There is a look Root gets just before she wakes up. Her nose scrunches up slightly, and her ear twitches like a cat's. Shaw likes to watch Root when she's on the edge of consciousness. She likes imagines The Machine turning on, or whatever it did, she still doesn't know, and Root's ear twitching at the sound.
Root never wakes up right away. Her whole body has to wake up before her brain can. At this age, some parts take longer to turn on than they used to. Shaw leans against the wall of their bedroom, her hair tied up in a bun on the top of her head, still damp from her post-jog shower. Their bed is tucked into a corner of the large room and she sits with her legs crossed on the bed in front of her as she watches the waking process.
The blanket at the foot of the bed shifts, Root's toes curling and uncurling. Shaw imagines they creak like rusty hinges. Once their limber, Root's hands pull the quilt up, tucking it under her chin. The quilt is light, but thick. It's a pale yellow with grey and white flowers. It has exactly the amount of stuffing that Root likes. She rolls over, nose scrunching even more, and the pink scar behind her ear is exposed to the morning air.
Shaw is used to the sight of it now, and the sight of all the scars on Root's body. She already had scars when they met, but in the 13 years since they beat Samaritan, she'd gathered plenty more. Shaw hands close into fists, like she could fight everyone who has ever hurt Root. She can't, of course. Although, she's fought a lot of them since they started over. The Machine sends them on missions together as much as she can.
The next phase of Root's waking begins and she groans softly, shoulders shrugging up and a quiet scratch fills the large bedroom as they brush against the quilt. Shaw unclenches her hands and spreads them over her bare legs. She traces the goosebumps on her thighs. Shaw wears shorts in the safety of their home. They feel like a different kind of armor. They feel like she's saying 'this home is safe. I am safe.' It's almost too cold in their apartment for shorts, but Root dislikes the way their heater smells, even as they near November.
Shaw doesn't wear a shirt in the apartment, only her sports bra. Another layer of armor. Root sucks in a deep breath, the blanket lifting. It's so strange to have an apartment and a permanent address, to share a bed with the same person for years, to send Christmas cards to team members, to be turning 47 in a few months. She didn't think any of those things were possible for her. She hadn't even wanted them.
She doesn't mind them now. They use the spare bedroom for weapons storage and computer parts, and the other apartments in the building are great for visiting teams. The Christmas cards are just pictures of Bear wearing various hats. Shaw wears her greying hair proudly.
The weirdest part of it all is sharing a bed. Shaw had spent so many years sleeping alone, or not sleeping at all, and now she knows her partner well enough to track the way she wakes. Root groans again, louder this time, and her brow furrows. It isn't torture, Shaw thinks, to know someone well. They are a good team. The best. Shaw is used to both Root and The Machine, and the strange little family they've built.
Root's toes shift again, and Shaw nods to herself. She shifts, carefully rising to her feet to stand on the bed. Her muscles pull and she reaches up over her head, fingers wiggling as she stretches. After a moment, she drops her arms and sighs. Climbing over Root, Shaw steps off the bed to the floor. Her feet are slightly sweaty from sitting cross-legged and they stick to the wood floor as she walks. Root will wake enough to ask for coffee in about three minutes, and if she doesn't, the Machine will make her.
Their apartment is large, almost too large for just them and Cub, but she enjoys the walk out of the bedroom and across the living room rug. It's a deep purple, shaggy enough to dig your toes into, and Shaw does. It was Root's pick, from a shitty furniture store in Wichita. They had a very hard mission, losing one of the kids, and Shaw let Root have the small win. She slept on it in the backseat the whole drive back to New York.
A thump from the bedroom tells Shaw that Root rolled over, knocking her knee into the wall. She smiles to herself and walks under the archway to the dining room. It is full of plants, vines like wires hanging from the large windowsill and wrapping around the string they'd hung from wall to wall. The dining table itself is covered. Root's station sits at one end, and an unassembled gun sits at the other. Shaw is in the middle of an experiment.
