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1.
It starts in the CIA safehouse. If Shaw could look back and pinpoint the exact moment where things had begun to shift, it would've been then:
Root, on her knees in front of her. The slight coldness of the wall against her back, the silky feeling of Root's hair in Shaw's hands as she held her there. The discovery that Root's mouth had some use that wasn't just to irritate Shaw.
Later, Root ziptied to the one bed in the apartment. Shaw's mouth all over, biting, sucking, licking, learning the sounds the other woman made and what garnered the best reactions. And then, of course, teasing Root for hours, because they had time to kill and really, Root deserved to be left high and (not) dry for all she'd done to Shaw.
The sun was almost risen by the time Shaw finally let up her teasing, and made Root come undone for the first time with nothing more than a perfectly timed flick of her tongue against the other woman's clit and a well aimed curl of her fingers inside her.
Root screamed in ecstasy because of course she was loud, and then fell mostly silent for next hour or so as they waited out their time.
Needless to say, neither of them got any sleep that night.
2.
The second time doesn't happen until Alaska.
They've only got seven hours to kill this time, and in a shitty motel room rather than a CIA safehouse. Shaw’s buzzing with leftover adrenaline, and they barely step into their room before she's grabbing Root and slamming the door shut behind them by pushing the other woman against it.
Root has a shit eating grin on that only grows bigger and smugger the longer they just look at each other, her eyebrows quirked up in mild amusement. Shaw decides to kiss it off her. It works pretty well, she thinks as Root’s jaw slackens, mouth opening eagerly to invite Shaw to deepen the kiss. Root lets out this little sigh as Shaw swipes her tongue across her bottom lip. On instinct, Shaw shoves a thigh between the other woman's legs.
Root grinds against her eagerly, breaking the kiss with a gasp. Shaw uses the way Root throws her head back to her advantage, kissing and nipping her way along Root’s jaw; down her neck to her sharp collarbones. She pulls back to absorb the sight in front of her, Root flushed and disheveled, and briefly considers leaving her like that. Root’s eyes flutter open, confused, and Shaw reaches up to run a finger along the scar behind her right ear.
“Sameen,” Root murmurs, shivering a little.
Her pupils are blown wide, and they're close enough that Shaw can feel the way Root's chest rises and falls in time with the rapidness of her breathing. Root’s breath hitches a little as Shaw moves her hand, turning the other woman's head so that she can see the scar there. Root is practically putty in her hands and if Shaw were the type to get scared, the fact that that realization makes her even more turned on would be something that scared her. But she's not and it doesn't, and she lets the charged moment stand for a little longer.
“Looks like it's healing well,” Shaw says, her voice rough with arousal.
Root’s lips quirk up, delighted by Shaw’s care. Before she can get out whatever sappy, cheesy comment that'll completely ruin the moment that's on the tip of her tongue, Shaw pushes Root’s jacket off and wastes no time tugging off her shirt, too. Root starts pushing them backwards until Shaw’s knees hit the end of the bed. Then she's on Shaw’s lap, grinning wolfishly at her. Root’s hair forms a curtain around their faces, and it's cloyingly intimate in a way that makes Shaw’s skin itch, just a bit. It hits her then that this is, objectively, a terrible idea, because Root is obsessive and possessive and all sorts of things that could lead to this blowing up spectacularly if she got the wrong idea. But Shaw’s got her three night rule, and Root’s admittedly pretty good in bed, so why not? It's just sex. Nothing that they haven't already done before.
“Sameen,” Root whines, squirming a little to try to alleviate her arousal.
Shaw smirks a little at the other woman's frustration, and then begins working at her pants. And of fucking course Root’s wearing the tightest skinny jeans imaginable.
“Off,” Shaw growls at her.
“Yes ma'am,” Root responds, a shit eating grin once again plastered to her face as she slides off of Shaw's lap to do as told.
Shaw rolls her eyes a little, but grabs at Root all the same as soon as the other woman's completely naked. As Root pushes her back onto the bed once more, any ethical concerns Shaw might've had about giving the other woman the wrong idea promptly fly out the window.
-
Later, Shaw finishes her nightly routine in the bathroom. They'd gotten pizza after they'd finished; they now only have a little over four hours, which means that they need to try to get some sleep. Shaw exits the bathroom, and takes a moment to absorb the scene in front of her.
Root, still naked with a blanket around her hips, sitting up in the bed. There's a furrow in her brow as she examines her nails; Shaw can smell fresh nail polish, too. She lets her gaze drift idly downwards to Root’s bare chest, involuntarily letting out an appreciative sound. It's low, but Root somehow hears it, turning towards Shaw and exaggeratedly stretching her arms above her head. Shaw forces her eyes away from Root’s breasts, giving Root an unimpressed look.
“We got any extra bedding?” Shaw asks, and at Root’s curious look explains, “Floor’s gonna be pretty cold, but I've slept in worse places.”
“Yeah,” Root nodded towards the cabinet in the corner, “But you don't have to sleep on the floor, Sameen.”
Shaw tenses, “I don't do sleepovers.”
