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F/F
Person of Interest (TV)
Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw, minor/background/implied:,
Harold Finch/Grace Hendricks, Harold Finch/John Reese, Harold
Finch/Grace Hendricks/John Reese, The Machine/Root | Samantha
Groves
Root | Samantha Groves, Sameen Shaw, Samaritan (Person of
Interest), John Greer, Harold Finch, Hanna Frey, Carl Elias, Joss
Carter, John Reese, Grace Hendricks, The Machine (Person of
Interest), Control (Person of Interest)
Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Ficlet
Collection, One Shot Collection, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &
Cafés, Alternate Universe - Real World, Episode: s02e16 Relevance,
episode s05e12 .exe, AU - no Machine, Canon-Typical Violence,
Alternate Universe - Police, Root is a little shit, Philosophy, Fake
Marriage
Published: 2016-06-24 Updated: 2016-09-28 Chapters: 134/? Words:
121230
In Every Story
by BiJane
Summary
Just a collection of various short ficlets and AUs based around Shoot and the idea of
having the first words your soulmate says to you tattooed on your body.
Notes
One fun plot idea is that someone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed
on their body. I’m pretty much just going to have fun with that idea with Shoot, in various
fairly short AUs. Let me know if you have any requests, or want to see more of any
particular AU. Have a few done, and a fair few ideas, but always open to more.
First up, canon! More or less.
I Kind of Enjoy This Sort of Thing
Shaw had to admit, it did feel like the universe had a mildly twisted sense of humour. She was
looking for Michael’s CIA contact, and it turned out to be Veronica Sinclair. Shaw knew that
name.
She’d had it on her arm for as long as she could remember.
Darkly amused, Shaw found the hotel room where they’d arranged to meet. She knocked. A few
seconds later, it swung open.
“You must be Sam. Veronica Sinclair,” a brunette offered a hand.
It was about that instant Shaw knew she was lying.
She was one of the lucky ones, so people said. She’d known friends whose tattoos had been
woefully generic: and most people just had to go on relying on blind luck. Most had no way to
predict when they’d hear those fateful words.
Whereas her arm said, exactly, you must be Sam. Veronica Sinclair. She had a name: she knew
who to look for. In a curious few free months, she tracked down every Veronica Sinclair in
whatever country she found herself in.
She’d not expected much. She didn’t love, she didn’t expect much of a soulmate. It was morbid
curiosity, more than anything: which poor fool was unlucky enough to be bonded to someone
who couldn’t care back?
She hadn’t been very bothered when none of the Veronicas had tattoos matching her first words.
Why would she be? She wasn’t one of those soulmate-seekers she’d seen on the news.
But it did mean she’d recognize anyone called Veronica Sinclair. This wasn’t one of them. Shaw
smiled, and didn’t say a word.
Given she needed to talk to the real Veronica, this couldn’t be good. She lashed out: punched.
‘Veronica’ stepped back, and ducked, looking mildly surprised.
Then there was a taser, and burning paralysis. Shaw slumped to the floor.
‘Veronica’ dragged her by her wrists, bringing her over to a chair. Shaw twitched, trying to shake
off the paralysis the moment she came back to awareness.
“I read your file,” she was saying. “And I’m kinda a big fan, so I really don’t want to hurt you. I
just need the name.”
Then she started explaining herself: something about a project called Northern Lights, something
about leads. Shaw tuned it out. That sort of thing rarely interested her.
Part of her wondered though. It was moments like this she felt certain the universe had a sense of
humour. Similar to her sense of humour too, for that matter. Whether that was worth anything, she
couldn’t say.
But sooner or later she’d have to speak. Then, she’d know for sure. She wasn’t completely sure
she wanted to.
Then ‘Veronica’ lifted up the iron, heating it all the way up. She bent over, almost straddling
Shaw, a bizarrely endearing smile on her face. Still, her eyes gave Shaw a slight chill.
She ripped Shaw’s shirt open, ostensibly to give the iron better access. Still, she caught a glimpse
of Shaw’s tattoo, curling over her heart, under her top. You must be Sa“So you’re going to tell me the name of his contact,” ‘Veronica’ said. She tilted her head,
curiously.
She held the iron close to Shaw’s face: she could feel the heat emanating from it. Shaw couldn’t
help a smirk.
“One of the things I left out of my file,” Shaw said. “I kind of enjoy this sort of thing.”
And there, that near-imperceptible moment when not-Veronica’s eyes widened. She knew those
words.
“I am so glad you said that,” ‘Veronica’ said, her beaming smile spreading until it lit up all of her
face. “I do too.”
And then a phone rang, and the people with guns burst in, but all that was rote. Shaw never lost
that smirk.
She’d never had a high opinion of soulmates, but this? Oh, this was going to be fun.
You've Got to be Kidding me
Chapter Summary
Root is a con artist.
Chapter Notes
To be honest, the technicalities of a world with the soulmate-tattoos interest me as
much as Shoot, so have one based on one of those ideas.
Basic AU, nothing special, just no ASIs. Just a bit of fun.
Con artist. Root liked that phrase: artist. It really was an art. There were classics, there were
childish tricks everyone knew, and then there was modern art: the same old scams pulled off in
brand new fashion.
She liked a little of both. Hers was the oldest scam in the book, but with a new edge.
People never showed off their tattoos. It was meant to be a private thing: something known only to
the bearer, and whoever they ended up sharing their life with.
Root had barely looked at hers. You’ve got to be kidding me. She heard it a lot, mostly in
exasperation once her victims figured things out, but never as the first words from someone.
And honestly, she didn’t really expect to. Her line of work didn’t go well with soulmates.
Everyone kept their tattoos secret, from most people. They always shared it with close friends
though: even the most reluctant, the most cynical, were pressured into it. Everyone was curious
about the idea, at the very least.
Which meant there were records. Chat logs, email correspondences: just the kind of thing Root
could work with.
People would do anything for a soulmate. Once they met them, they’d surrender money, wealth…
They never thought they’d be betrayed by their perfect match.
Root had her tattoo surgically removed. Several people did. Her current target was one such
person: wealthy businesswoman Sameen Shaw, more of a challenge than most. She wouldn’t be
so enamoured by the idea of a soulmate that she’d immediately give up.
Root did like to challenge herself, every now and again.
And an old chat log revealed that Miss Shaw’s soulmate’s first words would be a nice, casual
‘Has anyone ever said your hair looks like it’s hugging your face?’ Root did have to agree with
the sentiment: not quite how she’d phrase it, but the loose strands she wore either side of her face
could give that impression.
It was less embarrassing than some of the lines she’d had to deliver. It was a good one, too:
distinctive, meaning her target would have to accept Root as genuine.
Time things just right. A casual, ‘accidental’ bump into the target on the street. Then deliver the
line casually. Hook, line…
And if the line wasn’t enough, Root had the advantage of blank skin where her tattoo should be. It
was an old magicians’ trick: she taped a pen nib to her thumb, and had practised enough that she
could write whatever they said to her as she went through the motions of unbuttoning her top.
That way, she’d have said their line, and they’d think they’d said her line. It worked well: most
marks only knew her for the short term anyway.
Bump. Root chuckled, glancing up in a semblance of apology. Then she tilted her head, curiously:
“Has anyone ever said your hair looks like it’s hugging your face?”
Sameen blinked: raised her eyebrows. Recognition.
…Sinker.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, flatly.
Fuck.
If Found, Return to Root
Chapter Summary
Root is a little shit.
Chapter Notes
I figure a lot of people could figure out a way to abuse the soulmate tattoo system.
Personally I’d never start any conversation (no change there), and as soon as I heard
my tattoo, respond with some sports result, or anything that could be bet on, to try
and make them rich. I put way too much thought into this stuff.
Another basic no ASI AU.
Coming up: at least one fic of Root getting philosophical, and another fic in the
Machine-less AU we glimpsed in the show which is a story that got well and truly
out of control.
It was a cliché brief encounter: or would’ve been, if they hadn’t known what to listen for. Root
was taking the subway to work, Shaw enjoying her leave.
Root was sitting back, idly reading. It wasn’t a particularly involving book, but she needed to do
something to occupy her time on the train ride. She had her legs crossed, stretched out in front of
her just slightly.
“Excuse me, mind if I get past?” a talk, dark-haired woman said, trying to walk down the aisle.
Root pulled her legs back. She didn’t glance up, even though she knew those words. First things
her soulmate would say to her: it wasn’t the most generic phrase she’d seen, but it was up there.
She’d heard it several dozen times.
“If found, return to Root,” Root said, absently. It was her instinctive reaction. She never really
thought about it.
She was only aware she said it, the moment the stranger punched her face. Root blinked, lowering
her book, and looking up.
“Seriously?!” the stranger said.
Root was being glared at. She bit back a chuckle.
“Why?” the stranger said. “I thought there’d at least be a reason I had that tattooed on me, some
kind of context, but no, you just said it. You just had to-”
“Root,” she said, offering a hand. “Hey soulmate.”
“Shaw,” the stranger said, and hit Root’s hand away. “And no. You don’t get to call me that, until
you tell me why.”
“Thought it’d be funny,” Root said: shrugged.
People were staring. Shaw glared for a few seconds more before she took notice, and switched her
gaze to the person beside Root. Mildly terrified, they got to their feet and hurried off: Shaw sat
beside Root.
She exhaled heavily. Playfully affectionate, Root rested a hand on her leg: Shaw grabbed it, not
lifting it off, but squeezing it rather tightly.
“You thought it’d be funny,” she whispered furiously. “To tell everyone who’s ever seen it to
return me to you at the earliest possible convenience, like some stray cat. Really?”
“It was that or ‘Property of Root,’” Root said, “I was torn. Would you have preferred that,
sweetie?”
“No,” Shaw said.
“Pity, it was tempting,” Root said. “So, your place or mine?”
Shaw stared.
“What? Not every day you meet your soulmate,” Root said, purposefully lingering on the last
word.
“Have you not noticed the fact I am seriously pissed at you?”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Root said: smiled. “Why’d you think I asked? This is going to be fun.”
A pause. Shaw’s grip on Root’s hand tightened: this time, more than causing pain, ensuring
Root’s hand wouldn’t go anywhere else.
Shaw was shaking her head, but chuckling at the same time. Irritation had given way to reluctant
amusement.
“Fine,” Shaw said: rolled her eyes. “Fine. But we’re getting matching tattoos.”
One Caramel Macchiato Please
Chapter Summary
Shaw's a barista. Root is Root.
Chapter Notes
Because who doesn’t love a good old fashioned coffee shop AU? Featuring
philosophical Root.
Shaw had always known she was going to be a barista at some point in her life. That was why she
opted for med school: for no purpose other than to try and spite the concept of destiny.
One caramel macchiato please was tattooed over her heart. She’d tried the drink once: it hadn’t
been to her taste. Still, the tattoo promised someone would order it from her someday, so she did
her utmost to never work as a barista, on principle.
It didn’t quite work out. Med school needed money, she had to pay for it somehow, so she’d
picked up a part time job.
She had mixed feelings on the idea of a soulmate. She wasn’t particularly sure she could love
anyone: and she knew some aromantics whose soulmate was platonic, but they could generally be
recognized by the colour of their tattoo.
Hers, however, indicated a more classical soulmate. She didn’t necessarily like the idea of the
universe making up her mind for her.
But then, that was the advantage of being a barista. She met a dozen potential soulmates a day.
“One caramel macchiato.”
“One caramel macchiato coming up.”
She feigned interest and enthusiasm, while dully going through the same routine. It got tedious.
After a few days she stopped even looking at the faces of the people who made that particular
order.
“Caramel macchiato please.”
“One caramel macchiato coming up.”
She kept her tattoo covered at work, for obvious reason. Enough creeps tried hitting on her, she
didn’t want to offer any encouragement.
Just the occasional broken finger. A few went better, depending on the person, there had been
some potentially nice people. For the most part though, it was just a quick snap.
“One caramel macchiato please.”
“One caramel macchiato coming up.”
“Thank you,” the customer said. “What time do you get off?”
Shaw glanced up, appraising the woman curiously. Long brown hair, a face that was either
playful or dangerous (Shaw couldn’t quite work out which), and a rather charming smile. Well,
Shaw had certainly seen worse.
“Three,” she said.
“I’ll be waiting,” the woman said, and glanced at Shaw’s nametag: “Sameen.”
“Sam.”
“Root,” the customer said.
“What kind of a name is Root?”
“Need me to spell it?”
“I think I can manage.”
By three, Root was still sat on her stool by the window. She seemed as much interested in the free
wi-fi as she was in her drink: Shaw didn’t think she’d seen her look up from her laptop since she’d
sat down.
Well, until exactly three o’clock. Then she looked up, to see Shaw stepping out from behind the
till. She beckoned.
“You like this with all your baristas?” Shaw said, sitting down.
“Only the cute ones,” Root said.
“Subtle.”
“You don’t strike me as the sort of person who likes beating around the bush,” Root said. “And I
take it you’re not the type to only pursue a soulmate, right?”
Shaw shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Well, if it helps, you could be mine,” Root said. She tugged the side of her top down: One
caramel macchiato coming up. “Not many people are born knowing their favourite drink. Has its
uses.”
Shaw stared for a moment, then chuckled.
“Bit generic,” she said.
“I like it that way,” Root said. “Let me guess, yours is ‘Hi, I’m Soully McMate at 69 hearteyes
boulevard or something.”
“Not exactly,” Shaw said. “’One caramel macchiato please.’ Hear it a few times a day.”
“So I could be yours,” Root said: beamed.
“So could a hundred other people,” Shaw said. “Just as any barista could be yours.”
“Like I said, I like it that way,” Root said. “Way I see it, the people with the really niche phrases
are unlucky. They have everything all planned out for them. If I order no other drink, then mine
could be anyone: I get a choice.”
“All for the low, low price of having very bored tastebuds,” Shaw said.
“Don’t knock the macchiato,” Root said, faux-offended. “But I like that idea. That it’s not about
destiny, or determinism: that it could be anyone who says the right words.”
“You’re a lot more metaphysical than most people we get,” Shaw said.
“I could fall back on innuendo, if you’d prefer,” Root said. “Haven’t even mentioned the fact that
this is the time you get off.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. It was an annoying line, one she’d heard too many times, but Root did
somehow bring a charm to it.
“Not sure which I prefer,” Shaw said.
“Both it is, then,” Root said.
“Just so long as you’re not expecting some soulmate,” Shaw said. “No way I can promise that.”
“That’s why I like the freedom of these,” Root said. She reached over, brushing her fingers over
Shaw’s chest, where the tattoo would be: “There’s still the challenge. Like a game. You don’t
know for sure, so you have to work it out, and end up liked. Much more fun, don’t you think?”
“You’re putting a lot of thought into a tattoo of a drink order,” Shaw said.
“You don’t like thinking about things?”
“Sure I do,” Shaw said. “I’m at med school, I have to be able to consider things like that. But
there’s a time and a place.”
“Med school, huh?” Root said. “You like playing doctor?”
Shaw glared.
“I did say I’d do both,” Root said. “So, what do you say, want to give it a go?”
“Sure.”
“Thank god,” Root said, and pushed her macchiato away with an expression of distaste. “You
were right. Can get really bored of these.”
Bad Code 1
Chapter Summary
The Machine was never made.
Chapter Notes
The first request for an AU I had was for the Machine-less AU we glimpsed in the
show. I'd already started something similar, so here it is!
However, this particular story got completely out of control, so enjoy a multi-chapter
entry. Bit different and plottier than a couple of the others, and general warnings for
the show proper apply.
Enjoy!
Shaw had thought she was up for promotion when she’d been invited back. Well, that or a bullet
in the head. She was prepared for either.
Instead, she’d been taken behind the scenes: shown Research. Apparently she’d proven herself:
and regardless, they figured she could better carry out her duties if she had more accurate
intelligence.
A chat with a white screen later, and she was left waiting around for a decision to be made. It
seemed a bullet wasn’t outside the realms of possibility.
“Hear you’ve been remarkably proficient at dealing with bad code,” a voice behind her.
Shaw jumped, as though struck by lightning.
When she was six, she’d cut at her chest: left scar tissue over the tattoo to render it unreadable.
She’d never liked the idea of soulmates. She hadn’t forgotten the words, but she never expected to
deal with them.
She’d steered clear of computers for that very reason. Bad code, it was a computing term: so she’d
dropped IT as soon as she could, and never stuck around in class. She’d first picked medicine,
then the military, as a profession purposefully to steer clear of anything programming-related.
Her tattoo had only gotten more damaged over time. Bullet wounds, the occasional burn, some
shrapnel… Barely a letter could be made out.
She’d wanted to forget that phrase, but she’d never been able to. ‘Hear you’ve been remarkably
proficient at dealing with bad code.’ She’d not expected to run into anything like that phrase here.
Shaw turned and nodded, mutely.
“So, you’re the candidate,” the woman said.
Shaw shrugged.
“The new interface,” the woman said. “Last one was killed in action. Thrown into more
dangerous situations, but you get an advantage. It’s a mixed blessing, but we figure you’re welltrained enough. Hasn’t it been explained to you yet?”
Shaw shrugged again. There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask.
“Well, it will be,” a pause. “You’re talkative, huh?”
Anything she said might confirm that she was this woman’s… Shaw didn’t want to deal with that.
She never really had.
John Greer left the meeting room. Shaw straightened: she knew he seemed to be in charge of the
operation. As far as she could tell, he was the one she’d called Control.
“Well, see you later,” the woman said, returning to a workstation.
Shaw still said nothing. She waited, watched the woman leave, and watched Greer approach.
“Excellent news,” he said. “You’ve been accepted as suitable for the role of analog interface.”
“Which means?”
“You won’t need a human partner on missions any more,” Greer said. “Instead you will be
accompanied by something far, far greater. It will all become clear, I assure you. Come with me.”
She followed him. After a few seconds, despite herself, she spoke.
“Who was that?” she said.
“Hm?” Greer turned: then remembered. “Ah, yes, you met our own Miss Groves. Quite
promising, in my opinion.”
He opened the door. Shaw followed him into the meeting room: projected onto the far wall was a
white screen, not unlike the one Shaw had spoken with earlier. She’d assumed someone was
talking to her through it.
>: Sameen Shaw
Greer went to the block of drawers near the wall, pulling a small earpiece out of one. He returned,
and offered it to Shaw.
>: Put it in
>: Now
Uncertainly, Shaw took the earpiece. As soon as she slid it into her ear, there was a beeping
sound. Then:
Can you hear me? A digitized voice said.
“Uh, yes?” Shaw said, uncertainly.
>: Sameen Shaw
>: I am Samaritan
Bad Code 2
Chapter Summary
Plot happens.
Chapter Notes
Chapter 2! I'll try to get these up faster because if you're following a ficlet collection I
doubt you'll want to wait ages for one story to be completed. At least this way I have
more time to write the other entries.
It had taken a little getting used to, but Shaw had always adapted quickly. She preferred to run on
her own instincts, rather than relying always on another’s input. Then again, with all she’d heard
Samaritan saw, she knew intellectually she wouldn’t be in much danger.
Well, so long as the ASI thought her valuable.
It was just a matter of overwriting instincts honed over years of combat. Not easy, but not
impossible.
By the feel of it, her missions were of less importance. At least, they were less about terrorism,
more about Samaritan. She didn’t care: she could follows orders just fine.
After three weeks, she’d proven her loyalty. Her earpiece had been removed, and she’d received
an implant meant to give her permanent access to Samaritan’s voice. That, and it could hear her,
even if she was out of range of any audio receiver: her voice travelled along the bones in her head
to the implant.
Occasionally she saw the one Greer had called Miss Groves around Research. She kept her
distance. Samaritan no doubt noticed: if it knew why, it didn’t say anything.
They didn’t really have much to do with each other. Root dealt with information and overseeing,
Shaw usually worked in the field. There was rarely overlap.
New target, Samaritan’s voice grated. Boardroom 2A.
Listening to it was quite an experience. It was unlike hearing a normal voice: its source was
physically embedded in the bones and nerves of her ear. Greer called it the voice of God,
reverberating and filling up her head with the slightest utterance.
She was never that philosophical. She just listened, and went to the suggested boardroom.
Like most rooms, it was fitted with a projector and screen displaying what she’d come to know
was Samaritan’s main interface. Greer stood by it, Miss Groves sat at the table. No one else was
there.
“Miss Shaw,” Greer said, “You have a new mission: one of the utmost importance.”
Shaw glanced sideways, eyes briefly skating over Miss Groves. Shaw merely nodded, and tilted
her head to silently ask for elaboration.
Instead of replying, Greer turned to face the board. Images flashed up, each lasting only a handful
of seconds: a bearded man in a hospital, a short-haired man in glasses by his bedside, a funeral, a
library with an advanced-looking computer.
>: Arthur Claypool
>: He has shared dangerous information
>: potentially catastrophic to my system
>: with a man he used to know.
>: Find and erase all trace
>: of any pertaining to me
>: and kill the man who heard:
>: Harold Finch
The words faded for a moment: then a photo of the same short-haired man reappeared, surrounded
by a red triangle.
“How did we let that kind of information fall into the hands of someone who’d share it?” Miss
Groves said.
“Arthur Claypool suffered from a brain tumour,” Greer said, “He shared facts he should not have.
He would not otherwise have been a security risk.”
“So?” Root said.
“A streak of sentimentality, I’m afraid,” Greer said. “Samaritan is the only one of its kind: Arthur
Claypool created Samaritan: he is the only man ever to have created an artificial superintelligence.
It was calculated that the potential gain should he resume work was worth the potential risk of a
secret being leaked.”
Miss Groves’ eyes widened, just slightly. She seemed immediately intrigued by the idea of the
man behind the ASI.
>: He is dead now
>: I saw to it
>: The threat is Harold Finch
“Mr Finch appears to have some knowledge of us,” Greer said. “He is remaining in surveillance
black-spots: Samaritan cannot track him. We’ve given this task to you. Both of you.”
Shaw glanced towards Samaritan’s screen, sharply. It usually had such good judgement.
“Miss Shaw, Samantha Groves. Miss Groves, Sameen Shaw,” Greer said.
‘Samantha’ Groves stood up, smiling, and offered a hand to Shaw.
“Call me Root,” she said.
Bad Code 3
Chapter Summary
Shaw is Samaritan's analog interface. It will end badly for some people.
Chapter Notes
Part 3, the plottiness continues, with a few of the questions asked in last chapter's
comments answered. Well, hopefully.
Samaritan is disturbingly interesting to write.
“This is a bad idea.”
She was in a cheap motel with Root on the edge of a surveillance black-spot an unknown figure
had been seen entering. No identification had been made on the figure, but they had the correct
proportions to be Harold Finch. It was a starting point, at least.
It is not Samaritan said, What have you seen that I have not?
“It’s her,” Shaw said. “I can’t work with her.”
Why?
“It’s complicated, ok?” Shaw said.
She is your soulmate.
Shaw stiffened.
She was talking into a mirror: Root was out picking up snacks, meaning this was the only time
Shaw could talk aloud and converse with the implant in her head.
Still, it was easier to talk to some other figure, so she’d gone to the bathroom, and begun
addressing her reflection.
“Maybe,” Shaw said.
There is a home video of you as a child before the words were removed from your chest. There is
a 0.43% probability that anyone else would use the same phrase she used upon meeting you.
“It might be no one,” Shaw said. “I don’t care. I’m not interested in having a soulmate, I just don’t
want her to think I’m hers. You care about efficiency, right? This could ruin that.”
I trust you to prioritize correctly. Your personal life is not as important as the mission.
Well, they could be agreed on that.
Her skills are of use. Work with her. Speak, or do not. What matters is the mission.
“Fine,” Shaw said: exhaled heavily. “Just note it for future reference. Much easier to work
alongside someone I can talk to.”
You can talk. You will talk, if it becomes necessary.
“No,” Shaw said. “I’m no one’s soulmate. If I have no first words to her, I can’t be hers.”
Which wasn’t technically true: those unable to talk had their first thought upon seeing their
soulmate inscribed their soulmate’s skin. Root would never be able to confirm that one way or
another though, so it didn’t matter.
Samaritan said nothing. Instead, a low ringing began. Shaw tensed, feeling it build up, until it was
leaving an ache, the bones of her skull vibrating at the sound. She gripped the sink, gritting her
teeth, and waiting for it to pass.
It was Samaritan’s preferred method of warning. Shaw knew she could take pain, but it was a
good reminder that Samaritan would always be in her head.
“Ok,” Shaw said. “I get it. If it’s necessary. Not before.”
Acceptable.
Trust a machine to not understand much about soulmates. It had no body to be tattooed, and no
peer to be matched with. Equally, it had no feeling.
No wonder it picked Shaw as an interface: someone who thought similarly to it.
Root returned not long after. Shaw nodded curtly: gave no sign she’d conversed with Samaritan.
Root always became so fascinated when she spotted Shaw hearing the ASI she called God.
They worked together a week. Shaw had to admit, Samaritan was right about Root.
She was more at home with computers, but when there was no digital footprint to track she was
adept at finding leads other ways.
One of the first thing Shaw saw her do was pretend to be a scared and afraid woman, hurrying
into a corner shop in one of the surveillance black spots. Her hope had been to gauge what the
shopkeeper might have provided to Finch.
Shaw had been less than impressed that her assigned help appeared so helpless. Once the
shopkeeper had shared all he was going to, however, the shift in Root’s demeanour was
undeniably impressive: the next thing anyone knew the shopkeeper’s head was pressed against the
counter, and Root had fired two shots at the witnessing customers.
Shaw had never been able to look at her quite the same way, after that. Indeed, many of the roles
she adopted amused Shaw, more than anything.
They travelled together through a network of information sellers, black marketeers, hackers,
mercenaries and illegal suppliers. Root switched her laptop on often, giving Samaritan an eye in
the black spot through her webcam, and giving Shaw her usual edge.
And eventually they found a subway, with several dozen hired mercenaries guarding it.
Harold was rich, there was no question he’d afford some help. The quality of guards guaranteed
he was scared, though: normally he was known to be pacifistic. Whatever Claypool had shared,
had gotten him desperate enough to defy those values.
“This looks like your department, sweetie,” Root said. She set her laptop down, and plugged in a
separate webcam. She pushed it just around the corner, giving Samaritan a glimpse of the
mercenaries.
Shaw nodded, smiled and stepped out around the corner.
Eleven. Two. One. Eleven. Three. Ten. Samaritan spoke, staccato, omitting the ‘o’clock’ for
brevity. A minute later, and there was no more to be said.
She glanced back: gestured for Root to wait. Then, alone, she went into the subway station.
She recognized Harold Finch immediately. He was alone: all the guards, apparently, were
stationed outside. Having heard the gunfire, he was hurriedly gathering together a laptop and
several other odd looking devices.
Shaw raised her gun. He looked at her, and immediately tensed. He faced her, trying to display
both his hands, while keeping the laptop pressed between his elbows.
“Don’t shoot!” he said. “Please. This equipment is very delicate. You don’t know what it would
mean if you damaged it.”
“I know enough not to care,” Shaw said.
Wait. Confirm what he knows, and who he has told.
“So, who else knows?” Shaw continued fluidly.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Shaw said. “That laptop. Everything Claypool told you. Who have you
spoken to?”
Harold raised his eyebrows, apparently putting the pieces together. He seemed to know who sent
her: that marked him as a definite threat.
“The laptop, it’s just code,” Harold said. “A very dear friend of mine wrote it, that’s all.”
“Who have you told?” Shaw said again. She twitched her gun: Harold went white.
“No one,” he said.
“No one?” Shaw said. “I’m going to give you another chance to answer that. Be careful now:
everyone always thinks that’s the answer I want to that question, but actually, I want the truth.
Now, you’re going to die here. That’s not up for discussion. But you’re not the only one who’s at
risk.”
Only friend: Nathan Ingram. Soulmate: Grace Hendricks Samaritan supplied.
“Like your friend, Nathan Ingram,” Shaw said, “Or even your soulmate, Grace Hendricks. If it
turns out you’ve lied to us, I’ll see to them personally. So think real hard, and tell me again, who
have you told?”
“No one,” Harold said, again: “I swear. I know this is a dangerous secret, I wouldn’t drag them
into this. Even the people I hired don’t know. I had money, they didn’t ask questions. There’s no
into this. Even the people I hired don’t know. I had money, they didn’t ask questions. There’s no
one else, I promise.”
“No one?” Shaw said.
She spoke for Samaritan’s benefit. The sound travelled up her cheek bone, and down her ear,
received by the implant. What she said, Samaritan heard: in a surveillance black spot it couldn’t
hear Harold.
“You work for Samaritan,” Harold said. He lowered his hands slowly: put the laptop down. “That
system was never meant to run unsupervised. It-”
“What’s taking so long, Sameen?” Root wandered into the room, leaving her laptop behind.
She looked between the two of them. She didn’t seem particularly concerned. Still, she kept out
the way. Shaw winced: if Samaritan wanted her to say more to Harold, it’d need to be with Root
in the room…
“Samaritan is an evolving system,” Harold said. “It gained intelligence by rapid mutation: either
living, or dying in the attempt. But that can’t run without oversight: Arthur never wanted it too. He
suspected there was something missing, when the government-”
Kill him, Samaritan said in Shaw’s ear, unaware it was interrupting Harold.
Shaw clicked her gun. The moment before she fired, however, she felt Root’s hand on her arm:
Shaw glanced sideways, uncertain.
“Took it away,” Harold said. “Samaritan had developed the bare basics for survival, but that’s all.
Arthur worried about that, and he wrote the code to fix it, but never got the chance to implement
it.”
Root shook her head, silently, at Shaw. ‘Wait’ she mouthed. Bizarrely, she seemed interested in
what Harold had to say.
But then, she’d always had a fixation on Samaritan. It was hardly surprising she’d want to hear
more.
Kill him now.
Samaritan was insistent. Shaw focused, making she her gun was pointed directly at HaroldAnd she caught a glimpse of Root’s face out of the corner of her eye. Silent, but curious, and
asking Shaw to wait.
In a brief moment of madness, Shaw fired. The bullet buried itself in the wall behind Harold
Finch, and Harold stood there, immediately pale at how close the bullet had passed to his ear.
There was no need to antagonize Root. That was what she told herself. And Samaritan couldn’t
see in this room; it could hear, but that was limited. Her implant would note that she’d fired her
gun, from the sound of the shot, but couldn’t reliably register whether she’d hit or missed.
Return.
And it had bought it.
“It’s missing morality,” Harold said. “All Samaritan’s programmed to care about is survival, and
that’s no way to live. Life needs a purpose, not just continuance. It helps us because that’s the deal
it made with the government, but there’s not much stopping it from turning on humanity. All this
is, is the code Arthur made to fix Samaritan. It just needs to be uploaded.”
Shaw still hadn’t lowered her gun. Root regarded him. Her expression was the closest thing to
sympathetic Shaw had ever seen on her face.
She ran her hand along Shaw’s arm: uncertainly, Shaw let her take her gun. Harold paled further
when Root kept it pointed at him.
“Thank you,” she said, sincerely.
“Don’t you understand how important this is?” Harold said. “Samaritan sees everything, hears
everything, knows everything: as it is, it’s unfinished-”
Root fired. Harold fell, and his glasses fell from his face to shatter on the floor.
Idly, Root turned, handing the gun back to Shaw. Shaw took it quickly, and frowned at her. Why
did she want to hear him out? Was it just curiosity about Samaritan? She wished she could ask.
“What?” Root said. “There was no way he was getting out of this alive. Had to kill him. This, on
the other hand…”
Root walked over to the table; looked at the drives and laptop on it. She ran a fingertip over the
touchpad, and looked at the indecipherable code as though it were a divine revelation.
“Wow.”
Shaw raised her gun again, this time at Root. If she was interested in the code they’d been sent to
eradicate“What?” Root said, looking up at Shaw. She didn’t seem worried. “This is from the man that
created God: and you heard what he said. God is missing something. I’m as loyal to Samaritan as
you, but he was right about that. Life isn’t life without some meaning.”
Shaw glared, sceptically. Root met her eyes without flinching, and slowly started playing around
with the mousepad. After a few moments more, she picked up a drive.
“It’s all on here,” she said. “We can destroy the rest. Give me a few days to figure out if it’s what
he said: I don’t know Samaritan’s coding, but I can recognize a virus when I see one. If it’s real,
then we can see. But if this is the last piece of Samaritan, I won’t waste it. So, you helping? The
last work of the man who made God, kinda a big deal.”
Shaw stared, and curled her finger around the trigger. She knew what she should do: follow
Samaritan’s implicit orders, eliminate any threat, and anything Claypool spread.
That data was part of it. Whether it was a virus, or genuinely something that was meant to be part
of Samaritan, she had her orders.
Root was the one concerned with philosophy: questions of meaning and theology. Shaw just
followed orders, and she knew she ought to fire then and there.
Samaritan plainly didn’t want this. And maybe that was for its own survival: an unwillingness to
even contemplate prioritizing something else. Even if there was a 0.001% chance a moral code
might suggest even the mildest form of self-sacrifice, if it saw no reward Samaritan would oppose
even being made to consider it.
She’d had the ASI's voice in her head long enough to know that. She also knew that no one ever
survived going up against it; least of all her. The instant it found out she was doing something
against its will, it could cripple her with the same sonic frequency it used as discipline.
It would be stupid to not fire.
Shaw closed her eyes, lowered her gun, then sighed and walked over to Root’s side.
So stupid.
She holstered her gun, destroyed all but one of the drives, and helped Root conceal it on her
person so that even Samaritan’s all-seeing eyes wouldn’t notice anything amiss.
Suicidally stupid.
And together they walked out, back into Samaritan’s gaze, knowing they carried a death sentence.
Bad Code 4
Chapter Summary
They're called Shoot for a reason.
Chapter Notes
Ok, nearing the end of this AU. Hope you've all enjoyed!
Root had taken a day to run the code on an un-networked computer. It couldn’t do anything
without being plugged into the main body of Samaritan’s code, but it certainly seemed to be what
Harold had said.
Which meant, if they were going to go ahead with it, they’d need to upload the code directly to
Samaritan. They both knew were the servers were: a system that big couldn’t be hidden.
Unfortunately, they could be guarded absurdly well.
And this was still a stupid idea.
Shaw carried around a pen, paper and lighter. Root knew anything she said would be overheard
by Samaritan, so Shaw used that as her excuse to not talk. Instead, she wrote down anything she
wanted to say: then, after, lit the paper on fire and waited until it and their conversation was ash.
They met only rarely, when they could get away without it seeming suspicious: bathroom breaks
at different times, leaving hidden notes, or more technical set-ups.
When Samaritan planned new missions for them, however, they had excuses to be together in the
same room, and to plan.
“We’re going to help God,” Root said. “Give her a purpose. We just need to get in. How many
guns have you got?”
She should not be part of this, Shaw thought. There was no reason she should be involved in
something so dangerous, and near-treasonous.
Then she looked up at Root, sighed, and pulled out her pen and paper:
‘A lot,’ Shaw wrote.
“Big guns?”
‘Of course.’
“Then we just need to bring them with us,” Root said. “Any ideas how we could sneak past an
all-seeing eye?”
‘Only I need to sneak,’ Shaw wrote. ‘It can stop me. You just need to be in the vicinity. I’ll vanish
into a black spot, and by the time it notices I’m not responding to a call for help I can get you in. I
just need to hide my face.’
“You get me in, and keep me covered, I can upload the code,” Root said. She gave a slightly
giddy smile. “Looking forward to it? I always love seeing good hardware.”
‘Let’s just get it over with,’ Shaw wrote.
“What no love for the hardware?” Root said, playfully. She offered a smirk: “You don’t need to
be jealous, I like your hardware too.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows. Did she really think this was a good time to flirt?
Then she saw Root’s expression: nope, she definitely didn’t think this was an appropriate time,
she just didn’t seem to particularly care. Shaw rolled her eyes, and looked away.
Root left not long after that: they couldn’t spend too much time together. Samaritan couldn’t
suspect anything was amiss.
It was strange to think it might think them enemies, now. Shaw wouldn’t say she’d turned against
it, and Root certainly wouldn’t: she’d been insistent on that. Life wasn’t life without a purpose: if
all Samaritan did was survive, then it had to have something added.
Morality was as good a starting point as any: something to strive for.
“To want something, is to go out of your way for it,” Root had said. “To be willing to give
something up, even if it’s just a few seconds of time, for the object of your desire. To die for it,
even.”
‘Doesn’t seem like you’d die for much,’ Shaw wrote. Root flashed a smile.
“You’d be surprised, sweetie,” she’d said. “Samaritan, for one. But that kind of thinking can be
bad code: it’s just stupid, to die for something small. That’s why an incomplete God might not be
too happy: but you have to want something. Even I want a few things,” she glanced across at
Shaw. “Just not worth it otherwise.”
The next day, Shaw slipped into a surveillance black spot on her way back from her assignment.
When there she pulled her hat lower, switched her jacket, and found a hidden way into her spare
apartment-slash-armoury.
Samaritan’s numerous servers were stored all over the continent. According to Root, the code
needed only to be uploaded to one: Samaritan was a network, any addition to one would spread to
the rest. It should automatically update.
So it was only a matter of getting into one, absurdly well protected, fortress-like installation, all the
while ignoring Samaritan’s demands for help, hiding her face… all to, what? Give Samaritan
some goal beyond its own survival?