She whistles as she walks into the room, waking Cub from his spot beneath the windowsill. He scrambles to his feet, steps off his large pillow-bed, and follows her into the kitchen. Cub is practically still a puppy, barely four, and he looks like just a small Bear. His ears are tan, instead of black, but he responds to commands the same way. He makes her feel old.
She groans as she squats down to open a low cabinet. Her knees give her trouble when it's cold. Root tells her it's payback for all the kneecaps she shatter. Shaw thinks it's because of all the windows she's jumped out of. Either way, they ache now after a long day. A life of action does that to a person. Shaw pulls out the plastic tub of Cub's food and shuts the door.
Flipping the lid back, she moves further into the kitchen. Cub knows how much food is good for him. Another thump and groan comes from the bedroom and Shaw smiles. As she reaches up to the cabinet above the stove, she listens for the next thump. It comes, and she knows that Root has smashed both her hands into the headboard, one after the other, as she tried to stretch up. That woman is too long for her own good.
Pulling down their can of coffee beans and the stack of paper filters, Shaw drops back onto her heels. Their kitchen is huge, almost too many cabinets to fill, but they manage. It seems to be an unexpected side effect of running a team with almost 50 members. People come in and out of their place all the time and that means there always had to be food. Shaw doesn't mind too much; she's never hungry.
The coffee maker sits on the counter and Shaw wonders, not for the first time, why they don't just keep the coffee and filters there, too. She remembers a conversation about clutter, but looks to the overflowing dining room and snorts. Root probably likes to watch her stretch when they make coffee together. Now, when it's just Shaw, it's just annoying. She puts the can and filters down on the counter and pulls the coffee pot toward her.
A chirp makes her look at the bowl of fruit that sits beside the stove. Reaching into it, she pulls out a cellphone. There's a text message telling her that one of their London teams has completed their mission. Another message appears and she learns that they have the day off. They have a lot of days off now that their no longer primary assets, traveling for fun or spending time working in their apartment. She puts the phone onto the counter.
"Thanks," she says, taking the carafe from its place. "Do you think she'll want a trip? Or a lazy day?"
Shaw turns away and walks around the island to the sink. When they first moved into this place, once they'd bought the whole building, Shaw had hated it. It was too nice, too clean, too big, too domestic. She set up an apartment somewhere else, in a dingy warehouse. Root hadn't asked why Shaw wasn't at home every night, or why she kept a duffelbag packed and her toiletries put away.
Shaw turned the faucet on, staring out the small window over the sink at the city as the phone chirped again. It was a nice escape, but it was just too inconvenient. Shaw tired of sneaking out and back in. She decided that just falling asleep after sex was preferable to catching a taxi or taking the subway. It's nice to have coffee and breakfast in a fancy kitchen, to always be ready to leave for a mission with Root. It had just been so easy to fall into a steady life than pretend like she still wanted to be young and wild.
Shutting the water off, Shaw turns back to the phone and the coffee pot. The wood floor creaks a few rooms away as she pours the water into the tank, reading the message at the same time. The Machine says no trip. Root wants to spend some time together. Cub pulls his head from his food and bounds away towards the living room and Root. The carafe slides easily back into the maker and Shaw pops the lid off the coffee can.
Root's sleepy laugh floats through the apartment toward her, and Shaw moves the coffee grinder from its spot. The beans go in and she pushes the lid down. The noise splits the silence as it grinds the beans, and Shaw looks toward the doorway.
Root is there, leaning against the honey-colored doorframe, eyes half-closed and mouth half-open. She has her hands tangled in the bottom of her oversized shirt. It's so threadbare that it's almost see-through, but neither of them want to throw it away. It's the last of John's shirts, still holding together 13 years later.
Lifting her hand from the grinder, Shaw runs her eyes down Root's legs, taking in the goosebumps.
"You should put some pants on," she says, taking the lid off the grinder. "You're going to get sick."
