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“Your guy is most likely to hit here,” Root says as the screen zeros-in on the coordinates covertly sent to her from the Machine earlier that day.
Shaw leans over Root’s shoulder to get a better look at the computer, and the locks of hair that had escaped from her ponytail during this morning’s scuffle with their number brush against Root’s shoulder. She gets the faint smell of her own shampoo tinged with Shaw’s natural scent, and fleetingly wishes for the umpteenth time that Shaw had woken her up before showering so that she could have joined her. But every morning that Shaw stays the night in Root’s apartment, she is as quiet as possible as she dresses, presses a quick kiss onto her cheek at the kitchen counter where Root is leaning half-awake over her morning cup of coffee, and slips out the door. It isn’t an altogether bad way of waking up, being kissed gently by one’s—girlfriend? No, too intimate—but Root would be lying if she said she wouldn’t appreciate more time together. Maybe even time that wasn’t happening simultaneously with a shootout.
It was lucky, therefore, that Root’s duties tracking down relevant numbers entangled with Team Machine’s irrelevant of the week. When she breezed into the subway that afternoon, she could swear that Shaw even looked a little pleased.
“How sure are you?” Shaw asks as she squints at the map on the screen.
“Seriously?”
Reese shakes his head as he pipes up, “She’s right, Root. We can’t risk that he might go to one of the secondary targets in a completely different borough.”
Root shoots them both a dubious look and asks sweetly, “After all this time, are you really still doubting Her calculations?”
With a pointed eye roll, Shaw responds, “I’m just making sure. I don’t think any of the Upper East Siders would appreciate their walk to the organic grocery being flattened by a bomb tonight.”
“She’s sure.” Root swings around in Harold’s chair and walks over to retrieve extra ammo for her sidearms as she continues, “I’ll make sure the cartel after your number is otherwise engaged while you two secure the explosive. Assuming all goes according to plan, we can meet back here just in time for Chinese takeout.”
“Shall I call Detective Fusco for backup?” Harold inquires as he reclaims his chair in front of the monitor.
“Our captain has been on his back about a case I’m supposed to be interviewing a witness for right now,” Reese tells him with a stoic shake of his head. “It’s just us.”
“Sounds fun,” Shaw says with a grin. “Let’s go, Reese.”
As they pass Root, who is busy assembling her weapons, Shaw instinctively rolls onto her tiptoes to press a casual kiss onto Root’s cheek.
Root freezes, a wicked grin splitting across her face as she feels her ears burn red. She watches as Shaw stiffens, just then realizing what she did and where they were, while Reese looks between the two of them with a smirk. Root doesn’t even have the ability to call after her with some witty comment to further Shaw’s undoubted embarrassment.
“That was… sweet,” Harold mutters with an air of humor without turning away from his computer.
“I wouldn’t describe Shaw as anything but,” Root says in a chipper (albeit somewhat blocked) voice as she holsters her weapons. “See you later, Harry. Oh, and don’t forget to grab dinner. The Machine already placed our order.”