"I've never liked people. I've always felt more empathy for machines. They can't lie; they can only tell the truths they know. But you..." Root trailed off, fingers gliding over a muscular forearm.

"I'm like a machine," Shaw finished, running her hand through Root's hair, detangling the sweaty mess she'd contributed to. "I've never liked people either. Give me something mechanical, a bike, a car, a weapon."

"And I'm a weapon." Root said, tipping her face back to look into Shaw's in the dawn light. Root yawned and stretched, sitting up abruptly and with no thought to modesty.

"Yep," Shaw agreed, eyeing Root like a 1970 AMC Rebel. Root stretched again unselfconsciously as she stood and pulled out some clothes, started getting dressed.

"I have to go. Santa Monica," Root said, no further explanation forthcoming.

"I'll be here when you get back," She said, propped on an elbow, watching Root intently.

"I'll see you. Soon," and Root paused, stepped back to the bed. She rubbed her hand through Shaw's messy hair; imperfect but beautiful. She kissed Shaw desperately, mouth seeking purchase, seeking answers.

"I'll be here. Won't be up to me if I'm not."

Root knows their line of work is dangerous; if Shaw doesn't show, she'd have been gravely injured.

Only death could keep them apart.

"I'll miss you," Root said, surprised at her sentimentality. But then, she always missed Shaw. She missed her when she was more than a foot away, missed having her hands on Shaw, missed having an excuse to have her hands on Shaw.

"I know," Shaw said, still naked and cocky. "Mind if I watch the game here?"

"Make yourself at home," Root smiled, leaned in again. Shaw's mouth met hers willingly. Root tied her hair into a messy bun and locked the door behind her.

Root came back at 4am and Shaw had a gun pointed at the door before Root had even put her key in the lock. Shaw dropped the gun and sprang at Root, pushing her against the door which closed with the force of Root's body pushed against it.

Root laughed in delight as Shaw's mouth descended on her neck, sharp teeth and strong hands pressing against her.

"I missed you too, sweetie," Root said breathlessly as she cuffed one of Shaw's hands, dragging her over to the bed.

Notes:

The 1970 AMC Rebel was affectionately known as 'The Machine'.

Root would be classic red, white a blue trim with the special edition aluminum bodyside trim.

So there are a few other really short bits and bobs that didn't fit anywhere but they are very very short.

Also I have one of those diseases that has low survival odds so I am bunkered down and ticking off the days until my second shot. But it is stressful and a distraction would be nice so any fic/book/comic recommendations would be welcomed. 5 weeks to go.

I don't like people knowing that I exist.