Root just smiles at her, head tilting. "She's already scolded me, don't worry. I want coffee first."
Shaw raises an eyebrow, the argument familiar. She puts a filter into the coffee maker and pours the grinds in. "You come all the way to the kitchen just to get coffee and then go back to get dressed. You know I'll just bring it to you."
"I can take care of myself." Root shakes her head, throwing her too long brown hair over a shoulder. "I don't need to be babied."
"Right," Shaw says slowly. "That's why I'm making your coffee and she's waking you up."
Root rolls her eyes, also familiar with the light-hearted argument, and walks into the kitchen. Shaw starts the coffee, pushing the maker and the grinder back to the wall, and leans her hip against the counter. They have nowhere to be.
"You should have stayed in bed with me." Root pouts, sauntering lazily toward her, dropping her hands from her shirt. She reaches for Shaw. "I never get to hold you."
"That's for a reason," Shaw answers, but she lets Root wrap her arms around her waist and hold her close. "Besides, you would hate it if your coffee wasn't ready."
Root just hums, the sound vibrating through her chest into Shaw's. She dips her head down, hair falling around them, and kisses Shaw. Her lips are cold at first, but they warm as they press against Shaw's. Root's legs are cold, too, as bare skin touches bare skin, and Shaw shivers.
She reaches up to cup the back of Root's neck with one hand and tangle the other into messy hair. After all this time, Shaw still enjoys kissing Root, being this close to her, drowning her senses in her. It wakes her up more than a cup of coffee ever could. She pulls away, dragging hands down to Root's waist, and steps away.
"What do you want for breakfast?" Shaw asked, starting to turn away.
Root pulls her back, refusing to let go. "You," she breathes, grinning. Her face is still flush with sleep and she looks like trouble. A few faint wrinkles deepen around her eyes as they crinkle. "I want to taste you."
Shaw laughs dryly. "Right here? Aren't we getting too old for kitchen sex?"
"No way!" Root starts tugging Shaw's sports bra up. "We need to keep mixing it up. It'll keep us young!"
Shaw rolls her eyes. "At least let me have breakfast first," she sighs. "Food will keep me young, too."
Root gives a loud, dramatic sigh, but she lets go of Shaw's bra and moves away. Keeping an eye on her, Shaw walks to the fridge, adjusting her bra. She opens it and looks inside. It's full, too, and Shaw wonders if someone goes grocery shopping for them. She wouldn't be surprised. From the other side of the fridge door, Root laughs, and Shaw knows She's talking.
Pulling out bacon and a carton of eggs, Shaw closes the door with her shoulder and walks passed Root, down the counter, to the stove. As she sets her food down, Root hops onto the counter and picks up the phone. She laughs again and starts typing, in her own, private conversation.
Shaw doesn't mind that she's lost Root's attention for a while. It's nice to get a break from the spotlight that is Root's focus. At first, it was weird to split her time with the machine, but Shaw is used to it now. She's learned to share. She opens an overhead cabinet and pulls down a bowl. Opening the egg carton, she starts cracking eggs.
Making breakfast doesn't take too long and they move into the living room to eat it. Root turns on the television, always on the sci-fi channel, and they settle on the couch with their plates to watch an episode of the X-files. It's already halfway done, but they've seen them all, so it doesn't matter. Cub abandons them for the vacant spot Root left in the bed.
Root's phone is on the table, her feet on Shaw's lap. She eats quickly, finishing at the same time as Shaw and then puts her plate down on the floor. Shaw does the same, knowing that Root is still thinking about tasting her. She would be upset if she didn't enjoy this part of their relationship as much as she did. The Machine might have some of Root's mind, but Shaw has all of her body.
"Alright," Shaw says, pushing Root's feet off of her lap. "Go ahead. Take me."
Laughing, Root pulls her legs under her and covers Shaw quickly, her body pressing close. In her eagerness, she almost knocks Shaw off the couch, back over the arm, and Shaw has to shift down quickly to avoid the tumble, back protesting at the strange move. She stretches out on the couch, the tips of her toes touching the far arm and her head resting comfortable on the other. Root holds herself up above her.
