more prominent.

It only made Root wish Sameen could see Sander grow. If only they could find her.

-

"That was a nice break, wasn't it?"

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Groves?"

Root smiled from the passenger seat as Harold drove them back to Manhattan, a thoughtful look on her face as she continued ruffling Sander's light hair.

She hadn't stopped thinking of the wedding they (she) crashed earlier. Everyone, especially the couple, looked so happy that Root realized she had never felt as happy as they did -- not until Sander came in her life. Even then, it was mixed with sadness, because Sameen wasn't there to see the birth of her son.

(Root knew about Sameen's soft spot for kids. She heard about Gen from the Machine when she asked about the Order of Lenin she saw in her apartment when she tasered her.)

Sometimes, she wished for another life where she was blissfully unaware and ignorant of the AI apocalypse she caught herself smack in the middle of. But then again, she wouldn't have met the Machine, and she wouldn't have met Shaw.

"The wedding, Harry. Isn't it nice when other people get their happy endings? I mean, they're mostly ignorant--unaware of the war that's upon all of us, but, you get the picture."

Harold hummed, casting her a glance before looking back at the road. "I didn't know you wanted to get married."

"I don't." She didn't. Did she? "But when you've had too much darkness, you get to appreciate fairytale endings when they happen."

Harold hummed his agreement, but didn't speak, knowing Root had more to say in the matter.

"I spent my whole life running away, Harry. Sometimes I wish I can just settle down, you know? With Sander and..." Root stopped. She was about to say Shaw. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Well, I know I'm not going to get it."

A pause.

"You know Sameen cares about you, right, Ms. Groves?"

Root chuckled. Shaw? Marrying her? Again, not happening. In her wildest dreams.

"Let's face it, Harry. Sameen's not the marrying type. She'll kill me first before she even agrees to it."

Harold hummed, smiling. "You'll never know. Stranger things have happened."

Harold was right, but Root wasn't delusional. Even if, she had only realized now, that there was a part of her that actually wanted to marry Shaw.

"Touche, Harry. Touche."

-

And then, almost three months later, Root found Sameen in the park.

She couldn't believe it at first; thought her mind was tricking her as it was already late and she had only breastfed Sander. But once she realized it was real, she couldn't help the joy that erupted inside of her.

Shaw was alive and back and safe in her arms. It finally felt like everything was going full circle. Her family was complete. Sander would finally be able to meet his mama.

The only thing left for them to do was to defeat Samaritan.

-

Shaw had nightmares almost every night since she came back.

Her first night back, Shaw had insisted on sleeping on the couch, and Root had respected her wishes, opting to keep the door to the bedroom ajar. Not even two hours later, Root woke up to loud whimpers from the living room and immediately made her way to Shaw as fast as she could.

She was sweating and shaking, and if Root didn't know she was tortured for almost 10 months, she would've thought that Sameen was having a seizure. Panicked, Root grabbed her shoulders, only to be thrown down to the floor, the Persian panting heavily on top of her with wild, livid eyes, scowl firmly in place.

Root bit back the groan on the back of her throat from the pain that erupted on her back, but Root stood her ground, not wanting to show any form of weakness to Shaw. She stared back into those beautiful stormy eyes, trying to tell her she was okay, she was safe, until Shaw's eyes widened in realization, pulling back from Root.

"Fuck, Root," she cursed, assessing Root's head and back with trained hands. Root let her. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Shit, shit, shit."

"Sameen."

Root cupped her cheeks to get the increasingly agitated ex-operative's attention, Shaw looking up to her eyes immediately.

"You're okay, Sameen. It hurt me, but I'm--" Shaw's groan stopped her. Root knew she was being hard on herself already, which broke Root's heart. She caressed her cheeks with her thumbs, making Shaw look up at her again. "Hey, none of that, okay?"

"I hurt you--"

"Yes, but it's not like you didn't know I like a bit of pain with my pleasure, Sweetie." Her tone lacking a little of the lilt she used when she was flirting with Shaw, but the line worked anyway, if the uptick of Shaw's lips was any indication.

