Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are ways you expect to meet people—through other friends, at a bar, standing in line at an overcrowded Starbucks on a weekday moment. Typical stuff. There are cute, unexpected ways too; minor car accidents, jury duty, etc.

Meeting Root was in a bizarre league all of its own.

Shaw stumbled into her apartment, messenger bag slung over one shoulder and phone tucked into the crook of her neck while she fumbled to remove her keys from the door.

“Jesus, Reese, just ask him out. It’s like you’re sixteen again, I swear.”

She dumped her bag in a heap and kicked the door shut. She sighed and switched the phone to her other hand, shrugging off her coat as John began his usual long-winded excuse about Waiting For The Right Opportunity.

He was still going by the time she kicked her boots off, at which point she realized Bear hadn’t come to the door to greet her. That was bad news. She held the phone away from her ear and called his name, only to be met by a soft boof from the living room. She groaned.

“Reese,” she interrupted “I’ll have to call you back. Sounds like Bear might’ve used the couch as a rawhide again.” She promptly hung up without waiting for a reply.

She braced herself to find the massive canine lounging in the shredded remnants of the leather couch—he had good taste, at least—but the sight that greeted her instead brought her to a dead halt.

“You have a lovely home,” said the woman sitting on the fully-intact couch, Bear’s head resting in her lap. He raised his head when he saw Shaw, his tail beating against the leather with a thwump, thwump as the stranger stroked his head.

Shaw was at a loss for words. Caught somewhere between what the fuck and who do you think you are she ended up with a growled, “Who the fuck are you doing?”

The stranger smiled down at Bear, whose tail thwumped again.

“Kinda forward, huh, handsome?” She turned her attention back to Shaw, who was in the midst of calculating how long it would take her to get to the baseball bat tucked under her bed.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, but—” she lifted her arm and Shaw winced at the sight of the massive spread of blood soaking through her shirt at ribcage level. “—you were on the first floor, so.” Shaw glowered at her for a moment longer before relenting in a grudging sigh.

“Here’s how this is gonna go. I patch you up, you clean your blood off my couch, and then I never see your breaking-and-entering ass again. Clear?”

“You’re the host,” the other woman agreed with a pained smile. Shaw nodded brusquely, then crossed to the couch and helped her to her feet. She was taller than Shaw had expected, and it took a second to find the right angle to support her. She’d lost a lot of blood—god, it was going to be a bitch trying to get that out of the couch—so her equilibrium was shot. Shaw looped the stranger’s arm over her shoulder and found herself supporting most of her body weight as they slowly made their way toward the bathroom.

They managed to get her situated atop the toilet seat, where the wounded stranger could stabilize herself against the edge of the sink. The bathroom lighting provided Shaw a better look at what they were dealing with, and—shit. This girl was lucky she hadn’t stumbled into the apartment of someone more squeamish.

“Take off the shirt,” Shaw instructed as she squatted to dig through the cabinet in search of medical supplies.

“Most people buy a girl dinner first,” the stranger quipped. Shaw shot her an incredulous stare and was met with a sly smile before the other woman complied.

Having successfully retrieved gauze, tweezers, rubbing alcohol, and a handful of rags, Shaw placed her supplies on the counter before rising and turning back to her guest.

“Now would be a good time for an explanation,” she said coolly. “You can start with your name.”

“You can call me Root.”

Shaw scoffed and turned to the sink to wash her hands. “The hell kinda name is that?”

Root shrugged. “It’s the one I’ve got.”

“Whatever,” Shaw rolled her eyes. “I’m Shaw. Tell me what happened.” She soaked one of the rags and squatted beside Root, pressing cloth to skin in an attempt to wipe away some of the blood. Root inhaled sharply.

“I, ah, believe I might’ve gotten myself lightly stabbed.”

“Christ, you don’t say,” Shaw swore. Blood was still oozing from the wound, albeit more slowly now. She’d have to take care of stitches first and worry about cleanup later.

“I figured most muggings these days were at gunpoint, but, uh…guess I lucked out and won the old-fashioned lottery,” Root continued, grimacing through the pain.

“And rather than catch a cab or call an ambulance, you opted to break into some poor asshole’s home and what, bleed out on the carpet?” Shaw prompted. She’d managed to locate a needle and some thread. It was nothing fancy, but should hold long enough to keep the fool together until she could see a professional. “Hold still,” she ordered as she got to work.

“Sorry about that,” Root cringed as the needle made contact. “But time was sort of a factor and my wallet was under new ownership. To be fair, I did think it was my own window I was crawling through.”

“How’d you figure that?” Shaw asked, focused intently on the task at hand. To Root’s credit, aside from the occasional gasp or grunt, she was handling the pain remarkably well.

“I’m just a block or so over,” Root said. “Must’ve gotten disoriented, but I’m bottom floor, third from the left, and—lucky for me—so are you. Once I was in, both your guard dog and my internal organs were pretty firm about me staying put.”

Shaw stood, stitches complete, and handed Root the wet rag.

“Apply pressure. Think you can walk?” Root obeyed, a hiss escaping between her teeth. She nodded. “Good.”

Shaw offered her a hand. “Let’s get you to the car. Unless your buddies were making the rounds tonight, hospital shouldn’t be too crowded this time of night.”

Confusion crossed Root’s face. She cocked her head to the side.

“Hospital?”

“I didn’t let you bleed all over my place just to toss you back out on the street,” Shaw said. Her fingers twitched impatiently. “C’mon. Unless internal bleeding and probable infection sound like a good time to you.”

Root grinned weakly as she took Shaw’s hand and was pulled to her feet.

“Does sound like quite the party.”

When Root strode back out into the hospital waiting room hours later, she was surprised to find Shaw still there, flipping through a magazine. The room was essentially empty otherwise, save for a couple huddled next to the vending machines. The clock above Shaw’s head read3:23am.

“Nowhere better to be on a Thursday night?” Root quipped as she approached. Shaw looked up and rose, tossing the magazine onto the seat beside her.

“Figured the night was shot anyway, might as well stick it out.” She nodded in the direction of Root’s ribs. “What’s the verdict?”

“The doc was very impressed with your sewing job. It appears I may owe you my life,” Root flashed a winning smile. Shaw rolled her eyes. Root matched pace with her as they made their way through the sliding doors and out into the parking lot.

Root shot her companion a sidelong glance as they slid into Shaw’s car. They sat in silence as Shaw peeled out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. Shaw didn’t listen to the radio, it seemed. Root had a feeling the quiet wasn’t new to her.

“You could have ditched me there, you know,” Root said after a time. “I hardly made a stellar first impression.”

Shaw grunted in acknowledgment. It appeared that might be all the response she would receive, but then Shaw cleared her throat.

“I, uh, did a stint in med school. Briefly. Instinct to help sticks with you.” The words came out stilted, uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” Root said quietly. Shaw gave only a stiff nod and they rode in comfortable silence the rest of the way.

When they reached Shaw’s apartment, Root directed her down a few blocks to her own building. She turned to the driver, one hand resting on the door handle. “I daresay I owe you one, Shaw. You know where to find me—and vice-versa, obviously.”

“Right, yeah. “ Shaw said coolly. “For starters it would be cool if you didn’t break into my place again.”

Root smiled warmly. “Fair enough.” She stepped out of the car, and almost as an afterthought, bent down to give one last message. “Oh, and Shaw? Don’t worry about the couch. I’ll take care of it.” With that, she shut the door and disappeared into the apartment.

