Chapter Text
//Searching for asset…
//Asset Sameen Shaw found…
//GPS lock acquired...
//Location New York City, New York, USA
“Good morning lover,” an attractive brunette with sleep tousled hair and heavy lidded brown eyes murmurs when her eyes flicker open. Sameen Shaw, former ISA assassin and professional vigilante takes about a quarter second to process what she is seeing before rolling away from the woman reaching for her and out of the bed.
There is a Heckler and Koch USP Compact on the nightstand next to the bed and she sweeps it into her hand as her feet hit the floor and she backs away.
Shaw takes in her surroundings in an instant; a moderately sized bedroom, Queen-sized bed, dual vanities side by side and a walk-in closet and some sort of chain mesh curtain hanging in the open doorway. The walls are a neutral off-white, popcorn ceiling in the same shade and carpet thick enough for her feet to sink into without feeling the floor.
The other woman, the Machine-crazy hacker Root Shaw realizes, remains calm, slowly sitting up against the headboard, an arm keeping the sheets up and covering her obviously naked form. Root locks eyes with her, no hint of a smirk, blush or quaver in her stare.
"Root," Shaw growls, slowly resettling her fingers on the grip of her pistol and weighing the pros and cons of simply shooting the woman here and now.
"Sameen, you must be wondering what is going on and I promise that I have all the answers that you are looking for. I am not going to ask you to put your gun down, but I would ask you refrain from shooting me until I have answered your questions."
"Like I would trust anything you say, you crazy bitch. You zapped me with a taser and drugged me twice not to mention leaving me to die in a hotel room. And don't call me by my first name."
"Sameen," Root continues as if she hadn't heard what Shaw said, "what is today's date?"
“Uh, March 4th, 2013." Shaw had no idea what was going on but it was nothing she liked. She didn't know Root quite like Harold did, but Shaw thought she had a pretty good handle on how Root's brain worked most of the time and she could realize that there was something off about this whole situation. Root was crazy, but she always had a method to her madness and Shaw could not see what her game was here. Or, for that matter how she had even gotten into her bed in the first place.
Root did not help a thing when she let out a sad sigh, sagging back against the headboard with some unreadable expression. Not really feeling emotions was a benefit most of the time, Shaw thought, but she really wished she could tell what the other woman was thinking. Shaw had no idea what was going on, but there was nothing to like about this scenario, from their complete nudity, to the soft, restrained tone Root spoke in.
"Sameen, I am going to tell you some things that are going to be hard to accept and I would ask that you simply listen with an open mind. In the meantime, why don't you put something on?" Root said, pointing to a silk robe that hung off the back of a chair by the vanity. Root slipped off the bed, slipping on a black silk robe that just barely covered her ass and moved into the next room, returning a moment later with a phone.
Shaw cautiously accepted the device when Root offered it, eying it warily. Root was a technical prodigy, equally skilled at causing mayhem with both electrons and bullets so Shaw regarded the phone with a good deal of suspicion.
Root sat down on the near side of the bed and spoke, completely unruffled by the pistol aimed at her.
“First of all, my full legal name is Samantha Shaw and the date is not March 2013, but December 15, 2018."
Shaw waited a beat before letting out a short, mirthless laugh. "Of course it is. I am going to get dressed and leave now and if you follow me I will shoot first and ask questions later."
"Sure thing, but before you do, I would ask you to check the date on your phone first. You are going to have to open the window to get a signal though."
Shaw tried to find some angle to the question but found none, so she nodded. Shaw cautiously brought the device back up and flicked a thumb across the screen.
“Zero-six-two-four,” Root said when Shaw shot her a look.
The phone unlocked and Shaw opened the window like Root had instructed and immediately opened an internet browser and checking the local news of Normal, Illinois. The date read 6:23 Saturday, December 15th, 2018, which lined up with what the phone’s date stamp said if she was in New York, which the phone said she was.
“You faked your death and quit the ISA to join a band of vigilantes guided by a benevolent AI five years ago. Another hostile AI was developed soon after and you were captured and tortured. Your memories have been...unreliable since then. Some days you remember more than others.”
A thousand questions came to mind, but the one that fell from her lips was “why do you have my name? You aren't my long lost sister or something?"
Root gave her a smile that was filled with more incomprehensible emotion. “No, I am not your sister; I am your wife,” and those last four words struck all questions from her mind. “We have been married two years, thirteen days now.”
‘My…wife,” Shaw repeated after a long moment. Her lips formed the words with discomforting ease, the total lack of mental alarm bells going off around this beautiful stranger itself setting off alarm bells. And as if those two words were some kind of counterspell, she finally noticed a pair of glittering gems set into the bands of two suddenly almost uncomfortably heavy silver rings on her left hand.