"Unbelievable," she mumbled under breath, shaking her head incredulously, before leaning her forehead on Root's.

Root only beamed at her, continuing her ministrations on Shaw's cheeks as it looked effective. They stayed like that for a long time, kneeling on the floor, both of them just staring at each other. Occasionally, Root would bump her nose with Shaw and Shaw would bump hers in return almost shyly. But mostly, they stared and breathed each other in.

The Shaw before Samaritan wouldn't have agreed to his. This was something she would consider as 'sappy shit', and that thought alone was enough to make Root's heart sink.

Root still didn't know the full story of what they did to her. She only knew about the simulations; even then, that was all she knew: simulations. She didn't even know what all 7,000 of those simulations entailed, but Samaritan had clearly broken her down. And Root thought that maybe this was the effect of killing yourself 7,000 over with no end seemingly in sight.

She couldn't imagine having to relive another version of reality, only to find out later on that everything wasn't real, and Shaw resorting to killing herself instead to end it -- to avoid killing Root. The fact that Samaritan was able to break Shaw down mentally, and even emotionally to an extent, was too much for Root.

It only made Root's convictions stronger. There was no way in hell any living Samaritan agent would live another day after the war. Not even one. They would pay for what they did to Sameen, Root would make sure of it.

When Root felt like Sameen was relaxed, she kissed the Persian on the forehead, an idea popping in her head to make her feel even better.

"Would you like me to get Sander for you?"

Shaw's eyes widened imperceptibly, caution written on her face. "You still trust me? Even after what I just did?"

Root cupped her cheeks, smiling at her. She didn't even care if she looked sappy right now; didn't even care if what she was about to say was too much. She needed to assure Sameen that she had all her trust. From day one.

"I always have, Sameen."

Shaw's eyes had watered slightly then, blinking at her before looking away, brows furrowed as her fingers came up behind her left ear, seemingly looking for something. Root watched patiently, smiling at Sameen when she looked back satisfied, like she found the answer she was looking for.

"Okay." And then, she frowned, clearing her throat. Root knew she wanted to ask something, but didn't know how to.

"What is it?"

"Is it okay if I sleep with you? Just tonight?"

Root beamed, standing up and pulling Shaw along with her. "Of course, Sweetie. Why don't you go ahead? I'll just get Sander from his room."

"Okay."

Shaw was able to sleep properly for the rest of the night with Sander on her chest, while Root curled herself near them, careful not to invade Shaw's space, but close enough to feel her warmth.

Nights after that weren't easy, but they were definitely better than the first.

The next night and the following nights after that, Shaw went back to sleeping on the couch. It wasn't lost on Root that she still woke up from nightmares, often finding herself waking up and looking for Sameen in the apartment.

There were times when Root would find her nursing a glass of water and draining it dry, before nodding at Root and telling her to go back to sleep.

Often, she would find her in Sander's room, stood over his crib like a guardian angel, before settling herself on the cushioned seat near his crib, taking watch. Or, if Root didn't wake up from her whimpers, Root would find Sameen asleep on the seat with Sander in her arms the next morning.

(Seeing Sander with Sameen, and vice versa, was still something Root was getting herself used to.

In all the scenarios she had imagined in her head, not one of them suggested that Shaw would stay and actually develop a relationship with Sander.

In all of them, Root had imagined Shaw to keep her distance, even though she was hoping she wouldn't.

But now, the fact that Sameen obviously found comfort in Sander was making Root's heart soar. It was more than she'd ever allowed herself to hope for.)

Most of the time, though, Root would find Sameen sitting up on the couch, running her fingers on her temple tiredly.

On those nights, Root would always sit beside her, close, but not close enough that they were touching. Sometimes, she would sit there in silence, waiting until Shaw would fall back asleep (or until Sander wails from his room). Sometimes, she would ask her about it.

(Root had decoded her enough to know what her silences meant. There were silences where it was wise to keep her mouth shut. But there were silences where Root knew she could talk and ask questions, even though getting an answer was never a guarantee.)