Instead of making some condescending remark about semantics, Root merely raises an eyebrow, and says, “I meant that I could take the floor. Like you said, I've slept in worse places.”
Shaw blinks at her, confused. She shakes her head, “No, I've got it. Besides, I'll be closer to the door.”
Root sighs airily, tossing a pillow at Shaw, and teases, “My knight in shining armor.”
Shaw had caught the pillow, but at Root’s comment, tosses it back at her, narrowly missing the other woman's face. Point made, she goes to set up her makeshift bed for the night.
But as Root kisses Shaw’s shoulder on her way to the bathroom, Shaw ignores her first instinct to shove her off.
She tells herself it's for the mission– after all, it wouldn't do for them to be at odds with each other when they'll be in Miami later that day, and tend to be on the same side more often than not these days.
3.
It's not quite sunrise yet by the time they're done at the Decima fortress. They steal a car with plans to swap it for another (stolen) car closer to the city before dawn. But for now, they're pulled over on some dark hill, and Shaw is straddling Root in the passenger seat.
Root looks up at Shaw with wide eyes. Shaw can't see much of her facial expression beyond that, but there's something about the near manic desperation in Root’s eyes that's making her own actions more frenzied than usual.
The seat is reclined as far back as it'll go. Still, it's cramped and uncomfortable and also admittedly one of the best fucks of Shaw's life. She's decided not to question that one too much. It's easy not to, at any rate, with her hand down Root’s pants. The angle isn't quite right but Shaw admittedly paid enough attention during their previous encounters to know when something is working for the other woman, and somehow, this clearly is. Root’s hands alternate between grabbing at Shaw's hips, her waist, her ass. (Another thing that Shaw’s noticed: Root really, really likes her ass.)
It had been the adrenaline rush (only the adrenaline rush) that had led Shaw to finding the nearest, darkest spot to pull over. They'd somehow achieved the impossible, and given themselves all a chance at survival. It was a truly heady adrenaline rush. And then one thing had led to another, with Shaw scrambling across the console to get on top of Root.
Root had had this look on her face then, in the dark. Something quietly relieved and maybe a little amused, like she'd had the same idea but had been hoping that Shaw would come to that idea all on her own. It maybe should've been irritating, or concerning, or something. But mostly it had just made it all the easier. Root had gotten with the program fast, reclining the seat and Shaw had climbed back enough for Root to undo her own pants, wiggling them down her thighs enough for Shaw to get her hand in her underwear at that angle.
And now, here they are. Night three. Shaw had never told Root about the three night rule, and now she never would, because when Samaritan went online they'd all go their separate ways. The thought makes her chest feel tight, the car suddenly hotter and more cramped than it already is. Her rhythm falters, slightly, and Root grasps her wrist, stilling her entirely. They stare each other down in the small space, both panting heavily, and Root’s grip on Shaw is gentle; the look on her face is as serious as it is absolutely wrecked. Shaw feels a spark of something like pride at that. It's always nice getting one up on Root, after all.
“The Machine talking to you?” Shaw asks after an uncomfortably long moment of silence.
Root shakes her head, “No. Keep going, if you'd like.”
Shaw swallows, throat suddenly dry. She can't pinpoint what, exactly, she had missed, but it feels like she must've missed something. Root taking Shaw’s brief lapse in concentration as hesitation, maybe. That must be it.
Satisfied that she'd successfully connected the dots, Shaw speeds up her movements, each touch and thrust more purposeful than the last.
(It won't be till much, much later that she will understand what that purpose actually is; for now, making Root come undone is purpose enough that she does not even think to question it.)
4.
As it turns out, the three night rule was a rule made to be broken. At first, Shaw tells herself it's for practical reasons, really. Root doesn't usually come by just to fuck… though usually whatever information she has to give is irritatingly cryptic. And if Shaw decides that she wants to fuck out her frustrations (at Root, the Machine, her job, her life), then Root is always game.
Then they get their subway hideout, and Root continues to flit in and out of their lives as she pleases. Shaw tells herself then that it's because it's simpler this way; when an all seeing evil robot overlord is out to kill you, it makes sense to only fuck people you trust. And then she wonders, briefly, when exactly she had started trusting Root.
But it doesn't matter, not really. Nothing matters when she's got her hand or her tongue or both between Root’s legs; in the subway, a work bathroom, an alleyway, a safehouse (or two, or three), a car, a cheap motel where the bed springs squeak in a way that’s so cliche that Shaw has to roll her eyes. And it definitely doesn't matter when it's Shaw on the receiving end, in those same places.
Sometimes, Root looks at her like she's studying her as she fucks her. It's always vaguely uncomfortable and bordering on creepy and it always leads to Shaw pushing Root off, distracting the other woman until she's so out of it that she fucks Shaw with efficiency and a singleminded determination afterwards, no intense staring required.
As the days/weeks/months pass, it becomes harder and harder for Shaw to remember why she ever had that three night rule in the first place.
5.
It's not that she hadn't noticed before that something fundamental had shifted, but the first time she's unable to ignore it is after they finish decontaminating stolen vials of a deadly virus.