“If you will look in your phone I think you will find answers to most of your questions," Root said when Shaw returned to Earth.
Eyeing the woman carefully, Shaw brings the phone back up and thumbs to the home screen and a video immediately starts to play.
"The first thing you need to know is that everything that I'm about to tell you is 'blue templar.'"
‘Blue templar’ was her safeword, telling Shaw that if the video wasn't legitimate then it's creator had very good intelligence on her.
"Second, your name is Sameen Shaw and the woman who most likely sitting across from you is your wife, Root." Shaw is filming herself in a tank top and boxers on the bed and turns the phone around to show Root, smiling and offering a wave. A pair of rings matching hers glittering from a finger. Root's smile is wide and genuine, turned from where she was sitting at the vanity.
"The third thing you need to know is that you were diagnosed with variable anterograde-retrograde amnesia on November 1st, 2015 after receiving a gunshot to the head in the basement of the NYSE." Video-Shaw brought the camera close to her forehead and she could see a faint, puckered scar just below her hairline, about the size of a nine millimeter bullet. Shaw's free hand rose almost unconsciously to gently prod the ridge of skin, having to physically touch the scar to believe it.
"You can take most of what Root says as fact, although depending on how much you remember she will try to convince you that you don’t mind it when she plays her jazz too loud on the sound system.
"Fourth, there are two things you don’t share; your food and your clothes. Do NOT let Root convince you to wear any of her underwear. She will just end up molesting you somewhere awkward.
"Finally, listen to Root. She knows you better than you know yourself. The world has changed a lot in the past two years and the rules have changed with them. You may not like some of the things Root will ask you to do but you must trust that she loves you and knows what is best.”
The video ended and Shaw was left staring blankly at the background image that made it look like Root was trapped behind the screen.
“You need time to process,” Root said with authority. “Take as long as you need. I will have pancakes and coffee ready when you come out.”
Root slid off the bed and disappeared through the door. Looking back down at her phone, she saw a folder titled “Important! Read First” with three subfolders, “People,” “Her” and “Journal.”
The “People” folder had dossiers on various agents of the Machine, knowing or otherwise and the Machine itself of course. The files contained brief summaries of their history and her relationship to each of them. It was very her, Shaw had to admit, clinical and to the point, getting the information required across as efficiently as possible.
It took her thirty-four minutes to absorb the information and leave the bedroom, retrieving a pair of blue striped boxers and a black tee from the floor by the nightstand. That was something that was comfortably her.
There was a steaming mug of coffee sitting at the bar as Sameen slipped onto the stool tucked under the bar and gratefully sipped at the perfectly made drink, one cream, one sugar, just how she liked it.
Sameen watched the other brunette flit around the kitchen. She'd thrown on a cream apron embroidered with sky-blue forget-me-nots, a look that Sameen reluctantly admitted worked for her.
“So we are in lesbians,” Sameen said to Root’s back after a moment.
“You really do like that line, don’t you. You give it most times you don’t remember us.”
"And that is something we need to talk about."
"I thought you might want to have this discussion sooner or later."
"Yeah. I have to admit a large part of me wants to shoot you right now. But the stuff on my phone makes a pretty compelling case. So I am going to give you one chance to tell a story that convinces me that we really are in love." Shaw punctuated that statement by moving her right hand into sight, setting the butt of her Compact on the counter, barrel pointed at Root.
Sameen Shaw had not risen to be one of the top operatives in the Activity by trusting easily, as in the words of Robert Hersh, there were two kinds of ISA agents, the paranoid and the dead. She couldn't imagine what kind of game Root was playing, what kind of intelligence or access she possessed that would still be of value if it actually was 2018, but just because she couldn't figure out what Root's endgame was didn't mean there wasn't one.
Root sighed and leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms under her breasts.
"The first time we had sex you were hiding out in an abandoned subway station because your cover was blown by a malevolent AI called Samaritan that was trying to kill us all. The first time we made love was in Homs, Syria after we had tracked down and killed an arms dealer who had gotten his hands on some nuclear launch codes. We got married in Vegas after getting drugged and drunk while looking for a number.
"You once said that you and I together would be a four-alarm fire in an oil refinery and we are, along with so much more. We are a team, partners through and through Sameen. We have both gone through hell and high water for each other, killed for each other. But that is not what you want to hear. In fact I am pretty sure there are no words that that will convince you of the truth."
"So what are you going to do to keep me from shooting you then?"