She is stronger than she used to be. Shaw has made sure of it. They can't rely on guns and surveillance all the time and Root needs a way to deal with people that come at her. Especially now that they've started slowing down. They'd spent a wonderful vacation in Ireland, drinking whiskey and training. Now, Root has a slight swell of muscle and Shaw enjoys tracing them every night.
Root holds herself up, smiling knowingly down at Shaw. "Are you going to kiss me or what?" she teases, moving to straddle Shaw's hips. Her fingers scratch at the fabric of the couch on either side of Shaw's head. "We only have all day, you know."
"Idiot," Shaw mutters as she reaches up to tangle her hands in Root's hair. "Stop talking."
Shaw tugs Root down sharply, and she gasps, her breath puffing against Shaw's lips. Their stomachs crash together as their mouths do, and then they're tangled up together. Shaw hates feeling trapped, but when Root surrounds her like this she can't bring herself to care. A thigh presses between her legs, hands clutch at her waist, and Shaw pushes her tongue into Root's mouth, winning herself a moan.
Sometimes, when they're in a rush, Shaw barely lets Root kiss her. She just shoves her hand into soft, cotton underwear, and takes what she wants. It's quick and awkward and always exactly what she needs. Right now, though, Shaw wants hours of kisses. She's content to lay beneath Root and take what she's given.
Root settles into her, her hips in the space between Shaw's strong thighs, and her arms sliding under broad shoulders. They fit together perfectly, like two halves of a whole. Sometimes, it hurts when they're apart. Root lazily moves her mouth to Shaw's chin, nudges her head up with a delicate nose, and tucks her face into Shaw's neck. Shaw isn't quite convinced that sex is going to happen, Root's even breathing suggesting a mid-morning nap.
She rallies, pushing her hips into Shaw's and running her tongue over goosebumped skin. Root is so chaotic in her life, that Shaw sometimes thinks she needs these slow days to recharge her battery. Reaching up, Shaw pushes Root's chocolate colored hair behind her ear and traces her finger over the small scar from her cochlear implant. She imagines that she can feel it vibrant as the Machine continues its constant communication. It reminds her of a simulated injury she had so many years ago.
"What's She saying?" Shaw asks as Root sucks on her neck. She turns her head, giving Root more space to work. "Anything interesting?"
Root hums, the sound echoing along Shaw's collarbone. "Morning news," she mumbles, voice muffled as her lips stick to damp skin. "I'm not really listening." She grins, nipping Shaw's shoulder and tracing the seam of Shaw's sports bra with her teeth. "She didn't like that."
"She should be used to it," Shaw chuckles, pushing her chest into Root's face. "We all have to share."
Root doesn't answer. Instead, she lifts herself again, pulling a hand free to push up the tight bra and expose Shaw's breasts. Her weight shifts back onto her legs and she takes the elastic of the bra in both hands moving it up and out of the way. Running her hands down Shaw's breasts, Root rests them on her stomach.
"Do you still sleep with other people?" Root asks, her voice and face soft. She traces a hard nipple with the tip of her finger. "I haven't really noticed."
Shaw shrugs, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement. "I don't. What's the point? You're always up for it."
"Hey," Root laughs, the sound filling the room. "I'm not always up for it. Just… usually."
Slowly, Shaw starts to unbutton Root's shirt, but her hands get slapped away. Root drops forward again, taking Shaw's nipple in her mouth and swiping a hot tongue over it. Shaw sighs, closing her eyes and settling in for the long haul. Warmth spreads through her, and she moans softly at the feel of Root's mouth.
The apartment is quiet except for the sound of Shaw's breathing. She grips Root's hair, tugging until she gets a grunt of pain. The hardest part of taking it slow is having to wait her turn. Shaw wants to flip them over, cover Root with her own body, and kiss every inch of her. Root slowly kisses the soft underside of Shaw's breast and Shaw shivers, her willingness to wait returning.