To Root’s credit, she was true to her word. Shaw hadn’t paid her parting remarks much thought; partly because by 4am nothing seemed real anyway, and partly because a woman willing to bleed her insides out in a stranger’s living room hardly seemed a reliable resource.

Yet three days after their encounter, Shaw was awoken by a pounding on her door and Bear’s subsequent barking. She rolled out of bed with a groan, and stumbled across the apartment—tripping over last night’s discarded clothes in the process—and threw open the door with a wholly unwelcoming “What?”

The two deliverymen in the hall seemed as surprised to see her as she did them.

The older of the two glanced down at the clipboard in his hands.

“Miss—uh, Miss Shaw?” he asked uncertainly.

“Speaking.”

“We have your couch, we just need a signature for confirmation.” He extended the clipboard tentatively, and she accepted it with a scowl. Sure enough, there was her name and address. She scanned the page until her eyes fell upon the MEMO box neatly filled in at the bottom:

As promised, doc. Sorry about the mess. –Root

Shaw let out a breath. Right. Her friend from the other night.

She scrawled her signature on the designated line and returned the clipboard.

“Sorry ‘bout the confusion, c’mon in.” She stepped aside as the two men carried in the new couch. She had them leave it beside the old one—she’d get John to help her rearrange—and sent them on their way.

The new couch was considerably larger than the old. Significantly nicer and more expensive, too. Bear sniffed at the white suede curiously.

“She might be nuts, but at least she’s got good taste,” Shaw admitted, arms folded across her chest. Bear only cocked his head at her.

Three weeks later, the gang stopped by for the evening while Shaw was at work. It was a usual tradition: Thursday nights they hung out while she tended bar. Northern Lights wasn’t one of the busier bars in town, so Thursdays were slower and the company made the closing shift more bearable.

Tonight, the topic had gotten around to John’s hopeless puppy crush.

“Talk to him!” Carter encouraged at the same time Zoe said “Move it or lose it, John.”

John had suddenly become very interested in something at the bottom of his whiskey glass.

“All the time you’ve spent at that library pinin’ over Glasses,” Fusco taunted, “may as well finally check something out, know’m sayin’?”

Shaw was in the midst of drying shot glasses. She shook her head, setting down one glass and picking up another. “It’s no use, guys. We’ve been nagging for months, Johnny here’s never getting a date.”

“You’re one to talk, Shaw,” John fired back. “When’s the last time you had a date?”

“Please, she hasn’t been on a real date since high school,” Zoe cut in before Shaw could give her own cutting retort. “Our Shaw’s a no-strings-attached kinda girl.”

“What’s that she always says?” Fusco added. “No muss no fuss?”

Carter was the only one to come to her defense. “C’mon, ain’t nothing wrong with that. Long as she’s happy, isn’t that right, Shaw?”

“I can do dates,” Shaw said hotly. John smirked.

“Really?” he said, voice dripping with skepticism. “When was the last time?”

“My love life is none of your damn business, Reese,” she shot back.

“Someone’s a little defensive,” Zoe smiled into her drink.

“I can go on dates,” Shaw insisted threateningly.

“Not everyone’s built for it, so what?” Fusco chimed in. “No big deal, ya do whatever works for ya.”

Carter reached across the bar to squeeze her arm. “Ignore it, hon, you do just fine.”

“I can go on dates,” Shaw repeated. John flashed a smug smile.

“Then answer the question, Shaw. When’s the last time?”

“Last week, asshole. And twice before that.” It was a lie, and the moment the words were out of her mouth she knew she’d made a terrible mistake. Zoe choked on her drink, Fusco let out a whistle, and Carter’s jaw just about hit the floor. Even John’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Zoe and Carter immediately leaned forward.

“Spill!”

“Who is it?”

“Mmh, I don’t kiss and tell,” Shaw grinned coyly. Carter leaned back, lips pursed. Zoe frowned.

“You’re no fun.”

John’s eyes narrowed and he studied Shaw. “I don’t believe you,” he said slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t believe you,” he said again, more boldly this time. “Unless...you’d be willing to bet on it.”

Carter, Zoe, and Fusco exchanged glances.

“What kinda bet we talking here?” Shaw asked, determined to keep her voice level as she locked eyes with John. She was in too deep to back out now with pride intact, and John knew it. They’d known each other far too long; he could read her better than she cared to admit.

“You let us meet this mystery date, and if it’s the real deal—no Craigslist scams, the real thing—then I’ll ask Harold out to dinner.” He smiled cockily and finished his drink. He was so sure he’d won, the smug bastard.

“Better start picking out your tie now,” Shaw replied, swallowing the knot in her stomach “’Cause it looks like you’re going on a date. Deal.”

The rest of their friends erupted into hoots of laughter and excitement as John raised his glass to her. “Deal.”

So it was that Shaw found herself at Root’s doorstep at four in the morning.

The taller woman opened the door, rubbing drowsiness from her eyes. It took a moment for recognition to dawn on her face.

“Shaw? What are you—”

“Remember how you owe me one? I’m gonna need to cash in that favor.”

Chapter Text

“And this is a favor that has to be called in before sunrise?” Root asked skeptically, squinting against the harsh light of the hallway. “Some of us need sleep to function.”

Shaw shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly realizing this might not have been her best thought-out plan. And that the three shots she’d taken before she left the bar might not be helping with her impeccable judgment. “Sleep’s overrated, I keep late hours. I uh—it’s time-sensitive.”

To her surprise, Root acquiesced and stepped aside, inviting her in. “Anything for my white knight,” she said lightly, that same unfazed twinkle in her eye that had baffled Shaw so many weeks ago. Jaw set, Shaw stepped into the dark apartment.

Root shut the door behind her, casting them both into pitch darkness; Shaw heard Root moving about the room, and moments later the lamp next to the sofa clicked on. It didn’t offer much light—just enough to cast the sofa in a warm glow. Root took a seat, crossing her legs, and gestured for Shaw to join her. She obliged and settled herself on the edge of the cushion.

“So what is it I can do for you?” Root asked curiously.

“I need a date,” Shaw said bluntly. She caught herself as Root’s expression shifted from alarm to confusion to amusement in a matter of seconds and quickly continued. “Not a real one. I dug myself into a hole with a friend, made a bet, and now I need you…” she trailed off, the sheer idiocy of the request finally catching up with her. “…to be my date,” she finished lamely.

“And why come to see me?” Root asked, a wry smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“It’s nothing personal. I don’t have a terribly wide social circle, my friends don’t know you, and you owe me,” she explained flatly. Root smiled and shook her head.

“Gee, Shaw, you really know how to woo a girl. Tell you what,” she leaned in towards Shaw, who instinctively pulled back. “Come back over tomorrow night—say, eight this time?—and we’ll work out the logistics of our relationship.” Her lips curled around the word and into an amused smirk.

Shaw nodded brusquely. “Sure.”

It wasn’t until Root had ushered her from the apartment, bid her goodnight, and shut the door in her face that Shaw let out a breath of relief. It looked like she wouldn’t have to resort to an arrangement with some weirdo off Craigslist after all. As long as Root didn’t turn out to be some kind of whacko serial killer, Shaw could pull this off.

“If this is going to go on much longer I’d rather you just kill me now,” Shaw growled before shoving another slice of pizza in her mouth. Root, stretched out on the sofa, merely grinned across the room at her. Shaw scowled back, and Root rose to join her at the dining room table.