"Show you that words were never our strong suit," Root said quietly, padding slowly around the bar. Root ignored the way that the barrel of Sameen’s pistol tracked her as she moved and dug into her ribs when she was settled onto Shaw's lap. It was, as with most things concerning the other woman, a situation where her mind and her body had vastly different ideas of what her reaction should be. Internally, she wanted to throw the brunette off her lap and to the ground but her free hand just settled on Root's hip.
Then Root wrapped her arms around Shaw's neck and kissed her. Shaw’s mind immediately filled with static, electricity filling her body, moving on instinct and muscle memory as the pistol thumped to the floor in to fill her hands with the brunette. Root's mouth is hot and hungry and wet, teeth nipping at her lips until she is granted access. Their tongues clash, pushing, pulling, allowing exploration and demanding it at the same time.
One of Root's hands tangles in her hair as one of hers slips under Root's robe, squeezing Root's ass as her other arm snakes around Root's waist to pull her closer. Sameen can feel every part of Root, from her firm thighs to taut stomach to the swell of her breasts capped by incredibly aroused nipples that her thin silk robe does nothing to conceal, but it is not enough. Sameen's nails dig into the meat of Root's ass and the bone of her hip and someone moans.
It wasn’t until Root broke the kiss that her brain cleared, although her hands remained on Root’s silk-covered hips.
“What… what was that?” Shaw asked when her breath returned to her.
“That was us, sweetie. You and me. You don’t always drink coffee anymore because all you say you need as a kiss from me to get you through the day.”
That was the exact kind of sappy bullshit that Shaw had always despised, but if that was what kissing the other woman was like all the time… She had felt chemistry with lovers in the past before of course, but nothing that even came close to what just happened.
Sameen Shaw is not a romantic woman. She does not enjoy long walks on the beach and does not lose herself in kisses, but she found herself breathless and unable to look away from Root. She didn't know how long they sat there but Shaw's legs started to go to sleep by the time that her higher functions reengaged and she realized what she was doing.
"Well. I guess I'm gay now."
Root cocked an eyebrow. "That was quick."
"Well, I can honestly say that I have never been kissed like that before." Sameen’s heart was still racing and her lips tingled.
Root smiled and ran her fingers through her wife’s hair, nails lightly scraping her scalp. Sameen did not moan at the way Root's nails felt like they were about to draw blood but the heat in her belly that Root's first kiss had ignited made it very hard not to.
"Now as enjoyable as this is, I really need to flip those flapjacks before they burn."
An uneven silence settled over the apartment, Root humming to herself as she pulled the bacon off the heat and replaced them with eggs while Sameen wondered at the bizarrely domestic air that settled over the apartment. It it had been a long time since she had thought of having a home life, not since she became a Marine.
She didn't do relationships, she didn't do mornings after. She didn't do anything that should end with the person who was as close to being her nemesis as anyone had come since boot camp cooking her a very balanced breakfast after sleeping with her. If she was being honest with herself, she still wasn't sure she believed what she was experiencing, except for the scars, her hand involuntarily going to the one on the left side of her forehead just below the hairline.
Sameen was just placing her Compact back on the counter when Root did a neat little twirl and deposited a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her with a smile, sliding onto her lap and offered Shaw a fork, shoots Root a look, Shaw cocking an eyebrow in turn.
“Sorry. I should have asked what your dial was set to first.”
“No, it’s okay,” Sameen said, picking up her fork, her free arm remaining around Root's waist.
The 'her' folder in her phone had been all about Root. One of the files had described how she and Root had worked out a scale for how comfortable she was feeling on a particular day, one being no contact and ten being full-on kink. “I think I’m feeling about five right now.” That news caused Root's smile to falter before Root forced it back, just a little bit brighter.
“I have to say, you are doing better accepting a larger time period than usual,” Root told Sameen, causing the latter to shrug.
“It feels right. You feel right.” Sameen regretted the stupidly gooey, raw honesty that had slipped past her filters when Root got a positively dopey expression. The hacker ate the piece of pancake that Sameen was about to eat and slid off her lap flitted across the kitchenette, giving off such a domestic air that she both gagged and did not.
To tell the truth, she was still feeling quite wary of the hacker, but at the same time she meant what she said about Root feeling right. Not to mention that as a former covert operative for one of the most secretive government programs the world, she was pretty good at spotting lies and Root wasn't telling any as far as she could tell.
Shaw brought her plate to the sink, allowing her body to go on auto-pilot, letting muscle memory take over. She was just finishing drying the frying pan when Root cocked her head. The Machine, an artificial god speaking to her prophet. Or so Root’s file said. Shaw was pretty sure that those were Root’s words.
Shaw turned and gave Root a steady look while the Machine relayed Her instructions. “We're needed at the library,” Root said after a relative eternity. Shaw smiled thankful for something simple and familiar.
