"Paul Weisman is going to be walking through the front door in five minutes thirty-three seconds," Root said into her cell phone. "You might want to think about being out of there by then."

"I thought we had another fifteen minutes to get this done," Daniel said, the sudden increase in stress making his voice crack.

"He returns to his office early less than five percent of the time. I guess you're just lucky. Tick-tock, Daniel, tick-tock." She rang off to face Shaw's irritated gaze.

"Thought there was a job," she said.

"Don't worry," Root said, all sweet and sharp, and all too suggestive. "I'm all yours." She felt a slightly sick pleasure in the way it made Shaw flinch minutely away from her. It might hurt, it was a pain she that she could use, and a pain that was a punishment for how stupid, *stupid*, she had been to…

It was a dual purpose reminder and weapon, and, really, how couldn't that be a good thing?

Silence reigned for a few minutes as they got into position.

"Now remember…" Root said.

"Yeah, no guns. I know."

Root dropped silently to the ground and flitted towards the warehouse. Behind her she could hear the crunch as Shaw impacted the guards at velocity, and couldn't help an almost fond smile from crossing her lips.

There was definitely a reason why She kept pairing her with Shaw. At first, she had thought that maybe… But, no, they just worked well together. God had just known how well they'd mesh. That was all.

The final guard in front of her objective proved no match for her taser. He didn't even hear her before he dropped twitching to the ground. She walked over to the telecoms panel, unslung her backpack, retrieved her toolbox and got to work. A few minutes later she heard quiet footsteps coming towards her, knew even without looking that it was Shaw.

"Clear," Shaw said.

"A few more minutes, and I should be done here," she said.

The silence lasted maybe a minute before Shaw said, "Who was it that you called?"

Root took a moment to smirk at her. "Why? Are you jealous? I thought that you didn't get that way about people. Especially not little old me."

Shaw scowled at her, but didn't back away and Root returned to her work.

"Times are changing, the threats are evolving, and She needs more than what just I can accomplish. So I've got myself my own little band of helpers. Satisfied?" she asked as she finished wiring in the taps. She surveyed her work, just to make sure that a casual inspection wouldn't reveal anything amiss, then replaced the panel.

"Ready?" she asked Shaw as she got to her feet.

Shaw ignored the question. "What are we stealing this time?"

"Cash. High value portable electronics. That kind of thing," she smirked at Shaw. "Wouldn't want any inconvenient questions about why there was a break-in here." She reached back into her backpack, and pulled out one for Shaw. "Here, this is for you."

Dancing down the aisles of the warehouse felt curiously like choosing presents for Christmas at a mall. Not that she'd ever done that as a child - even when her mother had been healthy, they'd always had to make do. But it felt like the way she'd always imagined, where everything was just there for the taking, and she knew where all the best gifts were.

The hardest part was remembering that Shaw wasn't there as any kind of friend, just a colleague.

Five minutes elapsed, and She chirruped in her ear. "Time to go," she said to Shaw.

Shaw didn't say anything, just lugged her almost full backpack to the car they'd stowed nearby. Didn't say anything until she had been driving for almost five minutes.

"Been thinking about what you asked, back in the cage," she said. "About my moral code," she added when Root looked blank.

Oh yes. That. When trying to make sense of her captivity had been her top priority.

"Come to any conclusions?"

"Went through a bad patch at middle school, high school. Got involved with…" she shrugged. "Only limited amount of people who'd accept a girl like me. Went on until I met someone who got me to take a look at my life." Shaw looked off into the distance. "She was a good person. Helped people. I decided that I wanted to follow in her footsteps. Hence doctor, soldier, operative." She paused. "Killing always came easily to me, so I always made sure that I had someone to tell me when I could do it, and when I couldn't. A control."

"That can't be what She wants me to learn," Root said. "I already have the best person possible - Her."

Shaw shrugged. "I've had several. Now I'm picking my own. Maybe that's what she wants you to learn."

"To pick a human, flawed, prone to biases and irrational behaviour?"

Shaw shifted away from Root and stared straight ahead. "You asked. I answered. Said I wasn't the right person."

Root studied Shaw. Despite how uncomfortable this was for her, she was clearly trying… to do *something* for Root.