Root sits up and wraps her fingers around the top of Shaw's shorts. She slides them back and forth, rubbing her knuckles along Shaw's stomach. Shaw frowns, stomach twitching at the touch. She raises herself onto her elbows, and looks up at Root. Root just shakes her shoulders, her fingers continuing to tease.
"Can I help you?" Root asks, raising an eyebrow. "Something you need?"
"I need you to take my shorts off," Shaw answers. She squints at Root. "Too complicated for you?"
Root's head tilts to the right, and Shaw waits for the Machine's input. It still feels odd to have an invisible third party present in their relationship, but Shaw is pretty much used to it. There isn't a Root without the Machine, or a Machine without Root. It's just another part of the whole.
"She says no," Root sighs, smiling. "Not yet."
Groaning with fake annoyance, Shaw drops herself down. Root scoots back, half her body end of the couch. Hands spread over Shaw's thighs, fingertips pressing into muscle and cold skin. Shaw pulls her legs up, knees toward her chest, and Root starts kissing the sensitive inside of her thigh.
It doesn't take much to get Shaw going. She jokes about Root always being willing, but she is, too, really. Crossing her arms over her chest, she pulls her bra over her head. It catches on the sloppy bun she tied up earlier, and then it's gone, falling to the floor. Shaw turns her attention back to Root.
A wide, flat tongue runs up her thigh, stopping just inside the loose leg of her shorts. Root bites, teeth scratching, and Shaw sucks in air. Soft kisses cover an old scar across her femoral artery, a close call she almost didn't survive. The whole team got medical training after that. Root switches to the other leg.
Here, she nips her way up to the back of Shaw's knee, and licks the ticklish fold. Shaw jerks her leg, almost kicking Root with her foot, and scowls. Root's soft laugh fills the quiet apartment.
"So sensitive," Root laughs. "You should work on that."
"I'm fine. The back of my knee doesn't get licked very often."
"Hmm," Root hums, reaching for Shaw's shorts again. "Maybe I'm the one who should work on it."
She pulls the shorts down, pulling them and Shaw's underwear down. It's easy, and they go the same way as the sports bra. Root covers Shaw's body with her own. The shirt she's wearing bunches between them. The buttons stick into Shaw's stomach and chest, and she grips the extra fabric at the side. Root is skinny and the shirt is wide.
"You're so warm," Root breathes. "No clothes on and you feel like a furnace." She brushes her lips against Shaw, pulling away when Shaw opened her mouth. "You're too hot. Hot damn. Remember that song?"
Shaw rolls her eyes. "You're so dumb."
"She'll play it for you later."
Root finally kisses Shaw. Shaw strains her ears to hear Root suck in air through her nose. Years of gunshots and explosions have changed her hearing in strange ways, but she doesn't want to lose any of Root's details. The tip of Root's tongue flicks against her bottom lip and Shaw opens her mouth, deepening the kiss.
Root's long, delicate hand reaches down between them. She brushes her fingers between Shaw's legs. They're cold, and Shaw jumps, gasping into Root's mouth. All the kissing and touching and pressing has made her wet, and Root's fingers easily slide around her clit. They warm quickly.
Shaw's eyes are closed as they kiss, and she focuses on the feeling of Root. The expert touches between her legs, the warmth growing between them as Root's weight rests on her, the wet heat of their tongues together. Root shifts, and cold air comes flooding between them. Shaw moans at the sudden chill.
The fingers between her legs move to her entrance and Root dips the tip of one inside her. Shaw is already so open, legs wide under Root, one foot hooked over the back of the couch. Her hands are clutching Root's shirt, grounding her. Root pushes two fingers inside suddenly and Shaw gasps, opening her eyes, back arching, pressing harder into Root's chest.
