I Love It When You Play Doctor
By Liisa Vatanen
At first, Root's visits to the store where she worked the make-up counter had made Shaw angry.
In fact, just seeing the hacker's face alone made her angry. Not as much as it used to, certainly, but angry nonetheless. That ridiculous smile she always wore made Shaw want to punch her in the mouth. The brazen flirting and sentences that dripped with innuendo made her want to throttle her.
But as time wore on, and Shaw lamented over the fact she hadn't seriously injured anyone for a long while, Root's appearances became somewhat… tolerable. That, too, made her angry.
What made her furious, however, was that she actually found herself starting to look forward to them.
I'm bored, Shaw kept telling herself. I'm bored, and she's someone to talk to.
It was a Thursday, and that meant Root was going to put in an appearance. The week before, it had been on a Wednesday. The week before that: Tuesday. Seemingly random, and yet wholly routine. Shaw had picked up on the pattern, though the exact time of day at which the hacker would stop by remained a mystery. It kept her on her toes.
By four-thirty p.m. Root still hadn't shown.
Although Shaw couldn't pinpoint precisely when she'd turn up, it had never been quite so late.
When she finished her shift at five o'clock, there still hadn't been any sign of her.
Before she began to feel something resembling genuine concern, Shaw concluded there was probably a perfectly good explanation for it. The Machine had, most likely, sent her on a mission. Either that or she'd taken on a new identity that didn't allow her the freedom to make social calls during the day.
Or Decima had found her and she'd been compromised.
Shaw didn't even want to consider it.
Shaw returned home to her apartment just after midnight, having spent her evening at a dive bar drinking cheap whiskey and itching for a brawl. She'd wondered – briefly – if Root might find her there.
She hadn't.
As she inserted her key into the lock, Shaw sensed movement in the shadows to her right. In one swift motion she'd drawn her pistol and had it trained on the figure in the darkness. "You looking to get shot, I'd be happy to oblige."
Been too long since I got to take out a kneecap or two.
"Hello to you too, Sameen."
Shaw narrowed her eyes, lowering her gun as a familiar face stepped into view. "Root."
In the dim light, she looked pale – more so than usual. Her brow was glistening, but it wasn't particularly warm in the hallway. There was something about her smile that seemed… off, as if it was an effort to maintain it.
"Sorry I didn't come by to see you today, I—"
"What are you doing here?" Shaw questioned.
"Well if you'd let me finish, silly…" She chided, but her tone lacked its usual playfulness. So did her eyes.
Shaw waited for her to continue.
Root glanced uneasily at the door. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
The ex-ISA agent raised an eyebrow. "What are you? A vampire?" She twisted the handle and pushed it open, gesturing with a curt nod of her head. "Get inside."
"Yes ma'am."
The hacker appeared to be limping slightly. Shaw followed her inside, locked the door, its accompanying deadbolts, and flicked the lights on.
"So what do you want?"
Root didn't turn to look at her, continuing her appraisal of the smaller woman's Spartan dwelling. "Straight to the point, as always." It was a comment that, at any other time, would have been delivered in a roguish manner; a gentle tease in response to the shorter woman's direct behaviour. There was no mischief in the way she expressed it, now. Root took in a gulping breath. "I need your help."
Shaw remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. A few months ago, she wouldn't have been so patient.
"Specifically your medical expertise," Root told her. "Just a few scratches here and there but… better to be safe than sorry, right?" She laughed nervously, twisting around to face Shaw. A hand gripped her thigh, out of which protruded the handle of a military-grade knife. There was a shallow laceration between her shoulder and her chest, and what seemed to be a bullet-wound to her right side – though Shaw couldn't be sure without taking a closer look. Root blinked, wiping her forehead with the sleeve of her jacket, replacing cold sweat with a smear of blood. She was swaying slightly. "It all looks a lot worse than it is… I'll be right as rain in…"
Root's eyelids fluttered closed and her legs gave way. Despite her nature, Shaw darted forwards to catch her as she fell.
Holding the unconscious woman in her arms, Shaw rolled her eyes. "Well, this is just great."
Root came to when Shaw was in the middle of stitching her thigh. The cut to her chest and what had, fortunately, been only a bullet-graze to her side were already cleaned and dressed. The hacker groaned loudly, writhing in discomfort, disrupting the former operative's work on her wound.
"Hey. Hey. Root, hold still," said Shaw, reaching out with a strong hand to steady her. Her tone was firm, but carried an unusual edge of tenderness.
Sometimes, she surprised even herself.
Root stopped squirming. Her face, however, remained in a grimace.
Shaw carried on sewing. "Don't have anything for the pain, unless you like spiced rum."
Root gave a tight, brisk shake of her head.
"Nearly done, anyway," she told her.
"I would have gone to a hospital but… Honestly? I'm not a big fan," said Root, voice strained. "Too many people asking too many questions and far too risky with Samaritan online, even with Her guidance." She sucked in a sharp breath as the needle pulled. "And I was going to try doing it myself, but then I thought, why bother when I can go to someone with actual medical training?"
"So you came to me." She drew the final stitch across the knife-wound, tying the end and cutting off any remaining thread to neaten it up. "Done."
Root flashed her a troubled, yet somewhat wry smile. "Well, I know how good you are with your hands."
Shaw simply scowled at her and began to collect up the bloody cloths, swabs and what was left of the hacker's clothing. She'd had to remove her jacket, shirt and cut away eighty-five percent of the right leg of her jeans. "I'll get you something to wear," she called behind her as she disappeared into the bathroom.