And just the thought of that caused Root's chest to twist up inside. She'd accepted Shaw's indifference, that the whole *thing* had been a mistake. But Shaw showing signs that she might actually care? That wasn't fair. It wasn't, it wasn't, it was… probably time for Shaw to stop the car.

"Pull over here," she said. "Unless you want to take me to wherever your new place is."

Shaw quickly and efficiently parked the car. "Yeah," she said, looking at Root with dark eyes. "I'd hate that."

Root refused to read into that. She absolutely refused to. "Be seeing you," she said, smiling tightly as Shaw exited the car.

Regardless of the betrayal at the end, the job for the bratva ensured Root's fledgling reputation in the New York underground. The revenge she orchestrated afterwards, with the help of Jim, didn't hurt either.

All of which meant that she started getting offers for similar jobs. Complicated. Satisfying. And, unfortunately, often involving murder.

Root wasn't yet in a position where she could pick and choose her jobs, so she investigated her targets before accepting any contracts. Many of them were criminals themselves, who Root felt few qualms about preying on. And most of the rest of them were people in positions of authority. If she looked hard enough, they were almost always guilty of something.

When she crunched enough data, most people were.

The first few contracts were the hardest, both in terms of figuring out the best practises and emotionally, but Jim helped. Both in terms of practical experience and just having someone there she trusted, someone experienced, who wouldn't flinch at what needed to be done.

They worked well together, so well that Root could hardly believe it.

Between the two of them, their star began to rise. And between the two of them, their dynamic slowly started to change. For the first time since… for the first time since Hanna, Root had someone who she trusted.

He made her feel safer just by being around.

It was after the completion of their sixth job that they first slept together. It wasn't that there had been any unexpected wrinkles - it had, in fact, been perfect encapsulated within Root's contingency planning - but it had necessitated a few very long days for the both of them, and Root was feeling drunk on both exhaustion and the cocktail she'd had to celebrate. Jim had insisted on walking her home, her real home, the apartment she lived in when not on a job, and they had gotten to the door and…

Well, Root was struck by the idea that this was where they'd kiss if they had been out on a date, and before she knew it, she'd followed up on the idea with the appropriate action. Things flowed quickly from there and before she'd really known it, they were next to her bed and Jim was looking at her and asking, "Are you really sure?"

The whole thing was a stupid idea, and Root would never normally have even entertained the idea of screwing her partner, but… But in that moment, she just really wanted to know what it was like to have sex with someone she trusted, and so she nodded.

Between the exhaustion and everything, the first time wasn't exactly great, though Jim did manage to get the job done. They did try a few more times, before mutually deciding they worked far better as friends and colleagues than anything else, and left it at that.

But, still, the experience marked Root and their fling, far from damaging their relationship actually made her trust Jim more.

Root woke with something that was entirely far too like a scream for her tastes. She was also wet.

And she wasn't alone.

Instinct had her gun in her hand - along with a sharp twinge to remind her, yes, injuries - before she recognised Daizo sitting across from her. Very apologetically holding a half empty bottle of water, and flinching away from the pistol.

"What," she said, the only word that she could muster right at the moment.

"You were having a nightmare," he said quietly, looking like he was attempting to sink through the floor of the van. "So I… I didn't want to shake you, but I didn't know what else to do."

Root holstered her gun, and tried to grapple with the fact that she had gone to sleep around him at all. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, it was just… Root didn't have a problem with playing the submissive, acting like she was at someone else's mercy, but there was a large gap between that and *actually* making herself that vulnerable.

God whispered, giving her instructions and she found herself cradling her new ear like the promise it was; that she'd never be without Her presence again. *That* was why she'd fallen asleep. She hadn't been vulnerable at all. That and the trauma from her injuries, but there wasn't much she could do about that. She checked her bandages, to make sure they were still dry, then slid into the front of the van and started up the engine. They had places to be.

"If you don't mind me asking, what were you dreaming about?" Daizo asked, still looking downwards.