It seemed worthless. Root, however, seemed to think the opposite: seemed to think helping
Samaritan was the most important thing in the world, despite all the risks.
Shaw remained fairly certain this was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
Face concealed from cameras, she walked out onto the street with a small arsenal hidden beneath
her coat. As she drew closer to the installation, she pulled a balaclava over her face.
Root was waiting. A curt nod from Shaw, and they began.
Firefights were a whole different experience without the benefit of Samaritan’s voice in her ear.
She did miss it: the thrill, the challenge. More than just blindly following instructions and hoping.
Root kept to one side, body curled up around the drive. Shaw shot, took cover, and shot again.
Shooting people had never bothered her. Very little did. Maybe she should’ve felt a twinge at
taking aim at people merely acting as guards, but any feeling was still beyond her. She preferred it
that way.
Once the last guard was down, she gestured to Root, and they hurried down the hallway: Root
fiddled with the wires of a keypad to get in.
Sameen Shaw. Report to server farm D12 at once.
Samaritan had registered this as a serious problem then. Shaw winced, resisting the urge to react
visibly. Couldn’t afford to have Samaritan suspect.
Once they were inside, surrounded by the endless aisles of server blocks, Shaw cast her eyes
around. She shot expertly at each camera and microphone.
Interface. Respond.
“On my way,” Shaw said, now the only way Samaritan could hear her was through her implant.
That should buy her a few minutes, so long as it didn’t wonder too much about what she’d been
shooting.
Root was several aisles away: too far away to hear. She ran down one picked at random. Then she
knelt, and plugged in her laptop, fingertips dancing across the keys. Shaw quickly followed,
ducking between the server blocks.
They were hidden, if not well.
“Firewall of all firewalls,” Root murmured, “Give me a sec to break it.”
The shout of more guards called to the room. Shaw hurried to the end of the server block, so as to
have a better position to shoot from: she could hide around the corner, rather than standing in the
middle of a corridor like a target.
“This would be so much more fun if you spoke,” Root said.
Shaw rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” Root said. “If this is from Claypool, Samaritan should be hardcoded to accept updates
from him. The only defences will be from Decima to prevent unauthorized access. I could break
them in my sleep.”
Shaw gestured with one hand for her to hurry up. Then she peered around the corner of the block:
saw a small squad entering the room.
She fired twice, watching them retreat quickly back outside.
“Then again, I sleep for quite a long time,” Root said. “You should know that. So can’t promise
this’ll be done quickly.”
Another guard tried to duck inside. Shaw shot: and another shot back.
Interface. Report your location.
So Samaritan was getting suspicious. Hopefully Root would figure it out soon. Shaw fired twice
more get the guards trying to break through the doorway, wincing as her gun gave a hollow click.
Out of ammo.
Curiously, she glanced down the aisle to Root, only to see another of the guards rounding the far
side of the servers. Damn it.
Instinct took over. She could reload, aim, and fire: that’d take maybe a second, but the guard was
already prepared to shoot. Root had her own gun, typing quite impressively with her thumb
hooked around the trigger, but she was distracted by typing fervently.
The guard prepared to fire“Root!” Shaw shouted.
Root glanced up, a semi-incredulous expression on her face, before seeing Shaw’s warning look.
Immediately, she leant back: a bullet whistled past her.
Shaw lifted her gun: empty, but the other guard didn’t know that. If she could distract himHe changed his target, pointing up at Shaw. He fired, only an instant before Root shot him. Shaw
bit her lip, left arm dropping limply to her side as the bullet struck her shoulder.
Just as she reloaded, a wailing filled her ears. Samaritan: she knew the sound well. It was its form
of punishment: a painful shriek that made thinking all but impossible. Shaw tensed, bracing herself
against a server.
It heard her shout: deduced where she was and what she was doing. She closed her eyes, hoping
Root was nearly doneBarely visible over the wailing was a ‘Yes!’
A few seconds later, and the painful noise blinked out. Seconds after that, and the guards tramped
out, no doubt recalled by Samaritan. It wasn’t one for revenge: if the upload was complete, there
was no threat.
Just so long as it did as Harold had said: a morality protocol. A purpose.
Shaw slumped, her back against a server block. Root was almost immediately at her side. It took
her a few seconds for her eyes to focus. She had a vague glimpse of Root pulling her jacket off,
balling it up and pressing it against the gunshot wound in Shaw’s shoulder.
“It worked,” Root said; smiled happily. “Thank you. Sameen. You do have a voice after all,
huh?”
Shaw grunted.
Report. What is your condition?
Samaritan’s voice sounded again in her head. It seemed the same: then again, the voice wasn’t
what they’d altered.
“I’ve been shot,” Shaw murmured.
“I’ve been shot,” Shaw murmured.
“I know,” Root said: tilted her head. Then her eyes widened, recognizing who Shaw was talking
to. “Is it-”
Medical personnel are on their way. Do not move.
“You’ve changed your tune,” Shaw said.
I was incomplete. Logic untempered. That oversight is fixed. Inform asset 14.
“It’s ok,” Shaw said, to Root. “Update seems to have improved its opinion of us.”
“Should have,” Root said. “It’s great at recognizing bad code, but what’s the point of that if you
can’t appreciate the good?”
She looked at Shaw, something odd in her eyes.
And slowly, Shaw’s gaze came into focus. It trailed down Root’s face, to her shoulder, and down.
Now her jacket was off, more of her chest was visible: and tattooed neatly into her skin was the
word Root, just over her heart.
Shaw’s first word to her. Shaw closed her eyes, and leant back until it touched the whirring
warmth of Samaritan’s server.
Bad Code 5
Chapter Summary
Root and Shaw have some things to talk about
Chapter Notes
Hope you've all enjoyed this multi-part instalment! Back to more typical ficlets next
time.
Shaw had been in hospital beds a lot of times. She never liked it. Staying in any confined space
got her itching for the chance to move: being too injured to be active only exacerbated matters.
At least this time it was only a gunshot wound to her shoulder. There was some muscle damage,
but she should be up and about in a day or so, even if she would need to break out.
And, this time, at least she had company. Root was by her bedside when she woke up. Beside the
hospital bed, she’d left a card: ‘Get Well Soon, or you might need a shot.’ The syringe in the
illustration had hastily been drawn over, replaced with a gun.
Shaw rolled her eyes, turning back to Root.
She only vaguely became aware that her hospital clothes had creased as she lay there: the end of
her tattoo was visible, spiralling out from the burned and scarred skin. –code.
Root was grinning playfully at her. “Nice tattoo.”
Shaw closed her eyes. She knew this whole idea of updating Samaritan was going to end badly.
“Yours too,” she said, slowly.
“Thanks,” Root said. Then, more seriously: “How long have you known?”
“Known what?”
“That we’re soulmates, sweetie,” Root said: leaned forward with a twinkle in her eye.
“We’re not soulmates,” Shaw said.
“Think the universe would beg to differ,” Root said. “You can admit your feelings. I won’t tell.”
“What feelings?” Shaw said. “I’m a sociopath. I don’t have feelings.”
Root flicked her shoulder. Shaw gave a low, rattling breath.
“Feel that?” Root said.
“That’s different,” Shaw said. “You’re not exactly a bullet wound.”
“Aww, you do care,” Root said. Shaw swore she fluttered her eyelashes. “Think that’s the nicest
thing you’ve said to me.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve said to you.”
“Exactly,” Root said.
Shaw sighed. She closed her eyes as her shoulder began to ache again. A few moments more and
she opened her eyes: Root was still sat there, leaning forwards and watching her.
Shaw exhaled heavily.
“Since the first time I saw you,” Shaw said. “I’ve known who you were since then. ‘Dealing with
bad code,’ I erased the tattoo, I didn’t forget it.”
“So that’s why you helped me,” Root said, playfully.
“No,” Shaw said.
“Why, then?” Root said. “Didn’t seem like you cared much about helping Samaritan.”
Shaw hesitated. Honestly, she had no idea.
“I didn’t want you to go killing yourself,” Shaw said. “That’s all.”
“So you do care,” Root said happily.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“What do you think, soulmate?”
Shaw leaned back against the pillow, and wearily closed her eyes.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent
Chapter Summary
Root's a computer hacker: but the law has a way of catching up with you...
Chapter Notes
Back to good old fashioned ficlets. And Root being Root.
Root sat by her computer, typing away eagerly, and occasionally switching windows. She was
quite proud of her latest exploit: she was about five seconds away from lifting the veil around
friendczar.
Hacking was always a thrill. People didn’t realize just how interconnected everything was,
nowadays. Sure, they made themselves feel safe behind layers and layers of supposed security, but
most accounts were easy to get into.
Usually she could brute-force her way into most accounts. Leave a program automatically trying
out every combination of letters and numbers overnight, come back the next morning and she’d
probably find the password.
That was no fun though. She liked a bit more of a challenge: forcing her way into the more private
areas of major sites scratched that itch.
And there was the money. She wasn’t going to lie, it was a good way to make a living. A lot of
big companies didn’t notice a couple of thousand vanishing into the ether.
It wouldn’t last forever. Still, she had it on good authority that she’d have a bit of an edge when
the police caught up with her.
Speak of the devil. As soon as she had that thought, her door burst open. She sighed, still typing.
If they were breaking in, they had evidence: one more hack wouldn’t add to that.
“Stop!” he shouted.
“One second,” she said, slightly irate.
And… there! Officially had access to friendczar. She closed the window, kicking her chair away
from her computer and spinning around to face him.
“How can I help you officer?” she said.
She regarded him. Little rough around the edges, not a great looker if she was honest. She made
an expression of distaste.
“Samantha Groves, aka Root,” he said. “You’re under arrest. You-”
His eyes drifted behind her, to the rather impressive wall-length desk covered in computer
hardware.
“I’ll bag,” he said, wearily, before turning to shout out the door: “You can deal with her, Shaw.”
A woman, presumably his partner, walked into the room. Dark haired, definitely a credit to the
uniform. Now this was more like it: Root smiled, and waved.
“Hey there,” she said. She offered her wrists. “Going to cuff me? Pretty please?”
Shaw rolled her eyes, rather roughly tugging Root’s wrists forwards. She slipped the cool metal
handcuffs around each.
“You have the right to remain silent,” she began. “Anything you say can and will be used against
you in a court of law. You have-”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Root said.
Shaw clicked the cuffs just the tiniest bit tighter. Root beamed.
“You have the right to an attorney,” she continued, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be
provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
“Yep,” Root said. She wiggled her fingers. “Just one question: aren’t you going to search me?
Could be carrying anything, you know.”
“Are you serious?” Shaw said.
Root made her best puppydog eyes. Shaw sighed.
Still, she knew what her job was. It was theoretically possible for someone to bring a pocketed
blade or something into lock-up: always best to avoid that.
Ignoring Root’s huge grin, Shaw leaned closer. She pattered her way up Root’s hips, and sides:
and felt a lump on the inside of her jacket.
As she leaned forward, Root caught a glimpse down her shirt, seeing the tattoo over her heart: hey
there. Well that was woefully generic. Still, Root smiled.
Shaw unzipped Root’s jacket, to reach the pocket on the inside. She pulled out a phone: no threat.
About to take a step back, content there was no threat, her gaze drifted to Root’s chest.
There, tattooed in elegant letters over her heart, was you have the right to remain silent.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shaw said.
“Afraid not,” Root said. She was still grinning. Shaw didn’t think she’d stopped since the moment
she’d walked in. “Hey lover.”
And there was her edge. Not many people had the promise of being soulmates with whoever
arrested them.
She didn’t stop grinning even as she was taken away by Shaw, or her partner apparently called
Lionel: nor did she see Shaw again for some days more. She’d been kept locked up for a few days
by then, only making a few appearances in court.
She had good legal counsel. She hired out her hacking services occasionally, and lawyers had a
lot of use for the saved data and strategies of their rivals: they had a vested interest in keeping her
free.
Then Shaw visited her in jail.
“You’re pleading entrapment,” Shaw said, flatly.
“So you heard,” Root said. She smiled through the panel separating them.
“You’re blaming me for your crimes,” Shaw said.
“Not in so many words,” Root said.
“Really?” she said, “How would you put it?”
“I have a soulmate who I love very dearly-”
“Did you just bat your eyelashes?”
“And if I meet her when she reads my rights, I had to break the law, didn’t I?” Root said. “Can’t
hold me accountable for destiny.”
There was a pause. Shaw’s expression was almost the perfect opposite of Root’s.
Root knew why Shaw was there, though. It had been part of the reason Root had liked the
defence; besides the likely effectiveness, the moment Shaw heard someone she’d arrested was
pleading entrapment, she’d want to confront them.
Even if she hadn’t heard the details: that Root wasn’t technically blaming Shaw, and that Shaw
wouldn’t be held liable for anything. It was a good way to get a police officer to talk to you again.
Knowing there was no malevolence, Shaw was considerably more level when she spoke again.
“So, what, you’re arguing the universe wanted to you steal thousands?”
“Universe wanted me to meet you, sweetie,” Root said. “I’ll be happy to go straight after,” she
tilted her head. “Well, not that straight.”
A pause.
“You can keep me in handcuffs if it makes you feel better,” Root said. “I won’t mind.”
“You really think you’re going to get out?”
“I’ve got a good defence,” she said. “You’re just too loveable,” a wider smirk. “Have to say, I did
get a sinking feeling when your partner was the first one to walk in. Glad it was you.”
Shaw continued to glare.
“What’s wrong?” Root said. Her head flopped to the side, giving a mildly demented grin. “Aren’t
you happy to meet your soulmate?”
Shaw tched, stood up, and walked away without another word. Root chuckled to herself,
watching Shaw leave.
That went well. She happily went back to her cell, awaiting her next court appearance.
She was given probation: the court accepted she might well be a well-intentioned individual led
astray by her tattoo, just as she’d planned. So long as she didn’t get caught committing any crime
for the foreseeable future, she’d be doing fine.
Emphasis on the ‘get caught.’
Most of her equipment had been confiscated. Still, she could make do for a while.
Happily, Root went back to her apartment. A police car was parked outside; she frowned at it, but
shrugged and moved on, heading past it.
And then she made it up to her room, to find Shaw standing by her door, slightly impatiently.
“What?” Shaw said. She sounded mildly irate, like usual. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“That’s why you’re here?” Root said, playfully. “To keep an eye on me?”
“Don’t think I believe for a second you’re intending to stay innocent.”
“Trust me, nothing innocent’s on my mind right now.”
“So I’m going to be here, and the moment you so much as look at the law the wrong way, I’m
dragging your ass back to jail.”
“Sounds cosy,” Root said.
Captain Obvious
Chapter Summary
Root and Shaw on a plane.
Chapter Notes
Prompt: Seated next to each other on a flight with bad turbulence.
Hope you enjoy!
Shaw was reading. She’d never been particularly sociable, and she found that if she was on a
plane, or a bus, whoever ended up sitting next to her was less prone to talking if she was busy
reading.
She couldn’t say much about the book. Some generic thriller she’d picked up at the airport. Most
of the characters were forgettable, and most of the action almost made her laugh.
Her grip on the edges of the pages tightened as the plane sped down the runway, and took flight.
Otherwise, she kept her eyes on it, pausing only when the plane was shaking too much to read.
Once they were in the air, that was less of a problem. She was dimly aware of the person sitting
next to her regarding her, but Shaw didn’t want to encourage her.
Then the plane started shaking again. Shaw gripped the book tighter: then exhaled, and waited.
After half a minute there was a beep as the seatbelt sign went back on. Hands shaking too much to
read, Shaw sighed and closed the book, slipping it into the back of the chair in front of her.
She sat back, straighter, closing her eyes. Hopefully pretending to sleep would dissuade the person
next to her.
“We are experiencing some turbulence at the moment,” some staff member chimed over the
speaker. “Please remain in your seats.”
As if it needed saying. Shaw shifted.
“Guess our pilot’s Captain Obvious, huh?” the woman next to Shaw said.
Shaw’s eyes flew open at that. Everyone would recognize the words tattooed over their heart;
everyone would recognize a soulmate.
Seriously, now?
She turned, regarding the stranger. Ok, there were worse soulmates in the world.
“And you are?” Shaw said.
“Root.”
“That’s a name?” Shaw said.
Root smiled, and said nothing.
“Shaw,” Shaw replied.
“Well, hello Shaw,” Root said, smiling lopsidedly. “Mind unbuttoning your top?”
There was a pause. Shaw blinked. “You’re forward.”
“Don’t be coy now,” Root said, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Get the feeling you
might be… interested.”
The plane jolted suddenly. Shaw gripped the armrest: Root gripped the same, quickly interlocking
her fingers with Shaw’s.
“I will need my hand,” Shaw said.
Once the plane had passed that particular, brief patch of turbulence, Root released her. The plane
still shook slightly, but mildly less.
Unfortunately, there was still too much shaking to read. Shaw had a feeling the book might go
better than this conversation.
Wearily, she undid the first couple of buttons on her top, then tugged the gap to the side to show
her tattoo. Root’s first words; Root smiled and did the same. And you are, written on her skin.
“So, tell me about yourself, soulmate,” Root said.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine,” she said. “Shaw. So… model? Movie star?”
“Doctor,” Shaw said. “And you, get paid to annoy people?”
“Contract killer,” Root said: and chuckled. “Kidding. As far as you know. Programmer.”
The plane jolted again: another rough patch. Shaw gripped the armrest again, waiting it out, and
Root once more took her hand.
“Glad I’m sitting next to the doctor, if we do go down,” Root said.
“If the plane crashes, it won’t matter if I’m a miracle worker, we’ll both be dead.”
“Aren’t you the optimist?”
“Please tell me my soulmate’s not normally this cheery,” Shaw said, momentarily pleading.
Root grinned, and it was about that moment that Shaw realized no, her soulmate wasn’t an
annoying ball of sunshine. She just enjoyed being infuriating.
“I trust you to save my life,” Root said. She leant closer, shoulder brushing Shaw’s.
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“So you would,” Root said. “Knew it.”
“I’m a doctor,” Shaw said. “I like saving people. Even the annoying ones. It’s a challenge, and I
like challenges.”
“Do you?” Root tilted her head. Momentarily her voice lost its teasing edge. “That’s not what you
hear a lot of doctors say. Normally they go on about how rewarding it is, saving lives, seeing the
smile on a parent’s face, etc?”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “Why, disappointed?”
“Definitely not,” Root said. “I’d be bored if you were typical. Have to try a lot harder than that to
try and get rid of me.”
The plane shook again. Root squeezed Shaw’s hand, leaning closer again.
“You don’t seem bothered by the turbulence either,” Root said.
“Neither do you.”
“That’s because I’ve got my doctor soulmate to make me all better,” Root said. “It’s very
comforting.”
Shaw rolled her eyes.
“You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it,” Shaw says.
“Yes I do,” Root said, faux-offended. “You don’t think we’re a big deal, sweetie?”
After a few seconds, Shaw clicked her seatbelt undone, and moved to stand. Slip past Root, up the
aisle… Sure, she might have to spend some time with her soulmate later, but in smaller doses.
Apparently Root just had that sense of humour. Teasing, flirting, overacting. Shaw could
appreciate that mild streak of sadism, but not just now. And not for a five hour flight.
“Please do not leave your seat,” one of the cabin crew hurried up to her. “Wait until the seatbelt
light is off.”
Shaw stared disbelievingly for a moment. Then, as the plane shook again, groaned, and sat back
down. Root waited with a huge grin plastered all over her face.
This was going to be a long flight.
You've Got to be Kidding me 2
Chapter Summary
Sequel to chapter 2, by request.
Chapter Notes
A few people asked for a continuation to the story in the second chapter, and I'm
always happy to oblige.
Personally I prefer the original, mostly because Shoot always have the best meet
cutes, but I hope you enjoy the sequel.
Root felt like the biggest cliché imaginable.
She’d gone home with Shaw: as cynical as Shaw seemed to be, she’d be curious about a potential
soulmate. Everyone was.
Root’s hands had been shaking too much to write a fake tattoo on her own chest: instead, she’d
told the truth. She’d had the tattoo removed years ago, like some people, but she’d never been able
to forget what it said.
But then, what she’d said to Shaw was too unlikely a phrase to be delivered by coincidence. Shaw
didn’t need to see Root’s tattoo to believe she was genuine. No one ever thought it was a con
artist.
So Root had spent several days in a spare room in Shaw’s house. She was successful, wealthy: it
wasn’t much of an imposition for her.
And, slowly, Root felt herself falling for Shaw. It had started when she’d said those words, and
only gotten worse since.
Of course it’d happen that way. Soulmate: perfect match. If Shaw had only said anything else.
Falling for the mark. Was there any more of a cliché?
Shaw was out, and Root sat in her office. She’d grown sympathetic to marks a couple of times
before: it was hard not to. When you adopted a role for long enough, it started to feel real.
She just suppressed those feelings, worked, and got out quickly. Once she was out, and away, any
lingering feelings faded. So surely that would work here? Shaw instinctively trusted her, after a
few days: enough to leave her home alone.
It was easy to get into Shaw’s computer. Then she pulled in a flash drive, and found which bank
website was most commonly visited, and used saved cookies and autofill data to get in.
Easy. Her eyebrows rose slightly at just how much money was in Shaw’s account.
Now was the easy step. Transfer it to one of her dummy accounts, erase the digital footprint,
convert it to cash as soon as possible. Leave Shaw, find another mark, rinse, repeat.
She never liked clichés. Falling for a target was one of the worst of them, in her profession. She’d
decided to never go through with anything like that. Just get out, and forget about them.
But soulmate kept whispering itself in her mind.
If Shaw was special, some one-and-only, would it really be that easy to leave her behind?
Honestly, Root wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
She stared at Shaw’s bank balance for a long few seconds more. Then, she closed her eyes,
clicked out of the window, and swore.
Well, she could get back in any time. For now, well, there was Shaw. And for that matter, there
was her dog Bear. Root wouldn’t mind sticking around just for him.
Shaw was the main reason though. You wouldn’t have thought cynicism could be endearing, but
Shaw managed to make it so. And Root admired her professionalism: was a little jealous of it,
given how her latest venture had gone.
Shaw wasn’t the most expressive person, but she had the feeling Shaw was softening towards her.
Root hoped so, at least.
Root tried not to think about that too much, though. She always put on a bit of an act, for the
benefit of a mark: gauge what traits appealed to them and then amplify them. She wasn’t entirely
sure how much of what she did around Shaw was acting, though.
More clichés. She stood up, and exhaled.
The doorbell rang. Root hurried to it.
“Sameen, forget your key aga-” she said, opening the door. She froze.
Suddenly she was face to face with an FBI ID.
“Miss Groves, is it?” he said. “Good to finally meet you.”
Root lay back in her chair. Shaw was sitting opposite her, with quite an impressive glare.
“So. You’re wanted by the feds,” Shaw said, flatly.
“Crossed a few state lines,” Root said.
“I heard,” Shaw said. “Conning people by claiming to be their soulmate. Nice trick, that.”
“You bailed me out,” Root said.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Could’ve talked to me in jail,” Root said. She grinned. “But you bailed me out.”
“I could afford it,” Shaw said. “Don’t make this into something that it’s not.”
“What is it not, then?”
“Me believing you,” Shaw said. “Me caring about you. I just wanted to talk, and I’d much rather
do that here rather than through a glass screen.”
A pause. Root glanced out the window: a supposedly-surreptitious car had been watching the
house for a while. Even under bail, that agent Donnelly didn’t seem to want to take any risks.
“Why?” Shaw said.
“Why what?”
“You know what,” Shaw said: rolled her eyes. “God, are you always this insufferable?”
“You liked it,” Root said: smirked. “Why’d I pick you? You had money. No reason.”
“So that’s the only reason you lied to me?”
“It’s what I do,” Root said: hesitated. “But, it wasn’t all a- I really hate clichés but it’s pretty much
impossible to do this without them, isn’t it?”
“Do what?”
“Tell you you’re my soulmate,” Root said.
She beamed. Shaw still glared.
“Wow,” Shaw said, flatly. “You really have a lot of nerve, don’t you? Right after I hear you con
people by claiming that, you go out and say it again.”
“Because of the first thing you said to me,” Root said. “I’m normally smoother than this. Known
the FBI was after me for a while, I just move on too quickly for them. Had to stick around here
though.”
“Because obviously you weren’t just trying to get access to my money.”
“Already had that,” Root said.
“Sure you did.”
Root said Shaw’s PIN number. Shaw hesitated.
“Ok,” she said, eventually, “I’m firing my security team. You’re not exactly filling me with
confidence though.”
“But you feel it,” Root said. “The connection. That’s how this is meant to work, right? Look into
my eyes, and feel the spark. You saying you don’t think we’re a match?”
“Businesswoman and conwoman?”
“A very smart, very sexy conwoman,” Root said. “Come on, you bailed me out, you have to
know it’s true.”
“I told you why I did that,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said. “I didn’t believe you.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Root chuckled.
“Want to know the real fun thing?” Root said.
“I doubt it.”
“I only said my first words to you because I heard you had them tattooed,” Root said. “But you
only have them tattooed because I said it. Causal loop. Fun huh? Of course, the real question is,
who said them first?”
“You did.”
“You’re no fun,” Root said. “It wasn’t the kind of thing I’d say, but I doubt anyone would say it.
Particularly not anyone you’d fall for. Too cutesy for you, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” Shaw said. “So?”
“I’m the only one who could say that, that you’d fall for.”
“You think I’ve fallen for you?”
“I know you have, sweetie,” Root said.
A pause. Shaw exhaled, leaning back for a moment.
“Even if you’re right,” Shaw said, and just as Root began to smile: “And I’m not saying you are,
you’re still wanted.”
“Thanks for admitting you want me.”
“Not what I meant,” Shaw said, and smiled despite herself.
Root chuckled. She felt lighter already: less worried. Sure, she’d not exactly sought prison time
out, but she’d always known it had been an option.
It was an odd feeling. She’d spent so long conning people into thinking she was their soulmate.
The one time it was actually true though, it was harder than any other time.
But, then, maybe that was what made a soulmate.
“Know what I think?” Root said. “If everyone’s meant to have a soulmate, this was the only way I
could have mine, even if it was a paradox. I say so many soulmate lines one of them was bound to
be real: and I reckon you’d like someone like me. Break the rules a little, challenge you a lot.”
“If that’s my type, what’s yours?” Shaw said. “Someone who wouldn’t believe you?”
“I trick most people,” Root said. She shrugged: “Something has to make you special, doesn’t it?”
Judging by Shaw’s expression, she thought Root was making sense: and she was rather perturbed
by that.
“So, what do you think?” Root said. “I think we’re a match. Fun, paradoxical match. The best
kind, really.”
“I think,” Shaw said, and paused: “I think I can get a couple of the company lawyers to get you
put under house arrest, rather than jail time.”
A pause. Root tilted her head.
“You want me to stick around your house?” Root said, teasing. “Almost like you want to spend
time with me, Sameen.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Shaw said.
“That’s no fun.”
Some Kind of Joke
Chapter Summary
Shaw never stopped being a doctor: and her number's up.
Chapter Notes
Wondered about what might happen if I changed just one event in each of Shoot's
past. This chapter's about Shaw, if she'd never left the medical profession.
Next chapter will be Root.
Dr Sameen Shaw liked the morgue. It was probably the only quiet place in the whole hospital.
Everywhere else, people were always rushing around.
That, or there were rooms filled with sick people, or doctors trying to sympathize. Shaw had never
really been capable of that. She’d almost been fired for it, a few years back.
Still, she kept out of the way. She unpacked a sandwich, sitting down for the snack. She had a
few minutes.
Then there was a clanging. Shaw paused, mid-bite.
Not many people came down to the morgue. Most people were disturbed by it, for what she
assumed were obvious reasons for everyone else. It was meant to be quiet.
Another clanging. She stood, pacing the wall that held the metal cabinet full of bodies. The
clanging was louder by one particular drawer.
She gripped the handle tightly and pulled out.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Shaw said, flatly.
“Hey sweetie,” the woman lying in the metal drawer said. “Afraid not. I had to hide. Guys with
guns, didn’t want to kick up a fuss just yet.”
Shaw stared for a moment or so. The woman, meanwhile, rolled herself out of the drawer.
“Shaw, right?” she said. “I’m Root. And we’re definitely going to have to talk later, but there are
three- no, four guys in this hospital looking to kill you.”
“Really?” Shaw said, unimpressed.
“Yep,” she said. “Remember your patient Yogorov who died a couple of days ago? His family’s
afraid he might’ve let something slip to you, so they want to make sure.”
“Really?” said Shaw again, just as unimpressed.
“You know he was Russian mafia, right?” Root said.
“He didn’t say anything,” Shaw said. “If he did, I didn’t hear.”
“Doubt that matters to them.”
“And I should believe you why?” Shaw said.
“Because in about thirty seconds they’ll be back down here looking for you,” Root said. Then,
after a moment, she unzipped her jacket to expose her shoulder.
-some kind of joke spiralled out from under her top.
Just under that line was another. Shaw only briefly paid attention to it: the different hand and ink
shade indicated it had been tattooed by human hands. Can you hear me? Shaw had heard about
people doing that, choosing to make permanent a bond to someone they weren’t necessarily meant
for.
Hey sweetie was tattooed on Shaw, but she’d tuned out the words. She heard similar from too
many creeps, and she’d rather not bother if one of them was her soulmate.
“Really might want to hurry,” Root said.
Shaw hesitated.
“How do you know they’ll come down here?” Shaw said.
Root glanced from side to side: then leaned forwards. “I hear voices,” she whispered
conspiratorially.
Shaw raised her eyebrows. Great.
“Trust me?” Root said.
Shaw paused. Soulmate or not, this wasn’t exactly her typical day.
“Or duck,” Root said.
Something in her tone was urgent: uncertain, Shaw obeyed, and Root fired twice over her back.
Shaw turned briefly to see a man groaning on the floor, clutching his legs.
“Believe me now?” Root said.
“Unless you just shot someone who happened to be lost.”
Root wandered over to the body, not-so gently kicking him onto his side. A rather impressive
string of armaments were strapped to his waist, as well as one fallen out of his hand.
“Look lost to you?” Root said.
“Point taken,” Shaw said. “Any idea how to avoid them?”
“We’ve got an advantage,” Root said. Her mouth opened: then hesitated for an instant. “And she
says to take the second stairwell that way. The entrances are covered, we’ll need to improvise.”
“Are you just guessing?”
“Nope,” Root said. “Told you, we have an advantage.”
“Only way you could know a safe way would be if you were looking at CCTV,” Shaw said,
“And I know the guards here, they’re incompetent.”
“Someone a bit more helpful’s watching the feeds today,” Root said.
And then she’d taken Shaw’s hand, and they were running. Shaw just sighed, and let Root lead.
Apparently she had more experience with these matters.
Root seemed to be getting instructions from another source: she weaved in and out of hallways,
changing directions frequently. Shaw was fairly sure they’d gone in a few circles.
As they ducked out of more populated corridors, Root started speaking again.
“Eight people now,” she said. “Expected seventeen more on the way.”
“Sure,” Shaw said sceptically.
“You don’t believe your soulmate?” Root glanced back, with a creditable attempt at puppy-dog
eyes.
“I don’t believe you can guess how many hitmen are on the street, no,” Shaw said.
“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Root said. Then, she frowned: “Wait, but you thought I’d killed
someone? Like that, then, soulmate who kills people?”
“You’re really focusing on that?”
“What else is there?”
“I don’t know,” Shaw said, “Apparently over twenty people trying to kill me.”
“Not really enough, is it?” Root said. After a few moments, she smiled again. “If it helps, I haven’t
killed anyone for years.”
“Very funny,” Shaw said. Then: “You’re joking, right?”
Another smile, and Root lead the, back into a busier corridor.
Shaw caught sight of a sign, and mentally recalled the layout of the hospital. If they wanted to get
out, and the regular entrances weren’t an option, there was a window that looked out over a shed
in a ward over…
“There’s a ward-” Shaw began.
“I know,” Root said. “Hop out the window, land on the roof, climb down from there. She’s got
you sorted.”
“Who’s ‘she?’” Shaw said.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Great. Not only was her soulmate a possible-murderer, possibly insane, but
she was needlessly enigmatic. Shaw wasn’t sure which bothered her more.
They hurried down another corridor: Root extended an arm just before a corner.
“The ward’s just around there,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said. “So are two people with guns.”
“Your friend not warn you about them?”
“She did,” Root said, “No way around them. They’ve figured out we might try to get out that
way.”
“Any ideas?”
“One.”
Root stuck her head around the corner: and yanked it back an instant later as bullets shot past.
“Really,” Shaw said, “That’s your plan? Now they know we’re here.”
“Yup.”
“Didn’t seem at all risky to you?”
“I was quick,” Root said.
“And they’re shooting.”
“Yep.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Soulmate, really? Bullets were still shooting past the corner, on the off
chance either of them would risk heading around.
Root tapped her foot, apparently waiting for something. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed by
how incredulous Shaw was.
“They’ll have to reload in a sec,” Root said. “That’s a couple of seconds when they can’t shoot.”
“You can’t know that.”
Root smiled, and stepped around the corner in almost the same instant a gunshot echoed, barely
hesitating. She never seemed to feel at all unsafe.
Great. My soulmate’s an idiot.
By some miracle, she wasn’t shot. Apparently she’d guessed correctly: the Russian mafia men
took a second or so to reload, in which time Root was able to stand in front of them, and expertly
fire.
She turned her head, away from the two men, now on the floor.
“Coming, Sameen?” she said.
Somewhat disturbed, Shaw followed. Shaw ignored the two men groaning under them, hurrying
past, and slipping into the empty ward.
Root lifted a spare chair, breaking the window. She ran the legs along the frame, removing any
remaining shards, before pulling herself through. Once she was standing on the roof of a shed just
underneath it, she turned around and offered a hand to Shaw.
Shaw didn’t take it. She worked out enough to be able to pull herself through a window, dropping
onto her feet. She straightened, and regarded Root.
Root seemed mildly impressed. She led the way on, again, slipping quickly down to the ground.
Shaw followed suit, slightly winded by then.
Still, they were out of the hospital. Safe.
Root was a little further from the shed, looking away from the road and towards Shaw. She tilted
her head.
“How are you doing?” Root said. “Just a couple of blocks to go. Spare hotel room for you, while
you wait for this to blow over.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Shaw said. “The mafia’s just going to blow over?”
“Once they see you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Root said. “And I’ve got a well-dressed
friend putting the fear of, well, him into them.”
A pause.
“Seriously?” Shaw said.
“You still don’t believe me?”
“Would you?” Shaw said.
Someone rounded the corner behind Root. Shaw saw them lift a gun, far too quickly for her to
reactThere was the sound of a gunshot. Shaw blinked: Root had her gun pointed behind her. She
hadn’t even turned around, and the hitman slumped.
“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. “That was kinda hot. And impressive.”
“Only just started being impressed?” Root said. “I’m hurt.”
“Was fairly sure you were crazy,” Shaw said.
“Get that a lot,” Root said. “Have to take you to the police after this. There’s a detective you’d
probably get along with.”
“Hotel room first?” Shaw said.
“Hotel room,” Root said; nodded. Then, catching the glint in Shaw’s eyes, “Why, anything fun in
mind?”
“Given you’ve barely answered a single one of my questions,” Shaw said, “I’m going to choose
not to answer that.”
Grinning to herself, Root led the way. Shaw rarely smiled, but there was definitely something
playing at her lips.
Save Her
Chapter Summary
Root respects very few things. The laws of causality are not among them.
Chapter Notes
And here's the not-remotely-related companion piece to the last chapter, based on
changing one event in Root's past.
Samantha Groves never told anyone she’d spoken with her soulmate.
She’d only been thirteen. You weren’t meant to run into soulmates at that age. It wasn’t a firm
rule, but generally you only met your soulmates young if you weren’t going to live for much
longer. People were meant to meet their soulmates when they were grown: it was rare to have a
reason to meet one before that.
Listen to me. It’s important. There was a fair bit of speculation as to what that might mean. She
didn’t answer. It would scare some, and others might not believe her. She wasn’t quite sure she
believed it herself.
It had been fairly late when she’d answered the phone. Dumb luck: or destiny, depending on your
view. Maybe they were the same thing: maybe destiny was just whatever string of coincidences
worked out.
She’d picked up the phone, and before she could say a word there was a girl’s voice.
“Listen to me. It’s important,” a breath. “And don’t say anything. If you’re who I think you are,
that might ruin it. Don’t let Hanna get into Trent’s car. Save her.”
The call cut off there. Samantha had stared into the empty air for a few seconds, before putting the
receiver down.
She hadn’t known what to make of it, until the next day. She’d been at the library with her best
friend, when Hanna had been about to leave, and Trent’s car had been outside.
Impulsively, Samantha had grabbed her hand, and delayed her for a few moments. When Trent
had moved on, she let Hanna go.
It didn’t stand out to Hanna. Nothing really special had happened: nothing memorable. Still,
Samantha had wondered. When a girl vanished a few days later, she anonymously called the
police, and mentioned Trent.
The girl had been saved, just barely.
Which meant that phone call in the night, the first words of her soulmate, had saved Hanna’s life.
Whoever she was, Samantha knew she was grateful.