"If you wanted to undress me, Sameen, all you had to do was ask!" Root called back.
"Prefer you with clothes on," Shaw said when she returned to the living room. She threw a dark t-shirt and a pair of black leggings at her, hitting her square in the face.
"To each their own," Root declared, unperturbed. "I'm sure we can make it work."
"Just shut up and get dressed." Shaw waited until she'd turned around – to give the taller woman some privacy, for what little it was worth now – to let a small smirk occupy her lips.
"All done," Root announced after a few minutes. She held up what was left of her trousers, frowning slightly. "Damn. These were my favourite pair."
"Combat one-oh-one," said Shaw, folding her arms. "Don't wear clothes you don't want getting covered in blood and bullet-holes."
"Your wisdom truly astounds me, sometimes," Root remarked, affectionately sarcastic. "Thanks for the tip."
"Anytime."
Shaw held the hacker's gaze, unwavering. Root was the first to look away, giving the ex-operative a sense of silent satisfaction.
"Shaw, I…" Root began, fidgeting with the hem of her borrowed t-shirt. Her voice was lower, steadier; the sound of it unfamiliar to the shorter woman's ears. When she lifted her eyes again, she wore an expression that was equally foreign. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
Root detected the rare softness in Shaw's tone – one she normally reserved for Bear and Bear alone – and her lips curved into a smile so bright it would almost put the sun to shame.
And it made Shaw livid, because it wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be like this.
She pushed it down; deep, as far as it would go.
Root was watching her with that look on her face. The one where she wanted to nudge, to probe into Shaw's muted feelings and emotions and attempt to pluck an answer from her; a truth she wouldn't yield.
"So what happened?"
Diversion tactics.
Root would know she was purposely trying to change the subject; she wasn't stupid. But whether or not she'd press further was anyone's guess. Shaw couldn't guarantee it would end well if she did.
Sensibly, she didn't.
"I had a little run-in with some of our dear friends at Decima," the hacker answered smoothly.
"Guessing that didn't go too well, huh?" Shaw said, sitting down on the coffee table and resting her elbows on her knees.
"Perceptive as always, Sameen."
"You were pretty banged up," she commented coolly.
"You should see the other guy," Root joked, casting a quick glance at her injured leg. "I thought there was some kind of rule about not bringing knives to a gunfight, but he seemed to do just fine."
"Were you followed?"
Shaw wouldn't have been entirely unhappy with the situation if she had been. It was the perfect excuse to give her trigger-finger some much-needed exercise. Sure, it meant their cover was blown, but she hated that retail gig anyway.
"No," Root replied. "She made sure."
Shaw was almost disappointed.
"Next time, tell me."
The hacker tilted her head, puzzled. "Tell you what?" she queried. The grin that tugged at the edges of her mouth told Shaw she was feigning her ignorance.
Still, she'd bite. "The next time you plan on getting your ass kicked."
"Why? Worried about me?"
"You're going to get yourself killed."
"I didn't know you cared, Shaw," Root purred.
I don't.
That's what she'd wanted to say, and yet… she couldn't.
Because – and it made the blood boil with rage inside her veins to admit it even to herself, and there was no chance in hell she'd ever admit it to anyone else – in her own twisted, peculiar way, she did care.
Somewhere, deep inside, beneath all the layers of stone, underneath the thick, heavy darkness that wrapped around her heart and blanketed her emotions, she cared. About Bear, Reese, Finch, and hell – even Lionel to some incredibly small degree. She had to dig for it, to delve as far down as possible, but it was there all the same.
And then there was Root.
She wasn't entirely sure when the feeling of animosity towards the former assassin changed, but it had.
"Just tell me next time," said Shaw.
"So you can be my lady-knight in shining armour and swoop in to save me?"
Shaw smirked, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "Just don't want to miss out on all the fun."
Root shifted to perch on the edge of the couch, her knees a hair's breadth away from Shaw's. "You realise the damsel usually rewards the hero with a kiss." She leaned forwards, lips slightly parted, "Or... when the love interest nurses the injured hero back to health."
Root's slender hands rested on Shaw's thighs.
A few months ago, the ex-operative would have threatened to break her wrists or cut off her hands if she touched her unnecessarily.
She should have moved. She should have stood up and walked away, demanding the hacker leave her apartment immediately.
But she didn't.
When Root kissed her, Shaw allowed it. She responded, but only for a moment. It was all the ex-assassin needed, and at that time, all Shaw was willing to give.
The shorter woman was smirking when she pulled away. "You're not a hero."
Root grinned. For her, this was a victory. The biggest triumph, however, was that Shaw had let her have it. "Okay," she said, moving back to give the former agent her space. Wisely, she knew how far she could push, and right now she'd reached the limit. "Anti-hero."
"Whatever you say, Root."
Before she could say anything in response, Root's eyes seemed to glaze over. Seconds passed, and she started to rise from her seat. "Gotta go," she said cheerfully. "She has a little job for me."
Shaw followed her as she limped – surprisingly quickly – to the door. "Don't be an idiot. You can't walk, and I'm sure as hell not carrying you."
"You don't have to," Root said. "I can manage just fine on my own."
"Fine," Shaw grumbled. "But if you rip those stitches I'm not patching you up again. Keep the bandages dry and get some rest."
"Oh, Sameen," Root sighed, reaching out to brush a loose strand of dark hair behind Shaw's ear. "I really do love it when you play doctor." She unlocked the door, pausing before stepping outside to look over her shoulder, "And I think you secretly like it when I play the patient."
Shaw glared at the closing door, but she was smiling.