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“Is there a reason,” Shaw began, stepping inside her room and dropping her bag on the floor, “why you’re naked and in my bed?”
Root grinned, cheeky, “Aside from the blindingly obvious?”
“Finch is just outside,” Shaw pointed out, affecting disinterest despite never looking away from Root’s body.
Shaw catalogued everything and then Shaw came to a stop when she saw the full picture. “You could have said you have multiple injuries and not bled all over my bed.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
“Save me doing the laundry.”
“You were gonna burn the bedsheets anyway to keep your DNA footprint to a minimum.”
There were no cameras in and around the apartment she chose. Shaw was pretty sure there were none in the basement furnace.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, She wasn’t spying on you. It’s just a logical observation based on your past behavior.” Root said with a cheeky grin.
Shaw picked up her surgical kit, the bottle of cheap whiskey she always kept for this precise reason. “You’re saying I’m predictable.”
“Don’t worry, Shaw,” Root cooed as Shaw crouched down, following Shaw with her eyes. “We’ll never be bored of you.”
Most of Shaw’s injuries were superficial, but the gash on Root’s side and her leg would need stitches. How she got here without passing out of blood loss was a mystery.
Shaw paused her visual inspection and raised an eyebrow. “What’s this “we”, Kemosabe?”
“Myself and the Machine.” The smile turned beatific.
Shaw popped open the bottle and pushed it on Root. “Don’t put in the middle of whatever weird thing you have with the Machine.”
Root seemed to realize Shaw’s position, her nearly naked on Shaw’s bed, and Shaw on her knees examining the various injuries on her body.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”
Shaw watched her attempt a wink. Shaw poured disinfectant on the ugly wound on Root’s thigh. As expected Root hissed and let out an aggravated: “Sonuvabitch!”
Shaw tightened her grip on Root’s bruised leg and cleaned the wound as best she could.
“Miss Shaw?” Harold called out and then a beat later, “Do you need help? Does Miss Groves need assistance?”
“I’m busy, Finch.”
“Doing me!” Root yelled.
Shaw glared. The awkwardness from outside radiated, Harold cleared his throat and said, “I see… I’ll be just outside.”
“You’re pretty cocky for someone whose about to be on the wrong side of my needle.” Years in med school, a stint as a resident and her fair share of field surgery made it easier for Shaw to prepare everything she needed to suture the wound. All she needed was for the patient to sit still, for someone who took orders from the Machine without blinking, Root can be the brattiest patient.
“Promises, promises,” Root cooed and leaned down to kiss her; Shaw considered turning her head but at the last minute met Root head on, she saw Root’s eyes widen in surprise before closing her eyes.
Suddenly Root yelped and tried to jerk her leg away but Shaw clamped down on Root’s left leg and with her other hand did fast work on closing the wound.
Root let out an impressive string of invectives, almost as creative and colorful as any sailor, and then Root reached out and thumped Shaw’s shoulder, hard. “Warn a girl!”
Shaw made sure Root saw her smirk and cheeky grin and said, “What’s the fun in that?”