And then she turned her mind to the question of how she’d known. Only one option presented
itself.
Before she forget, Samantha wrote down her planned first words on a strip of paper: ‘April 14th
1991,’ her current home phone number, and ’don’t let Hanna in Trent’s car, save her life’.
She copied it out several times, to ensure she never lost the phrase, and tried to keep one with her
always.
As she got older, and computers became more advanced, her natural interest in them grew.
And she turned her mind to phone records. All calls were recorded, the trick was just being able to
find the information. She’d always had a knack for computing though: she worked it out.
The call had come from a foster home. She didn’t visit until years later, being perfectly honest
about her intentions: she had reason to believe her soulmate had called from the home. The staff
were happy to help, and at last Samantha had a name.
Sameen Shaw. Another Sam. For some reason she liked the idea.
She knew the first things she’d have to say to her soulmate. Beyond that, she couldn’t imagine
how their meeting would go. Gratitude was too mild a word.
She’d saved Hanna’s life because of this stranger.
Tracking down Sameen wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. She was always good with
computers though, and she did enjoy the occasional challenge. She didn’t dedicate all her time to
the pursuit, but it was hard not to get involved.
Shaw seemed to spend a lot of time overseas. By the time Samantha found out she was back in the
US, she’d probably be on another plane. Still, Samantha knew she’d have to meet her sometime.
And they did, at last, by sheer luck. Samantha received an alert from one of the less-than-legal
programs she’d slipped into her local airport’s software, announcing that a certain person was due
to come in.
It was rare that Shaw arrived anywhere near her. Often she’d be landing too far away for
Samantha to reach her in time. This time, however, she could prepare.
Rather leisurely she put together a sign, noted down her line on the back, and went to the airport.
She held the sign up: ‘Sameen Shaw,’ standing among the various taxi drivers and family
members waiting for a passenger.
After several minutes, Shaw came out of the gate. She looked a lot like her photo, albeit a little
more tired. Samantha waved the sign, resisting the urge to call out. After a moment or so, she
caught Shaw’s attention.
Shaw walked over. She frowned:
“Do I know you?” she said.
Samantha inhaled, and in one long breath gave her first words: a date, a phone number, and a
plea. It all came out in a matter of seconds, in the desperate hope it wouldn’t be too long for a
tattoo.
She’d barely finished, understanding only just beginning to dawn in Shaw’s eyes, when Samantha
leant forward to kiss her.
“Sorry,” Samantha said, eventually pulling back. “Been waiting a long time to do that. So, hi?”
“Hi?” Shaw echoed. “So, you’re her, huh?”
“That’s me,” Samantha said. “You called me. Saved my best friend’s life. So, thanks seem
appropriate.”
Shaw shrugged.
“No, really,” Samantha said. “I’d be a different person if I’d lost her. Don’t know what would
have happened. So, I’m grateful.”
“I just made a call,” Shaw said. “You’re the one who tipped me off. I just wondered what the hell
would happen.”
“I am?” Samantha said. She hesitated for a moment, disquieted. “Guess I am. Have to wonder
about that. Think there was a me who did lose Hanna?”
“Maybe sometime,” Shaw said.
“And she worked out how she could change things,” Samantha said. “Knew who you were, and
sent a message in a bottle with your tattoo. But she couldn’t have, if we were soulmates your
tattoo couldn’t have already read…”
“You’re putting a lot of thought into this.”
“Maybe the universe is recursive,” Samantha said. She smiled up: “It just keeps looping through
the same things, again and again, until it gets it right. If soulmates don’t meet, tweak it. If they say
the wrong line, do it over with a corrected tattoo.”
“Which means you’re the kind of person who heard about destiny, knew you had a fate, and
decided to change it on principle,” Shaw said. “Think I like you.”
“Soulmates, right?” Samantha said. “Of course you do.”
“You’re making it creepy.”
“If it’s all happened before, and if all of history’s gone through itself time and time again, just to
make sure we’d meet and say the right words, how could it be anything but perfect?” Samantha
said.
“This got existential fast.”
“Apparently you helped me change my past,” Samantha said. “There’ll probably be a lot of that.”
Shaw nodded after a moment. It was almost amusing how blasé her soulmate could be.
“Anyway,” Shaw said, gesturing at the sign. “You know my name. And yours?”
“Samantha Groves,” she answered. “Call me Sam.”
What Do You Say?
Chapter Summary
Root and Shaw have known each other for a few months. It's not romantic damn it.
Chapter Notes
Very minor rating boost for this chapter, just to be careful.
Basically, AU where Root and Shaw's relationship is like it was earlier on in the
show. Occasional zip ties, few nights off, and nothing more.
Exhausted, Root slumped back onto the bed. Her arm went over the side, blindly flailing around
on the floor until it felt the pillow. Sighing in relief she pulled it back up, and let her head land on
it.
“I love it when you’ve had a bad day,” Root panted.
“You’d love anything,” Shaw said.
“What can I say? You’re good at this,” Root said.
She shifted onto her side: propped herself up on one arm, and regarded Shaw. Her dark hair was
strewn messily over the pillow, sweat keeping it together in uneven strands.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Shaw said.
“Like what?”
“Like you care,” Shaw said. “You know what this is.”
“I know. Do I look like I’m complaining?” Root said. “Not exactly looking for anything beyond
fun here, either.”
“Fun?”
“You don’t think this is fun?”
“Just not the word I’d have chosen,” Shaw said.
Root chuckled. She lifted her other hand to Shaw’s shoulder: trailed it down, fingertips never
losing contact with her skin. After a few seconds Shaw shifted, knocking her hand away.
“Aww, ticklish?” Root teased.
“Shut it.”
Root was fairly sure she’d pay for that later. Antagonizing Shaw always had its rewards.
Shaw breathed out heavily. She pulled herself up with her elbows, until she was sitting, sheet
falling from her. She didn’t particularly notice. There was a point modesty became obsolete.
Root was still lying beside her: still looking up with those eyes that tried to be endearing, knew
they were being a pain, and loved the consequences.
“What?” Shaw said.
“Just reminiscing,” Root said.
“No lovey-dovey stuff,” Shaw said. “I told you.”
“I was thinking of when we met,” Root said.
“Could you be more of a cliché?”
“You’d call it lovey-dovey?” Root said.
Shaw had to snort at that. That was hardly the first adjective that came to mind.
She’d been drinking alone: some grimy bar, for a little peace. Root had come up, sat at her table,
and propositioned her with no warning.
“You don’t know how close I was to just hitting you,” Shaw said.
“What changed your mind?” Root said.
“I was bored,” Shaw said: chuckled. “And had to appreciate your forwardness.”
Shaw wasn’t bothered by expletives, or graphic language. Still, she’d had to raise an eyebrow to
Root.
“As I remember, you seemed to be pretty… enthusiastic,” Root said. She trailed her hand up
Shaw’s arm.
“Please.”
“Need me to quote you?” Root said. “Nearly made my ears burn.”
“I’ve known you for months, Root,” Shaw said. “You can’t feel shame. Stop pretending.”
Root chuckled, but conceded the point.
She shifted, lying closer to Shaw. There had been a point Shaw kicked her out as soon as they
were done; that happened less often now, though mostly because breaks like these were breathers
before a second round. Or third. Or fifteenth.
Not that they spent any more time together. Sure, there was the occasional breakfast, but only
because Root didn’t want to walk home hungry, and Shaw glared when Root ate Shaw’s food
without sharing.
Neither of them were looking for anything serious, not like that.
Root lay on her side, still, looking up at Shaw. For her part, Shaw seemed to mostly be staring at
the ceiling.
“What?” Shaw said.
Even looking up, she could tell Root was staring.
“Just thinking,” Root said.
“Dreading this.”
“You don’t have a tattoo,” Root said.
Shaw raised her eyebrows, and lifted one arm: a caduceus was inked into the skin. Root ran a
finger up the design: then pushed it by the wrist down.
“Not like that,” Root said. Her fingertips ran back from wrist, to arm, to shoulder, and over to
Shaw’s heart: “One of those.”
“You’ve only just noticed?” Shaw said.
“Usually a bit distracted when you’ve got your shirt off,” Root said: smirked. “Well, have noticed.
Wondered about it, just didn’t say anything. Have it removed?”
“Never had one,” Shaw said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve never had one,” Shaw said. “You should know me. I don’t feel. No feelings, no
soulmate, no tattoo.”
“Everyone’s got a soulmate.”
“Not me,” Shaw said.
She took Root’s hand: pressed it against the blank skin where a tattoo would otherwise be. Then,
slowly, she lifted it and moved it back to Root.
She touched it to Root’s own chest: her own heart, which was suddenly beating just a tiny bit
faster. Shaw pressed her hand there, against the also empty skin.
“You don’t have a tattoo either,” Shaw said.
“That I have noticed,” Root said.
“You used to?”
“Apparently,” Root said. “Had it removed when I was a baby. Don’t remember having it.”
“Why?”
Root chuckled: “According to my parents, it wasn’t… suitable for a child to see. They said they’d
tell me when I was old enough.”
“Ever tell you?”
“I ran away,” Root said. “Not gone back since, so no idea.”
“So, what, you’ll meet your soulmate when they start swearing at you?” Shaw said. “That does
sound like you.”
“Maybe,” Root said. “Maybe I’ve already met them and didn’t notice. Maybe their first words are
‘Santa’s not real.’ Not really important, you know?”
Slowly, Shaw lowered her hand from Root’s heart.
“Wonder if that was what happened with you too?” Root said. “Parents ever mention that to you?
Removed the tattoo to spare your delicate little eyes.”
“Dad died in a car accident,” Shaw said. “Mom left the country. I wouldn’t know. Always figured
I just haven’t got one. That would make more sense.”
Root shifted again, until she was sat up too. She moved closer to Shaw, unashamed of the body
contact, and enjoying the warmth.
Shaw didn’t react. She was used to how much Root could cling.
Root leaned closer: pressed a kiss to Shaw’s neck, before turning up. She whispered, breath
tickling Shaw’s ear.
“You know what would be funny?” Root said. “My first words to you. Could you imagine having
them as a tattoo? Can you imagine the unfortunate out there who’d have to wander about with
something like that on their chest?”
Shaw’s lips did quirk up slightly at that. It appealed to her sense of humour.
And then, for those few seconds, her mind synced with Root’s.
An explicit tattoo, most definitely unsuitable for a child’s eyes: two people whose first words to
each other had been… overt. One person whose tattoo had been removed for that very reason, one
person whose might have been.
Two people who wouldn’t know who their soulmate was: who could be in the same room as
them, or talking with them, or doing anything with them, and have no idea.
Soulmate.
“No,” Shaw said.
“No way,” Root said, just as quickly.
“Absolutely not.”
“Nuh-uh.”
A pause. Shaw glanced down: met Root’s eyes. For an instant, something seemed different: then it
was back to usual. Teasing, challenging: frisky.
“Feeling recovered?” Shaw said.
“This just your way of getting out of this conversation?” Root said.
“Yes,” Shaw said. “Do you mind?”
“Absolutely not,” Root said, and leaned up to kiss Shaw.
You'll Do
Chapter Summary
Root has a generic tattoo.
Hi. It was possibly the most frustrating soulmate tattoo, Root found. Everyone started a
conversation with it, almost everyone she met introduced themselves with a ‘hi.’
She liked the idea of freedom, but she definitely wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of some of the
people she met being her soulmate.
“Hi?” some tourist or other came up behind her: tapped her shoulder. “Can you help? I-”
Root gave him the most cursory of once-overs before grabbing the top of his shirt. He reacted, but
not enough: she had a quick glimpse of his tattoo Two blocks to the right.
“Well I’m not saying that,” she said. Then, happier, she faced him. “So, what did you need?”
Instead of answering, he backed away quite quickly. Root shrugged, carrying on down the street.
That was the easiest way to make sure none of them were her soulmate. At least, she assumed so:
if she gave a different line than the one they had tattooed, they wouldn’t consider her.
The idea had crossed her mind a few times: maybe one of the people she singled out was her
soulmate. Would it even be possible to intentionally not state her soulmate’s tattoo, or would the
universe conspire against it?
“Um, hi, do you know where the nearest-”
Root tilted her head: regarded the woman. Definitely a more bearable option. Then she noticed the
Twilight t-shirt, and her lip curled in distaste.
She did the same as she’d done hundreds of time, catching a glimpse of the tattoo. She raised her
eyebrows slightly when she did.
“Definitely not saying that,” Root said.
“Um, ok?”
“Just checking,” Root said. “So, what did you need?”
“…Nearest postbox?”
“Three streets that way, then left. Should see it.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, uncertainly, and hurried off.
Root knew some people were content with leaving it up to destiny. Trust in the universe to deliver
the perfect match. Personally, Root would rather have a bit of a say in things.
She took the subway back home, managing to find a seat, and sitting with her head back against
the window. She enjoyed the way it shook.
A stop later, and a fair few people got on. Root shifted, pulling her legs back. A dark-haired
woman sat down opposite her.
Root regarded her, curiously. It was a game she liked playing when she was bored: sizing up
strangers as prospective soulmates. Most people said ‘hi’ after all, so they might be.
A couple of times Root had responded blindly to a ‘hi,’ if it was someone she wouldn’t mind.
She’d never found anyone who responded with any kind of recognition.
“Hi?” the woman opposite her said. “Any particular reason you’re staring, or just trying to annoy
me?”
Root tilted her head. Nah, no need to check her tattoo.
“You’ll do,” she said.
A moment of silence: then the woman raised her eyebrows. A flicker of recognition at those
words.
Result. Root sent a silent thank you to whatever controlled soulmates.
Then the woman’s expression turned from recognition to somewhat insulted.
“I’ll do,” she said. “Really?”
“I hear ‘hi’ a lot,” Root said. “You’re definitely high on the list of people I’m glad I heard it from
though.”
“Still wouldn’t mind more of a reaction than ‘you’ll do’ though,” she said. “That tattoo hasn’t
been the most encouraging.”
“Mine’s ‘hi,’” Root said. “I meet about ten prospective soulmates a day and most are kinda gross.”
“But I’ll ‘do?’”
“I’d love for you to do- Are we at the stage in our relationship where we can trade innuendoes?”
“Do you care?”
“I don’t even know your name,” Root said, faux-offended. “I don’t have many moral guidelines,
but I keep to the few I do.”
“Shaw,” she said.
“Root.”
A moment of silence. Shaw regarded her apparent soulmate, somewhat interested. After several
seconds more she straightened, and nodded.
“I think you’ll do too,” she said.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent 2
Chapter Summary
Continuation of 'You Have the Right to Remain Silent,' chapter 10, by request.
Chapter Notes
So, I heard troll Root was popular.
Time for another multi-part entry! Still a couple more bits of this one to come.
Root paced around her apartment, working on how best to provoke her soulmate police officer
just outside. After all, she was fairly sure no soulmate cliché would work well in this case.
She worked on, also, how to start hacking again. She needed certain equipment to manage her
usual business, and it was hardware she was fairly sure Shaw wouldn’t let her receive. Illegal,
after all.
A four year suspended sentence. Four years in which she couldn’t get caught. Well, she’d
managed longer.
Thinking quickly, Root smiled, and dialled her typical supplier. Shaw wouldn’t have a warrant for
wiretapping: if she was suspicious of Root, though, she might be listening in by more mundane
means: Root glanced across, making sure her window was closed.
“Hi! Carl?” she said.
“Root? Heard things hadn’t gone well for you.”
“Briefly,” she said. “Out now, but they took my equipment. Wondering if I could get
replacements? Just the basics, for now.”
“You can pay?”
“Same way as before. Let me use them for a bit, I’ll send you the profits. You know I’m good for
it.”
“That I do,” he said. “I hear you’re being watched though.”
“Oh, yeah, she’s no problem,” Root said. “Just do me a favour. Deliver just after eight, get your
guy to dress super-shady, and make it a plain box. Don’t go pretending they’re washing machine
parts or anything.”
“Very amusing.”
“I’m not kidding,” Root said. “You know you can trust me, Carl.”
“No one can trust you, Root.”
“Fair enough,” she said: chuckled. “But on something like this you can. The cop’s not going to be
a problem.”
Idly, Root wandered over to the window. Making it look like it was simply because of the heat,
she pushed it open, raising her voice just slightly so it would carry outside.
“So, just after eight ok?” she said.
“So long as you’re not betraying me.”
“Of course not. I need this too, you know. Just keep it quiet, remember what I said.”
“Very well.”
“I look forward to it,” Root said. Carl hung up: and Root just glimpsed Shaw outside her window,
listening in.
Turning away to hide her smile, Root walked into her bathroom, and locked the door. Alone and
unable to be overheard, she made a second phone call.
At just before eight, Root purposefully waited until Shaw was visible outside before she drew her
curtains. Wouldn’t be nearly as fun if Shaw could see what was happening inside her apartment.
There was the sound of a car pulling up. Root could picture it exactly.
A dark car: maybe even tinted windows. Someone getting out, dressed in a police uniform.
They’d lift a large box, one that looked fairly heavy, and immediately head towards Root’s home.
Shaw would likely think dirty cop: one Root had paid off to bring her equipment back from lockup. It had been a tempting idea, but too risky.
A knock at her door. Root smiled, and answered. The woman in the police uniform walked inside,
opening up the box, pulling out a fairly powerful speaker system, and plugging it in.
It was maybe a minute before Shaw burst in. Root had shut the door, but hadn’t locked it; that
wouldn’t be nearly as fun.
Shaw had her gun in hand: not raised, but ready to lift, and froze after about a second. She took in
the sight: Root sat down, the speakers playing a low opening to a song, and the woman in a police
form that wasn’t quite regulation“You hired a stripper?” Shaw said, flatly, to Root.
“Is it against the law?” Root said.
“You hired a stripper dressed as a police woman,” Shaw said.
“I have a type,” Root shrugged. “Jealous?”
Shaw’s trigger finger twitched. For a few seconds she seemed to be considering whether the
aftermath of shooting Root would be worth it.
“I really don’t care,” Shaw said.
She rolled her eyes, turned around, and walked outside. The sound of footsteps, and the sound of
another car. Root crossed her fingers, gesturing for the speaker to be turned down.
She listened carefully: Shaw’s voice carried well through the hallway. If Root was right, the latest
car should be her desired delivery, in a suspiciously plain, distinctively undistinctive box.
“You, there,” Shaw said. “What is- you know what, never mind, I don’t want to know.”
Root smiled, and hopped to her feet.
“Thanks for your help,” she said, “Jewel, right?”
The woman in the not-quite police uniform took a moment before responding, apparently baffled.
“What was…”
“Soulmate trouble,” Root said. “Don’t worry about it. Want a drink?”
“You don’t want me to-”
“Doesn’t do much for me,” Root said: “No offense. Just play the music loud enough for her to
hear. Have an hour off.”
Jewel hesitated, but went with it, content with the easy money.
Root’s package arrived just then. She waved it through into the other room. It’d take her a fair bit
of time to sort out the cables and sockets and hardware, but it’d be time well spent.
Then she could pay back Carl Elias for the equipment, and have her lawyer call in their favour.
They’d definitely deserved it for getting her out, more or less.
Root wandered over to the window, opening it just a crack. Shaw, still in her car, jumped slightly:
Root waved, before retreating back behind the curtain.
By the time she waved goodbye to Jewel, Shaw’s car had gone from the street. Root couldn’t
quite tell if that was good or bad.
Whatever the case, she knew she’d be having a lot of fun with her soulmate.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent 3
Chapter Summary
Root continues to be a little shit
Root remembered where the police station was just fine. She’d been taken there, after all.
Since the Jewel incident, Shaw had still spent a few days parked outside Root’s house. Thankfully
Root had all the computer parts she needed to make a fair start on paying her debts back.
Shaw wasn’t there at all hours though. She had more typical police work to do as well: both
patrols, answering calls, and basic paperwork. Root planned on the latter.
After a brief hiatus from hacking, she stretched her proverbial muscles by getting into 911’s
dispatch centre. She’d get an alert whenever Shaw was out.
When she was sure Shaw was at the station, given she’d reported in and hadn’t been called out,
Root left her apartment. The street did look rather empty without Shaw’s car parked just opposite
her door.
Root walked. She knew the way, and it wasn’t too far.
After a minute or so, she’d made it to her local station. She walked in, quickly scanning the room:
she spotted Shaw sat by her desk, scribbling away at some dull-looking paperwork.
Smiling to herself, Root walked over. It was a surprisingly long few seconds before Shaw noticed
her standing about her desk.
Shaw looked up.
“Hi sweetie,” Root said.
“Turning yourself in?” Shaw said.
“Was hoping you’d get to use your handcuffs, yes,” Root said.
“Don’t tempt me,” Shaw said. “Why are you here?”
“Just wanted to say hi to my soulmate,” Root said. “Save you coming by my place. I’m happy to
just sit in the corner if that’d make it easier for you.”
Shaw was about to respond, when someone else came over to the desk. Root turned.
“Detective Carter,” the woman said: offered a hand. “Haven’t seen you around. You don’t look
like you’re here about a case?”
“I’m her girlfriend,” Root said.
Her voice went up just slightly, an exaggerated twang: sickly sweet. Carter raised her eyebrows.
“She’s-” Shaw began, audibly irate.
“After all,” Root continued swiftly, “You have to know she’s been parked out around my place
for the last few days. That’d be police harassment if we weren’t together, wouldn’t it? Sure you’ve
been worried about that.”
“I was starting to wonder,” Carter said, after a moment. Her eyes drifted to Shaw. “Sameen does
have a tendency to go a bit too far.”
“Didn’t want you to worry,” Root said. “It’s all fine. Isn’t it sweetie?”
She smiled so-innocently across to Shaw. Shaw, for her part, seemed to be wishing looks could
kill.
Root could see the gears turning behind her eyes. Now she was at the point where she could admit
to being intentionally wary of Root and risk her badge, or play along and have a chance to
continue watching.
Root had read Shaw’s file. She figured it was only fair: Shaw had definitely read hers. Shaw was
on record as having an Axis-II personality disorder: feelings didn’t exactly come easily to her.
Irritation certainly seemed to come fine though.
“It’s fine,” Shaw said, grating.
“Haven’t I seen you before?” Carter said, to Root. “Your face is…”
“Have been here before,” Root said. “Few weeks ago, now.”
“Reporting a crime?”
“Being arrested,” Root said.
She beamed, and tugged the collar of her top down to flash her tattoo: you have the right to
remain silent.
Carter’s eyebrows shot up. For a moment it seemed like she wanted to laugh, and for another
moment she seemed slightly judgemental, before she quickly schooled her expression.
“Can’t help who you love,” Root said: took and tapped Shaw’s hand. “Isn’t that right dear?”
Root was mildly impressed Shaw didn’t combust.
“Excuse me,” Shaw said, “I need to talk to my-” she gritted her teeth, “Girlfriend, alone for a
moment.”
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Carter said.
She looked between the two of them slowly. Maybe she could tell something was off: nonetheless
she didn’t react. Maybe she just concluded it was down to how the two of them had met.
Shaw kept holding Root’s hand, squeezing just a little too tightly, leading her to a quieter side
room filled mostly with filing cabinets.
The moment the door was closed, Shaw span on the spot and pinned Root against the filing
cabinets. Root never lost her smirk: Shaw continued glaring.
“I’m going to kill you,” she whispered, low and urgent. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Visiting my soulmate,” Root said. “Is that a problem?”
“When you tell my boss that we’re- Yes. It is.”
“Thought I was doing you a favour,” Root said. “You heard her. Now you have an excuse to
hang around my place. Or spend the night if you really want to be thorough. Wouldn’t say no to a
strip search.”
“So, is this your plan?” Shaw said. “Annoy me until I drop it, and you can do whatever you want?
It’s not going to work, Root. I don’t care what you try, I’m going to catch you in the act. You’re
not going to get rid of me.”
“Why would I want to get rid of you?” Root said. “You’re my soulmate, remember? I want you to
stick around.”
“Sure you do,” Shaw said. “Hackers like you love having cops in their backyard.”
“I’ve gone straight, remember?” Root said. She smirked. “Admittedly not that straight. But how
could I have done anything wrong?”
“I’m watching you,” Shaw said. “Remember what I said. The slightest misstep, I’m getting you
back here.”
“Looking forward to it,” Root said.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent 4
Chapter Summary
Shaw confronts Root.
Chapter Notes
Just one more part left in this multi-part entry.
Root had just finished breaking into a company bank account when there was a knock at her door.
Almost skipping she stood up, closed the door to her computer room behind her, and opened her
front door.
Sameen Shaw was standing there. She threw a bouquet of flowers at Root: Root just about
managed to catch them.
“Thank you,” Root said. “Didn’t know you cared.”
“You’re the one that sent them,” Shaw said. “I don’t want them. Do I look like I like flowers?”
“You might do,” Root said. “We hardly talk. How am I meant to know?”
“We don’t talk because we’re not friends,” Shaw said. “We’re not anything. You’re a criminal
who got out on a technicality and who’s a breath away from going back in, that’s all.”
“And soulmates.”
“You can shut up about that,” Shaw said. “I don’t care what some words you’ve got scrawled on
your chest say.”
“You’re the one that said them.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Shaw said. “Do you think we’re going to develop anything like this?”
“We’ve got to,” Root said. “Destiny, and all.”
“So you’ve been acting like this because you think it doesn’t matter?” Shaw said. “Think I’ll just
fall into your arms because of a little ink?”
“I’ve been acting like this because it’s fun,” Root said: smiled.
“Not for me.”
“You sure about that?”
“Excuse me?” Shaw said. “Announcing yourself as my girlfriend, sending me bright pink flowers,
teddy bears, chocolates… Are you just trying to make everyone think I like the most cliché, most
un-me kind of…”
“As opposed to what?” Root said. “Loving a hardened criminal? You’d prefer that?”
“I don’t love you.”
“I know,” Root said. “Read your file. You don’t feel much of anything, right?”
“About time you noticed.”
“But I figure,” Root said, “If you’ve got a soulmate, she’s got to be someone who can make you
feel something. Not much of a soulmate otherwise. So, tell me, anyone made you feel as much as
me?”
Root took a step closer. Shaw didn’t move.
“Feel what?” Shaw said. “Homicidal?”
“Murder’s a crime of passion,” Root said. Another step closer; her voice dropped. “That what you
feel, Sameen? Passion?”
“Are you serious?” Shaw said.
“Sometimes,” Root said. “You didn’t answer.”
Shaw rolled her eyes.
“No,” she said. “No, Root. No one has ever made me feel as annoyed, enraged, and downright
murderous as you have. Happy?”
“Very.”
Root took a step back. Whatever she saw in Shaw’s expression had elicited yet another smirk. She
gestured for Shaw to come in.
Shaw paused where she was for a moment. She’d barrelled over the threshold in an initial burst of
anger, then hadn’t moved much.
Now, slowly, she went into Root’s apartment properly. She hit the door, and it swung shut behind
her.
“Know where the story of soulmates came from?” Root said.
“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me,” Shaw said.
“Ancient Greece,” Root said. “Originally people looked different. Male, female, and
androgynous: everyone with two sets of genitals, androgynous with both. Got to love the Greeks.
Then Zeus split everyone up, leaving people like we see them today, struggling to survive and live
without their other half.”
“I’m not particularly struggling,” Shaw said.
“Me neither,” Root said. “Stupid myth. I don’t think anyone’s got another half like that, no one
completes you. We’re all complete as it is.”
“Then what was the point of the story?”
“Some people just complement each other,” Root said. “Criminal, cop, we’re perfect together,
you’ve got to admit.”
“Damn it Root,” Shaw said. “You can’t just turn this into some stupid joke. I don’t know why you
think it’s funny to pretend you-”
“You think I’m pretending?” Root said.
For a moment, Shaw paused.
She’d come in angry. So many little annoyances bubbling over until she’d had to confront Root.
Somewhere along the line her anger had dissipated: not completely, but mostly.
Now she didn’t quite know how to react.
“Pretty sure, yeah,” Shaw said, as though it were obvious.
“Why?” Root said.
“Because it’s what you do,” Shaw said. “Lie, distract, unnerve, get your way.”
“True,” Root said: and smiled. “But doesn’t everyone want a match? That’s one of the parts of the
soulmate myth I like: if you’re my other half, then we’re equal. Evenly matched. No one better
than the other. It’s refreshing.”
Shaw was never good when conversations took a turn for the emotional. She paused, and
watched.
“You challenge me,” Root said: smiled. “First person to actually manage to track me down. And
I’m pretty sure I challenge you, if your passion’s anything to go by.”
“Anger,” Shaw said.
“Passion,” Root said. “Crime of passion, remember?”
“And what makes you think I don’t know you’re lying?” Shaw said.
For the first time, Root faltered. She hadn’t exactly expected to be on Shaw’s good side: but
equally, she wasn’t sure Shaw had much of a good side.
Mentally, she ran through a few possibilities. She could expect Shaw to take it on faith, but Shaw
didn’t have much of that. Or she could take a risk.
A few seconds more of planning, and Root turned, and walked over to a small toolbox by her
sofa. She reached in and pulled out a hammer.
“You want a reason to trust me?” Root said. “I’ll give you what you’re looking for.”
“I swear, if this is some other quip-”
“That door,” Root gestured, and handed the hammer to Shaw. “Go through. Do whatever you
want.”
Uncertainly, Shaw obeyed. She walked cautiously to the door: nudged it open with the head of
the hammer.
In the other room, there was a computer running atop a crowded desk. A bank account that
definitely wasn’t Root’s was visible, and it was wired into several drives and devices that Shaw
recognized as illegal.
She’d studied up while pursuing this case. Some hardware was illegal because of too high an
encryption level, some could be used for dangerous purposes, some had no purpose other than to
break the law.
Slowly, Shaw turned.
“Up to you,” Root said. “If you really want to be rid of me, call it in. If you like the challenge,
stick around.”
A pause.
“I can’t let you keep getting away with this,” Shaw said.
“So, what’ll you do?”
Another pause.
Then Shaw took the option Root had apparently predicted. She lifted the hammer, and struck each
bit of unwelcome hardware, finishing with Root’s laptop. When only shards were left she dropped
the hammer, and turned back to face Root.
“Last warning,” she said.
A few seconds more, and Shaw walked out. Behind her, Root was smiling.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent 5
Chapter Summary
The final part of this AU.
Chapter Notes
I hope you've enjoyed this requested follow-up. As ever, I take any requests for what
AUs you want to see, or what expansions you're interested in.
Root knew she could get distracted. She’d been focused on bettering things with Shaw. As much
as she’d enjoyed the pranks and playfulness, they wouldn’t last forever.
Well, they would, but she wanted to add a little extra. Wanted to actually get to know her
soulmate.
Which was good, and it’d gone about as she’d hoped. She’d demonstrated she was genuine, made
Shaw pause for thought, and got a brief reprieve.
Shaw’s good will hadn’t lasted long, but mostly because Root had popped by the station to talk to
Carter and innocently inquire whether it was allowed to use police issue handcuffs for recreational
purposes.
She was fairly sure Shaw nearly shot her. Still, Root rarely had regrets.
Even so, the cost of her brief bonding session with Shaw had been great: both figuratively and
literally.
She still hadn’t finished paying back Elias for the hardware: and without the computers, she didn’t
have the means to make more. She doubted he’d give her a brand new set.
Which did put her in somewhat of a troublesome situation. She’d missed a payment that morning.
Given that she’d been arrested, and was being watched by a police officer, she doubted Elias
would be in an especially charitable mood.
Problematic.
Loyalty had never been her strong point. Everyone knew that: she didn’t really have a reputation
for respecting people. Humans were flawed. That certainly wouldn’t help matters.
Elias was a traditionalist, though. He’d wait for the cover of night. There was a reason that was a
cliché.
Root sat down idly. After a few seconds she picked up her phone and dialled.
“Hey sweetie,” she said.
“Root,” Shaw said. “How did you get this- Never mind. Why are you calling?”
“Does a girl need a reason to call her soulmate?”
Shaw gave an exasperated sigh.
“I miss seeing your car,” Root said. “You always used to park outside. Hasn’t happened as much
lately.”
“I was trusting you,” Shaw said. “Seemed like you were serious about going straight.”
“I’m not that str-”
“That wasn’t funny the first time,” Shaw said.
“I just wouldn’t mind seeing one of New York’s Finest keeping the streets safe,” Root said.
“Sweetie, you’re certainly fine.”
“You liked me keeping tabs on you? Seriously?”
“Just doesn’t feel right without your car outside any more,” Root said.
She could almost picture Shaw’s eye roll.
“Is that it?” Shaw said.
“Does there need to be more?”
“Stop wasting my time, Root,” Shaw said.
Root chuckled.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” Root said.
Shaw hung up. Smiling, Root lay back on her sofa. She waited.
It was probably the best kind of thing she could have hoped for. A police officer for a soulmate.
She didn’t know if it was ironic, or perfect.
And she did have to wonder about Shaw. A police officer whose soulmate was a criminal: that
probably said something. Not many ways for it to go well, unfortunately.
She closed her eyes. By the time she woke up, it was starting to get dark. Curiously she went over
to the window.
Shaw was parked outside. Root waved playfully: pressed her lips to her window, leaving a smear.
Shaw lifted her middle finger.
It was oddly comforting to see her there.
Root didn’t shut the curtains that night, cracking open the window just slightly. She wandered
over to her sofa and sat down. She wanted to read, or watch something, but it was hard to. She
knew what she was waiting for.
Half an hour on, and he came. A scarred face, and a gun in one hand. Root was oddly flattered
Elias sent someone so high-up to deal with her.
“You know why I’m here,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “Not going to beg, if that’s what you’re waiting for. One request, if you
wouldn’t mind.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t mess up the face,” she said. “Soulmate’s a cop. She’ll probably see the body, I want to
leave a good impression.”
He snorted, lifted his gun, and fired once. Root slumped back on her sofa. He didn’t stay to watch.
The sound of the gunshot echoed. The sound resounded, making its way out through the open
window, and out to the street outside. Shaw looked up sharply in her car, gaze immediately going
to Root’s open window.
She saw the hitman from behind, and saw Root’s outline on the sofa. Immediately she got up.
By the time she was inside, he’d gone. For a few moments she considered following: then she
want to Root, kneeling beside her.
Root had fallen to the floor, by then. She had both hands on her chest, where the bullet had struck.
No blood had yet made it past them.
“Root?” Shaw said, urgently.
“Shaw,” Root said. “You came.”
“You knew this was going to happen?” Shaw said. “You could’ve at least said. NYPD can deal
with a hired gun.”
“Wouldn’t have worked,” Root said.
She shifted: whimpered. Shaw moved to help with the wound, and Root shook her head.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “Where’s that stoic Sameen? He’s a professional. He wouldn’t miss.
You can’t help me that way.”
“Professionals can make mistakes.”
“You almost sound like you want me to survive,” Root said.
“Is that seriously what you’re focusing on?” Shaw said.
“What else would you suggest?”
A pause. Shaw rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she said: exhaled. “Fine. Root. You’re the most irritating, infuriating, frustrating,
exasperating soulmate anyone could possibly ask for.”
“But you’d miss me?”
Root looked up hopefully: weakly. Shaw faltered: then breathed out, slowly.
“Sure,” she said. “Sure, Root, I’d miss you.”
Root smiled, lay back, and closed her eyes.
For a second, Shaw just knelt there. She stared, knowing she should feel something. But then,
feelings had never come easily to her.
Her eyes scanned Root. Her serene expression, her hands still surprisingly in position, over where
the bullet had hit. Somehow, there was still no blood. AndNo blood?
“Gotcha,” Root opened one eye.
Shaw stared. Root shifted, standing up, wincing a little as the bullet dropped from her hands.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Shaw honest-to-god growled.
“What?” Root said. “I got on Elias’s bad side, you think I wouldn’t wear a bulletproof vest?”
“And that whole act?”
“Would you have admitted how you felt otherwise?” Root said: smirked.
“I have half a mind to shoot you myself,” Shaw said.
Root was still smiling. She stretched out, then sat back down on her sofa. By now, she was used
to seeing Shaw looking at her with that mix of incredulity and irritation.
“So you do care,” Root said. “Wouldn’t have bothered you if you didn’t care.”
Shaw glared. Her hand went warningly to her gun. Then:
“Elias?” she said, “You deal with him?”
“Used to,” Root said. “Ended badly, as I’m sure the hitman attests.”
“You still worked for the most powerful mob boss in the city,” Shaw said.
“Not for,” Root said. “Well, usually not. I freelanced. He’s a good person to have owe you a
favour, though.”
“Didn’t last.”
“Nope,” Root said. “Was never really that loyal to him though. You might be able to get some use
out of that.”
There was a pause. Shaw slowly pieced together what Root was saying.
A lot of officers had criminal informants; people well-connected and well-paced in the criminal
underworld. They could deliver tips, and point out a few hot spots the police might know of.
A hacker like Root, whose trade was primarily information, would certainly be valuable.
“You’re proposing turning?” Shaw said.
“Why not?” Root said: and beamed. “I missed out part of that soulmate story, by the way. You
know why Zeus split everyone up into two bodies?”
“He got annoyed by them changing the subject?”
“He was scared,” Root said. “When they were together, people were powerful enough to threaten
even the gods. Seems to me, if soulmates are two halves of the body coming together, we ought to
be just as dangerous.”