The walk in closet was pretty much what Sameen expected, two thirds of the space clearly belonging to Root, blouses, dresses, jackets, hats that she would never wear as well as a number of mannequin heads with a wide variety of wigs.
The shirts hanging up were a little blousier and the jeans a lot tighter than her tastes ran. “Jeans,” Root called from the walk-in, startling Shaw.
“What?”
“The black jeans with the pink stitching on the inside. Those are my favorite.” Shaw took a moment to locate the pair in question and instantly knew why they were Root’s favorites. After another moment’s consideration, Shaw found that she actually wanted to kiss Root again, and Shaw was sure that the jeans would be worth one.
“Oh Sameen,” Root purred when she emerged from the closet after spending a full minute hopping to get into the jeans. Shaw quirked an eyebrow, smirking. Root closed the distance between them in two quick steps but brought herself to an abrupt halt just short of her. Shaw knew why instantly, Root was trying to respect uncertain boundaries, so Shaw show her what she thought.
Repeated exposure to that little spark of energy that thrummed when they kissed seemed to be breeding a tolerance, as she actually managed to not bliss out immediately. As what seemed to be becoming an all-too-regular occurrence, something interrupted. A phone rang out somewhere in the apartment and Root immediately broke off, looking towards the door.
“Aw, come on,” Shaw complained. “Are you serious?”
“Sorry, Sameen. She knows to only call in an emergency when I am in this room.”
Root did not respond to Shaw’s startled, ‘what do you mean ‘in this room,’” and Shaw scowled. The ringing stopped the moment Root crossed the threshold. While Root was listening to the Machine, Shaw looked around and gathered the Beretta Nano and twin Walthers that were everything they would need for the day in the room.
Tucking the Compact into the waistband of her pants at the small of her back, Shaw moved into the living room. "Root, is it just me or are there no electronics in the bedroom other than the alarm clock?”
“You’re right; there aren't. You don't like to keep electronics in the bedroom because I am the Machine's analog interface. There is a Faraday cage in the walls so no one can listen to us in there, not even the Machine. Everything goes by the door."
"That... actually sounds like me," Shaw said. It was the first thing that truly did sound like her.
Root finished whatever she had been fiddling with in the kitchen and followed Shaw to the door. She scooped up the phone, keys and a pair of shades of the table by the door. "Keys please," Root asked with her hand out. "I've been driving us to work on the morning ever since your injury."
Shaw shot Root a suspicious look before shaking her head. "I wanna see what this goes to first."
She found her suspicions verified and knew the keys were hers when they led to a sleek black Porsche 911 Carrera S parked in the garage under their building. “Lying to me when I can't remember the truth, that's low Root. There is no way I let you drive us to work in my baby here, " Shaw said running her hand along the body of car.
Root scowled at Shaw. “Honestly Sameen, how is it you forget everything about me, yet you always remember your stupid car. Worst gift I ever gave you.”
“Okay, now there is no way you don’t love this car. I don’t need to know much to know that we fuck like rabbits in here.”
The former ISA assassin slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “Oh yeah, we fuck in here,” Shaw threw of her head back and said when it purred to life. Her grin just widened when Root wouldn’t meet her gaze when she got in as well.
The car drove like a dream even though she barely got it over thirty the entire commute. The library looked just the same from the outside, still covered in gray scaffolding all these years later.
It wasn’t until they reached Finch’s workstation that she noticed something was off. For one, Root slipped into Finch’s chair and started tapping away at the keyboard and murmuring to the monitors in a way that Shaw knew would annoy the quiet genius.
“So where’s Finch and Reese?” Shaw asked after a moment, Root’s fingers stilling at her words.
“One of them is right here,” Reese said rounding the corner, settling his jacket on his shoulders as he did so. The man she knew as Robert Hersh followed a moment later, his usual dour frown firmly in place.
“A bad day?” the taller and grayer of the pair asked.
Root nodded, frowning at Shaw. “She’s not remembering much. Thinks it’s 2013.”
“So she doesn't even remember Samaritan?”
Shaw scowled at the others talking over her head, quite literally. There were times being so short was a disadvantage. “She is also right here, Hersh.”
“Sorry, Sameen," Root said before Hersh had a chance to reply. "Did you just ask for Finch?"
“Yeah, our boss, right? He sick or something? Or are my memories are messing with me? He was in my people folder."
Root and Reese exchanged a look that Shaw didn’t like at all. “Can I see your phone?”
Shaw dug the device out of her coat pocket and handed it over, waiting patiently as Root flicked and tapped away at it for a minute.
“So? Someone going to tell me what is wrong?”
Root turned in her chair to meet Shaw's eyes. "Sameen, Finch has been dead for four years. He traded his life for yours during the final battle with Samaritan, a year after we got you back. He shouldn't be in your people folder.”
