Root's recovery was quick, much to Shaw's dismay. Certainly quicker than the former agent had hoped, and much quicker than the former doctor had thought would happen. In just 3 weeks after they rescued her Root was already up and moving, flitting about the subway nervously like a caged bird. Shaw and Finch watched her cautiously – Finch, because he was afraid she would damage the delicate equipment in the car with her slightly clumsy movements (and because he remembered all too well what the hacker was like the last time she was caged, for lack of a better word, under his care), and Shaw because she was afraid Root might just end up doing more damage to herself. Despite the still casted arm and the foot in a boot, Root was more than eager to go above ground and start doing what she could to bring their fight to Samaritan's doorstep.

'Bringing the fight to Samaritan', however, meant resuming her duties as the Analogue Interface.

And resuming those duties meant returning to the one-woman missions the Machine often sent her on. In this case, it meant taking a private plane to Sao Paulo in a few hours.

Alone.

"No", Shaw said for what had to be the hundredth time that morning. The millionth time since Root had started insisting that she had to go. "There's no way you're getting on that plane, Root. There is no way you're going there, without back up. You're in a boot. Your arm is broken in three places. You have a pacemaker!"

The hacker practically floated over, placing a kiss to a grumpy pout. Finch huffed and politely averted his eyes, becoming accustomed to the very minor displays of affection between to two women. (And a few not so minor ones, but he has learned to stop spending nights in the subway now that Root has recovered enough to move around on her own.) Reese and Fusco had to hide their smirks behind their respective breakfasts, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Shaw. In fact, once Root pulled back, Shaw snatched the burrito out of Fusco's hand.

"I'll be fine Sameen. She said there's only a 17% chance of me getting hurt."

17.98%, the Machine chirped in her ear.

"Well, 18% if we're rounding up."

Root then floated away once more, narrowly avoiding Shaw's free hand that was reaching to grab her around the wrist to continue to go around the subway and collect the things she felt – or was told – were necessary for the mission. She threw a gun, several extra clips of ammo, a full grenade belt, a neon roadguard's vest, some sunscreen, a few very scant outfits, and a pair of impossibly high heels (that should would in no way be able to wear) into a nondescript black duffle bag that was slung over her shoulder.

They had been having the same argument for a week, Root and Shaw. Ever since Root had told the rest of the team that she fully intended on going through with the Machine's mission, it had been more or less the only thing that had been talked about. Whether it was heated discussions over takeout Chinese food for dinner, hush-toned arguments between Finch and Root while they worked on code together in the subway car, or ardent protests between two lovers while they were tangled up with each other late at night, the subject of Root's imminent departure had been the most popular talking point amongst Team Machine.

"I'll only be gone a few days. I just need to meet with a contact and I'll be right back. Maybe I'll even get you a gift in Brazil, Sameen."

"I don't want a gift", Shaw grumbled around a mouthful of sausage and eggs. "I want you to stay here."

"I know, shnookums. I would love nothing more than to stay here in bed with you. But the Machine needs me to get a little information first. If everything plays out, this information will lead us to Greer. Greer gets us to Decima, who can lead us to Samaritan. And if we can get to the heart of Samaritan… well. I think you know where this is going."

Finch stood slowly, and hobbled his way over to their makeshift kitchen. He started to prepare a cup of tea, knowing full well that all the eyes in the subway were on him and using the rare moment of silence to try to gather his thoughts.

"I agree with Ms. Groves", he said slowly.

A resounding and unanimous what? was loud enough to bring a sleepy Bear wandering over from wherever he had been hiding prior.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Finch? You actually think this is a good idea? A month ago she almost died!"

"She is standing right here. And she is fine. I'm doing this, Sameen."

The argument erupted from there, as it had every time in the past. Shaw yelled and raved, stormed around the subway, she knocked things off of counters and tables and kicked anything unfortunate enough to be in her way, including but not limited to Bear's food and water dish, Fusco's best work shoes, Reese's glass of water, and a very carefully catalogued stack of books that Finch had placed near the couch. Root, on the other hand, finished packing up her bag and sat down calmly in a nearby desk chair for the duration of Shaw's mini-meltdown. She picked at her nails, and fiddled with her sling, and hummed along to the radio that was droning on somewhere in the background. She certainly seemed unaffected by the chaos around her, even when Shaw stomped up to her and got in her face, still ranting.

In the end, however, everyone knew that there wasn't really any way that they could stop Root from going.