“If you want to sell this, Sameen, you’re going to have to open up to me,” she chastised, reaching across Shaw for a slice of her own. Shaw had to fight the urge to bat her hand away, and only because it had been Root who paid. It was damn good pizza.

Shaw groaned and leaned back in her chair. “John better fucking marry this guy for all I’m going through. I’m not answering that one. Pick another.”

“So your relationship with your parents is complicated. Noted,” Root said brightly. Shaw was about three seconds away from strangling the smug brat before the next question came that left her choking on her food.

“Have we had sex yet?”

Shaw reached for the glass of water set on the table beside her and drained it to clear her throat. Root folded her arms over her chest. “It’s a reasonable question and it’s bound to come up in conversation with your friends. Especially with what you tell me about—Zoe, is it?”

Shaw lurched to her feet. “Where do you keep your booze? If we’re gonna do—” she gestured vaguely between them “--this, I’m gonna need some of that.”

Root shook her head. “Sorry, Sam, I don’t keep any in the house. Not a drinker.”

“You’re kidding.”

She smiled apologetically and made for the refrigerator. “The old man was an alcoholic,” she called over her shoulder. “Never much cared to see if the trait runs in the family.” She returned with two bottles of root beer and a bottle opener, and Shaw begrudgingly accepted one. Not waiting for the opener, Shaw popped the cap off with her bare hands and tossed it onto the table with a clink.

“Alright, your turn for some answers,” Shaw demanded. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Bishop, Texas.”

“College?”

“Never went.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow. “How’s a kid without a degree end up working up for one of the most prestigious home security software companies in the US?”

Root grinned and took a swig of her drink. “Self-taught, mostly. Never graduated high school either, but spent a lot of time traveling, freelancing. Picked up some things. Thornhill Home Security was very interested in working with someone skilled enough to hack their CEO’s personal encrypted home network. Now they pay me to find the flaws in our systems, see how the less well-intentioned could try to sneak in.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m pretty highly regarded in my field.”

Shaw raised her bottle to her not-date in acknowledgment. “Not gonna lie, that’s kinda badass.”

“What about you, Sameen? How does one move from med school to bartending?” Root rested her elbow on the table and her head in her hand, gazing at Shaw thoughtfully. Shaw had to admit, Root wasn’t unpleasant on the eyes. Chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders in gentle waves that caught the light just so, and there was something charming about the slender, upturned nose. But there was this way she had about her of seeming so genuinely//engaged// in whatever Shaw was saying; and that teetered somewhere between alluring and unsettling.

Shaw shrugged. “Empathy wasn’t really my thing. Figured that part out a long time ago. But, turns out once you’re a designated sociopath, your bedside manner is officially not up to par with the medical community. Bartending, though? It’s good money, and you can do it anywhere. “

Root nodded slowly and Shaw tensed, expecting the usual barrage of questions regarding her diagnosis. They never came. Root only glanced at her watch.

“Ah, quarter till; looks like you’d better take off.”

Shaw glanced at her own watch in alarm. Shit. Fifteen minutes to get to the bar. She grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and made for the door with Root trailing behind her.

“Thanks for the pizza,” she said as Root opened the door for her. The taller woman hummed in response.

“Let me know when the big day is and we can get the rest of our story cleared beforehand,” she chimed after Shaw as the latter jogged down the hallway, headed for the elevator. Shaw raised her hand dismissively in response and then she was gone.

 Thursday, Sept. 3

3:00pm Sameen Shaw: Just talked to John. Next Wednesday at 7?

3:30pm Root Groves: looking forward to it, babe ;)

3:30pm Root Groves: meet tomorrow to go over the game plan?

Friday, Sept. 4

1:03am Sameen Shaw: Sure. 8?

7:09am Root Groves: late night at the office—how about 10?

10:21am Sameen Shaw: Fine

9:49pm Sameen Shaw: Gonna be late. Had to run some errands

10:01pm Sameen Shaw: Be there in 20

10:04pm Root Groves: playing hard to get, shaw? it’s not very polite to keep your girlfriend waiting

10:15 Sameen Shaw: Oh please

 As soon as Root opened the door, Shaw pushed her way into the apartment, burdened down with an obscene number of bags of takeout. She made her way to the dining room table to set down the load and immediately began unpacking.

“Kiss kiss to you too,” Root mocked as she shut the door and joined Shaw at the table. Shaw, who was already several mouthfuls into a container of lo mein.

“Hope you like Chinese,” she mumbled, mouth entirely too full. Root leaned over her to pluck a container from the bag before settling into a seat across the table. They ate in silence for some time. Between the buzz of the television in the background and Shaw’s periodic moans in reaction to the meal, there was something comfortable about the energy in the apartment.

After inhaling her second carton of food and reaching for a third, Shaw caught Root studying her.

“What?”

Root grinned cheekily. “You’re much more…vocal, than I expected.” Shaw rolled her eyes at the thinly-veiled innuendo.

“Whatever. How’d we meet?”

Root raised an eyebrow. “Well, Sameen, I was mugged—”

“Root,” Shaw warned. Root only smiled, pleased with herself. It was becoming increasingly clear just how much joy the programmer derived from getting under her skin. She and John would likely get along in that respect. Shaw had a sinking feeling that Wednesday night was going to be the longest and most irritating of her life.

“Y’know what, no,” Shaw decided. “I’m not leaving that up to you. We…we met on the subway. Simple, realistic.”

Root agreed. “Okay. How long have we been together?”

“We’re not together,” Shaw corrected her sharply. “I don’t do relationships. Nothing serious. We’ve been on a couple dates, is all.”

“In that case, we’re definitely sleeping together,” Root said, matter-of-fact. Shaw narrowed her eyes.

“No correlation.”

Root shot her an exasperated glance. “Please, Shaw, you’re not seeing me multiple times and introducing me to your friends unless you’re getting something out of it.”

“Fine.” Shaw forced the word out through clenched teeth. “We did it once, happy?”

Root wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, I’m sure I was.”

Shaw stood with a muttered, "Jesus" and helped herself to the contents of Root’s fridge. She threw open the door and was surprised to see a six-pack of beer among the stores.

“Thought you didn’t drink,” she called over her shoulder.

“I don’t, but a little birdie told me a friend of mine was partial to it,” came the response, much closer than Shaw had anticipated. She jumped as Root reached around her to grab another soda. She was also painfully conscious of Root’s proximity to her, and the hand that ghosted over her lower back for balance. She caught a whiff of—shampoo? Perfume? Something flowery, for sure—and then Root was gone, making her way back to the table.

Shaw shook her head sharply. That was weird. She snatched up one of the beers waiting for her, let the refrigerator door slam shut, and rejoined Root at the table, suddenly more irritated than she’d been all night.

The sooner this stupid bet was over, the better.

Chapter Text

“So where’s your girl, Shaw? If you’re gonna come clean, now’s the time.” John smirked at her from across the table, arms crossed smugly across his chest. He was so sure he had her cornered. Jackass.

“Punctuality isn’t her forte,” Shaw shrugged, nonchalant. “She’ll be here.” Truth be told, she was starting to get irritated. Root should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago.

“Tell us a little bit about her,” Zoe coaxed from her seat to Shaw’s left. “How’d you meet?”

“On the subway, believe it or not,” Shaw answered. She reached for the communal basket of tortilla chips in the middle of the table.

