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“What are we doing here, Root?” Shaw asked, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“Right now, being tourists,” replied the tall brunette walking beside her, her own eyes protected by a pair of stylish sunglasses.
Shaw scowled. “I thought you said we had a relevant number,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Oh we do,” Root said reassuringly. “But She got us here a little early, says we should explore the Mall while we wait.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, looking around at the well-trimmed grassy area they were walking through. There were people everywhere, on the grass, on the paths, walking to and from the different museums that littered the National Mall. In front of them, the Washington Monument pointed up towards the blue sky. As far as Shaw was concerned, the fact that they’d gotten here early just meant that she should have been able to spend a few more hours sleeping before Root dragged her all the way to Washington DC.
The knowledge of this missed opportunity did not sit well with her. “So what, the Machine just wants us to hang out in some old museums?” She asked distastefully.
Root grinned nudged Shaw playfully, “You never know, Sameen. We might just find something you like.”
Shaw scowled again. “Fine, whatever. Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” Root said cheerily as she led Shaw over to the entrance of the National Museum of American History. She flashed a pass at the front desk, and the two of them were waved inside immediately, filing past the long line of people waiting to get int.
“Just tourists, huh?” Shaw asked dubiously.
“Well,” Root admitted, smirking. “Maybe not normal tourists.” She showed Shaw the pass that had gotten them in so easily.
Shaw scanned it quickly, focusing on the name written beside Root’s picture. “And just who is Catherine Johnson?” She asked, torn between exasperation and amusement at the way Root could switch between identities so easily.
“Daughter of the Governor General of Canada,” Root explained idly, perusing the map of the building she’d snatched from the front desk. “Here on a trip with her father to make some statement to Congress. One of her people called ahead to coordinate her easy access to the museums in the Mall, something about understanding the American neighbors better.”
By this point, Shaw didn’t even need to ask if it had been the Machine that had set up these tours. This wasn’t the first time Root had reappeared after weeks away and stolen Shaw off to deal with some relevant number. Honestly, Shaw enjoyed these adventures more than she would ever tell Root. They provided a good change of pace to the usual numbers she helped Reese and Finch take care of. And these missions often involved more shooting, violence, and thievery.
Museum trips, however, were not part of the job description. “And what am I supposed to be?” She asked resentfully. “Your bodyguard?”
“Actually, you’re my date,” Root said, hiding her smirk behind the map.
Shaw coughed, “What?”
Root nodded to herself, “Yes, I think we’ll start with the exhibition on First Ladies.” She folded up the map and started walking.
Shaw stayed where she was. “Root.”
Root turned around and looked at her with an innocent smile. “What? Canada is a very progressive country, Shaw. Catherine’s known for taking her lady dates to interesting places when she travels. Plus, She thought we’d pose less a concern to the security staff if you were my date rather than hired muscle.”
“Oh yeah?” Shaw snapped. “This was all Her idea?”
“Well,” Root winked, “Maybe not all.” She turned around and started walking again. “Come on, Sameen. We’ve only got so much time to take in all the wonders of American history this place has to offer.”
Shaw rolled her eyes, but jogged a little bit to catch up with Root anyways. “You know,” she said as she fell in step beside Root. “I lived in DC while I was ISA. This stuff isn’t new or impressive to me. It’s just a bunch of old shit that people like to gawk at. Dusty ancient history.”
“It’s a bit more interesting than that,” Root commented.
“Yeah, maybe to some people,” Shaw muttered. “But I’m not some history nerd. There’s nothing exciting about this,” she added, looking around at all the still, immobile exhibits.
Root raised her eyebrows in fake hurt, “Are you saying you don’t like museums, Shaw?”
“Yes,” Shaw said frankly, not showing the slight surprise she felt at the question. She’d always figured Root had her figured out pretty well and, annoying as that was, it also meant Root knew what to expect from her. So what would make Root think that she’d enjoy some sort of weird museum date?
Not that this was a date, Shaw reminded herself forcefully. That was just their cover. And a stupid cover at that. A weak attempt on Root’s part to continue her game of flirting annoyingly at her. She repeated this to herself a few times until she was sure she’d remember it as she followed Root from the First Ladies Exhibit, through the hall of American Stories, past the Lego American flag, to the lifesize replica of the Air Force One cockpit.
Root looked over the fake plane’s controls once with a smirk, “You know, these controls aren’t quite right.”
“What?” Shaw asked despite herself, peeking over Root’s shoulder.
“Here,” Root pointed at some of the altimeters, along with the radio controls, and a few of the more important aspects of the displays. “They’re all in different places. Must be to deter people who’d come in here to gather intel on a potential attack,” she said thoughtfully. “How surprisingly clever.”
Shaw didn’t gape at Root, but she did roll her eyes in astonishment. “Of course you’ve been on Air Force One,” she muttered.
Root smiled, “A girl get’s around with an all-seeing god in her ear.”
Shaw didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead she just asked, “Can we go yet?”
Root was about to respond when she stopped suddenly, apparently listening. After a moment, a wide grin broke out across her face and she said, “I understand.”
Shaw knew that look. The Machine was talking to her again. “Is the number here?” She asked eagerly, reaching back for the familiar feeling of her gun in her waistband.
“Not quite yet,” Root said patronizingly as she walked off at a brisk pace. “But She did have an idea of something you might like better.”
“If it doesn’t involve food or shooting people I doubt it,” Shaw muttered. But she found herself wondering as she followed after Root, just what the Machine thought would interest her.