Which is how Root and Shaw ended up on the tarmac of a small airport in the middle of a sticky, hot, miserable day as a private jet chartered straight to Sao Paulo was being fueled. Shaw held Root's good hand with both of hers in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, and Root dipped her head to place her forehead against the shorter woman's.

"I'm going to be fine."

"What if something happens?", Shaw said quietly. "What if your pacemaker malfunctions, or your infection flares back up? What if you land on your foot wrong or twist your arm the wrong way and I'm not there? What if I'm not there?"

"There are doctors in Brazil, Sameen. If anything happens, She'll make sure I get to someone that can help. But it won't come to that, because I won't let it."

"But it won't be me. It has to be me."

"Do you think I'm going to finally get you to admit that you like me, just a little bit, just to go die in South America?" Root smiles, and Shaw almost returns it. "Not likely."

Shaw moves her hands up to either side of Root's face, and Root raises her good hand to trace the finally yellowing bruise around her eye with a gentle thumb.

"You come back", Shaw chokes out. "You come back here, okay?"

And then Root is kissing her, because she knows that it's as close to an I love you as Shaw will give her. And yet it means so much more, in that moment and always.

"Okay", she finally says.

"I promise I will always come back to you, Sameen."

The streets of Sao Paulo were sweltering. Root knew that it would be hot – she had been to South America before, was almost positive she had been to Sao Paulo before as well, she had read the weather reports like any savvy traveler – but she had no idea it would be this hot. She had removed her sling and her boot, at the Machine's insistence, leaving her limping and sore but overall a bit cooler. Even in just a pair of shorts and a light, loose v-neck, Root could feel the sweat running down her neck and back. As she made her way through the crowded streets, scanning the crowd for the man she was supposed to be meeting, she couldn't help but hear Shaw's disappointed voice in her head.

Look at how bruised your foot still is, she would say. And she would be right, of course, as it was a nasty constellation of purples and blues snaking its way up above the top of her shoe.

Then doesn't your shoulder hurt?, she would ask. And it did, her arm heavy with the plaster cast still keeping her shattered bones in place.

But she couldn't think about that now. She certainly couldn't think about Shaw now. Couldn't imagine her worried voice, her concerned eyes, her gentle touches and reverent kisses. She had to do her best not to think about the person that Shaw was when she was alone with Root. Not if she wanted to complete her mission here.

The target is approaching, the Machine chirped, pulling her from her thoughts. He is 200 feet south of you.

Root slowly spun, peeking out above the top of her sunglasses and trying to catch sight of the target. There were hundreds of people walking around. The shops that lined the streets were filled with tourists and locals alike, browsing booths and haggling with shopowners. Root raised an eyebrow.

"Care to help a girl out?"

Yellow shirt, the Machine helpfully supplied.

With that hint she spotted him, approaching from the south and wearing a yellow polo shirt just as the Machine had said. He was a handsome man, most likely in his mid-30's, with curly brown hair hidden by a raggedy ballcap and a neatly trimmed beard. He swaggered in the crowd with his hands in his pockets and the air of a man that was a little too confident for his own good.

Javier Oliveira, a lead researcher for Decima Technologies Sao Paulo Office. He will have access to the entire employee registry as well as the location of all Decima offices and officials. Oliveira also developed the system that spread Samaritan's servers worldwide, and therefore will be able to pinpoint the location of the probable killswitch to the entire system.

"So", Root drawled out, sipping on a Caipirinha as she watched Javier stop and talk to some lost looking tourists, "how do we get that information from him?"

He has revealed to me a pattern of attraction to clumsy tourists, the Machine said.

Root had wondered, at times, if the Machine had learned sarcasm from her experiences with people over the years. Sadly she knew that that wasn't the case here – it was no wonder the machine had instructed her to remove her boot, and her sling, and apply sunscreen to avoid the tan she always earned rather quickly in the sun. To anyone on the street she was just another tourist, another American traveler, a clumsy woman roaming the streets of Sao Paulo with her typical touristy drink in her good hand and a map clutched in the other.

Finishing the drink, she sighed heavily. There was no way this could end well.

"Shaw is going to kill both of us."

Root made her way through the crowd, not taking her eyes of her target. In a calculated movement – that came off to anyone around her as a harmless stumble – Root tripped on her bad foot and right into the arms of Javier.

"Oh my goodness!", she said, channeling a bit of her Texas upbringing into every word. "I am so sorry! This damn bum ankle-"

Just then she looked up and locked eyes with him for the first time.

(Root liked to think that in a different life, she might have been an actress.