She and Root had gone over the details of their fabricated relationship for hours the night before, and Root had been relentless. She’d found every possible hole in their story, accounted for any question they might me asked. For someone with no stake in the bet, Root was impressively dedicated to her role. Shaw had a feeling it was nothing but a game to her.

Whatever happens, just. Don’t make me look bad, Shaw had warned on the way out.

I couldn’t if I tried, Root had replied sweetly, earning herself an eyeroll.

“You actually struck up a conversation? With a stranger?” Fusco was equal parts surprised and impressed. “Must be a real looker, huh?”

“She was getting harassed by some creep, so I stepped in, chatted her up to pull her away. We got off at the same stop, she asked me to coffee to repay the favor, and here we are.” She looked to John, expecting a flippant remark, but he was looking at a spot over her head; moments later she felt a light touch on her shoulder as Root slipped into the seat to her right with a breathy, “Sorry I’m late, sweetie, had a work thing” and quick peck on the cheek.

Shaw was taken aback by the display of affection. It was something she should have expected—that was how people who saw each other socially interacted, it was a normal thing—yet somehow it caught her off guard. Maybe it was the ease with which it had happened. Root seemed…natural.

Her friends were going to eat this shit up.

“Hey, glad you could make it,” she smiled affectionately. Root wasn’t the only one who knew how to play the game. “Everyone, Root. Root, the jury.”

“Ah, yes, Sameen told me you were skeptical,” Root laughed, dipping her head to the group. It was charming, disarming, and—known only to Shaw—entirely fake. “It’s lovely to meet you all.”

“Zoe, Carter, John, and Fusco,” Shaw went around the table, making quick introductions.

”She lets you call her Sameen,” Zoe noted to Root, impressed. “She must really like you. We’re on a Shaw-only basis and she’s known us for years.”

Root laughed that fake, bell-chimey laugh again. She reached for Shaw’s hand, resting on the sticky tabletop, and gave it a quick squeeze. The contact lasted only a second, maybe two, before Root pulled away and reached for the tortilla chips, but it was enough for everyone at the table to take notice. Subtle but poignant.

Damn, she was good.

“Shaw was just telling us how you met,” John told Root. “Grocery store, was it?”

Shaw narrowed her eyes at him. The slippery bastard still wasn’t convinced. To be fair, Shaw would’ve played it exactly the same. They were too alike, operated too similarly. He was right to doubt her, but she’d be damned if she let him call her bluff.

Fortunately, Root corrected him before she had the chance. “Subway, actually. Rescued me from a not-so-secret admirer.”

Carter kicked John under the table. Hard, if the grimace that flashed across his face was any indication.

The rest of the evening went on without a hitch. Carter and Zoe took to Root almost immediately—they were very curious about her job and the origin of her name, the latter of which she brushed off with a vague It’s a family name—and Fusco was quite enamored of her as well. Even John loosened up after a time and engaged her in conversation.

It was uncanny how well Root played the Likable Date. She was entirely devoid of irritating quips and sly innuendos, and the relaxed, gangly posture that radiated arrogance was nowhere to be seen. This Root was reserved, friendly but guarded, eager to make a good first impression.

Shaw kind of wanted to kick her overly pleasant ass.

She’d stopped counting drinks a few hours in, and it wasn’t until they were all crowded around the pool table, doubled over with laughter while Fusco yet again struggled for what was approaching on a full five minutes to line the cue up with his target ball, that Shaw realized that for the first time in awhile she was definitely, wholly, properly drunk. She turned to say something to Root, standing beside her, and promptly forgot whatever she was going to say.

Root was pretty. Like, really pretty. She was wearing some weird gray cowl neck sweater that should’ve looked matronly but instead made her look…warm? That was the wrong word. Shaw felt warm. Root looked—wow, words were really not happening—good? Sure. She looked good.

She caught Shaw’s gaze and wordlessly handed her the glass of water she’d been nursing all night. Shaw accepted, knowing that at this point a hangover was inevitable anyway, but that seemed like a problem for Future Shaw. Present Shaw was more interested in Root’s fingers brushing against hers, cool and damp from the glass, and the way they lingered at Shaw’s elbow while she drank.

Root was a touchy person, she’d noticed. There had been soft arm touches and hands resting on her back all night. That must be a thing couples did. How the fuck was Root so good at this?

“I think we need to get you home,” Root bent over to murmur in her ear. There was no innuendo, no sultry tone in her voice; but there was something about the proximity and the warm breath against her ear and that flowery shampoo-or-perfume scent Shaw still couldn’t place that left a pool of warmth in her stomach. She nodded.

”We’re gonna bail,” Shaw called over the din of music and drunken chatter to her friends.

”Lovely meeting you!” Root added cheerfully. They were met by a chorus of farewells by the gang, followed by hugs all around—Carter whispered something in Root’s ear that Shaw was definitely going to have questions about later—and then they departed.

Root hailed them a cab and gave the driver Shaw’s address. As soon as they settled into the backseat and pulled away from the curb, Root’s entire demeanor shifted. The easy slouch returned, along with the smirk that Shaw had come to realize perpetually lingered at the corners of her mouth.

”How’d we do?” she asked. Shaw smiled gleefully.

”You see Reese brooding through his first three shots?”

Root nodded slowly.

”Sucker bought it hook, line and sinker.”

Root leaned toward Shaw, close enough for their shoulders to brush—just barely—and said cheekily, “Your friend Carter thinks we make quite the couple.”

”Yeah?” Shaw challenged, even as her eyes darted to Root’s too-close lips. She promptly forced herself to make eye contact once again. “What’d she say?”

”Sworn to secrecy,” Root smirked.

”Seriously?”

Root pulled back with an infuriating shrug. “’Fraid so. Scout’s honor.”

”No way you were a girl scout,” Shaw scoffed.

”Troop leader, as a matter of fact,” Root winked. “Picked up some very useful skills.

As they arrived at Shaw’s building and she paid the driver, she left Shaw to wonder just what skills those might be.

Shaw fumbled with the keys to her apartment—suddenly remembering why it had been so long since she’d been this drunk—painfully aware of Root shifting from foot to foot behind her. She finally got the door open and was immediately greeted by Bear rushing her at the threshold and nearly toppling her in his excitement. Root knelt to pet him and he peppered her face with big doggie kisses.

”Hey, handsome,” Root’s face was scrunched in an attempt to keep his tongue out of her mouth. ”Miss me?”

Shaw whistled and pointed inside, and Bear obediently bounded back into the apartment. Root rose to her feet, smiling proudly. “Think I’m starting to grow on him.”

Shaw cleared her throat. ”You, uh, wanna come in?”

The invitation was clear, and Root studied her face for a moment. Shaw wondered what she was searching for. A few seconds passed before Root smiled, and Shaw couldn’t place the look on her face. Amusement? Discomfort? Whatever it was, it left a bad taste in Shaw's mouth.

”Maybe another time,” Root said carefully.

”Sure.” Shaw brushed off the gentle rebuff with a shrug.

”I suppose this is the breakup, huh?” Root quipped. Shaw nodded. There was an uncomfortable tension between them now, one that she hadn’t counted on. The game was over. There was no reason for them to see each other again.

Root smiled again. “See you around, Shaw.”

Not likely.

”Yeah, ‘night.”

In hindsight, Shaw should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Not where Root was involved.