Root almost flinched at the question, but smiled at him instead. "The usual. What's going to happen if we fail," she lied smoothly. No harm in giving her helpers a little extra motivation. And she categorically didn't want to discuss her actual dreams, didn't even want to think about being back in that cage, strapped down. Only this time when Control loomed over her instead of talking about the Machine, she had smiled and said, "One syringe for every person you've killed or had killed. And when we run out of those," she flashed her scalpel in front of Root's face. "We'll just have to improvise." Root had tried to keep quiet for as long as she could - she had - but… but…

She tightened her hands on the steering wheel to keep them from shaking. It didn't matter now. The only thing she could do was the only thing she was doing - to serve Her as best she could, serve perfection as well as her damaged hardware and fallible, bug-ridden code could.

"If you ever want to talk to anyone…" Daizo started, flashing her a quick, shy glance. "I've been told I'm a good listener," he added with a bit more confidence.

This time her smile felt easier, more natural. "That's sweet," she said. "But I'm more worried about you. How're you holding up?"

He straightened up. "I'm fine," he said quickly, then shrugged after a moment. "I'm missing my friends, my family, my country. And this whole…" he gestured around him, "is so new. I feel like I'm stuck in a spy movie." He cocked his head. "Or a heist movie. But I'm alive," he said, smiling at her. "Thanks to you."

The near naked admiration being shown her made Root laugh uncomfortably. "You're important, Daizo. You're going to help save us all."

"If there's anything more I can do, anything for you personally, just let me know."

The sincerity in his words left Root speechless for a minute. She couldn't remember the last time someone said something like that to her, and she couldn't help feeling touched. Not touched enough to relax her guard, but still…

And at least now her hands had stopped trembling.

"Thanks," she said, then swiftly changed the subject. "How are you doing with that chip?"

It was only luck that saved her life. A car back-firing at precisely the right moment caused her to turn her head instinctively, to see…

Jim bringing his gun to bear on her.

She almost died anyway. It was only a combination of training, by Jim of all people, causing her to drop combined with shock turning that drop into more of a fall that saved her. The first explosion scored a line of fire across her right shoulder, the other retorts, deafening her with echoes in the confines of the alley, missed.

The next few seconds were a blur, a collection of snapshots of pulse-pounding terror, of scrambling on all fours, of somehow, *somehow*, surviving. The next clear memory she had was of cowering behind a dumpster, clawing her pistol out of her holster with her left hand, trying not to giggle because *Jim* was the person who had insisted that she always carry it with her on a job, listening as hard as she could to try and divine Jim's next movements.

She had to get out of here. She was wounded, bleeding, blood soaking through her sweater, starting to drip to the ground. Every moment she stayed trapped here, she shifted the odds in his favour. And even without that, there was the simple fact that he was by far the more experienced combatant.

She forced her breath to slow, glanced around to take account of her surroundings. The metal dumpster gave her some good cover, and, now that she had her gun out, made coming after her risky at best. On the other hand, if she tried to make a break for either end of the alley, she'd be exposed.

She was trapped.

She almost started giggling at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, that Jim, Jim the person she trusted more than anyone else in the world, was trying to kill her. Almost started giggling because she couldn't quite believe he hadn't managed to succeed.

And then anger bubbled up inside. How *dare* he do this to her? How *dare* he betray what they had?

He wasn't going to get away with it, she swore. If it was the last thing she did…

That was when the idea struck her. Very quietly she reached inside her backpack, retrieved her laptop and fired it up. She heard some movement from the other side of the dumpster, stuck her hand up and let off some shots, more to make sure that he kept his head down than in any real hope of hitting him.

She just needed a few more minutes.

She logged onto her computer, and opened up one of her specialist programs, one that broadcast messages on the police band, and sent out an officer under fire alert with a nearby location. She let off a few more shots, then sat back and waited.

She had never been so grateful to hear the sound of sirens. She waited until she could see the reflection of flashing lights on the wall of the alley and cautiously stuck her head out. She didn't get a bullet in it for her effort.

The alley was empty as she'd known, she'd hoped, it would be, and she managed to escape in the confusion. She started to make her way home, to at least bandage her shoulder and decide what to do next, before she realised that of course, of *course*, he'd be waiting for her there.

She could never go back there again, she realised with a slam to her stomach. She had no idea who he might have told about it.