They find themselves in yet another motel room. The heater doesn't work right, and there are water stains on the ceiling. The bedspread is yellowed with age and has been long since pushed to the floor. They're on round two now… or is it three? Four? Shaw had lost count somewhere between the wall and the ugly green carpet floor and the bed.
In the end, it doesn't really matter. That manic desperation in Root had long since well and truly bubbled over. She's bolder and clingier than she's ever dared to be with Shaw, biting hard enough to leave marks and drawing out every touch until Shaw is biting her own lip to keep herself from begging Root to just fucking get on with it already. She tells herself that it's the two orgasms she's already had mellowing her out causing her not to flip Root over, take control and put an end to whatever weird energy has settled over them. It's there in the room, almost a tangible thing, pulled taut like a rubberband about to snap.
It's after a particularly rough bite on her collarbone and Root finally putting her fingers inside of Shaw and fucking her intensely that Shaw thinks, fuck it.
“Root,” she gasps out.
Root slows her rhythm, cocks her head to the side and studies her. Shaw swallows, forces herself to push down the discomfort she feels.
“Yes, sweetie?” Root finally murmurs.
“I'm not,” Shaw swallows, throat suddenly dry, “Not going anywhere.”
Root’s breath hitches again, and her eyes are wide, wet, and vulnerable. It makes Shaw reach up and thread a hand into her hair, kissing her until she relaxes. Root’s face is unreadable when she pulls back.
“Okay,” Root sighs. Her lips are kiss swollen, and her hair is a mess, and she's as hot as Shaw’s ever seen her.
“It's not exactly like Finch or Reese would let me take Bear, after all,” Shaw teases, biting back a smirk at the affronted look on Root's face.
Root’s eyes narrow, and she's pouting slightly. Nonetheless, the tension in the rooms seems to be dissipating as intended, and Shaw relaxes slightly.
She stops relaxing when Root informs her, “I'm not letting you come again till you beg me.”
Shaw grins. Game on.
-
Later, after they've cleaned up, Shaw looks at Root. She's half asleep in bed, starfished out and naked save for the sheet tangled around her that’s not even fully covering her legs. Shaw finds herself adjusting the sheet and nudging at Root’s prone body. Root turns her head to shoot her a questioning look.
“Scoot over,” Shaw demands, and then adds, “And don't make a big deal or I'm leaving.”
Root nods, doing as told. Shaw settles behind her, not touching. Root’s back is tense, as if she's ready to leave. Or be left. And Shaw has no real idea why she's even doing this, because she feels so very out of her element, except that Root’s been eeyoreing more than usual lately. Defining whatever the hell it is they're doing isn't a good idea; Shaw knows this, knows that inevitably she won't be enough for Root and it'll blow up in their faces. Root would eventually get hurt, and Shaw is angrier at the thought of Root hurt than she is irritated by the realization of it all. So really, it's for the best if they either keep going as is or stop completely– and Shaw will do the latter if Root tries to force a feelings talk.
Shaw might not understand feelings very well, with her lack of firsthand knowledge– and besides which, Root’s feelings are messy and volatile and loud in a way that's probably more intense than most people's. She can't give the other woman much in terms of touchy feely shit, but she can give her this; sleeping in the same bed, approximately eighteen inches of space between them. She finds herself wanting to give Root this, even as she knows it's probably inadequate.
But Root’s body is slowly relaxing in front of her eyes, drifting off to sleep. It's only once Shaw’s sure that the other woman is asleep that she tries to go to sleep herself.
In the end, it really does take all night.
1
Real: Shaw and Root live together. It's a two bedroom apartment, giving them both space needed when one or both of them needs to be alone, without the need for anyone to be exiled to the couch.
Not real: before they had defeated Samaritan, Root had an apartment.
She hadn't. She'd slept in safehouses, motel rooms; squatted in empty apartments and lived in places that let people pay weekly. And she'd never felt more at home than she had living in the subway. Until now, that is.
They mainly sleep in the same bedroom in their apartment. It's Root’s, garishly purple with an awful shag carpet and a lava lamp that she'd taken from the subway after they'd gone back. There are clothes everywhere, no matter how many times Shaw tells her that she won't sleep with her if she doesn't clean them up. It doesn't bother her nearly as much as she should that each time she caves, she enables Root more.
She still doesn't trust that Root won't be hurt by this, but she does trust that Root won't try to change her– even if that’s what ends up hurting her. After over 7,000 simulations and too close calls, they've decided to try. It's not a normal life, not by a long shot; at best, it's a poor mimicry of one.
Root still flits in and out, sometimes gone for months at time. They share Bear, and invite their friends over for dinner. There are guns in the fridge next to the milk. The closet in Root’s room is 70% weaponry, 30% clothing, and Shaw's closet in her room is an entire arsenal, no clothes to be found. Root uses her laptop for all manner of illegal shit but also to rope Shaw into movie nights she pretends to hate more than she actually does, and Root never calls her out on it.
It’s real, and it’s good, and even when they fight they still choose to come back to one another.