Root was surprised, three days later, to pull her phone from her desk drawer to see a missed call and voicemail from Sameen Shaw. Her lunch break was only an hour away, and she should wait…

But curiosity always had gotten the best of her.

She shut the door to her office and dialed her voicemail.

Root? It’s me. We have a problem. Reese kept up his end of the bet, but the loser panicked and invited his boy on a double date. With us. Call me back.

A slow smile crept across Root’s face. The growl of frustration in Shaw’s voice was unmistakable, and any excuse to further irk her was more than enough incentive for Root.

She selected the Call Back option, and within three rings Shaw answered with a gruff, “Hello?”

”If you wanted a second date, Sameen, all you had to do was ask,” she teased, voice thick with faux sweetness. She could all but hear the disgusted eyeroll on the other end of the phone.

”This weekend. Are you in or not?” The terseness in Shaw's voice was unmistakable. Root could only imagine how much she must loathe asking for help. And from her, of all people.

”Didn’t think I had much of a choice. It sounds like you need me,” she gloated.

”Like a hole in the head,” Shaw grumbled.

Root couldn’t help but smile. It was so easy to get a rise out of her.

”Of course I’ll help,” she relented, satisfied with the slight exhale made audible through the phone. “It’s always a pleasure with you, Shaw.”

”Cool. I’ll get back to you with details as soon as I get through kicking Reese’s ass.”

With that she hung up.

She had a way with words, that one.

Chapter Text

Shaw waited impatiently outside the restaurant. John and Harold were already inside, according to the excessive series of texts she’d received from him. Panicking. The boy was hopeless in the face of a crush.

Root, as usual, was late.

Shaw gave an exasperated sigh. She supposed she should allow some leniency, considering that she was the one who’d dragged Root into this fiasco in the first place. The programmer did have an actual job across town and this place was hardly on the way.

On the other hand, everything about Root annoyed her endlessly. So to hell with leniency.

When Root finally strolled up fifteen minutes later, Shaw was ready to deck her.

The asshole had shown up in a damn three-piece suit. A light blue collared shirt with matching navy vest, jacket, and tie, accompanied by very well-fitting jeans and black loafers. She had absolutely no right to be showing up to their fake date looking so goddamn fine.

She must’ve caught Shaw giving her the once over, because her face lit up with a knowing smirk. She placed her hands on Shaw’s biceps and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek.

”You clean up pretty nice yourself, Sameen,” she purred into her ear. Shaw suddenly felt very underdressed in her simple black button-up and slacks. She grabbed Root by the wrists and shoved her off.

”We’re not even inside yet, no one’s watching.”

Root just tilted her head with a smile. “Can never be too careful. Shall we?” She held the door open and Shaw pushed past her with a roll of her eyes.

John and Harold were already seated at a booth, and the relief that swept across John’s face at the sight of them was palpable. The man seated beside him was…not at all what Shaw had expected. Small, almost elf-like in build, with glasses that were by no means considered fashionable. And a three-piece suit not terribly different from the one worn by the woman standing beside her.

Although his look was more College Professor and Root’s more Screw The Soul Out Of Your Body.

Shaw slid into the empty side of the booth first, Root following close behind. Shaw tried very, very hard to ignore the way their knees bumped together under the table.

”Sorry we’re late,” she smiled at the men across the table. “Somebody’s never been punctual a day in her life.” She pointedly ignored the glare Root shot her. “You must be Harold! We’ve heard so much about you.” Now it was John’s turn to shoot her a warning glare.

Harold didn’t seem to notice. He returned a polite smile and dipped his head to her. “Sameen, I presume.”

Shaw reached across the table to steal a sip of John’s cola. “Mmh, call me Shaw.”

”Only Root gets first-name privileges,” John explained to Harold. “It’s a pretty big deal for Shaw.”

Shaw forced a smile. “What can I say? She’s…something else.”

”It’s so nice to finally meet you, Harold.” Root directed her signature Charming The Pants Off Unsuspecting Strangers smile at him and smoothed her napkin over her lap. Shaw had a hunch it wasn’t an accident that her fingers brushed against Shaw's leg in the process.

A waiter stopped by shortly to take their orders—steak with broccoli and mashed potatoes for Shaw, grilled chicken with rice for Root, a salad for Harold and “what he’s having” for John—and then the conversation resumed.

”What do you do for work, Harold?” Shaw asked. “John said you’re at the library, right?”

Harold bobbed his head enthusiastically. “I work for the IT department there, actually. I’ve been working on this project—”

“Oh no.”

John and Harold both shot her concerned glances as she let her head fall back against the back of the booth.

”No kidding! I’m in IT too!” Root chirped, delighted.

The next thirty minutes consisted of the geek squad babbling back and forth in a language entirely foreign to both John and Shaw. They held their own silent conversation in the form of wide eyes and shrugged shoulders.

What are they talking about?

You think I know?

It’s your girlfriend.

And your date.

Do we interrupt? I don’t wanna be rude. Help.

Shaw rolled her eyes and threw an arm around Root’s shoulders.

”As much as I love the tech talk, honey,” the threat in her voice was clear. “You’re killing us here.”

Root blinked in surprise. Almost as if she’d forgotten Shaw was there at all. She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, sweetie. You know how I get.”

”Do I ever,” Shaw faked a laugh. “I could just strangle you sometimes.”

"Wouldn’t be the first time,” Root said nonchalantly as she took a sip of her water.

John choked on his own drink and locked eyes with Shaw, grinning stupidly. She kicked him under the table. Harold was wide-eyed, mouth hanging open in shock.

"Food’s here!” Shaw called out, relieved, as she spotted the server across the room, headed toward them with a tray laden with food. While John and Harold were distracted with receiving their meals, Shaw dug her fingers into Root’s thigh.

She ignored the way Root’s mouth fell open, at the way slender fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist under the table.

"Cut the shit,” she hissed dangerously. She relinquished her grip as the server placed her steak in front of her. She didn’t speak again until her plate was scraped clean, but even as Root maintained animated conversation with John and Harold, Shaw could feel her heated gaze.

She ignored it, of course. Ignoring Root was quickly becoming a specialty of hers.

Root excused herself once the table was cleared, and Shaw and the boys pored over the dessert menu. They settled on a triple-layer chocolate cake that Shaw “would love to take home to momma.”

”So, Shaw, how long have you and Miss Groves—“

”Root,” she corrected instinctively.

”Yes, Root. My apologies. How long have you two been seeing each other?”

Shaw narrowed her eyes. “John set you up to this?” she asked coldly. Harold looked to John in alarm.

”No, he—I was just curious, I—I didn’t mean to offend, I—”

”Relax, Harold,” John chuckled, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Shaw and I had a bet, I gave her a hard time, it’s a long story. She’s just a little prickly.”

”Sorry. Force of habit,” Shaw mumbled. “It’s been….a few months, maybe? We’re not, y’know, serious or anything. Just a few dates here and there.”

”And apparently some interesting evenings,” John smirked.

Shaw groaned. “I’m gonna kill her.”

Root and dessert arrived at the table at the same time. Shaw was eyeing the cake and trying to calculate how four of them were gonna make this work with only two spoons when Root said, “Sameen and I are going to have to call it a night, I’m afraid. Busy days tomorrow.”

Shaw tore her eyes from the cake to stare at her, wide-eyed and pitiful. ”But…the bill?”

”Already paid,” Root chirped. “It was lovely meeting you, Harold.”