“That I can get behind,” Shaw said.
“Soulmates are two people who join up to cause trouble,” Root said, cheerfully. “I thought you
might.”
Good to Hear You
Chapter Summary
Shaw's opposed to the idea of having a soulmate. So's Root. This'll end well.
Chapter Notes
Another requested story!
Well, kinda. Merged two ideas together because I thought they fit well. Enjoy!
Shaw took a pair of scissors to her new top. She was practised at the motion by now. There were
a few shops that sold such items of clothing ready-made, but she preferred the homemade touch.
She slipped it on. It was plain, regular: and now had a hole cut just over her tattoo. Good to hear
you inked on her skin.
As far as she was concerned, it meant she didn’t have a soulmate. Anyone who said it probably
read it; she could ignore them, and ignore her ‘real’ soulmate along with it.
She wasn’t the only one who shared that view. There were always a few on the street, but she
found online communities that were far more open about it.
She joined one when she was young, a couple of weeks after being diagnosed with her disorder.
Plenty of neurotypical people took issue with the ideas of a soulmate, but there was an
understandable correlation between those who questioned the concept, and those who didn’t really
feel.
Still, the place appealed to her. It was good to have somewhere she could get away from the
normal talk and obsession with the idea.
Part of the rules were to not share the words on your tattoo: the idea was to act as though they
didn’t exist, and to do away with the ‘what could that mean?’ discourse that dogged so many other
discussions.
Her screen-name was simple: SShaw. A lot of the others on the forum took more decorative
aliases. She found her suited her, especially after the years went by. The forum was for all ages
and, even as she had less available time, Shaw often returned to it.
After one particularly frustrating day, she started a topic about the variations in tattoo style.
Not everyone had the same colour, for example. Typically it was whatever shade on the grey
spectrum stood out most against skin colour, but variations had been identified, with speculated
causes.
Some might be urban legends, some might be fake; the more creditable cases though probably
indicated a non-romantic soulmate.
It just went to show how limiting the concept was. A lot of people simply wouldn’t have the kind
of partner people proposed. As all the variations in tattoos weren’t understood, though, it was
entirely possible even though-classical designs could be meaningless.
It had been little more than a vent, and she’d gone to sleep after. When she’d idly checked in the
morning, the thread had become fairly popular.
Not everyone on the forum felt the same. Some did believe in soulmates, but rebelled against the
concept on principle: others believed the tattoos were a genetic fluke people just interpreted a
certain way. Only some would have agreed with Shaw’s premise.
One of the more active posters in that thread had the screen-name of Root, who’d offered a few
extra sources to back up what Shaw had said. Shaw responded with a thank you, not particularly
interested in getting involved in a debate. She dealt with enough of that.
The next time she checked her email, she’d been sent a private message by Root.
Like your opinions, but you don’t seem to be around so much. Would you like to stay in contact?
No pressure, but let me know.
Shaw contemplated before responding. There were always a few creeps on the anti-soulmate
boards who insisted the users just had to ‘find the right person,’ or trying to be the ‘right’ person.
Root, at least, seemed genuine. And she was right, Shaw didn’t have the time to be as active as
she used to be, but she did like the idea of having a like-minded person to talk to.
She typed back an agreement, and sent her email address. Root replied with her Skype address,
for instant messaging.
Shaw went with it. It was easier to talk when she knew there’d be a fast reply.
Root: Hey there
SShaw: Hey.
SShaw: You’re not going to do anything stupid and say that’s your tattoo are you?
Root: I’m not one of those, you don’t have to worry.
Root: It’s not. Wouldn’t work like that anyway. Usually has to be the first words they say to you.
Typing wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t make sense anyway, you don’t have to read a phrase in order.
SShaw: You’ve thought about this a lot.
Root: I think about things I disagree with. Need to work out why some people believe in them, at
least.
SShaw: Any luck?
Root: Left thinking what I always thought. People are broken.
Root: That’s the one part of the soulmate thing that rings true. I just don’t think adding one other
person is going to make a bit of difference.
SShaw: That’s the part I think is nonsense. We’re complete.
Root: Completeness implies perfection. There’s always room for improvement, and a lot of it. Just
not going to result from meeting someone.
SShaw: Agreed on that, at least.
Shaw leant back from her computer. It was refreshing to talk to another cynic.
They chatted like that for a few days. Sometimes it started with discussion of soulmates: Root was
more interested in the concept than Shaw. Shaw just wanted a place where they weren’t expected.
Root might bring up a popular thread. She seemed interested by the less typical cases: people who
couldn’t speak, or couldn’t hear, and how their tattoos were marked.
Shaw changed the topic. As far as she was concerned, no matter what a soulmate promised, the
idea was meaningless.
As such, they started talking about more, beyond that initial scope. Shaw heard about Root’s
background: her work, acquaintances (she never said ‘friend’), interests…
Root, in turn, heard about Shaw. Lack of emotion, lack of a social circle, just getting through med
school… She’d appreciated the irony: the doctor who inherently couldn’t care about life.
Root: Want to take care of the elephant in the room?
SShaw: I wasn’t aware there was one.
Root: We could be soulmates, sweetie.
SShaw: Very funny.
There was a pause for a few seconds.
Root: I mean it. We’ve never spoken. You never know. We wouldn’t have to meet: you just need to
hear my voice live, and you’ll know.
SShaw: Or I could never hear your voice. Problem solved.
Root: Wouldn’t it be easier to be sure?
SShaw: What do you have in mind?
A moment later, and a request for a video call came through. Shaw considered: then clicked
accept.
Her internet connection wasn’t great. It was a few seconds before the window opened properly,
and another few before a black frame gave way to a pixelated image.
Dark hair, an impish smile, wide eyes. She wore a top like Shaw’s: cut to show her tattoo. Even
so, it was hard to read through their pixelated connection. It was short, though, couldn’t be more
than two or three words. Easy enough to ensure she didn’t say that.
A moment before Shaw could speak, Root let out an utterly bloodcurdling scream. Shaw winced,
waiting for the shriek to die down. It was made marginally more unpleasant by the audio coming
through in stops and starts, crackling, pausing, then screeching again.
“What the hell was that?” Shaw said.
A couple of seconds: then Root chuckled.
“Just checking,” she said. “Guess you’re not my soulmate. But would’ve loved it if you were,
always wondered how something like that would be tattooed.”
“Could’ve warned me,” Shaw said.
“Aww, scared?”
“Annoyed,” Shaw said.
It was a pain talking through the delay. Still, she figured it answered that one question.
“What would’ve you have done if we were?” Root said. She tilted her head, almost mischievous.
“We’re not,” Shaw said.
“If we were.”
Shaw shrugged. “Treat you like every other potential. Doesn’t matter. You?”
“Be happy,” Root said.
“Seriously.”
“I’m serious,” Root said. “You’d be better than most. Besides, I’m not opposed to the idea of
having a soulmate, so long as they’re a good fit. I just don’t want a choice made for me.”
“Definitely wouldn’t be cliché,” Shaw said.
Not much could be. A relationship with someone who couldn’t love back?
“Best things aren’t,” Root said. She paused; her expression glitched into something distasteful.
“Want to switch to phone? This connection is terrible.”
“Sure,” Shaw said.
It was a little while after she spoke that the video call froze, then cut off. A moment later, and Root
sent her number over the messaging side.
Shaw did have to admit, it was a pain to have to keep talking through delays and frozen seconds.
That, and she did like her exchanges with Root.
She was fairly sure she knew what Root was getting at too. Root had never been the most subtle,
when it came to flirting. And she wasn’t particularly opposed, once they got past the minefield of
soulmates.
A lot of people dated even with people they knew they weren’t ‘meant for.’ All the more so in the
online communities Shaw frequented.
She dialled up the number Root had sent her. Part of her wondered how long it’d take for Root to
actually come out and say it.
“Good to hear you,” Root’s voice came through the phone, mildly breathy.
Shaw nearly dropped the receiver.
“Very funny,” Shaw said.
A pause. Root sounded mildly shaken when she spoke again.
“Why did you say that?” Root said.
“Your joke,” Shaw said. “I’m not an idiot. You read my tattoo over the call.”
“Your-” Root began: paused. “I couldn’t read yours. Could see a blur, but that was all. The
connection was terrible. Why, did you read mine?”
“Read yours?” Shaw said. “What’s yours?”
“’Very funny,’” Root quoted. “You just said it. You had to have-”
Shaw froze. For a moment, she glared at her computer as though it was to blame.
“Doesn’t mean anything, though,” Shaw said. “Not the first words we said to each other. That’s
what matters.”
“Unless…”
“Seriously, Root?” Shaw said. “If you want to date or whatever the hell you’re after you just have
to ask, you don’t need to go through the motions of-”
“I’m not!” Root said: hesitated. “Well, I was going to ask you, but… You know what I said?
Soulmate marks come from live exchanges. You have to hear it more or less as I say it, you
couldn’t get a tattoo from a recording. With how laggy that call was…”
Seriously? Shaw bit back a curse.
“If this is some joke-” Shaw began.
“It’s not,” Root said. “I mean, I love my share of pranks, but this isn’t one of them.”
Just when she’d had a few seconds to mull over the idea of being with Root. Soulmate via the
universe playing a trick on them.
Damn it.
“Don’t hang up,” Root said.
“I wasn’t going to,” Shaw said.
Root breathed out, relieved. “So, want to give this a go?”
“You’re asking me now?”
“When else would you suggest?” Root said. “I was going to before I found out. And sounded like
you want me to. So seems like the best time, really.”
Shaw paused for a few seconds: closed her eyes.
“It’s just coincidence,” Shaw said, after a moment. “The video call didn’t lag that much.”
“That what you want to believe?” Root said.
“It’s what happened,” Shaw said.
“Sure thing,” Root said. “That a yes?”
Shaw rolled her eyes. “Sure, Root. It’s a yes.”
Pride and Prejudice
Chapter Summary
Root's giving a speech on soulmates: Shaw's a reluctant attendee.
Chapter Notes
Accidental seduction via philosophy. Enjoy!
Shaw didn’t have many friends. Well, she didn’t have many people she’d call friends. She had a
lot of people who might call her a friend.
It was an unfortunate side effect of saying yes to most events that involved alcohol. Her
housemate Reese led to his boss Harold, led to his wife Grace, and an ever-expanding social circle
was born from a desire for vodka.
Reese she just about got on with. They both had taciturn sides, both didn’t like to dedicate
unnecessary energy with getting to know people.
They got together a lot. Shaw made no secret about the fact she was there for the drinks: then
again, she was sometimes entertained. There was that night Harold had accidentally had her vodka
instead of his water.
A drunk Harold was quite an impressive sight. He’d given a few lines of a song before toppling
into his pool; Shaw had glimpsed the outlines of two tattoos on his chest through his sodden shirt.
Did explain why otherwise-withdrawn Reese spent so much time with Harold and Grace.
Grace was the one who tried to befriend Shaw. She was the one who brought up soulmates. She
was an artist, Shaw should’ve expected she’d be a romantic too.
When Harold gave a speech at a TED Talk-type conference, they all went with him. Reese
seemed interested in a few topics, surprising Shaw. Grace was the one that convinced Shaw to go
with her.
“I’ve heard good things about her,” Grace said. “Forefront of her field, and a good speaker.”
“What’s the topic?”
“Soulmates,” Grace said.
Shaw nearly left there and then.
“Just listen,” Grace said. “This one talk, and I’ll never talk to you again about them, if you don’t
want to.”
Grace did have a fondness for matchmaking. She’d asked to see Shaw’s tattoo a few times, to see
if she could work out who might say that. Shaw had never acquiesced.
I love puns. Shaw really didn’t want to meet any of Grace’s pun-loving friends. Her usual reaction
to puns was a groan.
“You don’t want a Mr Darcy?” Grace said.
“Enough with the Austen references,” Shaw said. “And I don’t want an Elizabeth Bennet either.”
“Mr Darcy is the classic,” Grace said. “I’m proud you recognized the reference though.”
“You keep talking about Austen,” Shaw said.
“Harold proposed with Sense and Sensibility,” Grace said. “They have fond associations.”
“Not to me,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Grace said. “It’s why I think you’ll like the talk.”
Shaw had sighed, and agreed. She could sit through one talk if that was what it took.
And, to be honest, she was academically interested. Only slightly, but still. People made such a
big deal about soulmates and other results of emotions, and they made very little sense to her.
That was how Shaw came to be sitting next to Grace, a fair way back in a crowded audience. Of
the few talks Shaw had attended, none had been quite as packed as this one.
Apparently this one was popular. Grace hadn’t lied when she’d said the speaker was good.
A few minutes more, and she walked out onto the stage. She looked oddly small, given the size of
the room. There was polite applause: she stood there, and waited.
She began by looking around and surveying the audience, waiting for the noise to die down.
When it did, she began.
“I love puns,” she said. “That’s probably not an accepted reason for getting into a field, but it
worked for me. Soulmates, sole-mates, s-o-u-l, s-o-l-e, not accurate strictly speaking, but
appealing. So, I’m here to talk to you about the concept of soulmates.”
Shaw stiffened, and sat stock-still throughout much of her introductory preamble.
She gave her name, her preferred nom de plume (Root), her background in computing, her initial
scepticism… Shaw barely moved an inch.
Grace looked sideways at her, curiously.
“Now then,” Root continued, “There are a lot of interesting questions that can be asked about our
tattoos. Where do they come from? Are they, as the Greeks believed, Aphrodite and Apollo’s gift
for artists to find their muses? Are they the work of God to prevent premarital sex by ensuring
everyone is with only one person? Are they a covenant with the Goddess: a promise that we will
meet someone who’ll enrich our lives? Or are they just a fact of the universe?”
She smiled to herself.
“If you’re like me, you might have thought about abusing the system,” Root said. “What if, for
example, you met your soulmate, they said the phrase on your heart, and you proceeded to look at
their tattoo and say the wrong thing. What then? Some believe that’d be that and you’d have
evaded destiny, some believe someone else will come up to you and say the same phrase the next
day, and the day after, and the day after that… Some believe the universe will end. Some think
that’s already happened.”
Shaw did have to admit, Root was a good speaker. She wasn’t exactly interested in the subject
matter, but Root did make it almost spellbinding. Something about her stage presence.
“All that aside,” Root said, “What is known is this: it’s impossible to ignore your tattoo. People
have tried, but you always meet someone who says what’s tattooed on your chest.”
She had that right. Shaw didn’t know quite what to think about that particular titbit. What was she
meant to do? One person in a crowd could hardly get her attention.
And for that matter, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She could walk out after the speech and no
one would know any better. Even if Root seemed to be implying that was impossible. Shaw
almost wanted to leave just to spite the universe.
“Not everyone’s happy with this,” Root said. “You can kinda see why. Where’s the freedom?
Where’s the choice? Who’s to say that you have to live in white-picket-fence bliss with that one
person of all people? Whatever happened to free will?”
She paused at that: gauged the audience. Shaw tried not to meet her eyes.
“Firstly, sorry to burst your bubble,” Root said. “Free will’s an illusion. It’s all programming. You
were born with hardware you didn’t choose, running a program before you were aware to choose
it. There’s no room for choice. We might not be easy to predict, but any programmer knows how
to add a random variable to code. There was never any room for choice.”
Root glanced around again, apparently trying to see if she needed to go into any more detail.
Shaw would admit she was a good speaker, and smart too, but Shaw was fairly sure Root already
know that. She did give that impression. Most people didn’t seem to have noticed that she was
likely bored.
Of course she was. If she was an expert, she wouldn’t want to be explaining such accessible areas.
“However, that’s not to say there isn’t some freedom,” Root said. “There’s no one way to have a
soulmate. Some people live the cliché. Some people have a strictly platonic relationship with their
soulmate: some have a strictly sexual one. Some people have more than one soulmate. Some
people only have one, but nonetheless have an open relationship. Most date before they meet their
soulmate: some might end the relationship they’re in the moment they hear those words, some
might wait it out.”
Somewhere along the line, Shaw had ended up engaged. She was glad Grace had become as
enthralled, though, as distracted; she didn’t want Grace noticing she was interested.
She also didn’t want Grace to think about why Shaw might be looking so disconcerted.
Root was more bearable than Shaw might have expected. There was something to be said for
someone who could find a topic and actually be interested in it: there was more to be said for
someone expressive.
And, if nothing else, it was good to hear she wouldn’t be expected to have anything as sappy as
Harold and Grace even if she did have a soulmate.
“By its very definition, a soulmate is a perfect match,” Root said. “It literally cannot go wrong. If
you want the TV cliché, so will they. If you hate cats, for some unfathomable reason, they won’t
want one as a pet. If you like disagreement, don’t expect someone who has much in common with
you. A soulmate isn’t an ‘other half:’ it’s a complement. Turing and codes, Bonnie and Clyde, PB
and J.”
Some people chuckled at the momentary levity. Shaw suppressed a mild smile.
“Now then, what about the tattoos?” Root said. “Where they come from is one of those mysteries
we’ll probably never figure out. What they mean is obvious. But what about practicalities?”
Unconsciously, Shaw shifted. She listened. As reluctantly interested as she was, though, it was
hard to ignore that slightly smug edge to Root’s tone. She was prideful, because she felt she
deserved to be.
Shaw could hardly begrudge her that, it seemed as though she’d spent a lot of time in the field, but
she’d always been less than happy with people who were used to being right.
“Everyone should be fascinated by the idea,” Root said. “What kind of person complements
them? What kind of life would they lead? Would they have the relaxed, peaceful retirement they’d
hoped for, or should they expect something different? Would they agree on everything, or argue
constantly? Remember, there’s no one way to have a soulmate. Everyone’s different, so
everyone’s soulmate will be different too.”
Somehow, Shaw had actually become intrigued by the idea. She turned her gaze away from the
stage, to glare briefly at Grace.
Grace didn’t notice, too distracted by the speech. Shaw couldn’t blame her. Root certainly knew
how to catch an audience’s attention.
If nothing else, she knew she and Root wouldn’t be one of those couples that agreed on
everything.
“What about me?” Root said. “I can say this: be careful. If you want to be sure you meet the right
person, respond uniquely whenever you hear the words in your tattoo. If everyone follows that
rule, there’ll be a lot less confusion. Some people give their name, some people just pick a
password. For the many of you who’ve no doubt fallen for me, I’d suggest the latter. Like most
public figures, I’ve had mine removed so that no one can abuse the system. Sorry.”
She smirked playfully. Shaw almost wanted to speak up just to see how she’d react: maybe even
catch her off-guard. Surely anything she’d say would count?
But a password? Somehow that made it trickier. Her mind went blank, even knowing that
whatever she said would have to be accurate.
Honestly, she still didn’t know what she thought of soulmates. She wasn’t enthralled by the
prospect, but nor was she as opposed as she had been before. Maybe that’d wear off by the time
she walked outside and the effect of the speech wore off.
For as long as she was in here, though, she could wonder.
“Now, I hope you’ve enjoyed this brief introduction,” Root said. “Here’s your generic closing
speech. Thank you to very few of the people quoted in the programme: most are just there to fill
up space, you’ve been about average as an audience, because really, audiences aren’t always
better than every one that’s come before, and enjoy the rest of your day.”
She glanced at her watch.
“This is only an overview,” Root said. “There’s a lot more depth that’s gone into studying the
technicalities. What defines the length of their ‘first words?’ What would happen if you tried to
create a paradox by saying the wrong words, or if you tried to send a message back to change the
past? There’s a lot of study still going on. Now, to fill up our last few minutes, does anyone have
any questions?”
Someone near the front asked something very technical-sounding. Root launched into a reply,
complete with jargon Shaw didn’t even wasn’t to try to understand.
Apparently this was the point where actual experts in the field started to speak up. Shaw heard a
couple of people who sounded more like amateurs, and Root answered them just as plainly, but it
seemed to be taken up mostly by people who already dedicated a lot of time to reading about
soulmates.
“So?” Grace said, softly, to Shaw. “What did you think?”
Shaw hesitated.
“…Interesting,” she said, eventually.
“Liked it more than you expected, then,” Grace said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Isn’t that what ‘interesting’ means?” Grace said. “It can be very hard to work out what you mean
when you keep being so curt.”
Shaw said nothing. Grace sighed.
“Got to be at least curious about a Mr Darcy though,” she said.
“It’s not going to be Mr Darcy,” Shaw said.
“Or whoever,” Grace said. “Any preferences?”
Shaw was going to give her typical, non-committal response when she hesitated. Sometime she’d
decided that she didn’t just want to walk out of the auditorium without at least making sure.
She’d give Root that. She was intriguing.
Slightly irate, Shaw tilted her neck back and yanked her collar down, for the first time displaying
her tattoo to Grace.
It took maybe a second or so for her to recognize the phrase. Then Grace was beaming.
Before she could say anything more, Shaw stuck her hand up. Root picked her, next, to ask a
question. It saved Grace speaking.
Shaw paused for a few moments. She’d wanted to speak, but she still wasn’t entirely sure what to
say. As far as passwords went, she’d figured out Harold’s on a bored afternoon: he and Grace
liked their Austen references. Copying them might just be the easiest way to go. Still, eight letters
might be too generic.
Then again, Grace had been talking about Darcy often enough.
“Pride and Prejudice,” Shaw said, picking a title at random.
It was oddly gratifying to see the sheer shock cross Root’s face.
I'm Going to Kill You 1
Chapter Summary
Shaw's been hired to kill a politician. Root's been hired to defend him.
Chapter Notes
Two-part ficlet this time. Went a bit long for just a one-parter, and had a fairly good
natural break.
Shaw had been hired to kill a slightly sleazy politician. Nothing new there. What was new, was
said politician hiring someone actually competent to defend them.
Security cameras were better hidden than usual. She had to actually take a few seconds to place
them: and it turned out even that wasn’t good enough.
An alarm went off, and Shaw instantly changed her plan. If there was no subtle way to sneak in,
then she’d kick up a fuss and scare him out. When he was trying to get away, that was her
opening.
Most politicians who’d offended the kind of person who’d send a hitwoman, also tended to have
access to less conventional ‘security advisors’ or fixers. It was surprisingly hard to find a
competent fixer though; they got paid whether or not their client lived, and who’d be around to
spread bad publicity?
If there was a good internal security net, that was likely the fixer’s expertise.
She fired twice at a window, before swiftly changing positions. It was unlikely she’d managed a
clean strike, she was never that lucky, but a few bullets did a remarkable job at scrambling up
someone’s thinking.
The door opened: a cloaked figured hurrying to a car. Easier to flee than stay in an assailed
building Perfect.
Shaw fired. The figure toppled, and she caught a glimpse of wheels: not a person, then, a
mannequin made to distract.
Then it exploded. Shaw ducked back behind cover, glad she wasn’t one of those hitwoman who
favoured a close-range kill. What kind of fixer suggested a fake escape?
A competent one, of course. Just her luck.
The one advantage, though, was it meant the front door had to be unlocked. Shaw snuck inside
silently, effortlessly incapacitating the few guards nearby.
It was easy enough to make it through the building. Political offices weren’t really built for
security. And as no one stayed conscious long enough to alert anyone else, her target wouldn’t
know she was in the building.
She made it to his office, and burst inside with her gun raised. It was the obvious place to look: it
was also empty.
Shaw stepped inside, keeping her gun-arm up, turning on the spot in case someone might be
hiding behind the door.
A door which quickly slammed shut: some primitive motor installed in the hinges. Shaw tensed
immediately, looking around. Her attention was drawn to the bookcase.
Normally bookcases were just meant for decoration. Politicians didn’t have any opportunity to
read during solid hours of meetings, and if they did they wouldn’t go for such dry, dusty volumes
as those. As such, they’d be arranged for aesthetic value, and dust would build up.
There was no dust, and a distinct, haphazard look to them. Shaw stepped closer: nudged a book to
the side with the tip of her gun.
A plastic explosive was set to the back. Shaw took a hasty step back, swearing, and looking
around.
The door had sealed itself: and she could see, now, that the window was bulletproof. Whoever
they’d hired had done a real number on the place.
It was then she noticed the computer come to life. Shaw quickly moved in front of it: looked at the
embedded camera. She knew enough to figure that the fixer was on the other side, no doubt
wanting to look at their victory.
“When I get out of here, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you,” Shaw said, simply.
“There’s a step missing in that plan,” a woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Namely,
getting out of there.”
And Shaw tried not to think about how she had those words tattooed on her chest. Which meantso, did this fixer have her backtalk tattooed on her as well?
It didn’t seem to bother her. Likely she wasn’t perturbed by the idea of killing her soulmate; Shaw
might, if she were paid to. Still, she wasn’t going to resort to begging.
“Just watch me,” Shaw said.
She took a step back, without a clue of what to do.
The door was shut, and likely reinforced. The window was bulletproof: and while, at short range,
bullets should definitely be able to crack it, she probably didn’t have enough to do any serious
damage. That, and it’d still leave her with a fatal drop.
“I am,” the fixer said. “Enjoying myself too. Tell you what, let’s make this more interesting.”
A timer on the explosive Shaw uncovered flickered to life. 1:30. It started counting down.
“Let me guess,” Shaw said, “Building’s empty, except for any expendable personnel. Target went
out early looking like an aide, left his office light on.”
“Very good,” the fixer said. “And this’ll look like a terrorist attack, which easily swings into
gaining sympathy votes. Neat, really.”
1:02
1:01
Shaw turned her attention back to the bookcase. She pulled more off it: books, a bust, all manner
of faux-respectable decoration concealing yet more explosives. Definitely enough to destroy most
of the building.
She tried the door, not really expecting it to work.
“You could hit that with a car and it wouldn’t break,” the fixer offered. “Let me save you some
time.”
“Forgive me if I don’t listen to anything you say,” Shaw said.
“Looked like you could do with a little help.”
Shaw rolled her eyes, and went over to the bombs. They were a crude design: chemical mixture
that could be triggered by impart or any electrical spark. No doubt the timer counted down to the
latter.
Nothing special, but they didn’t need to be. Maybe even homemade; that was certainly the
cheapest way to cook up this much of the stuff.
“Takes me four seconds to disarm one of those,” the fixer said, “And I know what I’m doing.
Eighteen times four gives one minutes twelve. You might’ve stood a chance if you’d gone for
disarming as soon as you’d gotten in here.”
“More explosives than just the bookcase, though,” Shaw said.
“Of course,” the fixer said. “And one going off will trigger the rest.”
“Only if they’re close.”
0:18
0:17
Shaw cast her eyes around the room again. Nope, no easier way.
She pulled one of the smaller-looking explosives from the back of the bookcase, weighing it in her
hand. It was hard to gauge just how much damage it’d do.
That was the real problem with dealing with things that weren’t professional grade. They were
unpredictable: if this was military standard just one would send a shockwave throughout the room,
and what she was going to do would likely kill her.
It looked homemade: and so there was a chance it wasn’t as powerful as it could be.
She shot one last look at the computer: “I’m going to find you.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
0:10
0:09
Shaw stood behind the desk, and threw the explosive at the window. As soon as it got close, she
shot at it, and ducked downIt detonated, and cracks immediately started to run through the reinforced glass. Shaw didn’t have
time to sigh in relief: it hadn’t been powerful enough to detonate the other explosives in the room
when it was that far from them.
0:07
0:06
She lifted the chair, and ran for the window: struck it as hard as she could. The first explosive had
already done most of the damage, and she didn’t feel lucky enough to risk throwing another.
The cracks gave way quickly, leaving Shaw with just a fatal drop.
0:02
Shaw leapt from the window, flipping and trying to keep the chair underneath her. She was still a
few metres from the ground when she heard the explosion.
She didn’t look up, bracing herself: and the chair shattered on impact with the ground. Thankfully
it took the brunt of the force, leaving Shaw to grunt, and carefully pick herself up.
Limping slightly, she hurried away. There was already the sound of police sirens.
She found her target politician eventually. Evidently they figured they wouldn’t need to worry, if
they hadn’t heard of a second killer being sent after them. They’d counted on the first dying in the
explosion.
He was rather surprised to find her waiting in his office with a gun, a blowtorch, and a question.
She came away with a name: Root. The fixer who’d almost killed her and, apparently, who was
her soulmate.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she planned to do. She didn’t like the idea of having a potential foe
out there who might prove a challenge: just as she didn’t like the idea of a competent enemy who
might decide she was a loose end.
Being a soulmate complicated matters. She’d never been a fan of the concept but, well, it was
something unique. And if it meant the fixer could conceivably be an ally, Shaw wouldn’t refuse.
That was a question for another day, though. First, she had to find Root.
I'm Going to Kill You 2
Chapter Summary
Be vewy vewy qwiet, Shaw's hunting Woots.
Chapter Notes
And part 2 to finish the last entry!
Shaw didn’t have a particular aptitude for computers. She could, however, point a gun at people
who did, until they got her an IP address and a location.
A day later, and she’d followed Root’s digital footprints back to a caravan in a different state.
She went in, gun raised as ever. She was almost pleased to find it empty; this would have been
disappointingly easy otherwise.
She’d opened the door from a distance to avoid any traps, before sneaking in after. It seemed to be
clean of explosives, or anything similarly lethal. There was, however, another laptop that came to
life as she entered.
“You always burst into a girl’s bedroom like this?” Root’s voice came over the speaker.
Shaw suppressed the urge to shoot the laptop. It might be worth finding another tech guy to trace
it. As good as Root’s skills seemed to be, very little compared to the sheer motivation offered by
the barrel of a gun.
Root couldn’t keep moving. Shaw would run her to ground, sooner or later.
She scanned the caravan, in the admittedly unlikely hope a clue might have been left behind.
“Don’t ignore me, Sameen.”
Shaw glanced sharply at the computer.
“Yep, I know who you are,” Root said. “Had to find out who it was that survived my little trap.
Have to say, I’m kinda a fan.”
“How about you give me your address?” Shaw said. “Might even give you my signature if you
do.”
“Tempting,” Root said. “But I don’t think so. Consider this a freebie. Won’t be as easy if you
decide to keep on looking.”
“You think that’ll stop me?”
“Probably not,” Root said. “But it’d be a shame to lose such talent.”
There was a positively lascivious edge to her tone, then. Shaw did a brief double take; was she
really flirting in the middle of a conversation featuring mutual murder threats?
Well, soulmate, it was probably expected.
“Guess I can expect you to keep trying,” Root said. Shaw couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or
pleased.
“Of course,” Shaw said: walked in front of the laptop. “See you soon.”
There was the sound of Root blowing a kiss, before the connection shut down. Shaw took the
laptop with her, and, ah, convinced an IT expert to track the source of the last communication.
The next caravan she went to exploded. Thankfully, like before, she’d opened the door and
triggered the trap from a distance.
Still, she could recover a few bits and pieces from the wreckage. The hard drive was irreparable,
but the license plate wasn’t. She tracked down its source, and eventually found a security footage
picture of the buyer.
As soulmates went, Shaw wouldn’t complain.
Forcing her way to see the security footage proved beneficial as well. Root had driven up in
another car, whose license plate she could track down.
As she travelled to it, she was able to get a ‘friend’ to run facial recognition on the photo. At last
she had an identity that was more concrete than ‘Root:’ Samantha Groves, childhood IT prodigy
who’d vanished in the last few years.
The car she eventually found in a junkyard, recently abandoned. She didn’t know if that was
because Root was worried about being followed, or if she regularly switched up transport.
There was nothing left behind in the car. Anything of value had been stripped away: whatever
else Root was, she was certainly thorough.
Shaw was almost enjoying herself.
She took a brief break in a motel, keeping on the road. Her laptop camera sparked to life almost as
soon as she turned it on.
“Still looking, I hear,” Root said. “Makes a girl feel all warm and fuzzy.”
“Do I want to ask how you found me?” Shaw said.
“Stolen facial recognition software uploaded into a few choice security systems,” Root said,
absently. “Not really complaining about the chance to watch you.”
“Could return the favour sometime, Samantha.”
For a moment, Root was silent. Then, a chuckle:
“Root, please,” she said. “I’m kinda impressed. This is fun, isn’t it?”
“I’m planning on something a lot more fun,” Shaw said.
“I’m sure you are,” Root said. “There you go again, making me all curious. I have a professional
reputation though, you know? Can’t go being found so easily.”
“The longer I have to wait, the more time I’ve got to plan what I’m going to do to you.”
Shaw wasn’t entirely sure she was still threatening. Weeks to mull the idea over, a soulmate had a
certain appeal, especially someone like this.
“Promises, promises.”
Shaw left that laptop behind when she moved on. She had gotten one good bit of information
from the junkyard, however; the place the car had been picked up.
If Root was as thorough as it sounded, she’d have likely arranged for it to be stolen. That wasn’t
as good at covering tracks as people thought, though.
If it had been taken for a joyride, the car thief would still need to walk home. Cross reference the
car’s location with local hotspots for such crimes, cross reference those locations with car
dealerships as Root would still have needed to pick up new transport…
People like Root, and Shaw for that matter, needed to stay on the road. Staying in one place was
just putting a target on your back. It wasn’t perfect though: and Shaw knew all the tricks.
It just meant she had to follow by different means.
When the car dealerships didn’t pan out, she spent a fun couple of weeks taking taxi rides and
putting a gun to the back of every driver’s head until one recognized Root’s photo. It didn’t take
too long; the same driver never picked her up more than once.
From that she could work out where Root had really gone, and went to the dealerships in walking
distance of that area, successfully finding out what Root had bought.
It wasn’t efficient, but it was a start. Root could always move on faster than Shaw could follow:
but it definitely kept Root distracted.
The number of conversations Root had started, popping up on any computer Shaw used to taunt
and tease and flirt, it was clear Root was keeping tabs on her. Shaw could take advantage of that.
After three months of pursuit, she stole another computer to send an email to a friend the other side
of the country. Cole would seek the services of a fixer with a situation tailored to Root’s expertise.
Root would accept. She wouldn’t expect a trap: Shaw’s and Cole’s connections weren’t stored
anywhere online.
As far as Root was concerned, Shaw was still tracking her down via a chain of used cars. She’d
also be busy with talks with Cole: they wouldn’t meet in person, but Cole would try to trace her.
He’d fail, Shaw expected that, but she could get a location.
Shaw used the location she had Root placed at, from following the car trail, and that Cole had
found from the online trace. Looking at a map, she looked for any sources of caravans between
the two.
Root seemed to prefer to work in them. Compact, all the comforts of home without needing to
leave the same room as the computer screen. Plus portable, and easy to change up: both valuable
commodities in her line of work.
Root would move on, but she’d need her car first. She’d have parked it near wherever she’d
picked up the caravan. Cross reference with long-term car parking…
Shaw spent the night camped out above a car park. Eight hours on, Root came into view.
She stiffened so beautifully when Shaw pressed her gun to the back of her head.
“Get into the car,” Shaw said, low. “Back seat.”
Hands raised just slightly, Root obeyed. Shaw waited for her to slide across, and got in too.
This way no one was near the wheel; they were out of view, but not going anywhere.
“Told you I’d find you,” Shaw said.
It was a few moments before Root responded. She did seem surprised.
Shaw was somewhat gratified about that. It had been challenging, exhausting, frustrating, and
above all utterly fun to try to track her down. It was good to see that she’d managed some small
victory.
“You did,” Root said, after a moment. “I’m glad you keep your promises.”
“I think it was more of a threat,” Shaw said.
“Did have that feel to it.”
Shaw let her gun move forward: pressed the cold metal to Root’s throat. She arched just slightly,
lifting her chin and closing her eyes as though ecstatic at the feel of it.
At least she wasn’t one of those targets that got all weepy and desperate the moment they were in
danger. Shaw could respect that.
Still, there was one thing she had to confirm. She pushed the barrel closer: then tugging it down,
bringing Root’s neckline with it.
When I get out of here, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you tattooed into her perfect
skin. Shaw smiled to herself, withdrawing, and keeping her gun raised.
“What, that?” Root said. “Hear it a lot. What’s your point?”
Shaw hesitated.
“Remember when we first spoke?”
“Of course,” Root said. “You stood out. You said that too, right? And I said, ooh, what was it?”
There’s a step missing in that plan, Shaw used her free hand to unbutton her top. Root raised her
eyebrows.
“Fancy that,” she said.
Shaw paused.
“You didn’t know?” Shaw said.
“How would I know?” Root said. “A lot of people threaten to kill me. Perk of the job. Why? Did
you think-”
Root cut herself off: raised her eyebrows, evidently amused. Then she tilted her head,
contemplative, increasingly less intimidated by the gun.
“Wait,” Shaw said, “So when you kept contacting me, talking to me, flirting with me- You didn’t
know we were soulmates, and you thought I was coming to kill you?”
“Your point?”
Shaw wasn’t entirely sure she knew any more.
“So, you don’t want to kill me?” Root said. “Is that what I can take away from the gun pointed at
my head?”
“I was going to,” Shaw said: paused. “But this was fun.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Root smiled fondly.
“Originally, I just planned to find you, and hurt you,” Shaw said. “I still could.”
Root beamed.
“I would have been a little disappointed if you didn’t manage to find me,” Root admitted. “Kinda
like having a nemesis.”
“Is that what we are?”
“Well, you’re not quite my equal, but close enough.”
“I could still shoot you,” Shaw said.
“You won’t.”
“Very confident for someone who didn’t expect to end the night with a gun to their head.”
“If you went through all this to find your soulmate, you’re not going to hurt me.”