She found a dark corner to sink into as an unexpected flood of tears wracked her, for her lost sanctuary, her lost friendship, for the fact that she had been so, *so*, stupid as to believe that she could ever have anything more.

Afterwards, drained of emotion, she clambered to her feet and did what she did best - she started to make plans about how to solve the problem at hand.

And a couple of weeks later, she had Jim where she wanted him, facing the other direction whilst she had her gun pointed at his centre of mass, no mistakes and no way out.

"Why?" she asked.

"It was nothing personal. It was just you or me. I like you, but…" He shrugged, and she could almost picture the easy smile that was in his voice.

"It's you," she told him, and fired.

After that, whenever she needed muscle on a job, she made sure to always to hire anonymously, to never meet them in person, to never expose herself. She might not have ever worked as well with them, but she never wanted to make that mistake again.

And she never had a permanent home again. That had been a mistake, a flaw in her planning, to ever have such a fixed centre to her operations. She made sure to move around regularly, and she made sure to live light.

If she didn't have anything, it couldn't be taken away from her.

"Four hours until we fly out," Root said, handing Shaw a bottle of water. Proper hydration was so important, as she was sure Shaw would agree. She flashed Shaw a smirk as she opened the door to the motel room that was their very temporary base of operations here in Anchorage. "You might want to catch some shuteye. We've got another date in Miami."

Shaw took a long swallow from the bottle. "You always this busy?" she asked.

"Some days I even get *rushed*," she said. "Why, are you hankering for your old job back?" The thought sent an unworthy, wistful thrill through her, and a part of her ached to hear Shaw say yes. "I'm sure I could find a position for you," she said, her voice dropping low, attempting to cover for herself.

To her surprise, Shaw didn't flinch away, didn't move away like Root had been expecting. If anything, she leaned in a little, letting her eyes rake over Root's body with a heat she could almost feel. "Got another use for the hours. Guaranteed to be just as therapeutic."

Danger, danger, wheeled through Root's mind crazily, as she found it hard to breathe. She couldn't do this, she just couldn't. She refused to let herself fall into that trap again. Bolstering herself by remembering the look in Shaw's eyes when she'd shut the door on Root when… when, she drawled, "Breaking your rule about one night stands, Sameen? I'm touched," she said, her smirk sharpening, "But not surprised."

Because if there was anything she was sure would guarantee that Shaw backed away from this… this whatever this was, it would be not just reminding her that this wouldn't just be a one-night stand, but also that telling her Root knew that this was more than that. She couldn't think of anything more designed to make her flinch, draw back.

Which is why she was utterly surprised when, after studying for her a moment, Shaw leaned in to kiss her hard.

No.

No.

No.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go, Root managed to think as she returned the kiss just as forcefully, biting Shaw's lip hard enough to make it bleed, make her mouth flood with copper. This wasn't what she wanted she thought as she founding herself palming Shaw's breast as Shaw growled and moved her mouth down to Root's neck with an accompanying sharp, sweet pain.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go at all, was her last coherent thought before she became preoccupied by other matters entirely.

Afterwards, she lay bonelessly on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Shaw was curled up tightly next to her, not doing anything as sentimental as throwing an arm across her, of course, but pressed tightly up against her regardless.

She was still so weak, so fallible. She shouldn't have let that happen. She shouldn't want to stay here until it was time to leave. She shouldn't want more.

All this was a dream, an aching, hurting dream that she couldn't afford to let herself believe in, and she needed to protect herself, remind herself of the brutal facts of the matter. Shaw didn't want her, not like that, and no amount of… anything would change that.

Time to start cutting her losses. Not to mention convincing herself of that fact. She pushed herself up from the bed and started to get dressed.

Shaw lifted her head up, and watched her wordlessly, but Root could feel the pressure from her anyway.

"Just some last minute things to take care of," she said as she finished, then smiled sharply as she walked to the door to the room. "Don't worry, I'm not going to get clingy about what just happened."

The cool air outside greeted her like a slap and, for a moment, she wondered if she was going to break down crying. But the moment passed, and she started off across the sidewalk at a fast clip, trying to outpace her feelings, trying to leave Shaw back in the room behind her.

She only mostly succeeded.