”Likewise. I do hope I’ll be seeing you both around?”

”Of course,” Root beamed. Behind Harold, John’s face was the picture of giddiness. He mouthed thank you to her and I owe you to Shaw as Root grabbed her grudging not-girlfriend by the arm and pulled her from the booth.

Shaw shot the cake one last mournful, lingering gaze before allowing Root to steer her for the front door.

”What was that about?” she whined once they were outside and out of earshot. “Did you see that thing? Three layers—”

”—which is perfect for a candlelit first date dessert,” Root finished, eyebrow raised.

Shaw sighed. She had a point. It had been a pretty smooth execution, and Shaw couldn’t remember the last time she’d see John so genuinely delighted.

”Fine. You uh, you did a good job.” She looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the satisfied grin that no doubt lingered on Root’s face.

Root hooked her arm around Shaw’s, causing the latter to shoot her a sidelong glance. That was one way to get her attention. This woman truly had no concept of personal space.

”Sam…do you want to go for ice cream?”

Shaw snorted, shaking herself free of Root’s grip.

”Of course I wanna go for ice cream.”

They sat by the fountain beside the ice cream van in comfortable silence, working on their frozen treats. Root found something so incredibly entertaining and endearing in Shaw’s relationship to food. In the brief time they’d known each other, she’d seen Shaw express enthusiasm over exactly three things: food, Bear, and awful television.

Sameen Shaw was a puzzle to her. They knew an awful lot about each other for veritable strangers, and that made their relationship…complicated, to say the least. How much of this prolonged faux relationship was necessary, really? The bet was over. John was convinced. Surely it was reasonable for Shaw to tell her friends that it hadn’t worked out, they’d stopped seeing each other. And yet, for all her rolled eyes and sighs of exasperation, Root could tell she was growing on Shaw.

As for herself, well, she was already quite fond of the woman beside her attempting to lick ice cream off the tip of her own nose.

”Come on,” Root stood up. “You can walk me home.”

Shaw stood, still fully engrossed in the task at hand. It was several blocks before she popped the last bite of cone into her mouth, brushing crumbs from her hands, and cleared her throat.

”Thanks for uh, going along with this—” she made a vague wiggly hand gesture “—thing, or whatever. It means a lot to Reese. He’s nuts about this guy.”

Root gave a little shrug. “Anything for a friend.”

They came to a stop outside Root’s building. She turned to Shaw as she dug around in her pocket for her keys. “You coming with?”

Shaw frowned. “Why? We’re not planning—“ her eyes widened as she caught Root’s raised eyebrows and suggestive grin. “Oh. Oh. Oh, hell yes.”

The air caught in Root’s throat at the hungry glint in Shaw’s eyes as she pushed past Root and into the building.

Chapter Text

Ever the perfect host, Root held the door open for Shaw as she let them into her apartment. Shaw strode past her and tossed her coat over the back of a dining room chair. Root carefully removed her own coat and hung it on the rack by the door.

”Want anything?” she asked over her shoulder. “Something to eat, something to drink?”

Shaw raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re gonna be coy? Really?”

Root smiled as she made her way across the room to meet Shaw by the table. She stopped a few inches short of her, close enough to notice the slight dilation of Shaw’s pupils, the tension in her jaw.

”Mmh, I think the word you’re looking for, Sam, is ‘polite,’” she answered, dropping her voice. “Coy’s never really been my thing.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “You’re a real pain in the ass, y’know that?” Then she grabbed Root by the tie and pulled her in—finally—for the kiss.

And it was one hell of a kiss. How many months’ worth of tension and hunger finally come to fruition? Root had lost count. In fact, she’d pretty much lost all capacity for coherent thought at the taste of Shaw’s mouth against her own. She didn’t even bother trying to conceal the shiver that ran up her spine at the feeling of Shaw’s tongue immediately pushing its way into her mouth.

Shaw, who still tasted like chocolate ice cream and was already pushing the suit jacket off Root’s shoulders. She was a girl on a mission, and Root had no intention of standing in the way.

Root shrugged off the jacket and broke the kiss just long enough to back Shaw up against the table. She reveled in the grunt it elicited. She cupped Shaw’s head with one hand and supported them against the table with the other as she bent to press her mouth against Shaw’s throat. She felt the soft growl that arose there and smiled, pleased. She had a feeling Shaw was going to turn out to be sufficiently vocal.

She pressed a few more kisses to Shaw’s neck before biting down just over the jugular. Shaw bucked her hips up against her in response, and in the same motion yanked Root up by the hair to bring their mouths together roughly.

Root savored the feel of Shaw’s lips between her own. She was soft even now, with her kisses violent and bruising.

”Bed,” Shaw growled, voice low and gravelly. Root smiled against her lips.

”Roger that.”

There were a few lamps knocked over and shed clothes tripped over in the process, but somehow they made it to the bed housed in the corner of the loft; Shaw stripped down to just bra and boy shorts, Root still in button-up and now heavily-loosened tie.

Shaw was very quickly trying to fix that.

”I take it you liked the look,” Root grinned as Shaw tossed the tie onto the bed and fumbled with the shirt buttons. Shaw replied in the way of ripping through the final two buttons and pushing her back onto the bed.

Root closed her eyes as Shaw ran her hands up the exposed torso, arching her back to follow their movement. She felt Shaw’s breath ghost against her skin, and that promise alone was enough to send goosebumps across the exposed flesh. She bid her time as Shaw slowly made her way up her body, letting her hands roam. Root waited until they were chest-to-chest to flip Shaw onto her back and straddle her hips.

Shaw grinned up at her cheekily, her eyes hungrily taking in the sight above. She felt blindly around the bed for a few moments, searching for something, while Root raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Finally Shaw held up Root’s previously discarded tie.

”You any good at tying knots?” Shaw asked. Her voice—low now, suggestive, quickly bordering on raspy—was really working for Root.

Rather than offer a reply, Root, still straddling Shaw’s hips, leaned over to fish something out of the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. Shaw craned her neck to see, but the few stripes of streetlight that filtered into the apartment through the blinds didn’t offer enough of a glimpse. Root straightened up to drop a handful of zip ties onto Shaw’s chest.

”Someone’s prepared,” Shaw quipped.

”Hardly my first rodeo, Sameen,” Root mused as Shaw removed her own bra and carelessly flung it aside. Shaw held her wrists together as Root slipped a zip tie around them and bound them to the headboard.

”Mmh, I like the sound of that.”

Root sat back on her haunches, enjoying the sight before her. Reveling in the image of Shaw sprawled in front of her, naked save for her underwear, staring up at her expectantly. Almost pleadingly.

She leaned forward to take Shaw’s face in her hands and pull her into a kiss. She was surprised by the intensity with which Shaw strained up to meet her, how earnestly Shaw opened her mouth to Root’s tongue. The way Shaw rolled her hips up against her for closeness, for friction.

She’d known Shaw was interested, obviously. Attracted to her. But discovering to what degree was proving exhilarating.

She angled down to pepper teasing kisses along Shaw’s jaw while her hand wandered down to palm a breast. Shaw let out a low, satisfied hum at the contact. A hum that quickly morphed into a whine as Root rolled the nipple between two fingers. With her other hand, she let her fingers trail a line between them, further down, lower and lower until Shaw’s breath hitched and her hips twitched involuntarily.

Root’s lips curved into a wry smile.

