A/N: This is my first Shoot fic. . . I'm starting it as just a drabble, or three, to dip my toe into writing this ship, this glorious, amazing ship. This isn't in sync with canon, so if you notice anything that seems OOC, or off, just go with it. I like to bend and pose my little dolls to suit my own will. Also, this will possibly be NSFW, depending on where you work. Please let me know what you think! I love comments and find them highly motivational. So talk to me. Can I hear you? Absolutely.

"Love what you have, and you'll have more love

You're not dying

Everyone knows you're going to love

Though there's still no cure for crying."

- Firewood, by Regina Spektor

It was impossible to tell the time of day. Shaw's room darkening shades did their job. They had been a worthwhile indulgence in the otherwise Spartan apartment. But Shaw could tell from the heavy relaxation of her muscles, and the ease with which she opened her eyes that she had slept well, and long enough. She estimated that it was about 7:45 a.m.

"My pretty girl," Root whispered, her breath warm and moist on Shaw's shoulder. "My sexy, little robot baby." Her hands slid over Shaw's sleepy body.

"You're awake?" Shaw mumbled. "What time is it?"

"It's a little after five."

Shaw huffed a little gust of breath into her pillow, annoyed her estimation had been so far off, and that it was so fucking early. Normally she was more accurate. "Uugh. What are you doing up?" Normally Shaw was up and working out long before Root's eyes even fluttered open.

Normally.

"Well," Root purred against the nape of Shaw's neck. "I was just thinking about how I could show my gratitude to my hero. You were like the Terminator last night. It was so hot." She stroked Shaw's waist and then grazed her breast as she bit down on her neck, exactly in the spot she knew would normally send a thrill through Shaw.

The heat and teeth of Root's mouth on her neck triggered Shaw. But not in the way it was intended.

It all came rushing back. The day before. Root. Missing. Samaritan. The blood. So much blood.

It had been a fairly inconsequential head lac, but head wounds are gushers.

She had told Root as much as she half carried, half dragged her out of the building, moments before the detonation. They had both been blown off their feet and knocked unconscious. Reese and Fusco had brought them back to the library. Shaw regained consciousness first, and she stitched up the gash on Root's head.

Her hands had been steady.

But her heart had raced, as though she had just run very far and very fast. Adrenaline. She had cleared her throat, taken a breath, shaken her head, and forced her body to settle so she could thread the needle through Root's skin. She passed off the racing heart as adrenaline.

Because Shaw didn't feel fear.

She felt nothing.

She especially felt nothing as she tugged the needle through the delicate skin over Root's temple. She needed to feel nothing. She didn't want to leave a scar on that fair flesh.

Although, she thought, It has been said, scars are sexy.

Wherever did she hear that?

Fuck it. Whatever. She sewed Root's skin closed.

The bleeding stopped. Root had opened her eyes and indulged in a morphine-soaked smile. "Well, that was something." She had said and then Shaw had brought her home. They took a cab. Shaw was itching to burn off on the motorcycle, but there was no way she was putting Root on the back of that thing in her condition.

"Uh, you were unconscious and or concussed for most of it, so I don't really know what you're talking about." And all the blood loss and all the morphine. How was this woman even awake right now?

"Well, lucky for you, I'm very good at filling in the blanks," Root said in a squishy little voice that reeked of sex. "I was thinking we could go all Terminator today. There must be some robot toys somewhere for our play. I'd ask Her to look on Amazon and Ebay for us and have them FedExed same day, but I know how you hate it when I talk to Her in bed."

"Whatever, Root."

Shaw rolled onto her back in bed, and Root took the opportunity to sneak her fingers into Shaw's panties. Shaw pushed her hand away.

"I have to pee," she said.

"Mmmm, that could be fun," Root sighed.

"Uh, watersports, Root? Not really our thing."

"Well, trying new things is always good."

"I'm all set. Thanks. Besides, you likely have a concussion and should not jostle yourself too much."

"Well go pee and then come back and let me thank you. I'll do it so we don't get too jostled."

"You don't have to thank me," Shaw grumbled. "We save each other's asses. That's what we do." And then we fuck, she added in her own head. She sat up and felt the ache in her shoulder where she had landed and subluxated it in the blast. She rotated it a couple times to try and massage the muscles. She scowled at the pain. Root hadn't moved from her spot in bed and she reached over to place her hand on the small of Shaw's back.

"Are you in pain? Do you want me to get the oil and give you a rub?"

"I'm fine. It's just stupid early." She stood up and walked to the bathroom, ignoring the pain in her right knee and left ankle.

It had been a close one.

As she lowered herself onto the toilet, she thought about just how close it had been. She relived the awful suck of the explosion, recalled the sensation of her lungs being squeezed from the pressure right before she lost consciousness, with Root, who was already unconscious and bleeding in her arms.

Normally, close calls got her energy up in a good way. Normally, she would feel a smug sense of satisfaction at barely scraping out alive from a situation. Normally, she would wake up soaking wet the next morning and fuck Root until she begged her to stop.

"Someone woke up cranky," Root said as Shaw returned and flopped back into bed.

"Someone woke me up at the crack of crack," Shaw replied. She rolled over and hugged her pillow. She tried to sleep. Really she did.