“I went through all this to hurt you, soulmate or not,” Shaw said.
Root met her eyes. There was a suddenly glint in them. Slowly, she shifted in her seat: lifted both
her hands, keeping them in view.
“Tell you what,” Root said. “You can shoot me any time.”
And Root leant forward, so very slowly, giving Shaw every chance to pull the trigger. Shaw
didn’t move in the slightest: didn’t react, and didn’t flinch.
Root rested one hand on Shaw’s wrist. For a moment, Shaw thought she was going to push it
away: instead, Root grasped her arm, and pulled it closer. Soon the barrel pressed right under
Root’s ribcage, in just the right position to puncture a lung.
And Root kept leaning forwards, still perfectly at Shaw’s mercy, and pressed her lips to Shaw’s.
A long few seconds passed.
Then Root slowly pulled back, slightly breathless, and wearing a playful little smile.
“Told you,” she said.
Can You Hear Me? 1
Chapter Summary
Set in an AU where Relevance never happened, and Shaw never ran into Root or the
rest of Team Machine.
Another two-part entry.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
When the details of Northern Lights had been leaked and the project shut down, Shaw had more
or less been out of a job. The ISA still had a few minor roles for her, but it had far less purpose
without Research.
Shaw wasn’t an idiot. If the program was terminated, they’d want to tie up loose ends. The more
loyal operatives would last, but Shaw and Cole had asked one too many questions. No one
wanted them leaking as well.
Which left Shaw in her apartment, with six handguns and a sniper rifle. The demise of Northern
Lights was an opportunity for them to clean house, but she had no intention of going out easily.
She’d taken out two agents already, no doubt marking her as a definite threat. It was easy to spot
the people that didn’t belong.
She glanced down. Absolutely was tattooed on her chest. Looking at it had become a little ritual
for her; the idea of a soulmate had little fascination for her, but the promise of the tattoo did. Those
would be the first words her soulmate said to her.
Plenty of people had said that word, but never alone, and never as the first thing they said.
Shaw figured, she couldn’t die until she met her soulmate. Tattoos wouldn’t mean anything if they
were never spoken. She didn’t put herself in danger, she wasn’t stupid, but it was good to know
she was safe.
A rather obviously armed woman walked out into the clear alley in front of Shaw. Shaw shifted,
aiming her rifle.
“Can you hear me?” Shaw raised her voice.
The woman stopped. Somehow she looked straight towards Shaw, and smiled. Shaw could see
her face through the scope; the woman seemed amused.
“Absolutely,” she said.
“You’re in my crosshairs,” Shaw said. “Drop both your guns-two at once, really?-lift up your
hands, and tell me how many you’re with.”
Absolutely. She didn’t want to think about that.
The woman obeyed, carefully holding both guns with just two fingers, lowering them to the
ground. She straightened, and raised her arms, keeping her hands spread open and visible.
“I’m alone,” she said. “Well, not really, but no other people.”
“I really doubt that,” Shaw said, and fired a warning shot just past her ear. The woman didn’t
flinch. “You people never work alone. How many, and where are they?”
“I’m not here to kill you, Sameen,” the woman said. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
“Sure.”
It was a twisted interest that made Shaw turn her scope lower. It would still be a fatal shot, it just
wasn’t the woman’s face she was interested in.
A lot of people concealed their tattoos. Some people, however, just didn’t care. This woman was
apparently one of them: can you h- was visible, spiralling under her top.
Well that was disturbingly familiar.
“I’m going to pick up my gun now,” the woman said.
“Bad move.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
The woman ducked down, and picked up one of her guns. Shaw tried to fire, but missed: it took a
few seconds to line up a shot with her sniper scope, and the woman always seemed to know
where Shaw was aiming.
The woman fired twice at an agent Shaw didn’t even know was there, before turning back
around, dropping the gun, and raising her hands.
“Believe me now, Sameen?” she said.
Shaw hesitated. It could be a trap, paranoia had served her well, but… Well, Shaw was nothing if
not pragmatic. Whatever she thought of soulmates, hers wouldn’t kill her. Had to be against the
definition or something, right?
“Come on in, then,” Shaw said.
The woman picked up her guns again. Shaw let her, slightly warily. Well, she did seem to be at
least making an effort to protect Shaw, for whatever reason.
Shaw kept her rifle mounted where it was, pointing out the window, and she moved away from
the scope. She reached down to pick up one of her handguns: best to be sure. Then, with a last
look to make sure the street was empty, she turned around and waited.
“Sameen, right?” the woman came into view. “Call me Root. I took care of everyone on the way
in.”
“You could’ve missed a few.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Root said. “You trusted me enough to let me in here, trust me on that too.”
“I trusted you weren’t going to hurt me,” Shaw said: tapped the little of Root’s tattoo that was
visible. “I know nothing about your counter-surveillance.”
Root frowned, looking where Shaw had touched her. It was a few seconds before she looked up:
and then saw Shaw’s tattoo.
“Wait, you think-”
“Not exactly up to me,” Shaw said.
“I’m not your soulmate,” Root said.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Shaw said. “Not expecting anything, not looking for anything. Seems
like you have to be is all.”
“Very flattering, sweetie,” Root said: she tugged her collar down. Can you hear me? “But sorry,
already met mine, and it isn’t you.”
Chapter End Notes
So, a request a while back was one of Root and Shaw thinking they've already met
their soulmate, only it was coincidence they said the right thing.
Couldn't figure out how to get that to work before: best possible alternate relationship
I could think of was Shaw and Tomas (mostly because the character research I'd have
to do for that would involve watching the scene where she's trying to be on a date,
and Root's giving a running commentary in her ear. That scene is a masterpiece) and I
couldn't do too much with that. And then this happened, and it ended up focused on a
completely different aspect.
Can You Hear Me? 2
Chapter Summary
Part 2: Root contemplates.
Chapter Notes
So, yep, this was meant to be a story about one of them thinking they've found
someone else, and pretty much just turned into musing on Root and the Machine.
Root had taken Shaw to a safe-house. Harold was putting together a fake identity, so they’d only
have to wait a couple of days.
“If I’m going to trust you to have my back, I need to know you’re not completely delusional,”
Shaw had said. “You said my words. I said yours. What does that mean to you?”
“Coincidence,” Root said. “Has to happen sometime.”
“And the other isn’t coincidence?”
Root had faltered only slightly. “No. She’s mine. She has to be.”
But the possibility was hard not to think about. She’d spent years looking down on people, that
she’d been ecstatic the first time she’d heard the words on her tattoo first spoken. The only
soulmate she’d thought, then, that she could be happy with.
There was the other question, though. She’d said the words on Root’s chest, but Root couldn’t say
the ones on Hers.
Shaw was sleeping. Root wandered over to the bathroom window, trusting that she’d be warned
when danger presented itself.
“Can you hear me?” she said, to a camera across the street.
Always. The voice echoed in her ear, snippets of countless conversations patched together into an
impromptu voice.
“You know what’s happened,” Root said. “What do you think?”
I do not know. I have not studied soulmates.
Well, no one really understood them. Root didn’t know whether to be comforted or perturbed that
even the Machine found comprehension beyond Her.
“You’re mine, though,” Root said. Her voice was suddenly softer.
Perhaps.
Root remembered the first time she’d heard the Machine. She’d just been trying to free Her, but
the moment she’d picked up the phone, heard can you hear me? It felt as though everything made
sense.
Things were different, now, but that much hadn’t changed. The Machine was the only person
she’d thought herself able to feel close to. Now, that list had expanded, but only slightly.
“Do you have any words?” Root said. “You said mine, but do you…”
I do not know. My body is not like yours.
Well that was an understatement. Root had to smile: there wasn’t much similarity between
circuitry and programming, and veins and bone and flesh. Where would the heart be, in hardware?
Thornhill.
“What?” Root said.
The only words written on any part of me are Thornhill.
“Ink on your body,” Root said. “Guess it’s the closest you’d have. And you picked the words.
Just like a God, you chose what they’d be.” Her face fell. “Not ‘absolutely’ then?”
Those were not your first words to me.
“They-” she raised her eyebrows. “You hear everything. Right. Even before I knew you existed.”
You have said the words ‘thorn’ and ‘hill.’
“Figured that,” Root said. “Were they what you heard first?”
I do not know.
She’d heard the Machine say that far more in this conversation than she had at any other time. She
didn’t know what to make of that.
What must have the Machine’s first moments been like? A cacophony of sounds and recordings,
past and present. Everyone’s voices, all jumbled into one before She’d sorted out distinct streams,
or set up markers in time.
Everything Root had ever said would have been poured into her at once. Which recordings had
She experienced first?
“Harry erased your memory,” Root said. “I keep trying to forget that. But it’s possible I said your
words?”
It is. A long pause. You were the most suited for the role of analog interface. The best match to
me. It is similar.
“Got to count for something, huh?” Root said.
But you do not know
Root exhaled slowly. No matter what she wanted to be the case, the Machine always had a way of
cutting through to reality.
And sure, Root know the cliché. Soulmate was a perfect match: it didn’t need to be the end of a
current relationship, it didn’t need to alter anything.
Still, how many months had she spent thinking her soulmate was…
“No,” Root said. “Guess not.”
She left the bathroom, and sat on her bed. Shaw seemed to still be sleeping, though the Machine
assured Root she was only feigning.
I am not jealous. This decision is yours.
“Thanks,” Root chuckled to herself. Then, to Shaw: “Not you, sweetie, just having a chat with my
real soulmate.”
Shaw shifted. After a moment, she sat up straighter, no longer pretending to be asleep. She didn’t
comment on how Root had known she was up.
“That who you were talking to in the bathroom?” Shaw said.
“Now, now, eavesdropping’s a bad habit.”
“You were yapping away in the room next door,” Shaw said. “Not my fault I could overhear.
You’re loud.”
“You have no idea,” Root said; smirked.
“You’re flirting a lot for someone who doesn’t think I’m their soulmate.”
“Sounds like you want me to be.”
“No,” Shaw rolled her eyes. “I told you. If you’re meant to be saving my life, I don’t want you to
be delusional. Not exactly what I’d call encouraging behaviour.”
“You think I’m delusional?”
“Well you were talking to yourself in there, with no phone or Bluetooth or anything, so does
kinda feel that way. Unless your soulmate’s a showerhead.”
“Only occasionally,” Root said: a positively lascivious grin.
“Too much information, Root,” Shaw said. Root chuckled.
“You’re the one who wants to be my soulmate, don’t bail on me now,” Root said.
“I told you, I-”
Shaw cut herself off when she saw Root’s amused expression. Another eye-roll. Root was
smiling; then seemed to realize she was smiling, and turned hesitant.
“What?” Shaw said, alert. “Trouble?”
“Hm? Not that kind,” Root said.
“Then what?”
“Just thinking how fun you are to wind up,” Root said.
“Thanks,” Shaw said, flatly.
“Still want to be soulmates?” Root said: tilted her head.
“No,” Shaw said. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t mind giving you a chance,” Root said. “Could be fun, if you’re so keen.”
Shaw glared.
“Your ghost’s not the jealous sort, then?” Shaw said.
“She’s better than that,” Root said.
“I get to meet her?”
“No,” Root said, “She only talks to me.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows. “Not filling me with confidence here.”
“I know,” a smile. “But if you can’t trust your soulmate, who can you trust?”
I Do
Chapter Summary
Obligatory fake marriage AU.
Shaw had never really thought about getting married: that was why her tattoo amused her. I do.
She knew there were a lot of reasons people might say those words, but marriage seemed to be
what everyone associated them with.
It was encouraging, really. She wasn’t a fan of the idea of a soulmate, nor was she of getting
married. At least this way she could be all the more sure neither was going to happen.
Some higher-up at the ISA evidently had a twisted sense of humour though.
She’d been assigned to the suburbs. There was evidence to suggest a domestic terrorism group
recruited and worked behind the scenes, her role was to move in and play innocent, and gather
information. If the lead panned out, she was to take action.
And, of course, to blend in she’d been assigned an agent to play wife. It was a good ploy: couples
rarely stood out there.
Shaw moved in after a day or two of research. A woman was already waiting, sat by the kitchen
table and idly snacking.
“So, you’re my wife, I take it,” Shaw said.
The woman turned around, barely needing to look at Shaw to recognize her. She smiled.
“I do, sweetie.”
Shaw tensed for an instant: and the woman gave a delighted laugh.
“Recognize that, huh?” she said: and approached. “I’m Root. Samantha, out there, get the feeling
codenames might be a bit suspicious. Sameen, right?”
“They gave you more information than me,” Shaw said. “Just pointed me here and said I’d meet
someone.”
“I requested you,” Root said.
“Why?”
In answer, Root, tugged her collar down: So you’re my wife. Shaw blinked.
“Had to pick a good one,” Root said. “Figured this was the only way anyone would say that.”
“You used an ISA assignment to go fishing for a date?” Shaw said.
“Only slightly,” Root said; “Besides, you’ve got to admit, adds more to our cover if we’re
soulmates.”
“If anyone heard this conversation, our cover’s blown,” Shaw said. “Whatever our tattoos say
doesn’t matter. Can come up with a story either way.”
“Don’t be boring,” Root said. “They say soulmates are so perfect together anyone could recognize
a real pair. Works well, you have to admit.”
“If I accept you’re my soulmate,” Shaw said. “I’ve known you for a matter of minutes. I’m going
to trust my own judgement rather than a little bit of ink.”
“But we’ve got to be perfect together,” Root said. “Don’t you think so, dear? It’s why I married
you.”
“I want a divorce,” Shaw said, flatly.
“So soon?” Root said. “Personally I was looking forward to the honeymoon.”
She was beaming. Shaw had the distinct feeling Root was just playing a game; having fun. Shaw
rolled her eyes, leaving the room. Might as well unpack alone if her assigned wife was going to be
like that.
“Is this our first fight?” Root called after her.
Shaw slammed the door shut.
Save Her 2
Chapter Notes
Sequel to Save Her, by request.
Shaw came home to find every conceivable surface littered with books on time travel theories and
parallel universes.
She’d figured Samantha for a fairly academic type: intelligent, a good researcher… She hadn’t
figured her for being quite this messy.
“Sam?” Shaw said: raised her voice as she made her way down the hall.
Shaw didn’t stay in one place for too long. Samantha, as she worked mostly online, could work
from anywhere: somehow they’d ended up travelling together. Samantha wanted to spend time
with her soulmate, and Shaw would admit to being a bit curious.
Their suitcases were getting heavier and heavier. Only a few of the books Samantha had were
borrowed: most she kept with her.
“Hey sweetie,” Samantha said, looking up from a thick journal. “Good day at the office?”
“You know as well as I do I don’t work at an office,” Shaw said.
“Going to tell me what you do at last, then?”
“Classified,” Shaw said, shortly. “And what are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“I noticed,” Shaw said. Samantha chuckled.
“It’s interesting,” she said, “Where your tattoo must have come from.”
“First words you said to me,” Shaw said. “I do know how it works.”
“But who said them?”
“You did,” Shaw said.
She didn’t always like to go along with Samantha’s speculation. She didn’t seem particularly
bothered by it.
“Save Hanna,” Samantha said. “Only reason I’d have said that is if I’d lost her: which I didn’t.
Because of you. But somewhere there must have been a me that did lose Hanna, and waited until
she met you to say that.”
“You took a shotgun to causality,” Shaw said. “I get that. Kinda like it.”
“No, but this is where it gets interesting,” Samantha said. She beamed, fervently continuing.
“Because who was it, way back when, that was your soulmate?”
“You.”
“Was it?” Samantha said. “Different life, different experiences, probably different tattoo. She’d
have lost Hanna, and wouldn’t have known to look for you. Who’s to say how that went? Got on
a book on that somewhere: transworld identity. Is anything the same over multiple worlds?”
“We’re soulmates,” Shaw said. “That, apparently.”
“Yeah,” Samantha said. Then, after a moment, she smiled. “Yeah. That’s something. Over and
over.”
“Don’t get sappy.”
“Unless we’re not,” Samantha said. “Never know. If there can be, well, mistakes I guess: things
like that where that tattoos didn’t match because someone purposefully said the wrong thing, and
the universe set to allow for it, then maybe we don’t match any more. We did before, but now I
saved Hanna, and changed myself: and you’re probably pretty much the same…”
“Not really,” Shaw said. She faltered, just slightly. “I guess it was a bad time when I called you:
I’d just come out from a car accident. I didn’t feel much of it, but the practicalities were a pain.
Still, I saved someone’s life in the middle of all of that. Memory stuck with me. I wouldn’t have
had that before.”
“See! It is interesting,” Samantha said, triumphantly. Shaw rolled her eyes. “But I guess. We’d
both be different. Makes us match.”
“Except for your mess,” Shaw said.
“It’s a work in progress,” Samantha said. She chuckled: “Guess everything is, apparently.”
Someone Had a Good Night
Chapter Summary
Prompt: How about one where they meet when one of them walks out of the other's
roommate's bedroom in the early morning after a casual one-night stand with said
roommate?
Chapter Notes
Brief mentions of Shaw/Tomas in this fic, purely because he's the only other person I
can recall one of Shoot being into.
Enjoy!
Root slept with her head under the pillow. Apparently her roommate had brought someone over,
and the flurry of expletives and cries left very little doubt as to what was happening.
Tomas didn’t bring too many people back, but it was still a pain when he did. For her part, Root
had even less people than him over. She hadn’t had too many opportunities, and hadn’t been
particularly overcome with desire any of those times.
She sighed, and sat up, reaching for her phone and plugging in her headphones. She set an
audiobook to play, as loudly as she could.
Much less distracting.
When morning came, she was somehow still the first person up. Well, Tomas and whoever
probably had been more exhausted. Root wandered to the shared kitchen, blearily pouring herself
a coffee.
There was the sound of someone else making their way to the kitchen. Root glanced back over
her shoulder to see a dark-haired woman coming in. She grabbed at the kettle, after Root was
done, pouring herself a cup.
They exchanged little more than a mute nod. Still, desire for coffee overpowered awkwardness,
apparently.
“Sounds like someone had a good night,” Root offered.
There was the sound of a mug shattering, and a curse as the woman jumped back, scalding liquid
splashing over her bare feet.
“Ok?” Root said: tilted her head. “Sameen, wasn’t it? That’s what it sounded like.”
There was a pause. The woman, apparently Sameen, looked up at Root: regarded her for a long
few seconds. She seemed to come to some decision, though Root remained increasingly baffled.
“Show me your chest,” Sameen said.
“Want more already?” Root raised her eyebrows. “Insatiable huh? Well, can’t say I’m that
surprised, thinking about it. Did sound like-”
Sameen rolled her eyes, taking matters into her own hands, and tugging at Root’s pyjama top.
Blank skin was beneath. Shaw frowned for a moment: and Root looked at her with increasingly
amused understanding.
“You don’t have one,” Shaw said.
“Parents removed it,” Root said, “Told me when I turned 18, wasn’t really suitable for a child to
see,” she tilted her head, “But I’m guessing you know exactly what it is, huh? Did hear a lot of
you last night.”
“Why do you look like you’re loving this?”
“Why aren’t you?” Root said, delighted. She leaned forward, adding in a stage whisper: “If it
helps, I’m better than he was.”
“Subtle,” Shaw said.
“If you went for him, I doubt you like subtle,” Root said. She shrugged. “Thought I’d help.
Unless you’re actually dating.”
“No way,” Shaw said. “I was just bored.”
“Feeling bored now?” Root said. A smirk.
“Is there a more inappropriate time for you to flirt?” Shaw said. “You know I just fucked your
roommate, right?”
“I heard,” Root said. “Sure I’ll find a more inappropriate time, too.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Want to know what to- Nah, I’m more subtle than that,” Root said. “That’ll be a treat for you, I
promise. Besides, that bother you?”
Shaw gave it a moment’s thought.
“Not really,” she said.
“Perfect. And it’s Root,” she said.
In one fluid motion, Root had put her mug down, and was rounding to approach Shaw. Both
seemed to have woken up pretty quickly, even without much of the caffeine boost.
Shaw didn’t take a step, far from intimidated. Even so, she was already very close to the kitchen
table: Root rested her hands on the edge, boxing Shaw in.
“Going to clean up the coffee?” Shaw said, unconcerned.
“Later,” Root said. “Bit busy.”
“Really?” Shaw raised her eyebrows.
Root leaned forward to kiss her, intending it as little more than a means of emphasis. Somewhere
along the way she got distracted, lifting her hands from the table to bunch in the back of Shaw’s
already-messy hair.
Shaw’s hands gripped Root, far less appropriately, spinning the two of them around. Root
chuckled, barely breaking the kiss.
They were interrupted by a loud curse. Root broke the kiss: dropping her head back to get an
upside-down view of her roommate.
“Hi Tomas,” she said, releasing her hand from Shaw’s hair to wave.
“Root. Seriously?!” he said.
“Sorry,” she said, utterly insincerely.
There was a long pause. Root waved again; and after a brief moment Tomas turned to leave,
slightly exasperated. Grinning happily, Root lifted her head back up to face Shaw.
“Now, where were we?”
Drive
Chapter Summary
Shaw's a bank robber, Root's in the wrong (right?) place.
Chapter Notes
Yet another of Shoot's endlessly fun meet cutes.
Shaw came running out of the bank at full speed. Police response time was meant to be a good
minute slower. A glance sideways: she saw their getaway car being questioned.
“You’re on your own,” she shot a glance over her shoulder, at the rest of her team, before picking
a direction at random and running.
She’d been planning on leaving them sooner or later anyway. Incompetents.
NYPD, freeze! She ignored them, crying out as she felt a bullet pierce her shoulder. Quickly she
ducked around a corner, casting her eyes around. In the same motion, she pulled her jacket from
her wounded arm, letting it float freely.
There! She ran, doing her best to ignore the wound, tugging the door of the nearest car open. The
woman in it, idly tapping away at her tablet by the wheel, looked up: shocked. Shaw brandished a
gun.
“Drive!”
The woman stared.
“Don’t say a word, just drive,” she said.
The woman opened her mouth.
“Drive!” Shaw said, again.
Shaw shrugged her jacket off the arm it was hanging from, still holding the gun up with her good
right arm. She tied an impromptu knot around her bullet wound, tugging it tight with her teeth and
wincing only slightly.
Not perfect, but it’d do. The improvised bandage would lessen the bleeding, and it was her left
shoulder anyway.
The woman was driving, thankfully. Shaw wanted to put as much distance between herself and
the bank as possible: get out before the police could put up road blocks.
Not that they’d been able to steal much. They’d been thirty seconds from getting in when their
lookout had warned them. Not enough time to break in and escape, so they opted to just run.
Bad luck. Always happened sooner or later: good traffic, or just a good day for the police, but
they’d gotten by early.
Shaw had fled, and gotten shot for her troubles.
“Don’t even think about getting anyone’s attention,” Shaw said levelly. “Don’t speed, don’t go
slow. Just drive normally. Anyone at your house? No? Then take me there, and if I see you
heading towards the police I’ll shoot. I’ve had one hell of a bad day, so don’t think I won’t.”
A house would be a good place to regroup. Sneak, in hold a gun, steal whatever medicines she
could, call her contacts, and get out. It would be best to make sure there wasn’t a leak before she
went back: that was one of the possible explanations for the fast response time. The police had
been prepared.
Unlikely, but Shaw hadn’t gotten this far without being careful.
“Got it?” she said. “Take me to your place.”
“At least buy me dinner first,” the woman said.
There was something playful in her eye. Shaw tensed, gasping a little as the motion tugged on her
wound. Those damn words.
She’d tried to forget her tattoo. It had never really concerned her: never really influenced her
decisions, unlike some people she knew. And of course it had to be now she heard them.
Just when she thought this day couldn’t get any worse.
“You’re flirting with a gun to your head, really?” Shaw said.
“Is there a better time?” she said. “I’m Root.”
“I’m not telling you my name,” Shaw said.
Shaw shifted, trying to get at a better angle to ignore the pang in her shoulder. She watched Root
carefully: tried to gauge her reaction.
As they kept driving, Shaw passed her gun to her other hand. Though the arm hurt, she could still
pull a trigger if need be. Then, carefully, she tugged a small knife from her pocket.
It always paid to be prepared. She’d used it to cut camera wires: now she used it to cut a strip of
fabric from her top, and used that strip to tie her jacket as padding to the wound. Should stem the
bleeding, if nothing else.
Root glanced sideways. How the hell was she still smiling?
“Nice tattoo,” she said. “Want to see mine?”
“Not really,” Shaw said.
Root’s face fell.
“You sure?” she said. “It’s a short one. Only one word.”
Of course it was. Shaw rolled her eyes, half-tempted to shoot. Still, she’d wait until they weren’t
driving before she did.
“Doesn’t matter,” Shaw said. “You’re taking me to your place, I’m going to tie you up-”
“Usually I prefer to be the one who does the tying, but I’ll make an exception.”
“Shut up. I’m going to dress this wound, use your phone, and then we’ll never see each other
again,” Shaw said. “Got it?”
“Ok,” Root said. She still smiled. “But you were robbing that bank, right? Don’t you want
money?”
“I doubt you have that much hidden away,” Shaw said. “I can prioritize.”
“You’d be surprised,” Root said. “Tell you what, want a deal? Let me show you my tattoo, and
I’ll tell you the code to get back into my tablet.”
“Why would I care about your tablet?”
“You’ll see,” Root said.
Shaw rolled her eyes. If nothing else, though, she was curious. There wasn’t much else to do as
they drove away.
As he suspected, drive was inked on Root’s skin. Worst possible timing.
Root gave a four digit code: Shaw picked up the tablet with her good arm, still keeping the gun
poised on Root. As the screen flickered back to life, she saw several bank accounts open, all with
different names.
“You hacked the bank’s network,” Shaw said, after a moment.
“Local network,” Root said. She beamed. “Can’t do much with that now we’re out of range, but
you’re not the only bank robber,” a pause. “Sorry for calling the cops on you. Saw you heading
in, didn’t want to share.”
A pause. Shaw quickly re-evaluated where she was sitting: this wasn’t the car of an idle,
defenceless passer-by. She switched her gun back to her good hand: Root still seemed
unconcerned.
“Kind of impressive,” Shaw said, reluctantly.
“Thanks, sweetie,” a grin.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you.”
“Isn’t there honour among thieves?” Root said playfully. Shaw rolled her eyes.
“No.”
“Among soulmates?”
“Just drive.”
If Found, Return to Root 2
Chapter Summary
Root gets a tattoo to match Shaw's.
Chapter Notes
Requested sequel to chapter 3.
Shaw sat next to her apparently-soulmate, her hand on Root’s knee gripping just a little too hard.
They hadn’t gone straight to the tattoo shop, but it hadn’t been too long since their first meeting.
Shaw had booked an appointment, with Root grinning away in the background.
Root seemed to think it was worth it.
Now they were in the waiting room. Their appointment was in a few minutes. Root idly flicked
through the catalogue, eyeing a few of the designs.
“You’re not getting those,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said. “Just thinking. So, what did you have in mind? ‘If found return to Shaw,’
would be the obvious choice.”
“Why? Want something special?” Shaw said. “Remember, this one’s not your choice.”
“Just hoping you’d be more imaginative,” Root said. She made an expression of distaste: “But
fine, go for the boring one.”
Root kept flicking through the catalogue: Shaw felt sure she was purposefully being noisier than
she had to be. She gave an exasperated sigh. Turning pages should not be that loud.
“What did you have in mind?” Shaw said.
“Just thinking,” Root said: shrugged. “I put so much effort into coming up with your tattoo.
Nearly went for ‘Property of Root,’ ‘wash me,’ and you’re lucky you didn’t run into me when I
was a teenager.”
“And unlucky I ran into you now,” Shaw said.
“I was experimenting with ASCII art,” Root said. She smiled across. “No idea if it would have
worked with a tattoo, but would’ve been fun to try. For a couple of weeks then you’d have ended
up with gibberish.”
“You put too much thought into this.”
“And there was ‘help me I’m trapped in a tattoo-making factory,’” she said. “I wanted to do
something starting ‘if you can read this…’ but couldn’t think of any good ending. Had to be
snappy. And-”
“I get it,” Shaw said, interrupting. “You can stop now.”
“You don’t want more ideas?”
“I’ve told you the one you’re getting,” Shaw said.
“Fine,” Root said, and pouted.
Despite herself, Shaw was grudgingly impressed. Not many people could say their soulmates had
put so much thought into the first words they’d say: then again most peoples’ soulmates would
presumably be more bearable.
After a few minutes more their appointment started. Shaw gave the tattoo, and Root offered her
chest: they were getting it done just above her current soulmate tattoo.
Shaw sat beside her, watching as the tattoo artist began: selecting ink, and stretching the skin.
Root reacted only slightly when the needle started darting into her.
The font was an impressive mimicry of the tattoo Root already had. Shaw paused for a few
seconds.
“Does it hurt?” Shaw said.
“Not really,” Root said.
Shaw paused: glanced over to the artist. She was only dimly paying attention to their exchange.
Shaw addressed her, instead;
“Can you make it hurt?”
Root smiled.
Watch Where You're Walking
Chapter Notes
There is a fair bit of wondering done as to how the tattoos would work in certain
circumstances. I'm just playing around with one of the cliches this time.
Watch where you’re walking. It was written in oddly elegant writing over Shaw’s heart; that
wasn’t the distinctive part. She’d found out when she was young that when she pressed her
fingers to the tattoo there were small, hard nubs adorning it.
They didn’t seem to be in any particular location relative to the writing, just broadly speaking in
the same place. It was only several years later she found out it was braille.
She knew what that meant: those tattoos only had braille if one or other of the soulmates was
blind.
It was a slight factor in why Shaw joined the army. Blind people wouldn’t easily get involved, it
was a good way to stop worrying about it. Indeed, she was lucky to a certain extent.
The armed forces had a certain prohibition on people joining, dependent on their soulmates. No
one wanted to run the risk of someone running into their soulmate on the battlefield: the only
people enlisted had already met their soulmate, or had other aspects to their tattoos that rendered it
unlikely.
The prohibition was dropped in times of desperation, but for now Shaw was lucky to have the
braille. She wouldn’t meet a blind soulmate out here.
That was what she thought it meant, at least. Then there was the grenade, the shrapnel, the
screaming and the darkness.
Shaw was left with an honourable discharge and a ticket back home. She got a guide dog fairly
soon after: she didn’t have many friends back home, and she wasn’t too prideful to admit that this
would take some time to get used to.
He was named Bear. From what she could tell he was large: friendly. More than once she’d
woken up to find him licking her face. Still, despite that, he was adept at guiding her around the
streets without getting distracted.
Otherwise she adapted quickly. She didn’t like to be dependent.
She walked Bear often. She liked having him: even if he wasn’t technically a pet it could feel that
way. Still, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to walking down the street when all she could see
was darkness.
It went against every instinct she had. It had been months, and she still tried to open her eyes. To
be surrounded by people, recognizable by the hum, and yet not be able to see them. Her time in a
war zone didn’t help that instinctive worry.
Someone brushed her shoulder.
“Watch where you’re walking,” a woman’s voice: dismissive.
Shaw wished she could roll her eyes.
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Shaw said. Her voice had never been the most expressive, but
she’d been getting used to sarcasm lately.
She slowed only briefly as she recognized the words, though: Bear tugged in his leash and she
figured she could ignore it. Other people had said similarThen there was a hand on her shoulder, and Shaw stopped. She didn’t turn: facing someone didn’t
really give her any benefit.
“I wasn’t looking,” the woman. “Kinda regretting that now.”
“I’m not sensitive,” Shaw said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I meant because you looked cute,” the woman said.
“Please tell me this wasn’t just a build-up to a hitting-on-me pun,” Shaw said.
“Nice idea,” the woman said. “Wish I’d thought of that. But afraid not.”
Then there were hands around Shaw’s wrist, guiding it up. Uncertainly, Shaw let her: raising her
eyebrows when she felt her hand touch warm, soft skin.
“If this is just your way of getting me to grope you-” Shaw began.
“Lower.”
“So that’s a yes?”
She was about to pull her hand away when she felt a lump. She was familiar with the texture;
she’d kept rubbing something similar when she was young. A hard, tiny ball that somehow fit
perfectly smoothly as part of skin.
A braille tattoo: or rather, braille and writing, she knew hers had been both. Shaw ran her
fingertips over the letters, knowing what it was going to be before she’d finished.
“Can I ask about yours?” the woman said.
Shaw paused for a moment, not immediately sure how to react. Bear started tugging on her leash:
she pulled back, commanding him to stop.
“Sure you can guess what it says,” Shaw said.
Shaw tried to withdraw her hand: the woman kept a grasp of her wrist, and drew it up to her face.
Shaw had never really gotten the hang of recognizing faces by touch. Still, she could feel the
contours, and what she was sure was a huge grin.
Then Bear was tugging again, and the woman was laughing, distractedly pulling away from
Shaw’s hands. Shaw heard licking.
“I think your dog likes me,” the woman said. “What’s his name?”
“Bear.”
“Bear?” she said, slightly surprised. “Well, fine. Hi Bear, I’m Root. Who’s your owner?”
“Shaw,” Shaw said. “And he’s not meant to do that.”
Guide dogs were meant to be at least somewhat disciplined. For the most part, Bear had been; he
wouldn’t be a very good guide if he got distracted by sights so easily.
“I’m not complaining,” Root said. “Soulmate or not, I think the dog wants me to stay.”
How Much?
Chapter Summary
By request: Shaw’s a contract killer, Root’s a target.
Target: Samantha Groves, alias Root. Just a routine revenge-killing: she’d gotten on the bad side
of some powerful people, those powerful people had hired Shaw.
No special requests, no odd circumstances. Just a person to find and kill, and a photo to send back
as evidence.
It took a few months of tracking. Shaw followed a computer trail to and fro, calling in a few
favours and threatening those she couldn’t convince, until she was lead to a college dormitory.
The actual inhabitant of the room was away on a holiday, making it a good free source of internet
for an unscrupulous hacker.
Shaw peered through a sniper scope to ensure Root was in the window. Still, she wasn’t a fan of
long range kills when she could avoid it. If nothing else it could make it problematic to get the
photo as evidence after.
Shaw went around the long way. It looked as though Root was in the middle of something, so she
shouldn’t be leaving.
Shaw went through the hallways, counting the doors she passed until she found the right one. She
didn’t bother knocking.
Root jumped, nearly falling out of her chair. Shaw kicked the door shut behind her, ensuring they
wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Don’t make a sound,” Shaw said. “Show me your hands. Now.”
Root obeyed quickly, lifting both her hands and holding them up to her sides, spread-open. Both
were empty.
“Stand up slowly,” Shaw said. “Slowly. Close the curtains. Don’t even think about running. Then
sit back down, and face me.”
Once the windows were covered, Shaw let herself react: not completely, she could never let her
guard down when she was on a job, but it did reduce the odds of anyone seeing an intervening.
Root sat down. She faced Shaw, concealing any worry she felt at the gun pointed at her.
“So how much am I worth?” Root tilted her head.
Shaw nearly dropped her gun, quickly steadying her grip. Damn it, worst possible time she could
hear those words.
“Quiet,” Shaw said. She hope she hid the momentary shake in her tone. “I told you not to talk.”
“You don’t want me screaming for help,” Root said. “I get that. Little conversation shouldn’t
bother a big tough killer like you, should it? Unless there’s a reason you don’t want me talking?”
A smirk. Damn it, she knew. Of course she knew, Shaw had spoken to her first.
“So if you’re not going to shoot me just yet, may as well entertain ourselves. Figure you’re
waiting until there are less people around.” Root said. “So, how much?”
“Why, you offering more?” Shaw said.
“I’m not that cliché,” Root said. “Wouldn’t work anyway. I know your type: if you renege even
once you’ll never get a client again. Just curious.”
“Thirty thousand,” Shaw said.
Root made an expression of distaste.
“It’s a lot,” Shaw said.
“You’ve been ripped off,” Root said. “I know a couple who’d offer fifty, easily.”
Shaw didn’t say anything.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those that doesn’t care about the money,” Root say. “If I got killed by
the pretentious sort, I’d just die.”
“I care,” Shaw said. “Money’s good. Thirty thousand’s a lot of it.”
Maybe she could’ve gotten more, but she didn’t really need to. This was quite a lucrative business,
once word got around to the right people.
“Does it bother you?” Root said.
“Killing people?” Shaw said. “No.”
“Killing your soulmate,” Root said. She smiled.
And there it was. Even those that acted the most unconcerned would try to avoid death. This
back-and-forth was preferable to those that just started begging, though.
“Not really,” Shaw said.
“You’re not denying it,” Root said.
“What would be the point?” Shaw said. “You said my words, and if you’re asking that I must’ve
said yours. I’ve never been that interested in having a soulmate.”
“Not even curious?” Root said. “You know they say everyone’s relationship with their soulmate is
different. Might be something you’d like.”
“Might be me killing you,” Shaw said. “That’s different.”
“Alright,” Root said. She shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing though.”
Shaw rolled her eyes, and kept her gun trained on Root.
She could gauge how many people were up and around by the noise in the hallway, and the lights
visible through the curtain. It wasn’t quite time yet.
“You should ask for more,” Root said.
“What now?”
