You were sixteen years and four days old when she found you. Government agents had scooped you up years before, and you were on the run; but they had found you, and 16.011 milliseconds before you were about to get shot in the damn head, she showed up. She stood right between you and the man, smirked, and shot him in the head without even looking.

"Nice to finally meet you Sameen," she offered her hand with her words, that smirk still plastered across her face. You wanted to ask her name, but you didn't, instead you grunted and stood up yourself. You started to walk away from her but suddenly a bullet whizzed past your head, making direct contact with a seemingly invisible other man. When you turned to look at her, you realized that once again, she wasn't even looking.

She irked you a little but you followed her anyways when she told you to, never once saying a word to her.

"Well Harry, sometimes casualties are a necessity when you're protecting… precious cargo," she looked you up and down when she said the last words, and you wondered if whoever she was talking to was the reason she could shoot without seeing. She looked over at you, touching your hand lightly as she spoke.

"Sameen, we're going to keep you safe, trust me." You grunted in response, but something inside you did trust her a little bit. Plus, you knew you could take her if it came down to it.

You arrived at a nicely furnished apartment, one you assumed was some sort of safehouse, and stared blankly at the woman. She smiled at you and pointed to the bedroom,

"You're probably exhausted from all your activities today Sameen, get some rest, I'll explain in the morning." She was right, you were tired, but you definitely weren't going to be sleeping. You lay in bed for a few hours before finally getting up, walking around and grabbing a glass of water. She was there, watching, maybe she never slept either. She stood up and got herself a glass of water as well, loosely tugging your shirt to get you out of the way of the faucet.

"I know you're not scared Sameen, but if you want to talk about this I'm happy to listen," she smiled at you sympathetically and you rolled your eyes.

"There's nothing to talk about, I'm going to sleep." You started to walk away but for some reason you still can't comprehend, you turned back around and looked at her for a split second. She followed you to bed and lay down beside you, you touched her arm slightly. You fell asleep. You don't know why but you trusted her.

You were sixteen years, five months and seventeen days old when you overheard Finch and Root talking.

"I'm simply suggesting, Ms. Groves, that you spend a little less time with Ms. Shaw. She's becoming… attached to you; I fear soon she's going to be sneaking out to follow you for numbers, and we don't want her in danger."

"Oh Harry, she just would rather stay with me than the big lug. Plus," she looked back at you, shooting you a knowing wink, she always knew when you were spying, "it would be impossible to keep her locked up… At least against her will anyways." She was right of course, but so was Finch, you'd already been sneaking out, just in case Root did need protecting. You wanted to be there.

You walked out to where they were speaking, standing right next to Root, who put her arm around you, a gesture that earned a wary look from Finch. You rarely spoke to either of them, but were in almost constant contact with Root: she kept her arm around you whenever you two were close, and whenever she was going out she had a habit of giving you something of hers to hold onto, like hairties or a sweater. There was also the issue that you two still shared a damn bed, something that you were still trying to comprehend why you allowed.

Finch eyed the two of you, looking defeated for at least that point in time. John strolled in from behind, and you turned to see that he was covered in blood, very unlikely his own. You liked John, he was quite reserved, an excellent sparring partner, and let you use his guns. He was always pleasantly surprised that you could hold your own with any type of weapon he handed you from his arsenal. It'd taken a while to figure out what the whole team did, and what the numbers meant, but once you'd figured it out John was pretty keen on teaching you and even lobbied to try and get you "in the field", despite Finch's hesitations.

A few hours later, you found yourself lying in bed next to Root, she wasn't asleep but she was pretending to be; you were doing the same thing, it was a routine the two of you had fallen into. You thought about what Root had been up to that day, and how you couldn't describe what you felt when she was in danger, but it was definitely uncomfortable. You thought about what Finch had said, and wondered if he had a point, if you were growing attached. It was well past 4am, you rolled over slightly and touched Root's arm. You fell asleep. You don't know why but you trusted her.

You were seventeen years and three months old when Finch finally let you go out with John. It was clear that he definitely was not excited about the idea, but you had worn him down with your persistence. Even if you had only been on lookout duty, it was still a step in the right direction. You were allowed a single handgun, but you had multiple knives strapped to you.

You followed John eagerly to the car, where you were told to drive, and when he entered the building, you were stuck on lookout. You didn't mind as much as you thought you would, and when John came flying out of the building, carrying a woman over his shoulder, two men hot on his tail, you calmly stepped out of the car and delivered four precise shots, easily hitting each kneecap of each man. John gave you an impressed smile, and you got back behind the driver's seat.

The woman in the backseat was surprisingly calm given her circumstances. You eyed her in the rearview mirror, and she smiled at you.