Hacking computers was hard. Even for her, with her experience, with the voice in her head, she still hit those walls and found those systems that were just plain difficult.

People, though… people were easy. With just a little information from the Machine, or before the days of the Machine with a little old fashioned research, she could work miracles. She had literally brought down companies, powerful men, powerful woman, and almost an entire government, with a well placed smile and a carefully cultivated accent.

Javier Oliveira would be no different.

A sweet southern girl drawl. A carefully planned fall into his arms, a light bump of her cast into his leg. That combined with the innocent look in her eyes when she looked up into his, and she knew she had him hooked. Not that she was at all happy about that.

She was positive that, if everything went the way that she predicted that it would, Shaw might literally kill her and the Machine. And most definitely Javier.)

"Oh", she said again, softly. "H-hello. Um, olá."

"Olá, bonita. Você está bem?"

Root had to resist the urge to roll her eyes – she spoke Portuguese fluently, along with a myriad of other languages. Not to mention she had an all-powerful, all-knowing artificial intelligence in her ear. Instead she played dumb, widened her eyes and looked around, confused.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry. I don't, uh, I don't speak Portuguese. Do… do you speak English? Você… pode falar em… uh, em Inglês?"

Javier finally released her, laughing fully as he helped her right herself. It was a happy laugh – a charming laugh, even.

He will ask to take you to a café 2 blocks away for coffee, then to show you around the city. He will invite you to his home for drinks. Inside his home there is a computer attached to a private server to which I do not have access. Objective acquired.

"I do, bonita. Javier", he said has he extended a large hand. "And you are?"

Root extended her own hand and smiled as sweetly as she could. Oliveira took her hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss. His beard was rough against her hand and his lips were slightly chapped; she instantly misses Shaw even more. She could see him subtly looking her up and down, and checking her left hand – hanging uselessly at her side, the fiberglass of the cast making her itchy in the unwavering heat – to make sure there was no ring there. Or the tan line of a ring. Of course, there was neither.

"Rachel."

"Well, Miss Rachel. You seem as if you are here for an authentic Sao Paulo experience, and who am I to keep that from a beautiful lady? A few blocks away there is an amazing café that has the best espresso you'll ever have. Let me take you, please, and I can show you all of the best parts of Brazil, hidden away."

Pretending to contemplate, Root tilted her head from side to side. Then she smiled that sweet smile again, was sure the sparkle reached her eyes even if she didn't at all feel it.

"That sounds great."

To his credit, Javier was actually quite the tour guide. The café he brought her to indeed had the best espresso she had ever had. He took her to Ibirapuera Park and the Niemeyer building, to a dozen colorful local shops and bars, and ended their busy day at Vento Haragano, an amazing churrascaria in the middle of the city, where he paid for her very expensive dinner despite her persistence that she could do so herself.. By the time they had their desserts, Root's foot was making her miserable. Her arm ached, her head ached, and the freshly healed muscles of her abdomen were begging for a rest. But she was unable to listen to her exhausted body – she had an objective to complete, after all.

"So, bonita. Shall we have an night cap? My home is not far from here."

She wished so badly that she could find another way. She wished that there was a way to get the information. But if there was a better way to get what they needed than going home with him, she was sure that the Machine would have come up with it already.

Did she hate that she was about to willingly sleep with a man that she had just met, knowing that a few thousand miles away Shaw was angrily filling the seconds until Root was back? Of course she did. She hated it so much that she could feel her blood boil.

But she hated Samaritan more.

So less than half an hour later she was being lead to the elevator of a lavish apartment building, up to the top floor where Javier had promised her a few drinks and then to take her back to where she was staying, a shitty hostel downtown. And less than an hour after that, enough drinks in her system to make her care just a little bit less than what was about to happen was happening, Javier was slowly working his way closer to her on the plush couch they had been sharing.

His beard scratched her while they kissed. It had been a while since she had been with a man – honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she had even had to sleep with someone at the Machine's insistence, and the last few times it had been women – and it was an unwelcomed reminder as to why she personally preferred the fairer sex. Javier reached up and tangled a hand in her hair, and moved his other to her chest, and it was all wrong. It was too gentle. It was too needy.

It wasn't Shaw.

When they had sex, Root had to put an honest conscious effort into keeping herself present, for his sake. He talked to her throughout, a strange mixture of English and Portuguese, and all it did was make Root miss Shaw's whispered Farsi in her ear, across her skin, between her legs. She did finally ask him to be rough with her, to leave his mark if he so choose, but immediately regretted it – he left bruises and hickeys and evidence in places that she knew Shaw would see later. In place that she wished more than anything Shaw would leave them, if she still wasn't so concerned that Root was too fragile for it. She kept him riled up and occupied far longer than she wanted to, but only because the Machine urged her to do so.