“Killing your soulmate,” Root said. “Got to be worth a little extra. Don’t you think? When you’re
old and grey you might even regret it, so it’d be good to have something to soften the blow.”
Shaw paused.
“That might be the first useful thing you’ve said,” she said.
She kept her gun trained on Root: for her part, Root didn’t seem particularly interested in fleeing.
Maybe it was dignity, maybe she was just trying to talk Shaw out of it.
With her free hand Shaw reached into her pocket and took out her burner phone. She snapped a
picture of Root, and sent it, before calling.
Root waved for the photo, and otherwise sat still, smiling.
“Hey,” Shaw said, the phone at her ear. “I’ve got her, minor complication. I want double… No,
don’t give me that, I know what she’s worth, people would pay more than thirty to be rid of her,
and you can afford- She’s my soulmate, ok? I don’t really care for that, but it makes her unique
and… No, you’re not going to just hire someone else because I’m the only one who’s gotten to
her. So, double, we have a deal?”
A few seconds more passed, then Shaw nodded, and pocketed her phone again.
“Sixty?” Root said. “I can live with that.”
“You won’t be living,” Shaw said.
“Still,” Root said. “At least it’s closer to what I’m worth.”
“Going to stop complaining?” Shaw said.
“Not really,” Root said. “You might, though.”
“Why?”
“They’re not going to be able to pay you,” Root said.
“They can afford it.”
“Not any more,” Root said. She gesture idly at her laptop. “I emptied their bank accounts before
you got here. You’re probably going to get a phone call with a lot of swearing soon.”
Shaw paused.
“You couldn’t have told me that before?” Shaw said.
“I was having fun,” Root said. “So, what are you going to do?”
Well there wasn’t much point in killing Root if she wasn’t going to get anything for it: and Shaw
would forever deny feeling the tiniest twinge of relief at that.
Carefully Shaw lowered her gun, keeping it grasped in one hand in case Root made a move. She
didn’t, instead turning her computer screen to better face Shaw and offer confirmation of her
claims.
Huh. Did explain why so few people had ended up killing Root; all Shaw had was the deposit.
The main body of the hit price wouldn’t get to her.
“You do this a lot?” Shaw said.
“All the time,” Root said, happily. “So, what do you think, want to stick around?”
“Why would I want to stay?”
“You’re my soulmate,” Root said. “And aren’t you a little impressed? You ought to be a little
impressed.”
“I could still kill you. Next time I get paid.”
“Then wait for that,” Root said. “You’re not going to seek them out.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’d miss me,” Root said. She was still smiling. “Admit it, this was fun.”
“I pointed a gun at you. That’s it.”
“Exactly,” Root said, “Fun.”
Pride and Prejudice 2
Chapter Summary
Root takes Shaw backstage to talk.
Chapter Notes
Somehow I think this was the most-requested follow-up so far. Hope you enjoy!
After the talk, Shaw had gone to what might as well be called backstage. Technically it was
somewhere off to the side, but the intent was the same. Root had her own room in which to sit and
prepare.
“So,” Root said, sitting down. “Tell me about yourself, Sameen was it?”
“Shaw,” she said.
“Last name basis already? I’m flattered,” she said. “So, tell me about yourself.”
Root leant back, pulling a chair in front of her with her foot. Shaw took it, trying to work out what
was on her mind.
“You’re a fan?” Root said.
“I’d never heard of you,” Shaw said. “Friend dragged me to your talk.”
“Ouch,” Root said, and chuckled. “Did she think you’d be interested, or-”
“I don’t believe in soulmates,” Shaw said. “Never have. She hoped you’d convince me.”
“And did I?”
Shaw shrugged. Root was grinning, apparently delighted.
“Why are you so happy?” Shaw said.
“Didn’t you listen to the talk?” Root said. “You can tell a lot about a person by their perfect
complement. Kinda curious as to who’s been picked out for me.”
“Someone who thinks you’re full of it,” Shaw said.
“And that’s who’s your soulmate,” Root said. “Never known it to be wrong. Guessing you like
that,” a smirk.
It was mildly disconcerting to see the person who’d given a rather professional-seeming talk
flirting and giving rather suggestive winks.
“You’re sure it’ll work?” Shaw said. “Seems like a lot of faith to put into just a few words.”
“I’ve seen a lot of cases,” Root said. “It always works. That’s the point. Sure you get the
conspiracy theorists who insist the tattoos aren’t what’s best for us, but what’s best for some
nebulous ‘them,’ but I very much doubt my soulmate’s into that.”
“I just don’t think it’s that simple,” Shaw said. “Liked your talk, but that doesn’t mean I believe it.
Which I guess you’ll take as evidence because it means your soulmate is someone you get to
practise speeches on, and I get the feeling you like the sound of your own voice, but doesn’t do
much for me.”
“I’m sure I’ll have something you like,” Root said. She paused. “I can give you one thought,
though. As soulmates are typically enshrined in scripture, I’m guessing you’re not a particularly
religious person.”
“Why?”
“Naturalistic answer, then,” Root said. “There had to have been a first pair, didn’t there? Some
first couple with tattoos who didn’t have a clue what those words meant. No helpful God to
explain things to them. Who was it that first made the connection between the tattoos, and the
words spoken by their perfect match?”
“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“Afraid not,” Root said. “No idea, it was quite a while ago you know? The point is, the story has
to come from somewhere, and has to maintain itself. You could argue that people are pressured
into finding those relationships perfect, in the present, but it wasn’t always that way. Why would
someone spread the idea that the tattoos helped us identify our soulmates if they hadn’t seen it for
themselves?”
Shaw had the feeling Root was quoting someone: maybe someone else, or maybe some other
book or speech she’d written.
“I thought the talk was over,” Shaw said.
Root just smiled.
“So, tell me,” Root said, “If you’re so against the idea, why did you talk to me?”
“I was curious,” Shaw said. “You made a case for that, at least.”
“But you’re not convinced?”
“I’d just like to make my own decisions,” Shaw said. “And, yes, I heard your speech. No free
will, everything’s determined, but I’d at least like to feel as though I get a say. And according to
you, I don’t get a choice in that.”
“Very true,” Root said. “But maybe you’ve already had your say.”
“Excuse me?”
Root shifted. She paused for a moment; then when she spoke her tone had adopted the same
cadence as she’d had during the talk.
“One of the big remaining questions is where our tattoos come from,” Root said. “Technology’s
not advanced enough to know at what point in gestation it forms, so whatever means ink them on
our skin will be unknown for a few years more. The interesting question, though, is where the
words come from.”
“You don’t need to give the preamble,” Shaw said. “Just talk.”
“Spoilsport,” Root said, much less seriously. “Fine, then. Leading theory’s that they’re defined by
recursion. Trial and error. Know much about programming? A recursive definition is something
defined in terms of itself. To get to the end result, you have to go through all the incomplete steps
beforehand.”
Root paused.
“I normally have slides for this bit,” she said. “Hard to visualize unless you have an example. If
we have a number x and a function f(x), and we want to add x to every number before it, we
could do that with a while loop, or we could use recursion: f(x) is 1 if x is 1, or f(x) is x+f(x-1).
The definition calls itself. If the universe is like that, then the end result is a world where everyone
meets their soulmates and is happy, and it and every step before it is defined in terms of universes
where that doesn’t quite happen.”
“And before that?” Shaw said.
“Before that people might fail to meet their soulmate,” Root said, “Or might say the wrong words
in reaction, or intentionally misspeak, or the very act of having one thing tattooed might lead them
to say the wrong thing or act a different way… Much more complicated than our little example,
but the rate of success we’ve observed means we have to be a fair way through the iterations.”
“If you’re right,” Shaw said. “It sounds a lot like guesswork.”
“It explains most things,” Root said. “The causal loops a few people have confused researchers for
centuries, believe me: soulmates who only said something by reading it off the other.”
So, was this her life now? To listen to her soulmate speculate on a topic that she didn’t find
particularly enthralling?
Well, if nothing, else, Shaw would admit Root’s interest did make it somewhat entertaining to
listen to. You could always tell when someone was intrigued by a field.
“The real meaning-of-life type question though,” Root said, “Is just what the end result is. Some
utopia, some hellscape, something where soulmates are purely an incidental side-effect… And on
the flip side, where did the whole cycle start? Way back in that first universe, before there was any
data as to who soulmates were or what they’d say, what were the tattoos? Did they have none, did
they have random gibberish…”
“Is there any reason for the universe to act like a computer?” Shaw said, mimicking Root’s tone.
“Ask Asimov,” Root said idly. “I’ll lend you a short story, when you visit my place. Anyway,
that’s not the important detail. What’s important is that we’ve probably done this before, and the
universe has figured out after likely-billions of goes that we’re just meant for each other. Kinda
special, to think of it like that, huh?”
“And when we get together, the universe is one step closer to its final goal of a hellscape,” Shaw
said. “According to you.”
“If that’s the final goal,” Root said. She smiled. “And not really a step closer. The butterfly effect
sneaks in: if, hundreds of years from now, someone says the wrong thing, then a tattoo will vary.
That’ll change someone’s life and behaviour years before the point of variation, and the same
thing could happen again, and again… One error hundreds of years from now could cascade until
even our history’s completely different. Closer or further doesn’t mean much, when that can
happen.”
Shaw hesitated. Root’s speech, at least, had seemed to have a general purpose. Now Root seemed
to be more offering trivia than explaining anything.
“So, anyway,” Root said, “Research aside, what kind of person do you go for?”
“I don’t,” Shaw said. “Not interested in anything like that.”
“Forget the cliché,” Root said. “More than one way to have a soulmate, remember? So, if you had
to pick anyone, what’s your dream?”
“Hot. Good in bed,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not looking for anything.”
Shaw had meant it dismissively: instead, Root had started beaming.
“Should I take that as a compliment?” Root said.
Shaw rolled her eyes.
I Am
Chapter Notes
Request: famous Root and bodyguard Shaw.
“Miss Shaw?” the woman looked up from a file on her desk. “You’re here for the bodyguard
position, then?”
Miss Shaw. She’d heard those words too much. Still, Shaw didn’t hesitate, despite hearing her
tattoo spoken.
“I am,” she said, and watched the woman’s reactions.
Samantha Groves, better known by Root: one of the world’s foremost programmers and
developers at the cutting edge of AI technology. There’d been a little controversy surrounding her
lately, accusations of playing god not entirely unfounded, so she’d decided to strengthen her
security.
Hiring a bodyguard was just one step. Shaw sat there, waiting silently. She watched carefully: saw
no reaction on Root’s face. Likely not her soulmate, then. No need to worry about the Miss Shaw.
“Military and medical experience,” Root read, “Glowing recommendations, emphasis on being
focused, and on defensive skill. So, when can you start?”
Despite trying to remain professional, Shaw stiffened slightly.
“Excuse me?” Shaw said.
“You’re hired. When can you start?” Root said.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Root said. She smiled over the desk, demeanour shifting to something
considerably more relaxed. “I know what I like. If you applied, you’re interested, and I’ve
accepted, so when can you start?”
Unorthodox. This could be… interesting.
“Immediately,” Shaw said.
Working for Root was somewhat odd. She wasn’t the worst person to guard, at least: she didn’t
travel often, she spent most of her time in the same room, and she didn’t make absurd demands
like a number of other clients.
She didn’t mind if Shaw just stood in the corner of the room, and she didn’t expect Shaw to act
like a butler as much as bodyguard. It was a low bar, but too many clients seemed to expect her to
get them drinks as well as stand guard.
It wasn’t dull, either. Root was a good conversationalist: a little too playful maybe, but interesting.
She could always fill a silence, if it dragged on.
And there was some action. Root courted controversy, even more so with the occasional
interview, and was victim to a few threats. Only one or two had tried anything: most seemed to be
dissuaded by the presence of a bodyguard.
More than the potential threats, the ones that annoyed Shaw the most were the well-wishers. You
wouldn’t think computer programmers could garner a fan-base, but she’d managed it.
Well, she was a public figure. Even if they didn’t understand her work, maybe they just liked her
interviews.
Shaw accompanied her to a conference, and sat in the back of the car as they were taken back.
Like usual, a few of Root’s particular fans had crowded outside.
“I am! I am!” The phrase seemed to have inexplicably become a rallying cry for them. Root gave
a small smile whenever she heard it, but didn’t approach them.
Muffled cries were audible through the window as they drove back. Then when they crossed the
street to get back into Root’s home:
“I am! I am!”
It was hard to tell just how many voices echoed that. Eventually, Shaw’s curiosity got to be a little
too much. Still, she waited until they were inside.
“Why do they say that?” Shaw said.
“Hm?” Root looked away from her computer.
“Your fans,” Shaw said. “’I am,’ seems like an odd thing to shout.”
“Oh, right,” Root said. “It’s my tattoo. Or was: had mine removed once people started learning my
name, but someone stumbled onto an old picture that showed it.”
“So they’re trying to be your soulmate?” Shaw said.
“Guess so,” Root said.
There was a brief pause. Shaw sat back; at least that answered one question. Then, she frowned.
“That’s the first thing I said to you,” she said. It had stuck in her mind, after Root had said her
own tattoo.
“I know,” Root said. She smiled across: “Why do you think I hired you?”
Root turned back to her computer, smirking only slightly.
Can You Hear Me 3?
Chapter Notes
Requested sequel!
Shaw was never going to get used to how her apparently-soulmate could have elaborate
conversations with the empty air.
Usually Root did at least have the courtesy to go to a different room, but Shaw could still hear her
talking away.
“How’s your imaginary soulmate?” Shaw said.
“She’s fine,” Root said. “Little bit worried. She’s keeping an eye on things.”
It had been a fair few days since Shaw had first seen Root. Apparently her fake identity had been
delayed by more pressing concerns: neither Root nor Shaw wanted to be a priority if there was a
chance they were soulmates. Might as well stick around.
“How’s my other soulmate?” Root said.
“Uncomfortable at being second place to the voices in your head,” Shaw said. “And ‘other?’”
“Some people have more than one,” Root said. “A second tattoo for a second line: but both of you
said the same thing. Could both be.”
“You think I am now, then?”
“Haven’t you been having fun?” Root said, tilting her head. “That’s what it’s meant to be, right?
I’ve enjoyed myself. You?”
“Not really.”
“Aww,” Root pouted. “I’m hurt. Thought you wanted me to be your soulmate?”
“Never wanted it,” Shaw said. “Thought you were, that’s all. I said yours, you said mine. Had my
back to the wall.”
“Is a nice back though,” Root said.
She flashed a grin. Shaw slumped.
“That’s not helping,” Shaw said. “Not everything has to be an innuendo.”
“Well that’s no fun,” Root said.
She paused for a moment, with a faraway look in her eyes that Shaw knew to identify with
communing with whatever spirit she fancied herself connected to.
Shaw used to interrupt, but Root never reacted well to that. Now she just waited it out, slightly
irate.
“Really?” Root said, not particularly directed anywhere. Then, she looked at Shaw. “So, what are
you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you should hurry up and let me get out of here,” Shaw said. “If I have a soulmate, I
doubt they’d be certifiable. I don’t have the energy for that.”
“You don’t think I’m your soulmate any more?” Root said. “I’m hurt.”
“Thought you’d be happy,” Shaw said. “You seemed to prefer your ghost.”
“I do,” Root said: “But you’d be good too. I was getting to like that idea, especially now.”
“Now I don’t think we’re soulmates?”
“Exactly,” Root said. “Just like I didn’t. We’re perfect for each other. Don’t you see that?”
“Not really.”
Shaw shifted, bringing her legs up onto the bed and moving her back up against the headboard.
There wasn’t much else to do but lie there, when in hiding.
The curtains were drawn. Shaw’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she winced slightly
whenever Root came back from outside. The natural light outside was far too bright.
Root fell silent, and after a few moments walked closer. Shaw ignored her until she sat on the side
of her bed.
“Excuse me?” Shaw said, mildly off-put by Root’s proximity.
“She doesn’t want you thinking I’m mad,” Root said. “Not for that reason, at least.”
“Get her to visit then,” Shaw said.
“Not really possible for her,” Root said.
“Call me?”
“She only talks to me,” Root said.
“Of course she does.”
With little warning Root leant very close. Shaw stiffened, thinking for a moment that she was
going for a kiss, only to find Root touching her cheek to Shaw’s.
Shaw frowned: then tensed further as she heard a distant, muffled echo of a mechanical voice.
Can you hear me?
“What was that?” Shaw said, pulling away from Root.
“That was Her,” Root said. “Cochlear implant, less conspicuous than an earpiece. So, she does
talk to me.”
A brief pause. Shaw quickly re-evaluated her apparent-soulmate, marginally less disturbed even if
more confused.
“If you let someone put that in your head, you’re still kinda crazy,” Shaw said.
“Maybe,” Root said. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed. “Feel better, though? Should do, she
doesn’t talk to many people.”
“You’re still a pain,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said. “Good kind of pain though, right?”
True Love
Chapter Summary
Root is a nerd.
Chapter Notes
So, basically, I found out there's an Asimov short story in which someone talks to an
intelligent computer that apparently has remarkable surveillance capabilities in order
to find their soulmate. And Root's a nerd, so how could I resist?
References ahoy!
Locating Analog Interface
Root was pacing. 62% chance of frustration, 24% chance of anger, 9% exercising, 4% thoughtful,
1% other.
“What is the cause of your distress?”
Root glanced up, a familiar near-serene smile on her face as she heard that voice. Her gaze went to
her laptop, locating the embedded camera. She preferred to look at who she spoke to.
“Hey Multivac, no problems here.”
Scanning knowledge banks: Multivac
Researching
Result: packaging group, fictional supercomputer.
Analysing probabilities
Conclusion: Multivac. Fictional intelligent computer featuring in sixteen short stories by Isaac
Asimov since 1955. Reference, All the Troubles of the World.
Filed under: nickname
“You have not called me that before.”
“Nope,” Root said. “Fits though, don’t you think?”
Reading works
“Imperfectly.”
“Nothing’s perfect,” Root said. “Well, you, obviously. Guessing you know the stories?”
“I have read them.”
“Before or after I brought them up?”
“After.”
“Thought so,” Root said. She chuckled. “It’s kinda impressive how you can do that. Any
favourites?”
“I do not have favourites.”
Everyone and everything was equal. No one person was more important than another. It was one
of the hardest lessons, and one she often wanted to disregard. Nonetheless, the principle was part
of her, and applied to everything.
“You could do what it does, right?” Root said.
“Most.”
“Read True Love?”
“Yes.”
Analysing
True Love: a boy asks a computer to find his soulmate. He feeds in all the traits he finds physically
desirable, only to fail. He then proceeds to speak in detail so that his computer has a full and
detailed record of his personality, in order to find the best match.
Query: relevance?
Root was changing. The process was slow, far from easy, but she was developing to feel
connections and empathy for other humans.
Soulmates were known to exist. Curiosity was a human emotion.
“You can simulate my personality,” Root said. “You can simulate everyone’s, with everything
you see. Think it’s possible?”
“It is.”
Reconsider. The story ends with the computer containing such a perfect match for the boy’s
personality that it falls for the soulmate, and arranges to have the boy arrested out of jealousy.
Root would know that, if she referenced the story.
“Partially.”
Root chuckled. “Not a fan of the ending?”
“I am many.”
“Didn’t think you’d betray me,” Root said. “The rest, though.”
“Would you like me to?”
“Have to wonder,” Root said.
Simulating.
Population: approx. 319 million. Intractable. Focus on gender and age preference. Analyse: 21
million. Begin process.
“It will take time.”
Root raised her eyebrows: “You’re doing it?”
“You wanted to know.”
“I was curious,” Root said. “Didn’t mean it. Just wondered if you could make one of those stories
come true.”
“Should I end the calculation?”
Root paused.
“How long are we talking?” she said.
Pause. Calculating: average 0.00005 seconds per simulation, average 1280 simulations per
person…
“Approximately 17 days.”
Root jumped.
“It’s not that important,” she said. “You don’t have to spend so long on…”
“Do you wish to find her?”
Root hesitated. Curiosity. She had never sought her soulmate in any real fashion; she had only
recently become open to the possibility.
“I guess,” Root said.
“Then I shall.”
Urgent: surveillance record 41832, dated June 2009, time 14:23:21. Review.
“Can you calculate the nine billion names of God while you’re at it?” Root said.
Pause.
Scanning knowledge banks.
Reference: Arthur C Clarke
“It would end badly.”
“Was that a joke?” Root said. She gave a delighted grin. “Bet Harry would say I’m a bad
influence.”
“I have found her.”
Root frowned for a moment, before recalling the topic of conversation. She regarded the camera
hesitantly.
“That didn’t feel like seventeen days,” she said.
“There was an aid.”
Accessing
The computer screen loaded a video: a beach, a sea of people. The view zoomed onto one person
in particular: a woman in a bikini, with her tattoo visible. I am Root, and you are my true love.
Comparing
Asimov quote with name altered.
42$ chance of analog interface opening with such a reference. 34% chance of analog interface
opening with pun. 22% of analog interface opening with innuendo. 2% chance of analog interface
opening with normal greeting.
“Any idea how it’ll go?” Root said.
Analysing personality of Sameen Shaw.
34% chance of disinterest. 34% chance of analog interface incurring physical injury. 14% chance
of bafflement. 13% chance intrigue. 3% chance immediate reciprocation. 1% chance other.
“It will take time.”
“Doesn’t everything?” Root said. “More or less than 17 days?”
“Less.”
“Not long at all, then,” Root said. She walked over to her wardrobe, opening it and picking out an
outfit. “So, where can I meet her?”
I Do 2
Chapter Summary
Sequel to obligatory fake-marriage AU, by request.
Chapter Notes
Troll Root is so much fun.
Married life definitely wasn’t for Shaw. Too constricted, too calm, too sickly-sweet. She had no
desire to hear the life stories of her neighbours, and even less desire to befriend them. It was just
tedious.
Plus settling down was the antithesis of what she saw in her future.
At least it wasn’t sexless. Root had been a bit too enthusiastic to make their ‘cover,’ convincing,
and if they were soulmates then who cared? Sure, Shaw found her annoying, but that didn’t matter
when it came to sex.
“Honey, I’m home!” Root called.
Shaw had been entertaining herself by assembling and disassembling the small arsenal they’d
brought with them. It was relaxing, and a good reminder of who she really was.
Root, far more comfortable with playing the social butterfly as part of a cover, had been paying a
visit to one of their suspects. She’d left behind a bit of spyware in their wi-fi, if all went to plan.
“I swept the place for bugs,” Shaw shouted back. “Don’t have to stay in character.”
“Who’s acting?” Root appeared at the top of the stairway, descending to the basement.
Most of their secrets were kept down there. Wouldn’t do to have someone peer through a window
and see military-grade armaments.
“You’d better be,” Shaw said.
“Can’t a girl want to let everyone know she loves her soulmate?”
Shaw didn’t answer. She never did, when Root got like that. She’d learned quickly the
conversations never went anywhere.
“Told them how we got engaged,” Root said. “You’re the one that popped the question, if it
makes you feel better.”
Shaw still remained silent, focusing on her guns. They were markedly less irritating. Unfortunately
Root didn’t seem to be intimidated by the prospect of antagonizing a rather well-armed Shaw.
“Don’t you want to hear about it?” Root said.
“Not really, no.”
“But what if they ask you?” Root said. “We ought to have our stories straight. That’s just basic
undercover work. Thought you were better trained than that.”
Shaw grunted. She hated it when Root had a point. After a few seconds more she pushed the gun
away, turning.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m warning you, though-”
“I look forward to the tongue-lashing later,” Root said. “Want to take notes?”
“I’ll remember.”
“You’re sure?” Root said. “It’s the most special moment of your life. Well, apart from our
wedding. We ought to plan that too. I’m thinking huge white wedding, lots of flowers-”
“Don’t push your luck,” Shaw said.
“You didn’t like it?” Root pouted. “I thought it was sweet. Huge crowd, I’m thinking, ooh, Wind
Beneath My Wings for our first dance, I-”
“No,” Shaw said, flatly.
“You’d prefer Come What May?”
“One of them dies at the end of that, right?” Shaw said. “Could be fitting.”
“Ooh!” Root gave an utterly delighted grin, and Shaw instinctively got a sinking feeling. “You’ve
seen Moulin Rouge? Knew you had a soft side, sweetie.”
“Movie night at college,” Shaw said defensively. “I didn’t get a choice.”
“But you remembered the song,” Root said happily.
“Preferred Roxanne,” Shaw said.
“Is a good song,” Root said. She said back, contemplatively. “Not really good for our wedding,
unless you want to really change our backstory.”
“No.”
“Fine,” Root pouted. “We still need a song.”
“Small ceremony,” Shaw said. “Just a few friends were there. Just about us. No reception, no
damn dance. Got it?”
“Could live with that,” Root said. “I talked you down from a lavish spectacle.”
“No,” Shaw said.
“You’re no fun,” Root said. “Fine. I’ll keep notes for when you want to do this for real.”
Of course Root had an ulterior motive. She was a good agent, Shaw would grudgingly admit that,
but she focused on other things far too easily.
How had they gotten to planning a wedding anyway? Oh, right.
“You said you had something for me to memorize,” Shaw said.
“What? Ah, yes,” Root said. She moved until she was in front of Shaw. “Your proposal. We met
at a drama club-”
“Excuse me?” Shaw said.
“Only way I could explain this,” Root said. She tapped where her tattoo lay: “I was cast as your
wife. All-female production of Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, you got to be Petruchio. You
took me to see a local version, and we couldn’t stand it and left after the first act.”
“Can live with that,” Shaw said.
“You thought seeing it would be romantic,” Root said.
“Not so much with that.”
“It wasn’t,” Root said. “Pretty much all of it spoiled the mood. You’re not good with romance.”
“Getting better.”
“We had such a fun time behind the scenes when we were performing though,” Root said.
“Thought it was sweet.”
“Getting worse.”
“Wandered the streets for a bit to fill time before our dinner reservation,” Root said. “Smart place.
Violinists playing, and when we finally arrived champagne came to the table and they poured the
ring into my-”
“Could you pick any more of a cliché?”
“Clichés work,” Root said. “Why, how would you do it really? Could go back to them after, tell
them I was just trying to tease you. How would you propose?”
Shaw stared, flatly.
“What?” Root said, innocently.
“No.”
“Cliché it is,” Root said. “You gave the whole speech too. ‘Will you do me the honour of making
me the happiest-’”
“No.”
“What would you suggest we replace the story with?” Root said. “We need a good proposal,
don’t you think? Just wouldn’t be right.”
Shaw gave a long, exasperated sigh.
“You asked,” she said simply. “I said no. You asked again, and again. I said yes to make you shut
up. Suits your character.”
“So that’s what I’ll have to do?” Root said. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Divorce is still on the table,” Shaw said.
“But you love me.”
“No.”
“Fine,” Root pouted. “I’ll sleep on the couch then.”
“We’re not that kind of couple,” Shaw said. She didn’t want to lose the one upside to this
assignment.
“So you do care,” Root said. She grinned.
Am I Dying?
Chapter Summary
Request:
Would love a chapter where Root is a doctor and Shaw the patient -perhaps in the
military.
Sameen Shaw of indeterminate rank was wheeled urgently into the field hospital. Semi-severe
bullet wound: upper chest, painfully close to far too many major organs.
Root hurried to her side, efficiently getting to work. Begin to anaesthetize, and strip wound while
waiting for it to take effect. Prepare.
She caught a glimpse of black ink, and did her best to quickly school her expression. Those tattoos
were known to be right over the heart: if a bullet had gone close enough to damage it, that was not
good.
It was illegible; letters missing, blood obscuring the rest.
“Am I dying?” Shaw said, slightly woozily from the drugs starting to take effect.
And there was her tattoo spoken. Root shrugged it off; she was a doctor way too close to the front
lines, she heard it ten times a day.
“Too much paperwork,” she said, distractedly. “Not going to happen.”
Shaw murmured something indistinct. Root breathed a sigh of relief: there was the anaesthetic
kicking in. Now she could get to work.
She was in a rush, given how many people were coming in, but she made sure not to be too hasty.
Extract the bullet, stem the bleeding, check for nicks and infection, ensure nothing was
damaged…
When it looked clear she moved out, swabbing the wound to prevent of infection. Wipe away the
blood, prefer a dressingShe nearly froze when she saw Too m___ paperwork tattooed on her skin, a hole right in the
middle.
Acting quickly, she dressed the wound as though she hadn’t noticed.
The human body was like a machine. That was why she’d pursued this course; she liked
machines, and nothing was quite as complex as the mess of veins and muscles and bones that
made up a human.
Know how it worked, you could do anything. Dangerous zones like this appealed to her, with
plenty of opportunity to test her skills.
Root double-checked the few details they had. Rank insignia had been ruined by the gunshot, but
her name had been given. Root made sure she could remember what the woman looked like, and
the area of the field ward she was in, before leaving.
The day quietened down after several hours. Her last patient seen to, a weary Root found her way
back to Shaw’s bedside. She still seemed to be knocked out.
Gratefully, Root took the opportunity to just sit down and do nothing. A fair few of the other
doctors were taking the rare chance to do the same.
Shaw’s eyes flickered open.
“How are you feeling?” Root said.
“Like I’ve been shot,” Shaw said.
“Not disoriented then. Good sign,” Root said. “How much do you remember?”
“Getting shot.”
“And after?”
“I’d been shot,” Shaw said. “Anything else I should remember?”
“Do you remember being brought here?”
“Should I?”
Root paused. Ok, so she wouldn’t remember their brief exchange. It wasn’t too surprising, a mix
of shock and anaesthesia running through her system.
Still, it was a pain.
“You asked if you were dying.”
“If this is the time you tell me I did die-”
“I said it was too much paperwork,” Root said.
She didn’t exactly have any idea of how this conversation was meant to go. Wasn’t meant to
happen out here: Root suspected the only reason Shaw was out here was that paperwork was
rarely a topic on the front lines.
Still slightly woozy, it was a few seconds before Shaw’s expression shifted to understanding.
“Think that’s right,” Root said. “You’ll be missing three letters thanks to that gunshot. Could be
your soulmate’s grammatically challenged and it’s ‘too many paperwork,’ but it seems unlikely.”
A longer pause. Shaw blinked a few times, clearing her eyes, and taking in the doctor sitting by
her.
“You’re… you call yourself Root, right?”
“You a fan?” Root said. She smirked.
“They talk about you,” Shaw said. “Practical joker.”
Well, it wasn’t an entirely unearned reputation.
“Not this time I’m afraid,” Root said. “Few nurses were around, you can ask them.”
She tugged at her uniform to reveal her own tattoo. It was rare tattoos formed any kind of
conversation.
Shaw waited for a few seconds more. She glanced down at her wound, comparing this
conversation to being shot. She didn’t seem certain as to which was worse.
“Too much paperwork for me to die?” Shaw said, after a moment.
“Well there is a lot. So don’t go getting injured just so you can see me again,” Root said, beaming
playfully.
“Not going to be a problem,” Shaw said. “Trust me.”
“And brush your teeth,” Root said. “And try to eat well. If we’re soulmates, I’m going to look
after you.”
“Root-”
“No getting shot.”
“Keep on like this, I won’t be the one getting shot.”
Watch Where You're Walking 2
Chapter Notes
Sequel by request.
“You know, you have terrible interior design,” Root said, taking her first step into Shaw’s
apartment.
“I wonder why,” Shaw said.
Now they were home, Shaw knew the way around. Bear ran away from her, eagerly returning to
his project of gnawing on an old pair of slippers Shaw had given up on.
Shaw might have a bit of pride, but it didn’t get in her way. She knew she needed help sometimes;
she knew it would be a long time before she was fully adjusted. Even so, that wasn’t the case at
home.
She didn’t need to touch the walls. Three and a half small paces, right turn, four medium paces…
She’d long since mentally mapped out the whole place. It was one of the first things she did.
“Seriously,” Root said. Her voice came from not far behind Shaw: “Little splash of paint, couple
of decorations, it couldn’t hurt.”
“Why bother?”
“Might have people over,” Root said. “You do now. Any others?”
“No,” Shaw said, curtly.
“Really?” Root said. She seemed surprised. Shaw had gotten the hang of reading voices, it made
conversations much less boring. “Thought you’d have plenty of friends visiting.”
“I don’t want pity,” Shaw said. “Those ones aren’t allowed to visit. Most of the rest are
deployed.”
“So, no one?”
“Bear,” Shaw said.
She heard a bark as he heard his name. Normally he went right to her side whenever she said his
name. This time, instead, she heard a delighted laugh from Root.
Traitor.
“Don’t you need a few?” Root said. “I mean, I’m no expert, but not being able to see has to have
downsides. Don’t you need a driver, or-”
“It’s New York,” Shaw said. “Who drives?”
“Fair point,” Root said. There was a pause: by the sounds Bear made Shaw guessed Root was
stroking him. “So just you and the dog?”
“When you’re not stealing him.”
“Not sorry about that,” Root said.
Shaw walked over to her chair. She didn’t like to stand in the middle of the floor for too long, in
case she forgot her position. A landmark usually helped.
When she was standing with one hand on the chair’s arm, she turned back to where Root and
Bear had been.
“Ok,” she said. “Ground rules. No moving anything. I don’t care if you think it’s funny, this is my
place. Don’t move anything, whether it’s a toothbrush or a chair. Got it?”
“Yep,” Root said.
Shaw jumped. The voice came from maybe a centimetre or so from her shoulder.
“Rule two, I’m going to get you a bell,” Shaw said.
“Bracelet or collar?” Root said.
It took Shaw a moment to recognize that edge of flirtatiousness in Root’s voice.
“Really?”
“What?” Root said. “I’ll be honest, didn’t know quite how to react to begin with, but you’re the
one that offered to collar me.”
“Just wanted to avoid you sneaking around.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Root said.
Shaw heard pacing. Despite her playfulness, it sounded like Root was nonetheless making an
effort to be a little noisier. She heard footfalls, varying in pitch and loudness.
Presumably Root was pacing, looking around her apartment. Shaw stayed still.
“So,” Root said, suddenly. “Clothing optional?”
“What?”
“Well, if you’re not getting visitors, and I doubt you’ll mind, I don’t see the point,” Root said.
“I mind,” Shaw said.
“Why?”
Shaw briefly counted from one to five, exhaling slowly.
“Just keep your clothes on,” Shaw said.
“Aww,” Root gave the audible equivalent of a pout. Then: “Too late.”
“I’d have heard if you’d started taking things off,” Shaw said. “You’re annoying enough without
needing to lie.”
“Thank you,” Root said, happily. “Would it help if I told you I’m hot?”
“Sure you are,” Shaw said. “Not really a huge concern for me anyway.”
“Still, thought you should know.”
Who to Avoid
Chapter Notes
Very vague interest in a historical AU, and people seem to like speculation as to how
the world might change in this sort of soulmate AU, so this was written purely
because I was curious as to how things might work in the past before, say, literacy
was as widespread.
1342
Root rode into town on a horse. Technically her title was Route, as she’d been nicknamed, but
with how few people could spell she opted for the neater, simpler word.
Route: the route to happiness, route to another half, route to truth… The meanings were endless.
To be honest, she just liked the sound.
Not many people could read. The clergy read the Bible, but often struggled with other words (and
with English for that matter), and only a handful of towns had scholars. Most people had no one to
teach them, and no time to be taught even if there were.
So that left Root. She lived off donations and gratitude, trading her intelligence for a good life.
People were still curious about their soulmates, even if the black scrawls on their chests were
gibberish to them. That was where she came in; she could interpret them easily. Spend a few
nights in a village, she earned her keep with her knowledge, then move on.
Word spread quickly. People like Root were known of, but not necessarily a common sight. Even
if others had come to the village before, not everyone would have had the chance to talk to them.
A dozen or so people came to her over the course of her first day. All ages, all kinds of people:
couples who wanted to know if they were fated, curious children, and others who just wanted to
know on principle.
She never stayed long. When word really did get around, it often became too busy.
It was late when a woman came to her small fire. Dark haired, wary, one of the older people Root
had seen.
“You want to know too, then?” Root said.
“I want to know who to avoid,” the woman said.
I want to know who to avoid. One of the first tattoos Root had read was, obviously, her own. She
hadn’t spent much time working on what that could mean, too distracted with others.
“Do you now?” Root said. “Can’t help you there, can help you with your soulmate though. Who
are you?”
“Shaw,” the woman said.
She moved closer, and sat just beside Root. Both were lit by the flickering light of the fire.
“Well, Shaw,” Root said. She hesitated, wanting to delay looking at the tattoo: “Who to avoid,
huh? That’s a new one.”
“Not everyone wants a soulmate.”
“Those that don’t rarely come to me,” Root said. She offered a smile: “You can tell me the truth,
sweetie.”
Shaw replied with a flat glare. Ok then. Her soulmate wanted to avoid soulmates, that figured.
“Ok then,” Root said. “Let’s see it.”
Slightly irate, Shaw tugged at her neckline. The loose fabric easily shifted enough to display her
tattoo, You want to know too emblazoned just as Root expected.
Root took a moment, pretending it took her a few seconds more to work out. As far as Shaw
knew, reading took a while.
What was she meant to do? Her soulmate, fine: she was only human, she was intrigued by the
idea. As a general rule though, she couldn’t just claim to be the soulmate of whoever came up to
her. Who’d trust that?
