Work Text:
Shaw’s boots rattled the narrow staircase as she trudged down into the subway, hands numb with cold and stuffed deep into her coat pockets. It was barely edging into December, and already she was sick of the icy weather, much less the festive overhaul on every street, the red and gold and green neon lights that lingered even when her eyes were pressed shut.
Yeah, Christmas was an eyesore as far as Shaw was concerned. Nothing more than a sweeping hysteria, feebly held back by Thanksgiving, which was a sham holiday in its own right.
And just when she thought the next half hour might actually bring some peace—Shaw turned the corner.
Root was balanced precariously on a stepladder, heels and all, as she hung tinsel across the roof of the subway car. Her smile was overly bright as she turned her head to watch Shaw approach. “If it isn’t Santa’s favourite elf.”
Shaw had half a mind to kick the ladder out from under her.
“Harold know you’re making his nest into a holiday special?” she asked instead, looking around to take in the full picture. LED string lights were tangled in a pile on the bench, and there were five stockings hung over the arch on the far wall; Shaw felt nausea gather at the back of her throat.
“I thought the place could use some colour,” Finch’s voice drifted from inside the car. She could see him hunched over his desktop through the window, fingers skittering over the keyboard. “After the year we’ve had, God knows a little holiday cheer might be in order.”
“Nothing says cheer like two nerds in a hole,” Shaw answered dryly. “Taping socks to the wall. Ho-ho-horrible.”
Root gave her an exaggerated pout as she moved down the ladder with a handful of red tinsel. “Somebody spent their formative years on the naughty list.”
“One all-seeing entity is enough for this group, thanks. Isn’t that half our problem?”
“Samaritan’s an evil superintelligence with plans to subjugate humanity, Sameen. I think there’s a little wiggle room for old Saint Nick.”
Root met her at the door to the subway car, smiling, and waved the bristly tip of fabric across Shaw’s nose. “Besides, I already got you a present.”
That sounded promising. Or foreboding; Shaw wasn’t always sure what to expect where Root was concerned. “I swear to God, if it’s a tacky sweater…” Shaw left the threat hanging, but smacked the tinsel away with a scowl when it made her nose itch.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Root said slyly, scrunching her nose up and glancing over her shoulder at Finch’s back through the window. Which meant heavy artillery or lingerie, so Shaw’s mood was decidedly on the upswing.
She gave Root a sidelong grin, and then tried to hip-check her out of the way to get by. First things first, the numbers. It wouldn’t be Christmas without a family feud or two before dinner.
But Root blocked the doorway, arms outstretched to either side and holding onto the open doors as she leaned out. She batted her eyes and cast a slow, meaningful glance above their heads.
Shaw’s eyes went up, and her eyebrows came down like steel shutters. Someone – a tall, obnoxious, insufferable someone – had duct taped a sprig of mistletoe to the ceiling of the car.
“Spirit of the season,” Root murmured, almost shyly.
She had the tinsel thrown around her neck now, dangling over each shoulder, and it wasn’t sexy at all. Not even cute, just ridiculous. Much as Shaw liked the feel of Root’s soft lips against her own, those agile fingers digging into the small of her back, nails biting as Shaw opened her mouth-- giving her what she wanted at this stage would be positive reinforcement, and what Root needed was a rolled up newspaper to the nose.
Shaw stepped forward and looped her hands around the accessory, yanking down abruptly so that Root’s head dipped into her eyeline. Any harder and the band would snap, but Root let herself be drawn in without resistance, a soft note of surprise leaving her mouth as she exhaled. What she’d been expecting, Shaw couldn’t say for sure. An eye-roll, a brusque shove back through the doorway. Sometimes it paid to be consistent for a while – kept them off their guard.
“Close your eyes,” Shaw said quietly.
And Root should have known, must have known, that it was never quite so easy. She used to kill people for a living, ruin their lives from behind a keyboard, and sometimes she still got a little too zap-happy with that lousy taser. All that, and yet Shaw pulled out a smug, playful grin, the one that seemed to come a whole lot easier than it used to, and Root’s face zig-zagged from one microexpression to the next like she was flicking through a deck of cards.
A few seconds passed but she closed her eyes, lips parting fractionally.
Shaw was feeling generous. She pulled on the strands a little more and Root took the hint, leaning down and forward so the angle was just right. Her face was so close, Shaw could feel short puffs of breath against her cheek. She let their noses brush, sighing softly, and tipped her head up sharply to catch Root’s lips in a hard kiss.
Root made a helpless “mmf” sound, immediately letting go of the subway car doors to throw both arms around Shaw’s back. One hand ended up locked around the nape of her neck, holding Shaw’s head in place while Root eased her mouth open eagerly. Her other hand fell flat against the small of Shaw’s back, fingers splayed out and sliding down by increments as time ticked by.
Finch’s typing seemed to escalate in speed from somewhere in the car, and the keys clicked a little more aggressively to indicate his discomfort, but Shaw wasn’t too bothered by that. She let Root cop a feel for a while, let the kiss linger and skew a bit dirtier than she’d meant it to. And when she was good and ready, Shaw let go of the tinsel and wrapped her fingers around Root’s forearms, steering her sideways and out onto the platform.
Root let herself be moved without a fight. They separated for a minute to breathe, and Root’s eyes were still closed as she exhaled, keeping Shaw close enough that their foreheads pressed together.
Shaw had turned them both on the spot, a full one-eighty, by the time Root got her bearings and moved in for another round. Their lips brushed, Shaw smirked into the contact, and one hard shove sent Root stumbling back from the doorway, almost tripping over her feet before she caught herself.
“Oops,” Shaw said, and slammed her palm over a button next to one of the doors. The mechanised panels shuddered and propelled shut with a flourish, right in Root’s wide-eyed face. There was no way to lock them, but she’d made her point.
Root didn’t say a word as Shaw snatched the mistletoe from the ceiling and crushed it under her heel, relishing the crunch of berries underfoot.
“Is that really necessary?” Finch asked, having turned his chair around to see the damage. “Please… don’t let Bear eat the carcass, he’ll choke on the leaves.”
As if she’d let anything happen to her favourite teammate.
There was a tapping at one of the windows, and Shaw looked up to see Root drawing a lopsided semi-circle on the other side of the glass with bright red lipstick. Finch looked at the window too and shook his head at them both, probably resigned to knowing he’d be cleaning this all up before John and Bear returned from their mission.
Root’s circle turned a sharp corner at the bottom and looped around into a heart. Shaw stared at the monstrosity, and Root winked – tried to wink – before drawing a straight line, an arrow, jutting out from each side. With a smile, she capped the lipstick and strolled away across the platform, disappearing into her makeshift bedroom.
Shaw blinked once, twice, and turned to face Finch, who was gazing pointedly at one of his many screens rather than at her.
“So, Harold,” Shaw tucked her hands back into her coat pockets and kicked the crushed mistletoe towards his chair lazily. “Who’s getting murdered for Christmas?”