Hours later, he was finally asleep, a smug grin on his face even as he slept. And Root just wanted to cry. She quickly dressed and slid out of bed, not at all disturbing the man next to her. Using the Machine's instructions, she made her way to the computer on the private server that was in his impressive study and poured all of remaining energy into hacking through the admittedly difficult firewalls and getting the information she needed. By the time she had finally made her way through, the sun was starting to rise.

Javier would be waking soon, she knew. So she completed the transfer, disposed of all evidence that she was even in his apartment in the first place, and limped her way to the elevator. Once the doors closed, she collapsed to the floor and cried.

Though the Machine had allotted her some time to explore more of Sao Paulo should she want to, Root instead decided to move the date of her flight back up to that same morning. Less than 24 hours she spent in Brazil, but she couldn't stand being in that country a moment longer than was necessary.

Shaw was at the airport to pick her up, as she promised to be. Root had never called her to let her know that she was coming home early, but she assumed that either the Machine contacted them on her volition or Harold had figured it out – it was his jet they were using, after all.

When she stepped down on to the tarmac, she reflexively wrapped her scarf tighter around her. It was hot in New York, just as it had been when she left, but she didn't want anyone to see what Javier had done to her. Especially not Shaw. Not that Shaw said anything about her ridiculous outfit. She just looked genuinely happy to see Root, a smile on her face that Root rarely got to see, and greasy bag of undoubtedly Root's favorite burgers in one hand and Bear's leash in the other.

It all just made her feel so damn guilty.

Shaw was not her girlfriend. Her and Shaw were… not those types of people, and they both knew it. They both knew that sometimes their line of work lead them to do some questionable things, some immoral things, and they accepted that about each other. But none of that explained why the sight of Sameen – beautiful, smiling, a light in her eyes only Root ever got to see – just made her want to break down.

"Couldn't live without me, huh?", she asked as Root slowly walked up to them.

You have no idea, she thought. She wanted more than anything to just run into her arms, to go back to the subway with her. To kiss her and hold her, to do all those things that Shaw claimed she hated but always seemed to do without prompting or argument. She wanted to just be near her, be with her, but instead she stayed where she was a few feet away and stared blankly at a space above Shaw's head.

When Root didn't say anything, Shaw raised an eyebrow. She noticed, for the first time, that Root was wearing long pants and a jacket, a scarf pulled tightly around her. She also noticed that her boot was off, and her broken arm not in it's sling. Shaw herself was in jeans and a tank top, her hair bundled into a loose bun high on her head, and she was sweating.

"Aren't you hot? Are you feeling okay?"

Root jerked away from the hand that reached for her forehead.

"I'm fine", she mumbled. Root tried to walk around her towards the terminal, but Shaw grabbed her gently around the wrist when she attempted to brush past her.

"Root."

"Sameen, please, I'm tired-"

"Root. Look at me."

So look at her she did, not having the energy to hide the tears in her eyes. Shaw softened, and moved both of her hands slowly up to the scarf around Root's neck – she was afraid Root would stop her, and treated her the same way she would a skittish creature. It was an apt comparison, she felt. Root just looked up into the sky, not wanting to make eye contact, as Shaw carefully removed the fabric.

There were bruises on her neck. Some were barely there, some were a deep purple, some had teeth marks. Root, accepting her fate at this point, lifted the hem of her shirt up and exposed similar marks there, across her hips, intertwining with the fresh scars there from when, not too long ago, the other woman had put her back together. Shaw regarded her seriously, going from her eyes to each of the fresh marks with a million thoughts running through her mind. Of all the things she had expected the Machine to want Root to do while she was on another one of her one woman suicide missions, fucking information off of someone certainly wasn't one of them. She definitely didn't think that Root would actually go through with it, even if that was what the Machine wanted from her.

Having seemingly no control over herself, and feeling the droves of anger and disappointment coming off of Shaw, Root started sobbing. She tried to tell her why, why she had to do what she did, but she couldn't form a coherent sentence in between her cries.

And it wasn't as if Shaw needed to ask questions to know what had happened in Sao Paulo. She threw the scarf and the bag in her hands on the ground and turned on a heel to storm off, Bear following dutifully behind her.

"I hope you got what you needed, Root."