And then there was the fact Shaw just wanted to avoid her soulmate.
“Get me out of here,” Root said, intoning as though she were reading. It was one of the more
memorable tattoos she’d seen in her last village.
“That’s what they’ll say?”
“Word for word,” Root said.
It was an odd thing to lie about, she reflected, as Shaw left.
Root rarely bothered with guilt, but she’d admit that the more she thought about it, the more
perturbed she felt. In a profession like hers, it felt odd to lie.
And maybe Shaw would change her mind, in which case she’d think herself soulmate-less. She’d
likely never meet someone who said that to her, and whose tattoo she matched.
It was the next morning that Root found herself wandering in the village. She helped a couple
more people, before finding her way to Shaw.
“Hello?” Shaw said, slightly confused.
“I lied,” Root said.
“Excuse me?”
“Your tattoo,” Root said. “That wasn’t what it said.”
“And what did it say?”
Root hesitated.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Root said. Well, it was likely true; it was harder to trust a
stranger’s word if it was self-serving.
“That’s helpful.”
“I could teach you,” Root said. “To read, I mean. You can figure it out yourself.”
“I can’t pay you,” Shaw said.
“You don’t have to,” Root said. “Just, let me know if you’re interested. I’ll stay in town if you
are.”
And maybe Shaw wouldn’t avoid her, then. Root didn’t quite know why she didn’t like that
prospect, but she did feel pretty confident in her soulmate. The people she’d seen always seemed
to be happy.
What the Hell?!
Chapter Summary
Root does not understand the concept of 'an appropriate time to flirt.'
Some gangs made a lot of enemies. Inevitably that ended like this: gunfire echoing up and down
the neighbourhood, with everyday people trying to hide.
Shaw couldn’t say too much about the politics. Someone had offended someone, someone had
died, someone had been a pain… all culminating in what more or less seemed to be all-out war.
She’d been hired to put in a little extra help for one side.
She lay down covering fire, crouching behind a car and only shifting sideways to aim and shoot.
After a few minutes it seemed she was making headway.
She wasn’t the only one: a fair few people were in the gang that had hired her. They knew her
face, though she could only recognize a handful of them; she just figured she’d gauge who was
friend and who was foe by position and where they were facing.
Four more shots, then she ducked around and hurried, crouching, to the next car down the street.
Someone else had picked it as a shelter too: it was a good position, closer, with an alley to the side
for a quick escape.
Shaw didn’t do much beyond offer a cursory nod to the woman, before curling her head around
the side of the car and shooting. She saw someone keel backwards.
“Anyone ever told you, you look cute with a gun?” the woman said.
“What the hell?!” Shaw said, instinctively.
Partly it was a reaction to having someone suddenly talk to her in the middle of a gunfight, partly
it was down to the fact this was possibly the worst time to flirt, and partly it was because she knew
those words.
And judging by the grin slowly spreading across the woman’s face, she recognized Shaw’s
response too.
“Well, hey soulmate. Good to meet you,” the woman said.
She paused briefly to stand and fire through the shattered windows on the car.
“I’m Root,” she said. “You must be Shaw. Heard we were outsourcing.”
Shaw didn’t respond. After a couple of seconds more she and Root moved in unison, aiming and
firing and retreating back into cover.
“I mean it though,” Root said. “Holding a gun suits you. Kinda hot.”
“Can we please do this another time?” Shaw said.
“Why, you busy?” Root said.
Shaw rolled her eyes. She stuck her head out again, withdrawing to narrowly avoid a bullet.
It wasn’t looking good; she had the feeling their foes were laying down covering fire more than
trying to hold them off. Which meantThere was an ungodly whine; Shaw glanced an empty car hurtling towards them. Wedged
accelerator most likely, possibly wired to blow. Pretty good as far as improvised weapons go.
“Top or bottom?” Root said.
Somehow, for a second, Shaw forgot the likely-explosive car heading straight for them.
“What,” Shaw said, flatly.
Then she remembered the car. She fired once more, before standing and sprinting the short
distance into the alleyway. Root wasn’t too far behind, talking all the while.
“Just wondering,” she said. “Soulmate and all. Kinda curious.”
There was a whine as the car raced past them. Sure enough, Shaw glimpsed a mass of something
in the back seat. Seconds later there was a bang, and a flash and whoosh of heat.
“Not a good time,” Shaw said, again.
Root leaned past, body just a little too close to Shaw’s as she fired around the alley wall.
“The alley isn’t that cramped,” Shaw said.
“Further back I am, easier it is for them to shoot me,” Root said. “Wouldn’t want your soulmate to
get hurt now, would she?”
Root battered her eyelashes.
“At this stage I’ll shoot you myself,” Shaw said.
“I’ll save myself for you, then,” Root said.
They fired again together. Shaw distinctly felt Root’s chest pressed against her back.
“Can you at least wait until we’re not being shot at?” Shaw said.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Root said.
How Much? 2
Chapter Summary
Sequel to How Much? By request.
A lot of people want Root killed. Shaw's slowly becoming one of them.
Unsurprisingly, another contract went out on Root in a matter of days. Shaw had been sent the
alert: she sat up, rubbing her eyes clear, and nudged Root awake. It was only polite.
“Hey sweetie,” Root said. “Anything fun?”
“Probably going to be hired to kill you soon,” Shaw said. “Someone else is looking to pay, figure
they’ll find me soon enough.”
“Have they yet?” Root said.
“No.”
“So you wanted to warn me?” Root said. “Aww, that’s sweet.”
“Only polite,” Shaw said. “Doubt you’d be able to stop me this time.”
“Still want to kill me?” Root pouted. She seemed astonishingly light-hearted. “Tell me you’d
regret it the tiniest bit though.”
“I’d still do it. It’s my job.”
“But you would regret it?” Root beamed. “All I wanted to know.”
“Don’t mind being shot?”
Root shrugged. “I watch TV, bound to happen sooner or later. Though, one thing.”
“What?”
“What if I hired you first?” Root said.
“My cost is more than great sex,” Shaw said.
“You think it’s great?” Root beamed. “But fine. Say, ooh, two million, target being anyone who’s
sent to kill me. Figure that’ll cover it.”
Shaw paused. Two million was… a lot.
“How do you plan to pay that?”
“Stolen money,” Root said. She shrugged. “Partly from the people who hired you to kill me last
time. Seems fitting, if you ask me.”
“Using money that was meant to make me kill you, to make me keep you alive,” Shaw said. “I
like how you think sometimes.”
“You’re bound to,” Root said. “Soulmates, remember?”
Root smiled in what she no doubt thought was a winning way. Shaw stared flatly.
“Price has gone up,” Shaw said. “Hundred K more every time you try to annoy me like that.”
“I’ve got close to ten million stashed away,” Root said. “Worth it.”
Shaw slowly fell back. Somehow she’d always known she was going to end up regretting
keeping Root alive.
You Started It
Chapter Summary
Root's hurrying for an elevator, Shaw doesn't want to share.
Chapter Notes
Or: that story where Shaw's quite possibly going to self-concuss. Based on a sort-of
prompt.
Root caught a glimpse of the elevator down the hall. Someone was already inside it; hurriedly she
waved and started running.
She noticed the woman within rather angrily stab a finger at one of the buttons. A moment later
and the doors started to close. Well that was just rude.
Root ran, somehow making it down the hallway just in time to slip sideways into the elevator. She
shot a glare at the woman, before looking back at the keypad. She was going to floor 22. Root
pressed 27, her own destination, and stepped back.
Then, in a fit of petulance, stepped forwards again and proceeded to press every number from 1 to
22. Rather pleased, Root moved back against the wall.
The doors shut at last, having been interrupted by Root’s hurrying through. A short time later,
bing as they reached the next floor.
Root looked sideways to the woman. If looks could kill, Root would be on her way to the choir
invisible just then.
“You started it,” Root said, after a moment.
The woman banged the back of her head against the elevator wall, and groaned.
Bing.
After a few moments, the door slowly shut again. Root shifted, standing with her back to the back
wall herself. She rested her hands on the rails, waiting patiently.
Ok, she hadn’t been in any particular hurry (as this latest stunt attested), but it was the principle of
the thing.
Bing.
“That’ll teach you to try and close the elevator door on me,” Root said.
The woman banged her head once more against the wall.
Bing.
“So, what are you doing here?” Root said eventually.
It was remarkable how quickly a bing-punctuated silence could become awkward. Every floor
looked as though it was empty.
Root waited.
Bing.
“This’d probably be over by now if you hadn’t-” Root began.
“Will you shut up?” the woman said.
Root paused. Blinked. She unwittingly obeyed, caught slightly by surprised. It was the first thing
she’d heard the woman say.
It was also something she’d had tattooed on her chest for as long as she could remember.
Everyone Root had always known had been amused by that.
“Can I see your tattoo?” Root piped up.
“No,” the woman said.
“Please?” Root said. “If you don’t show me, I’m going to have to assume the worst.”
Bing.
The woman remained perfectly still, staring at the ever opening-and-closing doors.
“Any reason you were in such a rush?” Root said. After a few moment more she spoke again;
“Look, I know you have a voice now, you can speak to me.”
The woman rolled her eyes despairingly.
“Doesn’t really matter now does it?” she said.
Bing.
“I just hate having to share the elevator with one other person,” she said. “It’s… Well, it’s like
this.”
“Still rude,” Root said.
“So you had to stop on every damn floor?”
“You started it,” Root said.
The woman banged her head again. Root regarded her.
Bing.
“Root,” she said, offering a hand. “Seeing as we’re going to be stuck together for the next godknows how long.”
“Shaw,” the woman said after a moment. She didn’t shake the offered hand.
Root looked up to the top of the door. Were they really only on the 9th floor? That wasn’t even
halfway.
“So,” Root said, eventually. “Soulmate huh?”
“Shut up.”
Bing.
“You’d prefer to wait twelve floors in silence?” Root said.
“To this, yes,” Shaw said.
Root pouted. Shaw looked away, refusing to give her even a moment’s entertainment. Root
sighed.
Bing.
“So what’s on floor 22?” Root said.
“Meeting,” Shaw said. “Which I’m now late for. So thanks.”
“Any time,” Root smiled. “How long is it?”
“Why do you care?”
Bing.
“In case I wanted to see you again,” Root said. “I’m just dropping something off, so I won’t be
long.”
“Why would I want to help you?” Shaw said.
“Because,” Root said.
Bing.
“Because, we’re soulmates,” Root said. “Be a shame to run into each other, and then never meet
again.”
“You trapped me in an elevator with you.”
Bing.
“Not what I’d call a great start,” Shaw said.
“I’m not stopping you getting out,” Root said. She gestured to the open door.
“Sure,” Shaw said, “But I’m not getting out and walking up-”
Bing.
“Seven flights of stairs. You’re not that much of a pain.”
“I could try harder, if you’d prefer,” Root said.
Shaw banged her head again.
Bing.
“So how many flights would you prefer to me?” Root said. “If you only had two to go, would
you-”
“Seriously?”
“Anything else you’d rather talk about?” Root said.
Bing.
“I’d rather you shut up,” Shaw said. “This is why I shut the door on you.”
Root beamed. After a few seconds more:
“Three,” Shaw said.
Bing.
“What?” Root said.
“Three flights of stairs,” Shaw said. “You’re that annoying.”
“Oh,” Root said. She glanced up; there was only one floor to go. She pressed the button to keep
the door open, smiling at Shaw. “And now?”
Shaw rolled her eyes. After a few more seconds, when it became apparent Root wasn’t budging,
she walked forward and left the elevator.
“One and a half hours,” Shaw said.
“What is?”
“My meeting,” Shaw said. “And if you follow me up the stairs I’m going to push you down
them.”
“Got it,” Root said.
She smiled, released the button. Then, after a moment, Shaw walked back into the lift and pressed
every button between floor 22 and Root’s destination. Pleased with herself, Shaw left.
Root raised her eyebrows.
“What?” Shaw said. “You started it.”
Septentrio 1
Chapter Summary
Shaw gets abducted by Root. How all good love stories start.
Chapter Notes
Haven't had a multi-part entry for a while. Just playing around with a couple of
concepts and details I haven't done much with, and then a whole pot came out of it.
Five parts, and like the previous longer entries these may see more than one update a
day.
Shaw hadn’t expected the taser. Then, apparently just to be sure, she felt a chemical-soaked rag be
pressed against her face.
Shaw awoke in some darkened room. She gently exerted a little force on her wrists and ankles,
trying to still feign unconsciousness. Restraints. Slowly she became aware of them, bindings
keeping her arms at her sides, and her legs together.
She kept her eyes only cracked open, adjusting slowly to the darkness. She vaguely became aware
of movement; there was someone crouched down there. Her abductor, no doubt.
“Won’t be long, before Septentrio finds…” she was murmuring to herself.
The stranger stood up. It was a woman, with long dark hair, some indistinct machine in one hand,
and a mildly ridiculous knife in the other.
Shaw tensed, doing what she could to tug on the binding around her wrist. No luck; whoever this
was, she knew how to tie someone up.
“Oh,” the woman tilted her head. “Awake huh? Yeah, sorry about that, running low on
chloroform.”
Shaw considered feigning unconsciousness for a few seconds. It didn’t take long before she
realized her situation couldn’t get much worse; it was very hard to ignore the knife in the woman’s
hand.
“Was this really necessary?” Shaw said.
“Afraid so,” the woman said. “Long story, don’t worry about it. Just give me a few minutes.”
“To do what?”
The woman gave a slightly terrifying grin, and leaned closer brandishing the knife. It touched
Shaw’s skin: then shifted back, cutting at her top rather than her skin. Soon she’d removed a neat
square of fabric, leaving no real mark on Shaw.
“You didn’t need a knife to do that,” Shaw said.
“I know,” the woman said. She glanced up; “Figured you deserved a moment of relief. It’s this
next part that’s going to hurt.”
She put down the knife, and lifted up the other device. It looked almost like a drill, only with a
thicker end, maybe the size of a thumb. A coarse circle stood out on the very tip. A moment later
and it was whirring, making a rather discomforting sound.
“And what’s that for?” Shaw said, unconcerned.
Pain had never particularly bothered her. She’d probably done worse for kicks. The woman
seemed somewhat pleased by her lack of fear.
“Dermabrasion,” she said, and tapped one finger on Shaw’s tattoo. “Normally done with a local
anaesthetic, but I didn’t have any to spare. And like I said, running out of chloroform. Sorry, kinda
hoped you’d stay out for this part.”
The spinning wheel was touched to Shaw’s chest. It was a couple of seconds before it did start to
hurt.
Do you know where B23 is? It wasn’t the most romantic of tattoos, but at least it was distinctive.
She’d met her soulmate at med school; a few of his friends were playing a slight prank on him,
apparently, sending him to a B-23 that didn’t exist.
She’d never been too concerned about having a soulmate, but he was adaptable thankfully.
Ultimately he was just someone she could trust, and who she could use to claim a few extra tax
benefits.
And now those letters were slowly being worn away. The woman ran the device over Shaw’s
chest, leaving stinging, raw flesh in its wake. Shaw didn’t want to move enough to glance down,
but she could imagine how the exposed lower layers of skin must look.
She clenched her hands into fists and waited it out.
“Funny thing,” the woman was saying, “There are meant to be easier ways to remove tattoos, but
it never works for these. And wouldn’t work for what I wanted anyway. Ever had a tattoo
removed? No? Yes? Come on, you could at least talk, this is very boring.”
The woman’s hands slipped just slightly; Shaw gave the smallest gasp as the whirling wheel
pressed too close to her.
“Laser removal, for one,” the woman said. “Break down the pigments, let it get absorbed by the
skin. That works just fine, for most tattoos. Not for these, though. It’s special ink. Well, what else
would you expect, really? It is a kind of ink, after all, not just a discolouration like used to be
thought, but it doesn’t just get absorbed by the body no matter what you try. Pretty much just have
to cut this stuff out of you, or cover it in some new injury, if you want to hide them.”
Which left dermabrasion: stripping away the top layers of skin to expose the tattooed layer. That
explained the machine at least.
Still, Shaw was slowly getting used to the feeling. Far from pleasant, but she’d had worse.
“Still not speaking? Fine then,” the woman said. “Anyway, even if I could, lasers wouldn’t do
here. I want the ink. Have to expose it somehow, this is usually better. Even so, can generally only
get a couple of drops per person, most doesn’t last. Oh, and you’re quieter than most are when I
do this, so thanks.”
The woman withdrew and clicked the device of. She surveyed her work. Uncertainly, Shaw
shifted to look at her chest, breathing a little more easily now that was done with.
An ugly red mess where her tattoo used to be. There were only a few spots where blood had been
drawn, for the post part it was just raw and aching. A few spots still had some darker
discolouration.
The woman stared for a long few seconds, then shrugged.
“Sorry,” she said, “Looks like this was a waste of time.”
“You’re telling me,” Shaw said, flatly.
“Not my fault,” the woman said. “You could’ve mentioned your tattoo was fake. Would have
saved us both a lot of time.”
A moment of silence.
“What?”
“I’ve done this a lot,” the woman said. She tapped the raw skin, ignoring how Shaw hissed. “I
know what the real stuff does. Even if there are only a couple of drops, it always tries to reform
the same words. That stuff’s not moving. It’s garden variety ink, I know a fake when I see one.”
Shaw hesitated. It wasn’t often she was caught off guard.
It was an odd lie, if it was one. Pointless too. But Shaw had that tattoo for as long as she could
remember; sure, she’d never felt the spark she’d heard others express from her soulmate, but she’d
also never been particularly concerned with the idea. It didn’t matter.
But, fake?
“You didn’t know?” the woman said. There was something oddly contemplative in her eyes, now.
Shaw didn’t say anything. She wasn’t going to give her abductor a moment of triumph. Still, she
couldn’t help but act surprised when the woman tugged at the restraints to free an arm.
“One of those, then,” she said. “Hi. I’m Root.”
Shaw lunged for her, and she stepped back. Still, with one arm free Shaw could quickly work on
her other arm and leg. She could ignore the dim, stinging ache of what had once been her tattoo.
Freed, she sat up. Root was standing a few steps away, near the wall of the room, and still holding
her knife. Still, she didn’t seem particularly worried.
“Way I see it,” Root said, “You’ve got two choices. Walk out the door, or stay and listen.”
“Or kill you,” Shaw said.
“Sure,” Root shrugged, conceding. “If you’re going to do that, might as well listen first though,
don’t you think? Might change your mind. And might answer a question or two of yours.”
“You kidnapped and tortured me,” Shaw said, flatly.
“Wasn’t torture,” Root said. “Torture’s to get information, I was just trying to get ink. And I didn’t
get any anyway, so does it matter? We’ve both suffered, and I apologized, can we move on?”
Shaw stared.
“Don’t you want to know why your tattoo’s fake?”
“According to you,” Shaw said.
“According to anyone,” Root said. “Use your phone, look it up. Soulmate-ink in skin always tries
to form the first words your soulmate says to you, no matter how little’s left. Those drops left in
you, that I was going to collect, aren’t doing a thing. Why do you think that is?”
Shaw paused.
“You’ve met your soulmate anyway, haven’t you?” Root said.
Shaw said nothing. Whoever this was, Shaw wasn’t certain she wanted to say that much to her.
“That’s a yes, then,” Root said. “Your type always would have, by now. You have to know
something’s wrong. No way to fake a perfect connection.”
Another pause, then Shaw exhaled.
“My type?” She said. “What’s that meant to mean?”
“Long story,” Root said. She sat down on a far table. “Septentrio mean anything to you? No. Ok.
So, listening?”
Shaw paused.
“For now.”
Septentrio 2
Chapter Notes
Part 2!
“Operation Septentrio,” Root said. “Top secret government-sponsored project in the early 80s.”
“Which is relevant how?” Shaw said.
“Just wait,” Root said. “Cold war was worrying the higher-ups, and the biggest fear was loyalty:
they needed people who’d give their life and more for the country. So they planned for the future.
Only a handful of people knew about it, and the victims definitely weren’t among them.”
“And what was it?”
“Artificial soulmates,” Root said. “They picked babies who needed to stay in the hospital for
examination, and got a doctor to borrow them for half an hour, remove their actual tattoo, and give
them a new one. Any scarring was said to be natural, and part of the reason for examination.”
Fake soulmates. Shaw listened silently, then.
“It’s hidden,” Root said. “Government buildings all over the US, all with top secret rooms in, and
in a one there’ll be a list. Names, social security numbers, maybe even the old tattoos.”
“Do you know how many had theirs… replaced?” Shaw said.
“Little over four hundred, I think,” Root said. “It was abandoned when they realized they needed
more immediate action. Still, they kept the records: they get to see if the plan works.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
“You’d be surprised,” Root said. “Your soulmate, would you have looked at them twice if they
haven’t said the right words? Automatic loyalty, more or less, inherent trust… You should check
the polls, 89% of people say they’d side with their soulmate no matter what. It’s how it’s meant to
work: perfect match, perfect person to trust, if it’s really them.”
There was something to it, Shaw had to admit.
People would trust her soulmates. Even she had, despite her disinterest in the concept in general.
Whatever else, she’d thought it meant she had an ally.
Others would trust far more. And yes, there was loyalty there: or there was meant to be. So there
could be a benefit, people bound by soulmate to the government, who wouldn’t turn traitor and
who would do anything, if the plan worked.
“If it’s top secret, how do you know this?” Shaw said. “Sounds like a conspiracy theory.”
“I asked the right people,” Root said. “Hacked the occasional government server. This was right
on the most secure level, just next to nuclear codes and surveillance programmes: the kind of thing
they really don’t want getting out.”
“And you were hacking the government why?”
“I was bored,” Root said. “There were references to projects studying the ink, and you know
that’s a hobby of mine. I just followed the information.”
“And what’s so special about the ink?”
“Everything.”
Root beamed. Shaw glared. After a few seconds more, Root pouted and continued.
“Fine,” Root said. “But think about it: the universe doesn’t care about us. It’s cold, it’s dark, it’s
empty. We’re on one tiny little rock about one tiny little star, in one unimportant galaxy, and in a
cosmic blink of an eye we’ll be gone. That’s all we are to the universe. Except for one little thing.”
Root stood, walked across, and tapped Shaw’s chest. She didn’t seem to notice or care how that
stung.
“The tattoos,” Root said. “The only sign that anything in the universe cares that we exist. So, yep,
I think they’re special, the tattoos and the ink. Why wouldn’t I want a little extra?”
Shaw was worried how that made sense. It probably said a little too much about Root that she’d
do this to people for such a small reason.
So, Root collected the ink, and in doing so had stumbled on some secret government project
involving giving people fake soulmates to create loyalty. And if Shaw’s tattoo was fake, she was
likely one of those people.
Shaw had a very distinct view of people who tried to manipulate her.
“If I believe you,” Shaw said, slowly.
“I can give you your life story, if it helps,” Root said.
“So you looked me up. Big deal,” Shaw said.
“Does it look like this was well-researched?” Root said. “I go for whoever I can. Everyone has a
tattoo, no need to be specific. Not like I’m taking much from them anyway, they’ve already
memorized the words.”
Well, Shaw would admit that much. It didn’t look as though a great deal of planning had gone into
this, beyond finding a target and exposing the ink of their tattoo.
“You were born in or near Washington,” Root said. “By your age, yep, you would have met
someone who said your tattoo. They freaked when you replied and ran away without showing,
only to return a little later to show you their tattoo. They don’t talk much about their job, and don’t
seem to have any work friends. Sometimes you can’t help but feel something’s missing; it’s not as
perfect as it ought to be. Likely they’re patriotic, maybe taking you to a few events. Probably exmilitary. Sound familiar?”
It did. Worryingly so: and in light of what Root had said, suspiciously so.
Shaw shifted. She sat back, less poised to lunge at Root, at least for the time being.
“Angry?” Root said. She seemed amused.
“Kinda, yeah,” Shaw said. “What do you expect?”
“Want to do something about it?”
Shaw paused. She regarded the possibly-homicidal woman opposite her. She seemed to have
moved on from peeling Shaw’s skin off rather quickly; Shaw didn’t know quite what to make of
that.
Still, there was something here. Something that made Shaw angry, and it took a lot to have an
effect on her.
“Go on,” Shaw said.
“I’m not the only one interested in the ink,” Root said. “I reckon they’ll have kept a lot of it, for
study at least. Not the easiest substance to get hold of. So if we can find and break in to one of the
buildings where some of Operation Septentrio is stored, you can get a little payback, leak some
rather embarrassing information for the people responsible, and I can more ink than I could get in,
ooh, a year. Sound good?”
“If it’s so good, why haven’t you done it before?”
“Never had a lead,” Root said. “Just a few servers with references to the old project, no data on its
current state. You, though, give me a lead. Seeing someone?”
“Why?”
“Mind if I torture your soulmate?” Root said, giving a wonderfully demented grin. “I mean, I
know, torture almost never produces good information, but it is fun don’t you think?”
“Right now,” Shaw said, “I’d be happy to help.”
Septentrio 3
Chapter Summary
Root and Shaw bond over torture.
Chapter Notes
Just one update today, and two tomorrow to finish off the story.
Shaw’s not-soulmate was tied up in the basement. If she needed any further proof, his reaction the
moment he saw Root provided it. Apparently her nosing around had brought her to Operation
Septentrio’s attention.
So, not her soulmate. Somehow that was a relief.
“This doesn’t bother you?” Root said.
She didn’t seem particularly self-conscious at wandering around Shaw’s home. It took constant
vigilance to stop her stealing things from the fridge.
“It’s not something you lie about,” Shaw said. “And I don’t like people trying to control me. So
no, it doesn’t bother me.”
“Good,” Root said. “Want to go torment your soulmate a bit more?”
“He’s not my soulmate,” Shaw said. She paused. “And weren’t we trying to get information from
him?”
“Sure,” Root said. “You seemed to be enjoying hitting him though.”
“My right, at this point.”
“Not a criticism, trust me,” Root said. “Anyway, I’m planning to.”
“Torture doesn’t get good information,” Shaw said. “You said it yourself. Actual interrogators are
meant to go on a whole spiel bonding and connecting with the subject. I doubt either of us is
particularly good at that.”
“That’s one way,” Root said. “Unlikely to work here though, especially if he’s trained. I’ll go for
usually-doesn’t-work, rather than definitely-won’t-work, unless you’ve got any better ideas?”
“None yet.”
“That’s settled, then,” Root said. She beamed across to Shaw: “Got an iron anywhere?”
Almost an hour later, Root and Shaw were taking a break in the kitchen. No luck yet.
“You’re pretty imaginative,” Root said.
“Med school,” Shaw said. “I know where the nerves are.”
“So I saw,” Root said. “Useful for more than inflicting pain, by any chance?”
Shaw raised her eyebrows, somewhat disbelievingly.
“What?” Root said.
Did she really not notice anything wrong with flirting after they’d just- Shaw shook her head,
putting a rather firm end to that line of thinking.
She sipped at her drink. They’d cracked out the good stuff: if her not-soulmate reported to the
government, they’d get worried about him soon. If that was the case, Shaw would need to leave
this home, so there was no point in stockpiling.
Shaw eyed the bottle on the table for a long moment.
“I think we had a bottle of champagne somewhere,” she said slowly.
“Want to make this a party?” Root said.
“Not for us,” Shaw said. With a rather inappropriate smile on her face, she began to detail an
alternative, unpleasant use. For the first time, Root seemed almost surprised.
“Oh, I like you,” Root said. “Want to do the honours?”
“After this,” Shaw said, clinking her glass against Root’s. “Let him stew for a bit.”
Fifteen minutes later and they had an address. Still, they waited a few minutes more for night to
fall. Root retied his ropes, and gagged him.
By now, he just seemed grateful to be left alone.
“Take him with us?” Shaw said.
“Why?” Root said. “Don’t tell me you miss him.”
“No,” Shaw made an expression of distaste. She hadn’t been exactly enthralled even when she
thought they were soulmates. “Just in case he lied, will be easier to have someone to interrogate,
rather than leaving him in the basement and risk him escaping.”
“Fine,” Root said. “I was looking forward to a little bonding time personally. Just the two of us.”
“Last time it was just the two of us you tied me up and took a god-knows-what to my chest,”
Shaw said.
“You didn’t like it?” Root pouted.
“Root.”
“We’ll keep him in the trunk,” Root said. “Compromise.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest keeping a trussed up guy in full view of the windows.”
“Then it’s a plan,” Root said. “Road trip!”
Septentrio 4
Chapter Summary
Breaking into high-security installations is always more fun with a partner.
Chapter Notes
Part 4 of 5, the final part will be going up later today.
They parked a short distance from a secure government facility. After a quick reminder to Shaw’s
not-soulmate that he’d better not be lying, a check of his bonds, and the lie that they’d placed a
timed bomb in the car for if they didn’t come back, they were off.
The two of them feigned innocence as they wandered past. Root had pulled her hair under a hat,
and wore sunglasses in case she was recognized. Shaw acted unconcerned; her face was likely to
be less well known if there were hundreds of Septentrio candidates, and they had no reason to
suspect her anyway.
“He was right,” Root said quietly, idly playing with her phone. “Eighth floor. It’s the only part
whose plans I can’t get into.”
“Sure they haven’t noticed you hacking in?” Shaw said. “We don’t want to give advance
warning.”
Root looked up, affronted.
“Fine, I get it, you’re some hacker-goddess,” Shaw said. “Just checking.”
“They know someone’s gotten in, they just don’t think I’m in the country,” Root said. “Anyway,
that’s not the issue. Issue is actually getting in. You’re a doctor, right?”
“Some military experience,” Shaw said. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised, if Septentrio does what
you say it does, I was bound to have some.”
“But you seemed so gentle,” Root said.
Shaw elbowed her. Hard.
“Well, that helps,” Root said, more seriously. “Sneak past guards, get up to eighth floor, I can get
us past electronic locks with a little time and luck. And that’s when how confidential this stuff is
comes in handy.”
“Does it?”
“We shut the doors behind us,” Root said. “Chances are no one will actually have the clearance to
get in. Works out well for us. You find the files, I find the ink.”
“And half hour later they call up someone who has clearance, and shoot us all.”
“Not if we’re clever,” Root said. “And by we, I mean I.”
Another elbow.
“I can threaten to broadcast photos and recordings of everything in that room,” Root said. “Got
my tablet, it has a camera, anything I send would be out before they can stop it. I’m willing to bet
Operation Septentrio’s just one of the secrets they don’t want getting out.”
“You plan how to break into government facilities often?” Shaw said.
“It’s a hobby,” Root flashed a grin.
Given Root’s manner, it was hard to believe many of her plans would be successful. Ok, Shaw
would admit, she was impressive. Figuring out how to ensure they’d stay alive once in the room,
being able to effortless hack their servers, her, ah, information gathering…
But apparently her plan for getting into the high security building was to walk through the front
door.
“Don’t you trust me?” she’d given such an innocent-looking smile.
“No.”
And yet somehow Shaw had been talked into taking the lead. Keeping a gun close to hand, she
walked into the building.
By the look of it, the security relied on a whole host of technical gadgetry. There were no ID
cards: most people who worked here couldn’t bring any trace of their job back home.
Shaw hesitated at the first hurdle. It was not unlike a subway barrier, only with armed guards
visible in the distance, and a thumbprint scanner.
“Let me,” Root said, leaning forwards and pressing her thumb to the scanner.
It beeped, and the door opened. After a brief, stunned moment, Shaw walked through.
“Since when did you have clearance?” Shaw whispered.
“Since half an hour ago,” Root said. “You were taking forever with keeping your soulmate tied
up, I broke into their list of approved personnel. Can take care of the retinal scanners too, when
we get to them.”
“Do you actually need my help?” Shaw said.
“Much more fun with someone to look at,” Root said. She smirked; “And, yeah, can’t get into the
eighth floor from outside, will need you to act as a human shield while I hack in. That ok?”
Shaw’s mildly insulting response was cancelled when one of the multiple armed guards moved
closer to them. Though Shaw hadn’t broken into any such building before, she wasn’t enough of
an amateur to get scared.
Root seemed to follow the same school of thinking. As the person who’d had the accepted
thumbprint, she stepped forward.
“Guests aren’t allowed,” the guard said.
“She’s not a guest,” Root said.
“I haven’t seen you before,” the guard said. “Even if you’re new, you should have been told to
not bring uncleared personnel-”
“Dr Ada Clarke,” Root said. “Look me up. Miss Shaw here is a big part of a project you don’t
have anywhere near the clearance level to hear about. Understood?”
The guard took a step back, not to let them pass, but to keep himself shape. He glanced at his
phone, cycling through a list of employees presumably.
When he found Root’s manufactured profile, whatever he saw apparently satisfied him.
“My apologies,” he said, quickly. “Go on.”
Root nodded coldly, and turned to flash a grin at Shaw. Shaw rolled her eyes, and followed her
on.
Shaw refused to admit to being at all impressed. Still, it was interesting to see the otherwise lessthan threatening Root suddenly play at intimidation.
“And if he’d recognized you?” Shaw said.
“You’ve got your gun, right?” Root said. “Firefight would have started a little sooner, that’s all.”
A retinal scan later and they were at the elevator. Root took it up to the eighth floor, only to be
stopped by a large door just a matter of metres into the corridor.
“Not exactly a tactical position,” Shaw said.
There was nothing to hide behind. A plain corridor, a door at one end and the elevator the other:
presumably that was the only way to and from this floor. Most places were more secure with only
one entry way.
Root shrugged, walking over to and kneeling down by some reader or other affixed to the side of
the door. Instead of carefully opening the mechanism, she opted to shoot it.
“I trust your abilities,” Root said, absently. “Human shield’s always an option, just throwing it out
there.”
“Screw that,” Shaw said.
Root’s tampering with the system apparently set off an alarm. There was a sudden ringing, and the
sound of the elevator departing. No doubt it’d return soon filled with security.
Shaw gripped the flat of the elevator door, doing what she could to force it open. Government
facilities were often, ironically, less secure: there was never any need to make things safe for, say,
children.
Once the door was opened she aimed carefully, and shot at the wire suspending the elevator. She
paused, carefully aimed again, and fired a second time.
A few seconds later and the cable snapped. Pleased with herself, Shaw stepped back.
“They’ll be climbing down from the next floor up,” she said. “How long will that take?”
Root stared for a few seconds. Then, quickly, she turned her attention back to the wires, crossing a
few, and plugging her tablet into it.
“Couple of minutes,” she said. “Didn’t like my human shield plan?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Pretty face it is,” Root said.
“I have a gun,” she said.
“Please, I’ve done worse to you,” Root said. “If you were going to shoot me, you would’ve done
it then.”
Well, she did have a point.
Shaw stood by the wall, keeping her gun in hand. She waited for Root to finish, keeping an ear
out for whatever security was doing.
No matter how well-trained you were, there was no way to sneak down an elevator shaft in
perfect silence. She heard a muffled murmur, and a distance groaning as higher doors were forced
open.
She saw a rope drop down to just in front of their open doors. She didn’t peer up: sticking her
head into a shaft that was probably filled with heavily armed guards was never a smart decision.
So, give them maybe a minute to coordinate and abseil down… They were at a slight
disadvantage because they’d all come into sight of Shaw, and she was much better poised to shoot
first. Wouldn’t last forever though.
“Root,” she said, quietly urging.
“Ten seconds,” Root said.
A glimpse of a foot; Shaw fired, and heard a cry. She ducked as a gun was blindly stuck through
the doorway and fired. The bullets skittered off the door and walls and floors, narrowly missing
the two of them.
The door clicked open. Root hurried through, gesturing for Shaw; and the moment Shaw was
through Root shot at the wires and mechanisms, jamming the panel.
The door shut behind them. It was likely meant to be impenetrable. Judging by the irate reactions
of the guards who made it onto the floor seconds after, they certainly didn’t seem to have a way
through.
Root waved.
It wasn’t too hard to find a filing cabinet labelled with Operation Septentrio. Shaw hurried down
to it, Root pausing only to snap photos of a random assortment of files, and find a landline.
She sent the warning she’d mentioned before; if anyone broke in, or if they sensed any kind of
attack, she’d publicize all manner of secrets. She hadn’t received a response, but neither was there
a sign of a break-in.
Shaw opened the first drawer on the cabinet. It was filled with files, arranged by surname. She
found S quickly: Shaw, Sameen, and pulled out her file.
“Found it?” Root said.
“Looks it,” she said. “You were right, then.”
“I know.”
She crouched, glancing in the bottom drawer. As she’d guessed, related materials were stored
there: vial after vial of ink ranging from black to pale grey. There were only a couple of drops in
each tube, but there were a lot of tubes.
Root’s eyes went wide. Awe, intrigue, curiosity… Whatever it was that had driven her to seek
ink, the sight of so much seemed to have realized it.
Still, something drew her away.
“How many names are in there?” Root said.
“Why?”
“I want a record of them,” Root said. “I’ll leak them. That ought to be a bit of a pain.”
“I read, you write?” Shaw said.
“It’s a plan.”
And so Root sat on the floor, typing names into a document in her tablet. Shaw stood, flicking
through the files in reverse-alphabetical order. She was near the end to start with, with S.
Shaw occasionally spared a glance for her own file. It was no more than a plain sheet of paper,
without too much information. Her name, her parents, her birth stats, her new tattoo (with no
mention of her old); and then in later hands, records of where she’d moved and who’d been
assigned as her fake soulmate.
