Shaw kept her gun trained on Root, finally lowering it when Root failed to get to her feet, failed to do anything but remain on her knees, clutching at the shoulder Shaw had shot her through. Eventually Shaw tucked her gun away and hauled Root to her feet, hand under the shoulder she hadn't shot in a concession to Root's comfort. Shaw threw her in the backseat of the car Reese had lifted, sat beside her. Root was unresponsive, and Shaw found it uncharacteristic.
"What are we going to do with her?" Shaw asked finally, after she'd patted Root down and removed a number of nasty little weapons.
"You shot her, you get to pull the bullet out. Then we take her… somewhere safe and appropriate. Somewhere she'll have to stay for a while." Finch replied.
"Sounds good to me," Shaw said. "You do the paperwork, I'll open her up."
"Not in the car," Finch fussed. "I have a safe house nearby. I'll leave you there and send through the details. You can take her in."
Shaw was used to cleaning up her own messes, but this seemed like excessive punishment to her. She gritted her teeth. "Drop me here a moment and watch her for me," Shaw said, having to wait for Reese to open the door from the outside because the child locks were on, and she got back into the car a minute later with a first aid kit.
Shaw was used to running escort duties; it wasn't her favourite because they were usually civilians, but this time she already had a grudge. Shaw locked the door behind her, tied Root to a chair by her right wrist with some zipties and surveyed the room. Clean, one door. Root was still silent, head lowered. Shaw came back, looked her over, saw her face and bought her some water, worried at the palor of her face. Shaw had to hold it to Root's face, with one arm still oozing blood and the other tied down.
"This is probably going to suck," Shaw said matter of factly as she pulled Root's jacket away from her shoulder. Root flinched and Shaw tutted. "Not so brave without an iron in your hand," Shaw taunted, wondering how she was going to get the jacket and the shirt off while Root was ziptied. She dug through the first aid kit and found some scissors but the leather jacket was going to be too thick. Shaw pulled Root's arm out of the jacket, trying to seem casual but trying not to bump the shoulder too much. Shaw cut the fabric of Root's shirt away from the wound, sent a message to Finch to drop off a new shirt and jacket when he dropped off the new identity to incarcerate Root under. Something with buttons, so Shaw didn't have to lift Root's hand over her head. Shaw had expected something more… fun than this. That Root would try to escape, would turn the tables and tie Shaw up somewhere, fit those hands Shaw remembered under the jacket Shaw still wore… instead this husk, this shell didn't even watch Shaw's movements, didn't even seems to notice where she was.
The bullet retrieval itself was routine, or it would have been without the unsettling silence of the woman Shaw was almost starting to feel sorry for. Shaw cleaned the wound as best she could, wiped the last of the blood off of that startlingly soft skin. Shaw stitched the back side first, then moved around to the front, kneeling awkwardly in front of Root to get to the right height to see properly. Shaw was aware of Root's face, close to her own, inscrutable eyes fixed on Shaw's face now. Root's hand came up and titled Shaw's face a little, causing a fresh gush of blood from the wound, drawing Shaw's attention for a moment - but a moment was all Root needed to bring her mouth against Shaw's. Then Root's hand dropped back to the arm of the chair, and Shaw turned back to her stitching work, expression unchanged.
Shaw ziptied Root's left wrist as well when she was done with the stitches, paced the confines of the small room, eyes averted from Root's bared shoulder. The knock on the door was a relief, and Shaw quickly changed into the outfit provided for her - smirking at the white coat and medical ID of her alias. Then she looked over at Root, still wordless, still phased out.
Shaw sighed and cut Root's shirt off of her wrists, then cut the zipties and helped her to stand, careful as she worked the jacket off of Root's arms. The shirt caused little trouble, except when Root inhaled sharply as Shaw let the scissors glide over Root's sternum. Shaw looked up, but Root was gone again, pliant, compliant, allowing Shaw to undress her like a doll. Shaw didn't have much in the way of feelings, and she knew she wasn't exploiting the situation for a chance to gawk at Root's bared torso, but she started to feel a little… uneasy. Not like Root was pulling a charade; the catatonic state seemed genuine apart from that moment… had Root kissed her? Had they kissed, here in this abandoned room, wallpaper falling in great sheets from the walls? Had her mouth been that impossibly soft? But the uneasiness, Shaw thought, shaking her head at the memory of Root's lips against her own, was about Root's mental state. Shaw could take Root in a fair fight, but Root could run rings around even Finch. Maybe this was a long game, and Root was biding her time.
The shirt was gone and it took longer than it should have for Shaw to look away, to look for the fresh shirt, to pull it over that expanse of exposed flesh. Shaw felt her hands shake as she buttoned up the shirt, fingers brushing against soft skin, soft skin that Shaw was sure she shouldn't be touching but Root wasn't moving to brush Shaw's hands away, wasn't making an effort to dress herself, wasn't doing anything… except… Shaw looked away abruptly, embarrassed. Root was crying again, and Shaw busied herself with pulling Root's arms into the jacket, pulling it up over her shoulders. Shaw pulled the collar out from where it had been caught underneath, pretending not to notice how close she was to Root now, almost on tiptoes. Shaw pulled the collar straight, then let her hands trail down the lapels for a moment, making her way down to the buttons. Shaw knew her face was dangerously close to Root's, that it would only take another moment for Root to lean forward enough to… and Root was strong, but unarmed, and Shaw could take her in a fair fight and right now Shaw was spoiling for a fair fight, to wrestle against the muscles she knew this woman had, the lithe form of the woman whose headshot was still in her pocket. Keep your enemies close, Shaw told herself, trying to convince herself that… that she just wanted... that the picture was there because...
Shaw cleared her throat and looked away, helped Root to stand and led her to a car that Reese had left on the street outside.
From there, Shaw admitted Root into a psych ward.
It was probably where she belonged, Shaw thought as she drove away. But part of her wondered how long it would be until Root was out and looking for revenge for the shot to the shoulder, and more than part of her was looking forward to it. Shaw raised her fingers to her lips as she kicked the car into third and peeled away from a traffic light.
Notes:
So I put this chapter first, because chronologically it comes first.
Where could I commission some fan art of Root and Shaw standing under the Northern Lights?