Shaw shook her head unwilling to accept Root's words. "No Finch can't be dead. Finch, he created the Machine. He was the brains of our little operation. Who is in charge of Finch is dead? Reese?"
"Try again," Hersh told her.
"Not you obviously, you prefer to take orders. Root?"
"I am Her analog interface," Root said with no small amount of pride. "There have been a few changes the last couple of years."
"No kidding," Shaw groaned, dropping into an empty-handed chair.
Sameen’s morning had been filled with a torrent of unidentifiable emotion, but she knew what it was that hit her low in her gut, taking out the strength in her knees. Loss. She couldn’t believe it, the most intelligent, empathetic man she had ever met, dead. At the same time it came to no surprise that Harold, the creator of the Machine, sacrificed himself to take out its evil doppelganger.
“So why is he still in my phone like he’s alive then?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Root said, turning back to her bank of monitors. “Well?”
Root’s eyes unfocused for a moment and Shaw knew that she was listening for an answer from Her. Root frowned when She did not respond. "Well?" Shaw asked after a relative eternity.
"She definitely put Finch back in your phone, but she won't say why. She's talking about the number."
"No surprise there," Hersh said from where he was leaning against a window.
Well I suppose we will figure it out when the Machine wants us to," Reese added. "In the meantime what about our number?"
"Marcus Anders, eight months old. It seems we have a baby," Root sang as Reese taped the photo of a blond-haired infant to the familiar cracked glass pane along with his vitals.
"So it's probably safe to say that he's not a perpetrator," Hersh opined.
"Unlikely," Reese agreed. "He's an orphan, so he could be proof of some indiscretion. Impossible to say right now, unless the Machine has something to chip in."
Root shook her head. "Nothing right now. But I think I have identified a possible avenue of vulnerability."
Shaw sat back in her seat and watched the team as they planned the surveillance phase of the operation. She let the chatter wash over her, observing the way the three of them quickly sorted out a plan. Shaw had never been one for strategic planning so she let her gaze drift over the library both surprised and not at how little it has changed. She did not consider herself a particularly curious person most of the time but she felt that she might actually have a million questions for Root.
Shaw was not so lost in her thoughts that she stopped listening to what they were saying, sitting forward in her chair to object to a comment from Hersh.
"Hold on there for a second, you did not seriously suggest that the lesbians take care of the baby."
"You have to admit that the two of you have the best cover for adopting a baby out of all of us here," Reese said, sounding as calm and reasonable as ever.
"And while normally I would agree with you Sameen, the Machine already has identities in place for us," Root said in one of her annoying simpering tones.
Shaw opened her mouth to say something except that she found she had no idea what to say. The Machine had decided and that meant Root was decided. Though she could only remember a few adversarial encounters, she knew Root and doubted a few short years would have dampened her Machine-crazy any if it hadn't gotten worse.
Shaw snapped her jaw shut, leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She could admit defeat when she was and turned her attention to Reese and Hersh. "And let me guess, the two of you will be running down leads," Shaw growled, temper already rising at what she knew was going to be Reese's answer.
Hersh gave an uncharacteristic grin, clearly finding amusement in Shaw's awkwardness. "Sorry Shaw. Just think of it as an opportunity to get to reconnect with your wife."
"Fine. So how are we going to do this? You said it was an orphan, are we just going to grab it?"
"Actually we are going to adopt him dear."
Shaw had so many things to say to that that she scarcely knew where to begin and she let everyone know it.
"Okay, okay everybody needs to slow down a second. When you say adopt, you do mean temporarily, right?" She'd had enough craziness in her morning that she had to be absolutely sure.
Root gave her such a saccharine smile that Shaw feared she was going to say no. "Just until the threat has passed," she said instead, allowing Shaw to take a relieved breath.
"Good. Because I don't care how married we are, I know I don't do kids." Root got a look in her eye and twirled herself around in her chair. "And don't even try to pretend otherwise."
"You aren't as bad with them as you would have us believe, Sameen."
"So is there anything else we taking with the number? Stealing any files or does the Machine give all that to you?"
"While She is much freer than She used to be, some of Her original programming still holds true, so all we get are the numbers. There are some rules not even Her analog interface can violate. That being said, I already breached the adoption agency's firewall and categorized the relevant information," Root said with a gesture to the glass pane.
Root said it as if it were a solemn responsibility instead of a job. Which didn't surprise Shaw; the only thing that really did was the fact that Root seemed to be holding it together so well. Shaw couldn't imagine that having the voice of a nigh-omnipotent, super smart AI whispering in your ear 24/7 was conducive to mental health, even without preexisting mental issues.
