Root felt eyes on her the second she emerged from the bedroom, buttoning her shirt as she went. She glanced up to meet Shaw's appreciative gaze, but was surprised to see said gaze turn to a glare in an instant.
"I haven't even spoken to you yet today," she protested as she brushed past Shaw into the kitchen and headed for the cupboard with the cereal. "Are we out of coffee or something?" The aggressive sounds of the blender were Shaw's only reply.
Root grabbed a bowl and a spoon in one hand and a random box of cereal in the other (Wheat Chex, according to the Machine, though Root could care less). She sidled up behind Shaw while the other woman's hands were occupied with pouring her smoothie into a large glass.
"Is this because I got home late last night or-?" she inquired, placing her breakfast materials on either side of Shaw in favor of sliding her hands along the shorter woman's side. She nudged aside Shaw's daily pony-tail and started to kiss her way along her neck.
"You need to stop," Shaw informed her tersely.
Root raised her head and removed her hands, though she remained a mere inch away from Shaw's back.
"Not that," Shaw growled. Root could picture the roll of her eyes that accompanied the words. Before Root could start again, though, Shaw shrugged away to turn around. "You need to go change."
Root's face spoke to her confusion. She plucked at the neckline of her black t-shirt and smoothed a hand down her black-jean-clad thigh.
"And here I thought you were a fan of the monochromatic look, Sameen."
Shaw glared harder.
"I am," she insisted. "On me." She gestured at her own clothing, which, now that Root looked, was also all-black. And was also jeans and a t-shirt. Thus…
"Oh," she sighed. Then she grinned. "We can be twins today."
"No, we can't," Shaw informed her as she propelled Root toward the bedroom. "You need to stop. I'm not a pod person."
"It was an accident," Root protested. She tried to resist, but then, attempting to go in the direction opposite of the one Sameen Shaw wanted you to go was futile at best. Within seconds, Shaw had succeeded in pushing Root into the bedroom and installing her in front of the closet.
"Tuesday might have been an accident," she admitted threateningly. "Thursday wasn't. Even John noticed. It's not funny anymore."
The Machine informed her that, as indicated, she and Shaw had dressed in frighteningly similar clothing multiple times in the last few weeks. Huh.
"They do say couples start to look like each other after a while," Root mused, well aware that any protests on her part about it truly having been an accident were useless. She dug through the drawers to hide her smile at Shaw's unintelligible noise of annoyance. The agent could hardly protest about being called part of a couple; it was a few months and several shared apartments too late for that. Root cheerfully held up a green button-up shirt for approval, but Shaw only rolled her eyes and walked away.
"You could wear a red shirt today and then we'd be in complementary colors, Sam," Root called after her.
Shaw's reply was short and to-the-point.
"Over John's dead body." Obviously shirt colors was not a matter worthy of self-sacrifice.
Root grinned.
"Don't tempt me."