”What do you want?” she purred into Shaw’s ear, noting how Shaw shuddered ever so slightly beneath her.

”Surprise me” came the throaty reply. Root grinned.

”Yes ma’am.”

The stream of words that left Shaw’s mouth when Root finally slid two fingers inside was unholy.

Root padded in from the kitchen with two glasses of water, one of which Shaw gratefully accepted. She emptied it in a matter of seconds before handing the empty glass back to Root to place on the nightstand. Shaw, exhausted, slumped back against the pillows.

Root stayed sitting up, back pressed against the cool wood of the headboard. She was gazing over at Shaw with a sly grin.

”What?”

”You truly do not disappoint, Sameen,” she drawled.

Shaw snorted. “What, you surprised?”

”Pleasantly.”

Shaw propped herself up on her elbow suddenly. “I got a question.”

”Mmh?”

Shaw traced with her finger the beams of light that filtered onto the tangled sheets. She avoided Root’s eyes.

”That last time, a couple weeks ago. After the bar. You turned me down.” It wasn’t a question, really. She left the unspoken Why? hanging between them.

Root understood. A soft smile spread across her face, surprisingly gentle. Especially considering some of the decidedly not-gentle activities that had transpired in this bed no less than ten minutes ago.

”You were drunk,” Root said simply. “I didn’t want…” she paused, choosing her words carefully. “I won’t overstep. Not that boundary.”

Shaw nodded, once, brusquely. “Right.”

And just like that, the moment of genuine exchange was over. Shaw knew it as soon as Root leaned in close, still looking down at her.

”Don’t tell me one rebuff wounded your pride, Shaw,” she taunted. “I’d hate to think of you home alone, brooding over it, fantasizing about me while—”

She cut herself off with a surprised yelp as Shaw rolled over to pin her down.

”Anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Shaw growled. Root beamed up at her, those dumb doe eyes practically twinkling.

”Once or twice.”

Shaw rolled her eyes before going in for the kiss, and that was enough to keep Root preoccupied for quite some time.

Shaw woke up to the sound of her ringtone blaring through the apartment. She sat bolt upright in alarm, squinting against the few rays of sunlight coming through the blinds. She glanced to the form in the bed beside her. Root was still out. Really out. Dead weight, REM sleep, two-months-into-hibernation out.

Still, there was only so much “Bohemian Rhapsody” a soul could take at full blast at 10am.

Shaw rolled out of bed, swearing under her breath as she tried to locate the device. They’d certainly done a fine job of trashing the apartment: clothes strewn everywhere, a lamp on the floor, a vase in several shattered pieces. Whoops.

Shaw managed to locate her pants just as the ringing stopped. She let out a sigh of relief. Good thing, too, she realized as she tossed the pants—pockets devoid of phone—back onto the floor. She had no idea where the hell that thing was.

She turned and made it a whopping one step back toward the bed just in time for the ringing to start again.”

”Son of a—” she glanced at Root’s still prone form in the bed. Unbelievable.

By the time Shaw finally tracked the sound to the pocket of her coat (still strewn over the dining room chair) the caller was on their third try. She scowled at the caller ID lighting up the screen and ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

”Leon, what could possible be—” her hissed greeting was cut off by the very loud, very slurred speech of a clearly not sober Leon Tao.

”Shaaaaaaw, buddy, you’re not gonna believe! Guess who jus’ got engaaaaaaaaaged!”

From the roar of people cheering in the background, he was clearly in a bar. At 10am. On a weekday.

”Lissen, lissen. Lissen. Lissen t’ me. You gotta come to the wedding, ‘kay? You gotta. I already made Johnny promise t’ be best man.”

Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sure, Leon. Fine. Of course. Where—”

”Waitwaitwait! Where’s your girl? Is your girl there? I wanna talk to ‘er.”

”Leon, you’re drunk,” she said quickly. “You don’t know what you’re—”

”No, I do! I do! I jus’ got off the phone with Johnny, n’ he said you’ve gotta girl now! You gotta bring her to the wedding, ‘kay? I wanna meet this chick.”

There was a knock at the bathroom door. Root’s voice came through, sleepy and concerned.

”Sam? Everything okay?”

Shaw opened the door and held a finger to her lips. Root blinked hard against the light. “What’s—”

”Is that her? Put her on! Put her on! Shaw, put her on, I wanna talk. Shaw—”

”Christ, Leon, fine!” Shaw relented, shoving the phone into Root’s hands. She shot Shaw a quizzical glance before bringing the phone to her ear. And immediately holding it several inches away, doubtlessly till the shouting died down.

”Hello?”

It was incredible, really, how quickly Root slipped into character. Even like this, half-asleep and taken completely by surprise. Her face lit up, her voice brightened, her entire demeanor shifted. “Lovely to meet you, Leon! Uh, yes—” here the charming laugh “—yes, I am. Root. Like—yes, like in computers. Mmhm. Yes. Yes, of course. Okay. All right, yes, we’ll see you there. Okay. Bye-bye.”

Just like that, Girlfriend Root was once again replaced by Bedhead and PJs Root, who handed Shaw her phone back.

“You’re making breakfast,” she said as she headed back to bed, leaving an open-mouthed Shaw gaping after her.

Chapter Text

hey everyone!! sorry for being The worst person alive and abandoning this bad boy for over a year -- stay tuned for an update (the final installation!) this week xx

Chapter Text

Shaw didn’t like thinking about how long it had been since she started sleeping with Root.

She liked the sleeping with Root part—a lot. Big fan of the sex. And though she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it, she’d come to enjoy the weirdo’s company too. Root had become a regular part of Shaw’s friend group; Carter and Zoe loved her, she had rapport with John and Fusco, and she really hit it off with Finch. Hell, sometimes Shaw’s friends would make plans with Root on their own. She wasn’t just Shaw’s (fake) girlfriend anymore, but someone whose company Shaw’s friends appreciated in her own right.

What Shaw hated was thinking about how long this charade had been ongoing, and how often she found herself forgetting it wasn’t real.

To be honest, Shaw had never expected Leon’s engagement to last. She’d chalked it up to a drunken mistake—a staple of the Leon Tao lifestyle—and figured the wedding would be called off by the end of the month tops.

Yet here they were six months later, the week of the big event, and it looked like this thing was really going to happen.

Six months they’d been sleeping together, seven since the fake relationship had begun…they were well beyond Shaw’s three-night cap on sex, and that left a weird sensation in Shaw’s stomach that she couldn’t explain.

She rapped on the door to Root’s apartment.

“It’s open!” came the distant, airy response.

Shaw let herself in to the loft to find (surprise, surprise) Root running behind schedule. Dress technically on her body but entirely unzipped, no shoes, in the bathroom finishing up her makeup.

“What would happen if you were on time for once?” Shaw grumbled. “Nuclear warfare? End of human civilization? It’s like a disease.”

“Nice to see you too, sweetie,” Root smiled into the mirror at her. “You look nice.”

Shaw’s gaze followed the slope of Root’s shoulder, down past the shoulder blades, the curve of her spine; the lavender gown looked good on her, sure, but Shaw was partial to this view. She had a definite preference for Root in states of undress.

“Not too bad yourself,” she said gruffly. In the mirror, she could see the smile that played at Root’s mouth, but the programmer said nothing but, “Zip me up?"

Shaw obliged. Root leaned back against her ever so slightly—Shaw caught a whiff of something flowery, perfume or shampoo—and there was something comforting about that. Something so very Root.

