One night Shaw and Root allowed themselves to be arrested and stayed in a holding cell overnight, and considering who was after them it was the safest place for them to be. Fusco hadn't taken them in, but they'd complied anyway, illegal weapons charge commonplace enough to be static background noise in the precinct.

There was a single bunk, and Shaw sat on it, scooting back until her back was against the wall, legs folded into upright triangles in front of her. She rested her forearms on her knees, jaw tight. They'd taken her knife too, and Root had had to use her very sweetest smile to apologise to the officer, and then an even sweeter smile to get Shaw to calm down. That was probably why they were sharing a cell; they obviously know each other, and the arresting officer probably thought Root will keep Shaw out of trouble. Root smirked at the thought; if only they knew. Shaw had left a lot of room on the cot; if Root wanted to, she could lie down and sleep comfortably, but she sat down instead, scooted back against the wall, pulling out the scratchy woolen blanket from under their feet to drape it over their laps. She made sure wasn't close enough to touch Shaw, but she was still close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of her, and for now that was enough.

Shaw wasn't talkative; she rarely was. Root considered making small talk, rejected the idea instantly. She considered asking a deep philosophical question, rejected that too.

"When I was small, I always though jail was the worst place someone could end up," Root said, her hands fiddling with an edge of the blanket. "But there are worse places," Root continued darkly, thinking of concrete over a foreshortened life, thinking of marriages like prisons, thinking of even a single day without The Machine in her ear.

"Seems we've been most of them," Shaw agreed, thinking of a car seat and an ambulance, of a body bag, of parties filled with too much small talk and not enough espionage. She thought of being alone, always alone. Though she often finds Root irritating, right now she was almost glad for the company. Root at least understood her in ways most people didn't. Root looked over and smiled, took Shaw's hand. Shaw's eyes narrowed suspiciously until Shaw's knife slipped out of the sleeve of Root's jacket and into Shaw's palm. She met Root's eyes then, nodded once in gratitude and slipped it into her boot.

"I have at least five things on my person that can get us out of here in under a minute," Root said in that sing-song tone that usually meant she had a plan. "As soon as the lug takes down Ashton, we can be back on our way and shut down the Abyss." Shaw grunted her approval to this plan, sunk back further against the wall, eyes closing. When she had downtime, she used it to sleep.

When Shaw woke up, her head was tilted to the side, resting on Root's shoulder. There was a little weight on her head which signified that Root was leaning her head against Shaw's, and Root's hand had slipped in under Shaw's elbow to grasp the inside of Shaw's forearm, which meant Root had fallen asleep after Shaw had utilised her shoulder as a pillow, that Root knew that they were.. . cuddling. She resisted an urge to shudder, fearful of waking Root, who'd looked tired lately. Shaw had propped herself up to avoid this, to avoid being tangled in sleep with Root, but this appeared to have been inevitable. Either way, the night was chill and the wall was cold against her back, so she shuffled closer, pulled the blanket higher over them both, let her hand rest atop Root's.

Root woke to a mission update in her ear. John had been successful, and they should be on their way. But Shaw's head had somehow slipped into the crook of Root's neck, her breathing soft and warm across Root's collarbone. And Root was completely disarmed by the simple trust Shaw had in her in this moment. Disarmed by how Shaw changed in sleep to someone who snuggled up to Root, despite avoiding her during the day. Disarmed by the sudden thought that she could pretend that she hadn't got the update, that she could just sleep here next to Shaw for the rest of the night. It was already 3am, another half an hour wouldn't impact the mission. But The Machine sent a di-di-dah-dah-di-dit and Root sighed with disappointment. She was an adult, with responsibilities. She and Shaw had an appointment to go shoot people, sometimes in the knees but maybe they'd get lucky tonight.

Root knew Shaw would be embarrassed at this moment of what she would consider weakness, so she moved Shaw's head to loll against the wall, disentangled her hand from Shaw's reluctantly before kneeling in front of Shaw on the cot, shaking her shoulder, face close to Shaw's.

Shaw's eyes opened almost immediately, so quickly that Root suspected she hadn't been asleep at all. That Shaw had been awake, or at least aware of their proximity and had allowed it, and Root's breath caught when Shaw's eyes warily judged the distance between their faces, eyes slipping down to Root's lips.

"Time to go," Root breathed, and Shaw nodded, pulling out a lockpick from her boot lining. Root smirked and pulled away. They had a mission, after all, and there were worse places to be than jail with someone as wily and attractive as Shaw.

Notes:

Probably just another one-shot from another late night antihistamine fever Tumblr post.