"Zoe," she said with a practiced coolness that you were all too familiar with.

"Shaw," you answered, and that was the entirety of the conversation. You were brimming with excitement, or at least as close to brimming as you could physically be, meaning there was an actual smile on your face.

"Don't get too excited Shaw," John chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him.

Upon returning to the subway, you were greeted by an extremely tense and worried Finch.

"While I'm impressed with your skills in the field Ms. Shaw, I still can't say that I'm truly a fan of you being out there."

"I don't know why you were worried Harry, she's quite the straight shooter.." Root chuckled and walked over to you, giving your shoulder a congratulatory squeeze. But she didn't let go, and when you looked at her hand, you saw that she had chewed every single one of her fingernails off. She was scared shitless, and that's probably why John hadn't let her come. You rolled your eyes, but that night when you rolled over to touch her arm, you didn't question why you trusted her, you just knew you did.

You were eighteen years and twenty eight days old the first time you got shot working a number. John yelled but you weren't quick enough. The bullet grazed our left calf and you went down. It didn't hurt, you were more annoyed than anything else. John had you in his arms in a matter of seconds, and spoke into his earpiece,'

"Shaw is hit Finch, left leg, drive around front, I'm bringing her to you and going back in." Finch pulled up as expected, and you were dumped in the back seat, shooting John a grateful look before he headed back.

"I doubt Ms. Groves will be terribly pleased about this.." Finch mumbled to himself.

By the time you had returned to the subway, you had already stitched up the wound. It was simple, there was no need for defragging, you were relieved. Root burst through the door a few minutes later, literally shoving Finch out of the way to get to you. She inspected the wound and your handiwork, nodding in approval and weakly patting you on the shoulder.

A few hours later, you overheard Root whispering to Finch and John,

"I don't give a fuck what you two think, from now on if she's going in the field, she's coming on my missions not yours." You didn't listen to the rest of the conversation, instead deciding to down some whiskey and call it a night. When you woke up in the middle of the night, she had an arm protectively around you. It was too hot and you shrugged her off.

You were 20 years and 4 months old when you heard Root say she loved you for the first time. She was watching you and actually thought you were asleep, you had gotten extremely good at pretending. She danced her fingertips across your arms and whispered almost silently,

"I love you Sameen." It was so blunt and simple you wondered if she was fucking with you, another one of her games. But the thought of her being serious caused a dark twisty feeling to bubble up inside you, mostly confusion because while you didn't hate Root (which did actually mean something), you didn't quite understand when she says love. You waited a couple of minutes before rolling over and facing the other direction, easily falling asleep once she was no longer touching you.

You were 21 years old exactly the first time you realized Root wanted you in a non-joking way. You came home from a brutal mission, covered in sweat and blood, limping from what was probably a fractured rib or two. She had a bottle of wine on the table, and was clad in a blue evening gown. She cocked her head when you walked in,

"I got you a bottle of wine now that you're legal." You both smirked at this comment, as you'd been drinking a much harder poison than wine for years. You gave her a tight smile and went for the pantry, instead opting for a glass of whiskey. You sat at the table with her, eyeing her questioningly. Things had changed in the last year: Root was constantly, unabashedly, flirting with you, and you, for the most part, were constantly rolling your eyes. You assumed this was merely part of her persona, that it was part of the sadistic game she seemed to be playing relentlessly with everyone she knew.

After a couple glasses of whiskey, you finally relented and looked up between her and the bottle of wine. After five years, she spoke your language of silence fluently, and stood up to grab a corkscrew. She sat on the table, inches from you, as she opened the bottle. When she had poured two glasses, she shifted her face closer to yours, handing you the glass and speaking her words practically into your mouth,

"Happy birthday Sameen." You swallowed hard as that dark twisty feeling made itself welcome again in your stomach. You scooted back and examined her face closely, trying to detect any hint of a joke. She cocked an eyebrow, a feat you were always amazed she could manage given that she couldn't even wink, and you rolled your eyes.

"Thanks Root," You mumbled as you pushed away from the table. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, a feat she accomplished with an exaggerated sigh. You met her gaze and simply decided. Your wine was gone in a matter of seconds and suddenly you were lunging forward, meeting her lips with your own. It was rough and she was hurting you and you wanted more.

"Sameen.." she sing-songed at you, causing you to somehow tear yourself away from her.

"What."

"You just chugged like 75 dollars worth of wine.." She fake pouted at you.

"Did you actually pay for it?"

"Well... No.." You shot her an annoyed look and went back to mauling her. She took your hand and led you to the bedroom. You knew you trusted her, and for the first time, you weren't just letting her touch you, you wanted it.