"Do you want to talk about it?" Root asked more than a couple of times when she knew it was okay to talk, only getting Shaw's head shake as an answer, and Root was okay with it -- especially when it meant Shaw squeezing her hand, silently asking her to stay anyway.

Other times, she spoke on her own, and sometimes the husk of her voice would surprise Root.

"I killed John thousands of times. Harold hundreds. I didn't know why I did it. It was like something was controlling me and I couldn't stop myself from shooting them down," Shaw had said once, both of them seated on the couch.

Root, surprised, had looked up immediately, waiting patiently for Sameen's next words.

"I think a part of me knew they were simulations. I think that's why I shot them. I don't know..." she'd shrugged, and then chuckled humourlessly. "Sometimes, I woke up from the simulations relieved. Sometimes, I wanted them to be true."

Root had waited for more, but nothing else came. Instead, Shaw had squeezed her hand, mumbled for her to go to sleep, before closing her eyes.

The next time she spoke, Shaw had been more agitated than usual. Whatever she had dreamed about, it was eating her up.

"Sameen?" Root had asked, soft and tentative, not wanting to disrupt Shaw's space.

Shaw had looked up at her, eyes unreadable and Root hadn't known what to do except stare back.

"I couldn't get myself to kill you in all of them, and it feels like I should know why but I don't."

The pang of pain in Root's chest had made her emotional, her lips wobbling, tears falling down her cheeks. "Sameen..."

"I used to be so annoyed at you because you wouldn't stop bugging me," she'd said, chuckling, this time with more meaning as she'd smirked at Root. "Guess you should be thankful you're hot."

Root's tears continued to fall as she'd sucked in a breath, not knowing what to say and what was even happening.

"Shaw, I--"

"Shhh." Shaw had cut her off by placing her finger on Root's lips, switching it with her thumb afterwards, staring at Root's lips as she caressed them with her thumb, before wiping her tears. "Stop crying."

If it was possible, Root had sobbed harder, trying to swallow all of them but failing.

"S--so--rry. I--I'm trying."

Shaw had lied down on her back horizontal to Root, patting the space beside her. "C'mere."

Root hadn't wasted time and lied herself down beside Shaw, who had immediately spooned her from behind, arms wrapped around her shoulder, one of her hands occasionally travelling to Root's face to wipe her tears, before settling back down.

She'd tried to calm herself down, sure that her crying was making Shaw uncomfortable, but Shaw had gotten wind of it.

"Let it go, Root."

And so she did. That night, Root had cried in Shaw's arms, and let every single one of those 9 months of loneliness, frustration, and anger out.

Somehow, Root's release served as Shaw's release, because after that things improved between the two of them -- but most importantly, with Sameen.

She was still getting the occasional nightmares, but it was no longer as bad as the first few weeks.

Root couldn't be happier for Sameen's recovery. Sameen was such a strong girl. She'd watched Shaw almost every hour of every day and saw the lasting effects of Samaritan. But never once did Shaw let that affect her during the day (even though she was obviously more tired than usual), especially when they were running numbers, and most especially when they were trying to defeat Samaritan.

She had lapses during the day, sure, but Sameen always managed to soldier on. And this, Root thought -- couldn't help but think -- was the reason why she fell in love with her.

-

Root and Shaw had only just taken cover when the missile finally hit the satellite, both of them falling to the ground when the ground shook from the force of the explosion.

Shaw let out an unusual yelp of pain which immediately caught Root's attention, crawling to Shaw to see blood flowing down her head, her arm twisted in a way Root knew wasn't pleasant, and a gunshot wound on her gut.

Root's insides twisted, knowing she didn't have enough time left before Shaw would lose consciousness from both the pain and the blood. But at the same time, there was a sense of relief in her, because finally, Samaritan was gone, even though a part of her felt incomplete because of the Machine's sacrifice.

"Sameen, we won, Sweetie."

"Yeah?" Shaw groaned, her eyes starting to droop. Root panicked, patting Shaw's cheeks with her hands.