"So it's still decoding Social Security numbers from payphones?"
"She occasionally passes more but it isn't much and not often. And then only when we are simpatico."
"'When we are simpatico?' What is that supposed to mean?"
“Let's just say She doesn’t like it when I’m not happy.”
“You have got to be kidding me. Don’t tell me that the Machine has… like imprinted on one of us. Has it?”
Root gave her a look that Shaw did not like at all. “She is still a child in many ways, but She does not view either of us as a parental figure. Finch was the only one who had that amount of influence over Her.”
"That is still really disturbing. So what happens when we aren't good? We get sat down and those two lump heads play marriage counselor or something?"
"No but it does mean that we do end up going to see Theresa soon."
"We have a therapist? How the hell does that work? Does she know what we actually do?"
"She thinks that our jobs are classified. We have to speak somewhat indirectly sometimes, but she is very good."
"I'm in Hell. I died in my sleep and now I'm in Hell. It's the only logical explanation for everything."
"I'm not that bad," Root admonished.
“Makes me glad I never had a kid, though,” Hersh said in a tone the would be accompanied by a chuckle in a lesser man.
“I hardly think you can compare an AI to one's biological offspring, Hersh,” Root said, rolling her head back on her neck to look at him. “But no, she hasn't imprinted. We simply are more effective when we are not mad at one another.”
“Does she ever stop giving relevant numbers?”
“No, it is just the information about the irrelevant numbers that stops.”
“Well, at least there’s that. And I guess I can get behind taking orders from the Machine, as long as its not got us killing to keep it secret. Just like getting orders from Research, back in the day."
"Just with less bodies at the end of the it," Reese added without looking away from the board.
“In any case, we need to get going, Sameen. We have appointment at the adoption agency in forty minutes and you need to get changed."
“You didn't have a problem with what I am wearing earlier,” Shaw yelled after Root when she disappeared around a bookshelf.
“That was before I knew what our covers were,” Root replied when she returned a moment later, no longer empty handed.
“Seriously?” Shaw complained when Root offered the hanger. “At least there’s nothing pink.”
Reese and Hersh had vanished when she wasn't looking, so she changed into the blouse, cardigan and skirt where she was. She took the purse Root offered and allowed the hacker to take her arm.
"So what are Reese and Hersh going to actually be doing while we are out getting our number?"
"They are going to break into the CPS and stealing our numbers file. "
"Isn't that something that you should be able to steal from here?"
"Normally you would be right but our number's files are missing from the department's online records so we need someone to physically check for the files."
"Well at least they can't be having that much more fun than we are going to have."
Root did not dispute that and simply took Sameen by her elbow and guided her downstairs.
They did not take Shaw 's Porsche but a Mercedes sedan parked two blocks away with a child safety seat set up in the back seat and keys in the ignition. "Look in the glove compartment," Root instructed as Shaw slipped into the passenger seat. She would have preferred to drive but Root beat her to the door.
The glove box turned out to contain a woman's wallet. The wallet in turn contained Lacy Stillman's drivers license, three credit cards, three membership cards and eighty dollars in cash.
"Lacy? Really?"
"I think you look like a Lacy."
"And who are you?"
"Mrs Rachel Stillman, for the past four years. We live in Soho, you are a third grade teacher at St Ann's Prep, I'm independently wealthy and work on the board of a charity that funds walk-in clinics and shelters across the city."
"You have got to be kidding me. I have had some flimsy covers before but nobody will believe this. They're like something out of a trashy romance." Shaw paused a moment, a thought coming to her. "How often does the Machine do this? Send us on a mission together?"
"She provided these covers; they will hold provided you don't break them. As for your other question, we are an effective team, the Machine recognizes this fact and uses it."
"Okay I know I prefer to shoot first and ask later, but I was a spy for the government before I started doing whatever this is. I can play a cover as well as anyone else on this team."
"Of that, I am well aware, sweetie. And as for 'whatever this is,' we have a name now." Root opened her purse and withdrew a business card. It was white with the three words 'Concerned Third Party' and her name in block case. The reverse had a phone number on it.
"Concerned Third Party?" Shaw asked with eyebrow.
"Something John used to introduce himself as apparently. But yeah, we're kind of a thing now."
"So does that mean that people know about the Machine?"
"No. There are entire parts of the Internet that are devoted to trying to figure out how we do what we do. We even have a section in most of the local papers."
Shaw hummed at that, going back to looking out the window.
Root looked over and shot Shaw one of those overly cheery, toothy smiles that set Shaw's nerves on edge. "And stop smiling like that. You are making my cheeks sore."
"Sorry," Root said without an ounce of contrition.