They left the National Museum of American History, and walked across the Mall to the Museum of Natural History. Again, Root flashed Catherine’s pass and they were waved through. Shaw looked around the rotunda skeptically, “So the Machine thinks that instead of some old American stuff, I’d like some even older nature stuff instead?”
Root hadn’t stopped smiling since they walked through the doors. Shaw knew she had some destination in mind, but she apparently was in no hurry to get there as they travelled through the museum, stopping in nearly every room. Root read about the now extinct birds of North America, looked at photographs of African wildlife, spent a long time in the Egyptian section (“They knew their gods so well.”), before leading Shaw down the National Fossil Hall.
Shaw was running out of patience by the time Root leaned over slightly to read the informational plaque in front of one of the complete dinosaur skeletons. She barely spared the massive bones a glance, but Root was fascinated. “Wow, look at that,” she breathed. “‘Highly derived from the pachycephalosaur, the Sphaerotholus goodwini-’”
“Sphaerotholus buchholtzae,” Shaw corrected automatically.
Root stopped mid sentence and looked up at her, something very like a knowing smile on her lips.
Shaw scowled. “It’s on the plaque,” she muttered.
Root’s eyes flicked down to the correct name of the display in front of them and she smirked, “I see. My mistake. ‘Highly derived from the pachycephalosaur, the Sphaerotholus buchholtzae,’” she winked at Shaw before continuing. “‘Had a duration of nearly ten million years-’”
“Eight,” Shaw said before she could stop herself.
Root stopped again for half a second before correcting herself. “‘Nearly eight million years during the height of the Triassic Period-’”
“The Cretaceous- Root, what are you doing?” Shaw snapped. There was no way Root could read so many details wrong when they were all written right in front of her. That meant she was doing it on purpose, and she knew Shaw couldn’t help but correct her. The smug grin on her face as she looked up at Shaw proved this theory.
“You sure can read that plaque from pretty far back,” she said teasingly. “How did you know I was reading it wrong?”
Shaw glared at her. “I’m going to guess you already know,” she said furiously.
Root smiled, “Well, She did mention something about you coming here every day you were back from an ISA mission. And how you’d always go straight to this section.” She steps right into Shaw’s personal space and says flirtatiously, “I thought you weren’t some kind of history nerd.”
Shaw looked at her skeptically, “Dinosaurs aren’t history. They’re badass.”
“Of course they are,” Root rolled her eyes affectionately and grabbed Shaw’s hand. “Best to keep our cover,” she explained quickly, holding tight to Shaw’s hand when she tried to wrench out of her grip. She gave Shaw a little tug, “Come on, sweetie. I want you to show me all the badass dinosaurs.”
They made it three steps--Root tugging along a reluctant, somewhat embarrassed, somewhat amused Shaw--before Root stopped suddenly, and her shoulders sagged for just a moment before she turned to Shaw with a smile. “Looks like you got your wish, Shaw. We’ve got to go.”
Shaw saw something close to disappointment in Root’s eyes just before the other woman smirked and added, “There’s a man headed towards the Washington Monument. In a bomb vest.”
This time Shaw really did take hold of her gun as they left the museum. “Sounds like our kind of party,” she said eagerly.
She heard Root laughing softly behind her as she too took hold of her weapons and the two of them raced across the National Mall to save people who didn’t even know they were in danger.
----
Root stands in the National Fossil Hall, staring up at the bone structure in front of her. Her hand traces idly along the words on the plaque naming the ancient beast the Sphaerotholus buchholtzae. She knew it was a bad idea to come here, but she hadn’t been able to help herself when they’d arrived in the city, however short their stay was intended to be. She remembers the last time she was here like it was yesterday, and the pain is as fresh as if it had been.
A hand gently grasps her shoulder. Instantly, Root goes tense, throws the hand off and whirls around, her hand going for the pistols tucked securely into her waistband.
Harold Finch backs up quickly, hands raised innocently, making the briefcase handcuffed to his left wrist bounce slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have- I just-”
Root releases the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and replaces her guns, looking around to make sure none of the other museum-goers had noticed them. “No, I’m sorry, Harry,” she said tiredly. “We’re all on edge these days.”
Harold looked at her with pity in his eyes, “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
Root smiles sadly and huffs something almost like a laugh and waits for him to realize how ridiculous that intention sounds. None of them have been okay in a long time.
He seems to take her point and coughs awkwardly and holds up some pieces of paper, “John got the tickets for us. Three separate flight combinations to New Mexico. That should at least give us some breathing room to figure out a plan.”
Root nods and takes the tickets he hands her. This is all they are now--running and hoping and praying that a plan will form if they just get far enough away. “Thanks Harry. I guess I’ll see you there.”
Harold nods, but looks reluctant to part ways, though they both know that it’s dangerous for them to be seen together for too long, especially here in DC. “Your flight leaves in an hour,” he prompts gently.
“Okay,” she says, the single word sounding dead and tired.
She knows Harold wants to say more, but he takes the hint. “Good luck,” he tells her softly, and walks away, leaving her standing alone looking back up at the dead and rigid skeleton in front of her. She wonders why she even came back here, when she knew how much it would hurt.
This had been just one of the many relevant number missions Root had brought Shaw along on. But for some reason, this one, this place always struck Root as different. For just a moment, she’d been allowed to see another side of Shaw, a part of who she’d been before the government had betrayed her and sent her looking for a new mission to follow. A part that had, for just a moment, let Root hold her hand and pull her through a different kind of adventure.
She’d hoped--someday--to see a bit more of that side.
Now that hope seems impossible, and she’s left standing alone, looking up at a badass dinosaur and wishing she’d held onto that hand a little tighter.