Sometimes they still have complicated sex, with rules and safewords and set-up. They close the door, keep Cub out, and spend hours working on each other. Sometimes, like now, they just take it easy and Root moves her hand in and out of Shaw, gazing down with focused eyes. Root kisses Shaw quickly and then drops her head to Shaw's breast.
Root's fingers are moving too slowly, and her teeth are barely grazing Shaw's skin. It's maddening, to be so close to Root and not get what she wants. Shaw drops her head to the side, fingers tugging at Root's shirt, and pushes her chest up.
"I don't have all day," Shaw lies, legs wrapping around Root's waist. "You can pick up the pace."
Root laughs, head lifting. Her eyes are crinkled with mirth, fine wrinkles exaggerating her humor. She is starting to get crow's feet, and the lines around her mouth get deeper. Shaw wonders when Root would start to go grey, but for now, her hair is still a rich chestnut brown. Root smiles down at her.
"I know for a fact we have all day," Root chuckles, "but I'll help you out."
She curls her fingers inside of Shaw, making her groan. Shaw gasps as Root starts thrusting her fingers again, somehow hitting the perfect spot every time. The Machine is probably doing math in Root's ear, helping her along. That is a part of it all that Shaw is definitely grateful for.
Root's mouth brushes against Shaw's ear, making her realize she'd closed her eyes. Grunting when Root's thumb brushes against her clit, Shaw tries to open her eyes again, but she can't. They squeeze shut on their own, as heat starts to pool in her stomach.
"She says I should fuck you with the strap-on," Root says, her voice sweet as honey. "It's been a while since I've been that deep inside you."
Shaw moans, grabbing Root's waist and bucking her hips against Root's hand. "Just wait," she breathes. "I'm so close."
Root hums, the sound vibrating between them. "I don't know. She's pretty insistent. Something about you pressed against a wall, me sliding into you from behind."
The image makes Shaw groan, mouth dropping open as her muscles started to shake. She'd never admit it, but she loves it when Root takes control. When she and the Machine plan together, and it's two-against one. Shaw gasps, and Root nudges her head to the side, planting wet kisses against her neck.
It only takes another moment for Shaw to come, her body tightening under Root's, jerking against her hand. Root bites down, the pain shooting through Shaw's body and clouding her mind even more. She shudders, against Root.
As Shaw's body calms down, Root pulls her fingers out and lifts them to her mouth. Shaw watches as she slides them between pink lips and licks them clean. Root's eyes gleam, and she looks like trouble. She usually does. Squinting, Shaw releases her grip on Root's shirt and tugs Root's hand from her mouth.
"You think you're so great, don't you?" Shaw teases, trying to look annoyed and failing. "You're too smug."
"I think I'm just smug enough." Root lets Shaw knock her hand aside and sits back, letting cold air fill the space between them. "I'm good at what I do."
Snorting, Shaw scoots backwards, sitting up on the couch. She pulls the hair tie from her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders, messy and tangled. Root just watches her as she shakes her hair out.
"If we're doing this again, we're moving to the bedroom," Shaw says. "I'm too old to be bent over a couch."
"I already told you what She wants," Root answers, raising an eyebrow. "I'm going to fuck you against a wall and then we're going to eat pizza."
"Oh," Shaw breathes, dropping a foot to the cool, wooden floor and starting to stand. "I don't remember agreeing to that."
Root's eyebrows raise, and she looks up at Shaw. "Am I going to have to convince you?"
Shaw heads for the bedroom, not bothering to pick up her clothing or look over her shoulder. She is more than comfortable with her body. She knows that years of scars only add to her beauty, and Root loves tracing each and every one. She also knows that Root is always going to follow her, especially when kisses and orgasms are involved.
"If you can pin me to the wall," Shaw says as she crosses the living room floor, "you can have me."
Root's laugh fills the apartment and the wood floor creaks as she stands. "I already have you, Shaw, but I do like a challenge."
"Looks like we're not having a lazy day off after all. Cub, get off the bed."