Shaw sighed and looked out the window, looking back sharply when Root's hand slid into hers. Shaw considered removing her hand but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. And not that she was about to admit it to anyone but it felt nice, Root's fingers intertwined with hers.
They spent most of the ride in silence, Root clearly more comfortable than Shaw. Root eventually pulled into a tree-lined parking lot down the block from the three story brownstone that was their target. "Are you ready?"
Shaw grinned in anticipation of the challenge and slipped out of the vehicle. She thought she had a good enough handle on how Root worked that she could deal with whatever kind of mischief the hacker would try to pull.
Root was waiting at the front and held out her arm. Shaw considered Root a moment before linking her arm through the crook of Root's elbow. Root flashed her a quick smile as they approached the wooden double doors of the Happy Homes Adoption Clinic.
The clinic was an old brownstone that had been repurposed, the double doors leading a homey foyer. There was an encircling wooden desk and an attending blonde secretary directly across from the doors, the room extending left and right chairs lining the walls, about half occupied with waiting couples.
The blonde hit them with a wide smile the moment they entered and gave them an attentive look as they approached.
"Hi, we're Rachel and Lacy Stillman. We have an appointment with Mrs Goddard," Root informed the secretary while maintaining a smile to match. Shaw gave a nod and a tight-lipped curve of the lips in turn.
"Ah, yes, I see you here now. Mrs Goddard is in a meeting right now but I will let you know when she is available. You can wait over there in the meantime," the secretary said with a gesture to the waiting area to the left. Root burbled her thanks and guided them over. There were four other couples already seated in the two comfortable chairs opposite the ones they took. There was a table set between the two sets of chairs glass set into wood, a variety of home-life and family magazines and small children's toys scattered over the surface. A television hung on the wall to their right that babbled about the joys and rewards of parenthood.Shaw thought they looked inquisitive when she scanned them on entrance and was proven right when two blondes moved to sit next to Root.
"So, what are you two doing here?" the redhead with a particularly inquisitive smirk asked. Shaw spot Root a sidelong look at the brazenness on the blonde.
"I'm sorry, my name is Sarah and this is my friend Amanda. Are you here to adopt?"
Shaw wondered why else they would be there but Root spoke up before Shaw had the chance to. "Oh yes, we are so excited. We are actually here to pick up our son. Lacy, my wife here is just beside herself with anticipation. We have been waiting months for today."
Shaw suppressed the urge to scowl as the strangers predictably cooed over that statement.
"Yeah, I can barely stand the wait," Shaw agreed when the attention turned to her. She let her eyes wander again as Root gushed to the two strangers.
Shaw found herself strangely uncomfortable waiting in the lobby of the adoption agency. It just seemed wrong, a pair of former assassins like them in a place like this, about to be entrusted with something as precious as an infant child.
Shaw was grateful when the receptionist called their alias' names. They were led down a long hallway and deposited them in an office overlooking what Shaw would have called a bullpen anywhere else.
Margaret Goddard was a matronly woman, white hair tied up in a high bun.
"Mrs Stillman, Mrs Stillman, nice to meet you. First of all, I must express my apologies at this whole chain of events. I just got your file this morning and I have to say I have never seen a couple have to go through the kind of gymnastics that you seem to have gone through. From what I can tell, your entire process has been very strange, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you that."
"It has been very trying," Root said in a tone that implied she was admitting something and then had the nerve to pat Shaw's arm in a consoling fashion.
"I can only imagine. You must be very eager to get on with it. I just need your signatures one last time for our records."
Goddard flipped open a manila folder and slid it across the desk. Shaw scribbled something messy and tossed the pen back. Goddard gave everything a last once over before flipping the folder closed and tucking in her desk.
"Now, how about we go introduce you to your son?"
Root bounced to her feet as soon as Goddard pushed her seat back to rise. Goddard let out a little chuckle and led them upstairs and down a long hall that that ended in a cheerily decorated nursery. Shaw had to repress the urge to shudder at the sky-blue walls spattered with elves, clouds, stars, rabbits and flowers.
There were half a dozen infants in various stages of wakefulness in barred cribs, a black woman sitting in a chair near the middle of the room rocking a crib with her foot.
"Jessica, Marcus' mothers are here to pick him up."
Jessica rose to her feet with a grin and moved to a crib along the back wall. Jessica moved to pluck Marcus out of his crib but Root was already tucking the blanket swaddled infant against her chest.
"Forgive me for saying, but you seem more... invested in this than your wife is," Goddard said.
"Oh she was the one who suggested adoption in the first place. She is just shy when we're out in public," Root said as she breezed over, wrapping her free arm around Shaw's waist, pulling her in close.