Something that made Shaw want to unzip the dress and tear it off pronto.

“You know,” she said suddenly. “We don’t have to go to this thing. We could bail, find a better use of our time. Leon wouldn’t notice.”

Root turned to face her and ran her hands across Shaw’s shoulders, down her biceps.

“We could,” she said coyly, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face as she watched Shaw’s eyes flick down to her lips. “But you know it would be about ten minutes before Joss and Zoe showed up to drag you there by the ear.”

Shaw scowled. Root affectionately tucked a stray piece of hair behind Shaw’s ear. “It’ll be fun! And afterward…I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.” She winked and drew back from Shaw, whose reply was a signature eyeroll. 

“Whatever. I’m holding you to that,” Shaw said. Then, “You mind getting a move on? If the food’s all gone by the time we get there, you’re walking home.”

Root loved weddings. In theory, at least. This was only the third she’d ever attended; she had no family she was in contact with, and no social circle aside from the one Shaw had pulled her into, so the only invitations prior to Leon’s had come through work.

She looked beside her at Shaw, who was in the process of consuming roughly her body weight in steak and mashed potatoes. There was something so endearing about Shaw mid-feast. Shaw was never as happy as she was while eating. Or being eaten. Sex and food, the two great loves of Shaw’s life. Root considered herself lucky to have a role in the former. She wondered how long it would last.

Relationships weren’t Shaw’s thing, she knew that. Monogamy didn’t seem likely to be her style either. They’d never talked about it, whether their arrangement was exclusive; but if Shaw was sleeping around, she’d made no mention of it.

She’d never say so—couldn’t—but Root was utterly smitten with Sameen Shaw.

Being here, Shaw’s date to this wedding, was bittersweet. Shaw wouldn’t want to keep up their façade of a relationship indefinitely, Root knew, and pigs would fly before the day Shaw wanted anything real with her. Root was content to be in Shaw’s life in whatever capacity the little carnivore would have her, but she couldn’t shake off the pang that fired in her chest at the knowledge that the day would come when Shaw grew bored.

Shaw caught Root staring at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?” she asked defensively around a mouthful of fine sirloin.

“Hm? Just thinking about work,” Root said evasively. Shaw raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Root just flashed her brightest smile. “I’m going to go get a water. Want a drink?”

“Yeah, get me—” Shaw began, but Root cut her off with a wave of her hand.

“I know what you like, Sameen. Have a little faith.” With a quick kiss to Shaw’s cheek, she set off for the bar across the room.

Shaw was taken aback by the display of affection. That was uncharacteristic, it was just the two of them—

“Your girl’s looking good, Shaw,” Zoe said as she plopped herself down in the chair Root had evacuated only moments before. Ah. That explained the kiss. Man, Root was always on her toes.

“Paws off, Morgan,” Shaw replied coolly. Zoe laughed.

“I have eyes, Shaw. Just appreciating the view. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask; when are you gonna commit to her?”

Shaw fought to keep her expression neutral. She’d known Zoe for years, and was all too familiar with that knowing glint in her eye; Zoe had something, some piece of information she was holding onto.

“What do you mean?” she asked, feigning confusion. Zoe raised her eyebrows.

“I mean when are you gonna commit? Your bet with John is long over, you could have thrown in the towel any time.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Shaw was indignant. Zoe was onto her, somehow, but Shaw would be damned if she admitted the truth. None of them—John least of all—would ever let her hear the end of it if she came clean now.

“Shaw,” Zoe said. “Joss and I have had you pegged from day one. You have a tell.” She leaned in toward Shaw, lowering her voice. “Excessive eye contact when you lie. Every line you’ve fed us about her from the beginning, it’s been like laser vision boring into our skulls.”

Zoe leaned back in her chair, arms folded smugly over her chest. “What I wanna know, is when you’re gonna realize there’s a reason you’ve kept this up so long.”

“Why do you care?” Shaw asked evenly. There was no point in denying the truth anymore—Zoe knew she was right—but Shaw wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of an admission.

“Joss and I have a bet of our own,” Zoe winked. “She thinks you’ll walk away. I think you’re too smart to let go of a good thing when you have it.”

Zoe got to her feet. Shaw stared at the tablecloth in front of her, completely thrown off her game. She was so sure they’d gotten away with it. So sure they’d had everyone fooled. Why hadn’t Zoe or Carter said something before? What was she on about, let go of a good thing?

“I’m gonna hit the ladies’ room, but I’ll catch up with you later.” Zoe made to walk away, but turned back to Shaw at the last minute. “Oh, and Shaw?”

Shaw tore her gaze from the table to meet Zoe’s eyes.

“Root’s crazy about you. You should see how she looks at you.” 

And then Zoe meandered away, leaving Shaw with that double fucking bombshell.

Shaw was quiet the rest of the night. Root didn’t think much of it; Shaw got stuck in her own head sometimes, and when she did she hated being questioned about it. Root figured it would pass.

But when they got back at the loft, and Root had her straddled on the couch and Shaw said, “I don’t think we should do this anymore,” Root knew something was wrong.

She immediately climbed off of Shaw and sat beside her on the couch.

“What’s going on? You’ve been off your game tonight.”

Shaw wouldn’t look at her. She just stared at the rug beneath her feet, refusing to meet Root’s eyes.

“Game’s over,” Shaw said bluntly. “Zoe and Carter figured us out.”

“Well,” Root said cheerfully, swallowing the crushing weight suddenly pressing on her chest. “We had a good run! You still won your bet, and there’s the satisfaction of having pulled the wool over Johnny boy’s eyes—“

“What did Carter tell you that first night?”

Root blinked hard, thrown by the question. Shaw, still not looking at her, asked again, “At the bar. What did she say?”

Root smiled sadly at the memory. It was bittersweet, now. Like so many things with Shaw, like all of this; a warm memory tainted by its ending.

“That you looked happy with me, “ she answered quietly. For a few moments, Shaw said nothing. Then she finally turned her head to look at Root.

“Zoe says you have feelings for me. That true?”

Root couldn’t read her tone. Shaw’s expression was masked, her tone neutral, neither betraying whatever was going on inside her head.

“I’m perfectly happy with our arrangement being what it is, Shaw,” Root answered carefully. “I wouldn’t ask—”

“Root.” God, She loved the way Shaw’s lips curled around her name, the way it rolled off Shaw’s tongue. She could listen to that forever.

Root knew there was a right answer. She could see the fork in the road; there was the answer Shaw wanted to hear, that this was just sex, strictly physical, no strings attached. The other answer—the truth—would send Shaw out of her life without so much of a backwards glance.

But she couldn’t lie to her.

“Yes,” Root said simply.

Shaw nodded slowly. Root waited for her to get up, silently collect her coat, and close the door behind her. This was it; an ending, not a goodbye. Shaw wasn’t one for pointless sentiments, much less formalities. Shaw was—

Full of surprises.

Shaw kissed her, and it took Root a full five seconds to process what was happening. Shaw’s hand was on her thigh and Shaw’s mouth was on hers and it was so, so different from the way Shaw had kissed her before. Shaw’s lips were tentative, curious, wholly unlike the rough, hungry ones associated with sex. Shaw kissed her, and Root couldn’t help the smile that got in her way.

Shaw pulled back and studied Root’s face carefully. A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Guess you’ve grown on me a little too,” she said.

From Shaw, that was everything.