Shaw reluctantly reciprocated and forced her lips upwards. "I really am quite excited to get home. I've been spending the last couple week's getting the nursery ready. I think we finally got it just right, and right in time too."
"Well, I hope that everything turns out well for you as Jessica handed a bag filled with the few baby thing the agency could provide.
"So what now?" Shaw asked when Root turned towards the parking lot.
Root didn't answer immediately, cocking her head in the way she did when listening to her implant. "Acknowledged. Sameen and I have the number in custody."
"Whoa hold on, something ain't right here," Shaw whispered a minute later as they approached the parking lot, slowing Root down by putting a hand in the crook of Root's arm.
"That ConEd van was there when we parked and I am not seeing any workmen around."
"That would be because they are actually a four Bratva hitmen, all hiding in the van waiting for us to pass by to grab us."
"And when did the Machine tell you all this?"
"While some things have changed, that's not one of them. I still usually receive instructions a second or two before I execute them. Follow me to the car."
"Give me the keys then. I'll get us out of here."
"No, She can guide me faster than I can you," Root told her, depositing their infant number in Shaw's arms. Shaw held him as gingerly as she could while keeping her body between the number and the killers behind her.
She heard the van doors slam open behind her as they turned to enter the parking lot. Root gave her a sharp shove in the small of her back as she turned and opened fire with both pistols. Shaw burst into a run, hearing the car unlock as she reached out for the handle. Root operating in godmode was something to behold, the brunette holding all three gunmen off and sliding in behind the wheel and slamming the vehicle into gear with inhuman precision. She blew one of the van's tires as they peeled out of the lot missing one of the gunmen standing in the street by an inch.
Sameen saw the moment Root came out godmode five and a half blocks away, Root's eyes coming out of the slightly unfocused look they got when the Machine was speaking to her.
"So we lost them?" Shaw asked.
"Three blocks ago. The last two were just being careful."
"Okay, I think I am starting to understand why I like you."
"Yeah. You thought that was pretty hot, right?" Root said in a tone that would have made someone other than Shaw blush.
"Yeah, that was pretty hot," Shaw admitted after a moment, turning to look out the car window.
Marcus took the lull in action to get curious, squirming in Shaw's arms while Root smirked at Sameen's attempts to get the toddler to quiet down.
"So what are we going to do with the number in the meantime?"
"We are going to take our son home of course, " Root said if it were the most logical thought in world.
"Don't call him our son," Shaw shot back, trying to contain Marcus' sudden anxiousness to be anywhere but in her arms.
"Why not? Did we not just adopt him?"
"No, we did not; Rachel and Lacy Stillman did. We faked an adoption to get a number out of danger."
"And you think that John or Harold would do a better job than us? You are the one who was going to be a doctor; you are best equipped to take care of Marcus. "
" As I am sure you know, my specialty was in emergency trauma, not pediatrics. On top of that, it has been years since I have practiced anything other than combat medicine."
"I have no doubts that it will come back to you as you need it to."
Shaw grunted at that but knew that Root was right on both counts. She was the one with the medical training, even if John's bedside manner was marginally better than hers. "Fine. But you get the midnight feedings and diaper changes."
Root did not reply but Shaw caught the hacker's lips curling out of the corner of her eye. It was surprisingly comfortable, the silence that settled over the car, Root focusing on traffic and Shaw wrangling the toddler in her arms. One of the many things that kept her from relationships was her partner's inability to deal with simple silence , a personality flaw that Root did not seem to possess. They arrived at the library in short order, Root slipping around the back of the car and scoops up the three bags in the back seat and nudges the door closed with her hip and grins at Shaw when she opens the door for her.
Root deposited the bags of baby stuff by the corridor that led to the cage and sliding into the command chair before the bank of monitors. Quiet clacking filled the air as Sameen set the infant down and began setting up the collapsible crib. The number only managed to crawl a few feet before Shaw recaptured him and dropped him in the plastic cage and moved to Root's shoulder.
"Take a left at the next light and ditch the car in the alley. Follow the shadow map back and you should be good." Root listened to whichever one of the male half of their little gang replied and deposited her earpiece on the desk and turning to face her.
"So, the Russians sent men to CPS as well it seems. They have the file so hopefully there is something in it."
"No need; I can tell you everything in that folder and some things that aren't, " a carefully-inflected, cultured voice sounded from the direction of the first floor stairs. Shaw spun around in the blink of an eye, Compact out and unwaveringly pointed at the face of the redheaded British gentleman in a suit Finch would approve of slowly made his way towards them, hands up and out, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
"And how exactly do you know what is in that file? " Shaw asked in a carefully measured tone.
"Because my name is Alistair Wesley and the infant you and your wife recently adopted is my son.”