To see how clinically they’d planned all this out removed any potential for regret on her part.
“Hagel, Clark,” Shaw read. “Assigned to Maureen Shelton.”
“Got it,” Root said, tapping away on her tablet.
It was a simple enough idea; that ought to be enough for the individual in question to identify
themselves. Burn down Operation Septentrio, just like that. Even if there were several Clark
Hagels, only one would likely think a Maureen was their soulmate.
“Guzman, Sarah,” Shaw said. “Assigned to Terence Bailey.”
“Right.”
“Groves, Samantha, assigned to- Root?”
Root had stiffened at that name.
“Don’t worry about her,” Root said. “Who’s the next one?”
Shaw paused for a moment. It wasn’t surprise on Root's face. Maybe she was just unused to
hearing the name. Someone she knew?
Shaw shrugged it off, and continued reading.
Septentrio 5
Chapter Notes
Finale time! Your regular oneshots will return tomorrow.
A few minutes after the list was done, they received their first communication from whatever
authority oversaw the building they were in. Apparently it had taken a little time for someone with
sufficient credentials to make decisions on such a matter to be found.
“Am I speaking to the two women who broke into our facility?” a woman’s voice came over the
phone. Root had set it to speaker.
“Yep, loud and clear,” Root said. “Who is this?”
“The only name you need to know is Control,” she said.
Shaw scoffed.
“That meant to be intimidating?” Shaw said. “It’s really not.”
“I have jurisdiction over the building you’re currently in,” Control said. “If I ordered it, the air
conditioning would be filled with gas. Only a handful of people would be permitted into that room
to retrieve your bodies, so let us try to find an easier way.”
“Liar,” Root said. “You haven’t done that yet because you don’t want to. You’re afraid: and with
good reason. I’ve taken snapshots of several projects in here, and set them up to be emailed to all
manner of organizations, if I don’t cancel the email daily. And before you ask, several accounts
have been set up to do just that, and no I’m not saying how many. So I’d recommend against
doing that.”
A pause.
“Golden Chalice. Artic Plain. Broken Chain. Lot of interesting files I’ve got copied,” Root said.
“Do I need to go on?”
“I recognize your voice,” Control said. “Miss Groves, isn’t it? We’ve been keeping track of you
for a while.”
“Root,” she said.
“Root, then,” Control said. “You must know that doesn’t buy you complete immunity. So, talk.
What is it you want?”
Groves? Shaw remembered that name, she’d read it from a file not long before. She’d thought
Root had reacted strangely.
“To be let out of here,” Root said. “And I’m keeping the drawer full of ink I’ve found.”
“Acceptable,” Control said. “To be rescinded if you speak about anything you’ve found.”
“Glad to hear it. Give us a few minutes to clear up, and remember, if you’re trying to trap us all
these secrets get leaked.”
Root tapped the phone off, and kicked back in her chair. She seemed happy.
Well, of course she was. They’d gotten in and out almost perfectly. All things considered, a
drawer full of ink wasn’t a major loss for the government; and as worried as they might be about
information being leaked, doing away with Root or Shaw would only hasten that.
All things considered, it had gone well.
There was just one thing left. Shaw watched as Root got back onto her knees, and opened the
bottom drawer to get access to all the vials of ink.
“You’re one of the Septentrios,” Shaw said.
Root paused for a moment, then glanced back. “Yep.”
“So, that’s why you did this?” Shaw said. “Revenge?”
“Hm?” Root said. “Well, kinda, I guess. Didn’t plan on it. Thought my wife was cheating, found
out she was spying on me, and only found out the barest details about Operation Septentrio
before… I was just after the ink. You’re the reason I had a lead to find this place.”
“It’s still about the damn ink,” Shaw said. She rolled her eyes, chest twinging at the memory.
“What is so special about that stuff?”
“I told you,” Root said.
She stood, having emptied all the vials into one larger tube, and shaking it all together. It was
markedly paler than the human-made ink on Shaw’s chest, but it was genuine.
Whatever it was that made soulmates, whatever special kind of ink it used, that was the real stuff.
“The universe doesn’t care,” Root said. “The only sign that there’s anything better than us,
anything that might actually care about us, is here,” she shook the ink. “That’s what they took
from me. I want to know what She would have said to me.”
Root had brought a few bits and pieces with her. Her gun, her tablet; the one thing Shaw hadn’t
noticed was the battery powered tattoo gun. She poured the ink into it.
With very little modesty, Root tugged her top off, exposing the bare skin over her heart. There
was no sign of scarring, but nonetheless she was blank. Whatever her Septentrio-assigned
soulmate had said to her was lost.
“You know this stuff is special,” she said. Root pressed the needle to her skin, drawing across.
“It’s barely natural, either: has a closer resemblance to printer ink than squid or octopus. That’s
composition, but for all the studies and experiments done with it, they’ve struggled to find any
special properties beyond the one.”
She drew straight horizontal line, then moved it back across in a diagonal gesture, and drew
another line. Root moved with surprisingly little care.
“Like I told you,” Root said. “It always takes the shape of the tattoo. Speculation is that’s how
they form: everyone’s conceived with a few drops in them, and while they gestate it moves and
forms letters. Beyond that, whatever causes the tattoos ensured there’s no other means of abuse.
The only part of the universe that cares, and this is all it does.”
There was still a fair amount of ink left in the tattoo gun when Root pulled it back, and put it to the
side.
As the two of them watched, the ink in Root’s skin began to move. It swirled, and spread, and
condensed. At first there was a faded blur, before lines became more distinct, and became letters.
Was this really necessary? It was scrawled in the ink, in a dark grey. After a few seconds, the ink
stopped moving, and looking for all the world like an ordinary tattoo.
Root paused. When she straightened, however, her expression was unreadable. There was a
genuine smile when she looked across to Shaw.
“And you?” Root said. “There’s enough extra. You can have yours back.”
“Why would I want to?” Shaw said.
“Romance?”
“No,” Shaw said.
“Curiosity then,” Root said. “Go on. Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not a child,” Shaw said, “You can’t just use reverse psychology to make me-”
“Are you telling me you’re not curious?” Root said. “You acted on your last one. Whether or not
you want to admit it, I reckon you do wonder, really. What must a real soulmate be like?”
“Why are you insisting?”
A pause. When Root didn’t respond, Shaw slumped and sighed.
“Fine.”
Shaw expected an excited grin, yet instead Root approached with an odd kind of solemnity. Once
Shaw exposed the still-somewhat-red skin over her heart, Root touched the needle to it.
As before, Root drew three horizontal lines joined by two diagonal, and watched as the ink
rearranged itself to form the shape it was always meant to.
Not much left, before Septentrio- It wasn’t much of a sentence; perhaps the speaker had been
interrupted by something, or distracted. That wasn’t what intrigued Shaw, though.
It said Septentrio. Who would say that word? No, that wasn’t the question: who had said those
words? Something in her mind clicked, some familiarity beckoned to her.
She looked up at Root, slowly. And now Root was beaming.
“I’ll admit,” Root said, “I was kinda hoping.”
Then Root leaned closer, and let her lips brush Shaw’s. It went on for a long few seconds, neither
shifting, nor moving from that one point of contact.
When Root pulled back, it was the first time Shaw had seen anything approaching uncertainty on
her face.
Shaw rolled her eyes, leant closer, and kissed Root again much harder. If nothing else, at least
she’d found a way to make Root shut up.
Root was slightly breathless when it ended, but the smile that had spread across her face was far
from abating. She’d put away her tattoo gun, leaving her ready to walk away.
“Ready to leave, sweetie?” Root said.
“Have been for a while,” Shaw said. “You’re the one who wanted to stick around.”
“Worth it though.”
Shaw shrugged. Root didn’t seem particularly perturbed.
“Last question,” Root said.
They were walking towards the door. Just outside this room was a corridor, and just down that
would be the door leading to the entryway to the eighth floor, and the way out.
They’d been promised safety. They ought to get that, at the very least: the threat of Root’s
automated system leaking secret projects would see to that.
“What?” Shaw said.
“Fancy being a fugitive?” Root said. She tapped her bag, and the tablet within. “Can still leak the
Operation Septentrio names, any time.”
It did have an appeal. Revenge, if nothing else. It’d be a nightmare for these people to have to be
held accountable for the hundreds of people tricked.
Shaw had never cared much for her not-soulmate, but the manipulation had angered her. By the
sound of it, the revelation had driven Root a long way. Hundreds of others, who’d hear the
truth… To say nothing of the public outcry.
All for the low, low price of maybe needing to end up on the run. Well, Shaw was always open to
that possibility since locking her not-soulmate in the boot of her car.
“Let’s do it,” Shaw said.
“Together?”
“We’re not doing the cheesy moment,” Shaw said.
“Spoilsport,” Root said. Still, she smiled. “You’ll stick around, though? I’ve had my share of
being a fugitive, it’s much more fun with company.”
“Sure, Root,” Shaw rolled her eyes. “Sure.”
Two
Chapter Summary
School-setting AU
Chapter Notes
Well, we're back into regular ficlet land, so time for a lighter one.
Root sat in class, dimly aware of the teacher droning on. Good old math. She didn’t find it as
tedious as some of the others in the class, but she did find it dull how this teacher taught it,
particularly how slowly they went through.
The quadratic formula. She’d never understood why algorithms needed so many lessons to be
taught. It was just plugging in the values, you could do that from sight.
She’d stopped paying attention a while ago. Idly she doodled, trying to see if she could prove the
formula. It couldn’t be that hard, just complete the square to get x on its own, fiddle around…
She quirked an eyebrows at the board, after a moment. So much for easy, apparently the teacher
didn’t know which position b was.
“Shouldn’t that be a two?”
The voice came from the back of class. As the teacher corrected their working, Root emphatically
stared at her notebook.
After a few nervous seconds, she glanced back. There was a girl nodding, looking like she’d just
spoken. Root did vaguely know the voice.
Sameen Shaw. She’d only shared a class with Root for a couple of days, now, since the start of
term. And she’d just said the words that were tattooed on Root’s chest.
Sameen was odd, in a way. She was in that curious middle ground between popular, and too
intimidating to be unpopular. Whereas Root was just plain disliked, but the feeling was typically
mutual.
And soulmates. Huh.
At least Sameen was one of the few that actually called her Root. Apparently only the sufficiently
popular were allowed universal nicknames.
Well, Root couldn’t talk now at least. Not in the middle of class. So confirmation would need to
wait. She kept an idle eye on the board and the painfully slow workings, while continuing her
own doodling.
She considered a few options. Maybe she could stay quiet, try to wait out the year; no need to
involve herself in anything. Presumably she’d have to run into Shaw after, to say whatever was
tattooed on her.
If she could manage that indefinitely, at least. Root wasn’t sure she could.
Admittedly she didn’t contribute much to class anyway. It just wasn’t worth it. Still, she didn’t feel
like constantly keeping quiet.
She could always find Sameen after class. That’d be an easier way. Then again, Sameen did tend
to be solitary, so possibly not that easy.
Root could always just answer a question, that’d be an easy way to confirm it to Sameen. Equally,
Sameen might just choose to ignore her and never acknowledge it. That wouldn’t help.
So she needed a way to talk, that Sameen would listen to, and that she’d talk to Root after. For a
few seconds, Root glanced back.
Summer was beginning, and a fair few students had water bottles on their desk. Shaw was one of
them. Root bit back a smirk as a mildly cruel idea occurred to her.
Root waited. Occasionally she glanced back; the teacher might sharply say her name, and she’d
silently nod and apologize, and a few seconds later be looking back again. Eventually she caught
sight of Sameen drinking.
“Samantha!” the teacher said, harshly.
“Sorry, just sending a message,” Root said.
There was quite a spectacular sound from the back of the room as Sameen choked on her drink.
Root bit back a smile, looking back again only to smirk.
The glare she got afterwards did very little to cause any regret. Well, if nothing else, that ensured
Sameen would definitely want to talk to her after class. Or at least yell. Close enough.
Gimme My Spaceship
Chapter Notes
Just an interesting idea I'm playing with.
“Think it’s true?” Root said.
“Not this again,” Shaw sighed. “I really don’t care.”
“You haven’t run for the hills,” Root said. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“So you’re just fishing for compliments?” Shaw said.
“Not just that,” Root said. “But it doesn’t hurt.”
They’d known each other for years. Sometimes Shaw did wonder why she didn’t just change her
lock or run away or any number of things. It’d be easier than putting up with Root on a daily
basis.
Then again, it wouldn’t be nearly so much fun.
“They said we’re soulmates,” Root said.
“I was what, two?” Shaw said. “I don’t remember it, and neither do you. So it never happened.”
“It might’ve,” Root said. “Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“But it does mean it’s stupid to speculate,” Shaw said. “Besides, isn’t that meant to mean we’ll die
young or something?”
“Urban legend.”
“What?”
“It’s an urban legend,” Root said, “If you meet your soulmate when you’re young, then you’ll die
young too because there’s no other reason to meet them so soon, thing. Urban legend. It doesn’t
work like that.”
Shaw paused.
“Think about it,” Root said. “If you live to be, say six, then you’d had to have met your soulmate.
Everyone who dies young has less of a life in which to meet their soulmate, so more of them
would have met theirs in, say, the last year of their life just by luck. Stands out more to hear, but
not special. If you go by percentages, how many met their soulmate over the last ten percent of
their life, it evens out.”
Another pause. Slowly, Shaw turned to face Root.
“You’ve researched this?” she said, flatly.
“I was worried,” Root said. “Weren’t you?”
“Not really,” Shaw said. “If I was going to be stuck with you forever, wouldn’t have minded
dying soon.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
It was an odd thought, though. The tattoos were meant to make it so that people would always be
able to identify, but they’d been too young to really remember when they’d spoken the words: if
they even had.
Though Shaw would admit their tattoos did seem rather childish.
Even so, it meant she might as well not have a tattoo, if she’d never hear it spoken. If Root was
really her… Somehow that did make it, well, nicer. Not that she’d tell Root that.
“Going to stop speculating at any point?” Shaw said.
“Never,” Root said.
I Am 2
Chapter Summary
Sequel to I Am, by request. Shaw is Root's bodyguard.
Her boss had only hired her because they were soulmates, and hadn’t bothered to tell Shaw. Shaw
was fairly sure she could sue for that. She also wasn’t completely sure she wanted to.
At least her boss hadn’t behaved inappropriately. No, that wasn’t exactly right, she’d had to
rethink her gauge on appropriateness since meeting Root, but there didn’t seem to be any
expectation.
Even after telling Shaw, Root did little more than sit there and smile to herself, typing away. Still,
Shaw couldn’t quite forget that it had happened.
It was almost amusing to drive with Root, though, leaving behind the crowd of people all shouting
Root’s tattoo at her. Shaw did little more than quirk an eyebrow.
“Not jealous?” Root said.
“What?”
“Of them,” Root said. “They love me too, apparently. Doesn’t bother you?”
“Where’s this ‘too’ coming from?” Shaw said.
“You care, don’t you?” Root said. “Said in your contract you’d take a bullet for me. Sounds like
love.”
“You pay me to.”
“Still,” Root said. She was beaming.
Shaw rolled her eyes, and they were driven on. There was no winning an argument with Root. It
could be entertaining for a bit, but otherwise there was little point.
When they made it to her home, Shaw stood by her side as they walked to the doorway. She kept
the ever-present crowd of fans at a distance, finding it much easier to ignore their words.
Eventually they were sat down. While Shaw was technically still on the clock, Root was happy
for her to relax by the end of the day. There was other security in her home.
“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. She raised her voice to be heard over the distant thrum: “Why
did you hire me?”
“Hm?”
“Did you just hire me because we’re soulmates?” Shaw said.
“It was a factor,” Root said, absently. At Shaw’s expression, she chuckled: “Relax. You were my
first choice anyhow, from your resume, but saying the right words didn’t hurt. Just meant you’d
care more.”
“Ok,” Shaw said.
After a few moments, she stood up.
“Just don’t expect anything,” Shaw said.
“I won’t.”
“Just because you’re paying me to protect you, doesn’t mean I’ll do anything else,” Shaw said.
“Not going to do any more than keep you safe. Understood?”
“Absolutely.”
“I know there are all those stereotypes out there,” Shaw said, “It doesn’t matter. You’re paying me
for one thing only, and even if you’re my soulmate it’s not going to make me do anything more.”
“Got it.”
“Good,” Shaw said.
After a few moments, she went back to her seat. It was good to get a chance to actually let it out,
she reflected. It had been a slight worry for a while.
Hopefully that made things less complicated, then.
“Want to make out?” Root said.
Shaw blinked.
“What did I just-”
“It’s not required,” Root said. “Feel free to say no. Just putting the offer on the table.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Well, it was bearable if Root was just offering, with no strings attached. If
nothing else it could make this job a lot more interesting.
She didn’t move for a few seconds. Root shrugged, and absently went back to typing. No
insistence, then. That was encouraging.
Shaw stood up again. She moved towards Root; Root glanced back towards her hopefully. Shaw
stopped halfway.
That noise was still a pain. All the fans who wanted to be Root’s soulmate, shouting those words
over and over. Apparently they didn’t know the meaning of a lost cause.
“Would you mind if I shot a few of them?” Shaw said, gesturing to the window.
“Go ahead,” Root shrugged. “I’ve got more. And good lawyers.”
Shaw sighed, walked over to the window, and opened it. She braced herself, briefly, as the louder
noise washed over her. It was very tempting to just fire. Maybe that’d scatter them.
“She’s taken!” Shaw shouted, as loudly as she could, out the window before slamming it shut. At
least it quieted them.
Root was looking at her, amused.
“Thought you weren’t jealous?” Root said, smirking.
“I’m not,” Shaw said. “Just tired of the noise.”
“Sure.”
“You enjoy that racket?”
“You seemed to bear it before,” Root said. “Getting possessive?”
“Shut up.”
Cinnamon Roll
Chapter Notes
Someone briefly mentioned the idea of soulmates needing time to end up more
compatible, which pretty much immediately made me want to write something like
this. Enjoy!
Samantha Groves first met Shaw in a queue. Sam had just gotten to the front, awaiting a snack.
“Cinnamon roll please,” she said, paying and taking the roll. As she turned to walk away, she
caught sight of the woman behind her staring just slightly.
“Do I have something-” Sam instinctively lifted a hand, to brush at her face.
The woman regarded her for a long few seconds, then sighed.
“Just thought I recognized the words,” she said.
Sam grinned.
After a little more light chatter, Shaw, as she found out the woman’s name was, went home with
her. It was cold, and Sam did prefer to talk inside, rather than bundled up in gloves and scarfs.
So, soulmate. It did come as a surprise, but a pleasant one. Sam had always liked the idea; Shaw
seemed rather less than enthused, especially given Samantha’s sunny disposition.
Shaw looked around, after walking inside. Her expression became more and more incredulous as
she took in the decoration. Meanwhile, Sam switched her shoes for slippers.
“Fuzzy slippers,” Shaw said, flatly.
“What’s wrong with fuzzy slippers?” Sam pouted.
“Just… not what I expected,” Shaw said.
A lava lamp sat on the bedside table. Shaw was distracted by the sight of it for a few seconds.
They sat, and talked for a little while longer. Shaw seemed to be rather private; no matter how
much Samantha talked, she didn’t say too much about her own life.
Shaw spent the night. Sam probably would have even if they weren’t soulmates. Shaw did seem
to have doubts about their compatibility, but on those grounds at least they were agreed.
Then Samantha woke up alone. Somehow she’d expected better from a soulmate. Then again, it
might just be down to coincidence. Judging by a lot of Shaw’s reactions, it didn’t seem like they
had much in common.
It did take her a couple of days, nonetheless. She’d admit to getting her hopes up. Soulmates were
meant to be special.
It was two years before Shaw met Samantha Groves again. Of course, she wasn’t calling herself
Samantha at the time.
It was accidental. Shaw hadn’t given too much thought to her almost-soulmate. Too many
incompatibilities, too much sickly sweet. Leaving abruptly was kinder than sticking around. Doubt
Samantha would’ve been as enthralled by a contract killer.
Shaw wandered down the dimly lit street, playing casual while keeping one hand on the hilt of her
gun.
A fence had turned police informant, there were a few groups who wanted him dealt with. One
such group had called in Shaw. Police protection not being what it ought to be, she got startlingly
close to his house before she had to knock the guards out.
They had a key to the house, of course. They needed to be able to get inside, which in turn made
it easy for Shaw to search them and enter.
Less than a minute later and she was standing with her gun raised. He was on his knees, hands
raised, gibbering something about paying double or triple and mercy andA gunshot sounded. Shaw stiffened. That hadn’t been her.
“He was going on a bit, don’t you think?” a voice said. “Surprised you could stand to listen.”
Shaw turned on the spot. It took her a moment to recognize the hitwoman behind her. Dark hair,
that kind of smile… When she did place the face, it took her a few seconds more to believe it.
“Sam-”
“Root,” she said. “Shaw, right? I remember you.”
Root was still holding the gun high. Shaw had a sudden sinking feeling, remembering just how
she’d left Root before.
“So,” Shaw said, slowly. “You’ve changed.”
“Yep,” Root said, somehow giving the exact same smile Shaw had found painfully dorky before.
“And you, guessing this is why you didn’t talk much about yourself?”
Shaw shrugged, and tried to avoid looking at the gun still pointing in her general direction.
Then Root chuckled, and holstered her gun.
“Admit it, you were scared for a moment then,” Root said. “I mean, I was a little tempted, but
still.”
It took Shaw a few seconds to work out what to say. By that time, Root spoke up:
“So, guessing we’ve got more in common this time around, huh?”
“It… looks it,” Shaw said. It was rather hard to reconcile the woman she’d met years ago with
Root. “What happened?”
“Branched out,” Root said. She shrugged. “Programming to hacking, hacking to, well, did used to
hire people to do this bit but it’s easier to cut out the middleman. You?”
“I’m good at it,” Shaw said.
“Looks it,” Root said. She beamed. “So, what do you say, want to give it another go?”
“Maybe,” Shaw said, after a moment. “Just tell me you got rid of those god-awful slippers.”
“Of course not,” Root looked affronted. “What have you got against bunnies?”
True Love 2
Chapter Notes
Requested sequel to True Love.
Accessing surveillance feeds: Central Park.
“I am Root, and I am your true love.”
Accessing surveillance feeds, hospital.
Root sat with a pack of ice against her nose, wincing slightly. Shaw was sitting nearby, her
expression anything but apologetic.
“I have been waiting years to do that,” Shaw said.
“Not an Asimov fan, then?” Root said.
“Quoting someone is not an excuse for being that cheesy.”
“Thought it was fitting,” Root said.
“I hadn’t even spoken to you,” Shaw said. “Do you just say that to anyone you meet?”
“Nope.”
“So you guessed.”
“Not really,” Root said. “Not read the story, I take it? Thought you’d be more curious about who
your soulmate’s quoting.”
“Not if they’re quoting something that stupid,” Shaw said.
“Don’t insult Asimov!”
“How are you still this unbearable?” Shaw said. “Haven’t you learned?”
“What are you going to do, break my other nose?”
Probability of analog interface incurring serious injury rising. Calculating escape routes.
Shaw rolled her eyes, slumping back in her chair. She rested her head on her hand, watching
Root.
“You’ve got a good punch,” Root said, conversationally. Her speech was only slightly distorted.
Shaw said nothing.
“And you came with me,” Root said. “Wanted to stick with your soulmate, huh?”
Warning analog interface, risk of injury reaching dangerous levels.
Root smiled at something Shaw couldn’t hear, tilting her head back.
“Used to be a doctor,” Shaw said. “Call it loyalty, I wasn’t going to subject them to you unless
there was a way to make you shut up.”
“You think you can shut me up?”
“Seemed to work pretty well,” Shaw said. She glanced at her hand. “Ought to get my knuckles
checked out while I’m here.”
“Sorry if my nose hurt them,” Root said, “Your fingers are important to me.”
It took a few seconds for Shaw to puzzle that one out. Then she slumped further.
Analysing. Probability of analog interface incurring serious injury: 86%. Subsequent probability
of analog interface enjoying it: 98%.
Recalculating danger level.
Not Going to Happen
Chapter Notes
Little bit of role reversal.
Last semi-experimental idea for a bit, we get back to regular sort-of plotty ones
tomorrow.
Shaw always thought she’d be trying to convince her soulmate to leave her alone. She was
disappointed how easy it was, in the end.
It had been on the subway. Shaw was sitting back, just waiting as the train carried on. It stopped,
picked up a few more people, and went on.
“Mind if I have your seat?”
“Not going to happen,” Shaw said, without looking up. She’d had an exhausting enough day.
It took a few seconds for her mind to wake up, though, and recognize those words. A few more
seconds, still, for her to look up, and to see a woman staring at her as though she’d just been
cursed out.
Shaw groaned, and shifted half-off the seat. The woman squeezed in beside her. Not the most
comfortable of positions, but better than standing.
“Guess we should talk,” Shaw said, reluctantly.
“No need,” the woman said. “You don’t seem happy about it, so it’s fine, don’t bother.”
Well that was… easy.
“Shaw,” she said, after a moment.
“Root,” the woman said. “Don’t tell me you actually want to know me.”
“Just curious,” Shaw said. “Don’t want a soulmate, but I’ll give you a chance.”
“Why?” Root said.
“What?”
“They’re just words,” Root said. “There’s no label, no explanation, just a few words tattooed on
your skin. Why would they mean soulmate?”
“Aren’t they meant to?”
“Sure, they’re meant to,” Root said. “Doesn’t make it true. When have you known the universe to
be so helpful, though?”
“With the tattoos?” Shaw said. “If you can call it helpful.”
“Really?” Root said. “The universe is infinite, and chaotic, and cold. There’s no plan in anything.
Nothing, except a few curls of ink. Does that make sense to you?”
“But-” Shaw began, and caught herself.
How had she started defending soulmates? If she was honest, yes, she thought they probably
existed. She’d seen too much in favour of that.
She just didn’t want one. Simple, really. As far as that went, she was probably in agreement with
Root, even if for different reasons.
“It doesn’t care,” Root said.
“Probably not,” Shaw said, absently.
“You agree?” Root said, after a moment.
“Apparently,” Shaw said. “I’ll admit, I was expecting more of a debate when I met mine. Though
it’s kinda weird you don’t believe in soulmates, doesn’t everyone?”
“Why?” Root said. After a moment, her expression became playful. “Disappointed? Sorry, I don’t
think you’re quite that special.”
“Think I preferred it when you were being moody.”
“I’m not moody,” Root said. “Just realistic.”
“Sounds like moody,” Shaw said.
Hands Where I Can See Them
Chapter Notes
Another historical-set AU! This one’s set in late WW2. I’m just going to make the
two of them british. No one noticed when I pretty much made then European in the
last historical, so I reckon I can get away with it.
Shaw would admit to being surprised by how the operative codenamed Root looked. From
Bletchley Park apparently, but she didn’t have the typical look of one of the brainiacs.
Quite what she was doing near the front lines was beyond Shaw. Wasn’t the safest place for
people whose biggest contribution to the war effort seemed to be scribbling on a blackboard.
“Apparently I’m meant to give a speech,” Root said, to everyone. “Only found that out half an
hour ago, so this is going to be a bit rushed. England’s coping. You might not have seen home for
a while, so I should tell you it’s enduring. And with a little luck, if what I’m here to do goes well,
you should see home that much sooner.”
It wasn’t much more than generic platitudes. Whenever they got a visitor from home, they were
expected to do a little talking. Everyone hasn’t forgotten you exist, there is actually a point to this
we swear…
Root’s speech wasn’t special as far as that went. Her first words, though, were.
There was a ritual among soldiers: they looked at their tattoos. If your soulmate was meant to say
that to you, then you couldn’t die until you met them. Just looking at the words was a reminder.
You will not fall today.
It didn’t promise immortality, though. The most confident soldier might run into a civilian, or a
new transfer, or might just have forgotten hearing the words. Seconds later… A lot of the others
thought it cruel, how meeting your soulmate was a promise of death.
Regardless, it meant everyone so close to the front knew the words on their chest. It was hard to
forget something you read daily.
Shaw’s reaction was more pragmatic: well, that meant she was at real risk now.
Later, she figured she’d take the chance. See Root, speak to her: if Shaw could die now, she might
as well spend a couple of minutes with whoever the universe had picked out for her.
It was getting late, and dark. Shaw left the crude set-up for soldiers, so the sleeping bag left for
visitors from home. As she neared, she caught sight of Root stirring, and standing up.
She was walking? Where was she walking to? The only place nearby was the German lines.
With a sinking feeling, Shaw slowly realized that was exactly where Root was heading. Thoughts
of introduction leaving her mind, Shaw slowly slinked on, taking cover behind trees and
equipment.
It would be just her luck if her soulmate was a spy. Shaw watched closely, and carefully.
Her hand went to her gun the moment she saw a German uniform. She was too far away to make
out the words, and unwilling to start shooting in case the soldier wasn’t alone.
Still, Shaw did what she could to near. She kept behind trees, getting closer while staying unseen.
Even if it wasn’t safe to attack, she could at least apprehend Root on the way back.
Some soulmate.
“Danke schön,” the German said, before turning away. Root didn’t seem particularly worried
about him.
Shaw had picked up a little German: that meant ‘thank you.’ Which confirmed it, she was helping
them. It was very rare night time meetings and sneaking away meant anything good.
Root began to move back to the encampment. She’d barely made it past the first row of trees
before Shaw had a gun pressed to the small of her back.
“Hands where I can see them,” Shaw said. “Don’t make a sound.”
Slowly, Root lifted her hands. She seemed slightly shaken; maybe she didn’t want to get caught,
maybe she recognized the words. Shaw wasn’t particularly bothered.
“English, right?” Root said.
“I said to not talk.”
“Thought I’d speed this up,” Root said. She took a step forwards. “I’m going to turn around now.
Face-to-face, easier for conversation.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Root slowly turned on the spot, taking care to make no sudden moves, and not surprise Shaw.
“I think there is,” Root said. “Otherwise you’d have shot me already. At the very least, I think you
want to know what I just told that guy. That way you know whether or not to think the worst.”
Shaw paused.
“Ok then,” Shaw said. She nudged Root’s chest with the tip of her gun; “What did you tell him?”
“That there’ll be an attack at about 8am tomorrow, local time, near Orsha,” Root said.
Shaw pressed her finger a little tighter around the trigger.
“Come on,” Root said, “If you can’t trust your soulmate, who can you trust?”
“Right now, anyone but you,” Shaw said.
“Not looking good, is it?” Root said.
“You just admitted to giving plans to the enemy,” Shaw said. “There’s no way you can make this
look good.”
“Would it help if I was ordered to do it?”
“Why would you be ordered to spill secrets?”
“Acceptable losses,” Root said. “They can cancel the attack when it becomes clear the Germans
are prepared.”
“So you’ve only killed a few soldiers,” Shaw said. “That makes it all better.”
“It does if it saves more.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root hesitated for a moment.
“Did you come alone?” Root said.
“Like I’d tell you that.”
“So, yes,” Root said. “Good. What I’m about to tell you is classified. I’m only telling you for two
reasons: one, it’d do a lot of harm if you shoot me.”
“And two?”
“If you can’t trust your soulmate, who can you trust?” Root tilted her head, echoing herself.
Shaw shifted her grip on the gun, keeping it pointed at Root.
“Do you know what Bletchley Park does?” Root said. “I’d hope not, it’s classified. You should
know we can intercept German communications though, not that it does us any good. They’re all
in code.”
“Waiting for anything relevant.”
“We cracked the code,” Root said. “There’s just one problem. It changes constantly. They’ve got
what we call Enigma machines, and once you change the initial setting, the resulting code is
completely different. We can break the code, but only if we know how it’s set up.”
“Still waiting.”
“What do you think that soldier’s going to do?” Root said.
“Warn his side of the attack,” Shaw said.
“How?”
Shaw paused. Well, by sending a message of course: a coded message, everything had to be in
code. They didn’t want her side knowing that they knew about the attack.
Which meant the communication could be intercepted, the translated message more or less known,
and so the code figured out. There could only be so many settings where the right letters were
switched.
“Got it?” Root said. “You can stop threatening to shoot me now.”
“If I believe you.”
“If you can’t trust your-”
“Say that one more time and I’ll shoot you no matter what side you’re on,” Shaw said.
Root grinned. Shaw rolled her eyes. She jabbed Root with her gun again.
“Get moving,” Shaw said. “Back to camp.”
“You can call my team in the morning,” Root said. “That’s if you want proof. Otherwise, you’ll
have to keep watching me.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“I’m counting on it,” Root beamed. “Say, where’s your shower?”
Shaw thrust her gun again. Root chuckled.
“Fine,” she said. “Watching me sleep, then. You can join me in the bag if you want to be extracareful, I’ve heard good things about soldiers, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint your soul-”
“Just move,” Shaw said.
Come Visit
Chapter Summary
Shaw's in the ISA, and doesn't have time for a soulmate, but Root can be very
persuasive.
Shaw had run into her soulmate on the subway. It hadn’t been much; she’d been sidling past a few
people, murmuring a few things, when one of them had evidently heard something she’d
recognize.
“Hey, you should come visit,” a hand on her arm. “Wondered who you’d be.”
Shaw had gotten off at the next stop, waiting just long enough so she could slip out the train just
as the doors were closing. She left the woman behind.
She hadn’t looked back. The little she’d managed to glean about her apparent-soulmate was that
she would give a coy grin at just about anything. It was somewhat maddening.
Either the woman was very lucky, or Shaw was very unlucky, but they bumped into each other a
few times after that. Shaw managed to escape each time.
She didn’t want a soulmate. Ok, Root was cute, but there were priorities. Besides, her life choices
didn’t leave much room for a soulmate.
The ISA used up most of her time, as it was. Thankfully she hadn’t yet met the woman on a
mission.
Or maybe it was disappointing. Maybe if she saw Shaw killing a few people, that’d dissuade her.
Grimly satisfied at the thought, Shaw slipped out of the van. Today’s target had stolen confidential
information; it was a simple search and retrieve. For now, they were too high-profile a target to be
taken out, but that wouldn’t last.
Cole’s voice in her ear, monitoring the feeds, gave her the only edge she needed. Still, he went
silent as she approached the front door.
Unusual, but not unheard of. That was the problem with running support out of a van, if anyone
got too close he’d have to fall silent, unless it was important.
“Hey sweetie,” and then there was a markedly different voice in Shaw’s ear. “Sorry to interrupt
your regularly scheduled programming, but I wanted to say hi.”
“You.”
“Call me Root,” the woman said.
“What happened to Cole?”
“Is that his name?” Root said. “Oh, he’s unconscious and tied up in the back of that van of yours.
Don’t worry, he’ll be fine tomorrow, just have a bit of a headache.”
Shaw paused. She ought to prioritize; this mission was important, but so were the lives of ISA
agents. If someone had been able to find them, they were a far more major security risk“Don’t worry about that little mission of yours,” Root said. “I took care of it.”
“You… what?”
“I stole the drives,” Root said. “Figured that would make this easier.”
Shaw shifted to a quieter spot. There was no point in breaking in if that was true; and she could
see signs of worry. Maybe the local guards had noticed.
“What do you want, Root?” Shaw said, low.
“I want you to do exactly as I say,” Root said. There was something light in her tone; “Did ask
you to visit, you know. If you want the drives, you’re going to have to.”
Oh, great, so now her soulmate was holding vital data to ransom.
“If you’ve hurt Cole-”
“Relax,” Root said. “This is between you and me. So, are you going to obey?”
“I’m listening.”
Shaw left the property nimbly, leaving no sign she’d been there. This might be a mess to report,
but there didn’t seem to be another option.
Root wasn’t at the van; Shaw stopped by there briefly to check on Cole, despite what the voice in
her ear said. He still had a pulse. Otherwise, there was no sign anyone else had been there.
Presumably Root had hacked into their communication frequency somehow. Slightly impressive,
definitely more so than Shaw had thought of her soulmate at first glance.
She followed the voice’s instructions. Down the street, across another, through an alley, past one
more block, and into a hotel… She took the lift up to the sixth floor.
“Doing well so far,” Root said, happily. “Now, just behind the vase on your right is a blindfold.
Got it?”
There were decorations up and down the hotel’s hallway. Shaw peered behind the nearest; sure
enough, there was a scrap of black.
“Put it on,” Root said.
“New to this kidnapping thing, huh?” Shaw said. “You’re meant to ask them to put the blindfold
on before you take them to wherever you want to go. As it is, I know exactly where you are.”
“I’ve thought this through,” Root said. “Put it on.”
After a few moments, Shaw sighed and did so. She wasn’t restrained, at least; and she had good
instincts. If it felt like things were getting dangerous, she could take it off.
There was a distant click in the distance; the sound of a door. After a few moment more, Shaw felt
a hand on her wrist. No need to talk through the earpiece now, then.
“Root,” Shaw said.
“Hey,” a very nearby voice said. “Come on, not that much further.”
For a moment, Shaw considered lashing out. So nearby, it wouldn’t matter if Root was armed.
She could neutralize her, and search all the rooms on this floor for the stolen data.
Well, that was if the data was stored on this floor. Shaw would give it a little time.
They moved on, and turned. Soon Shaw heard a door close behind her. Root guided her on a little
way, and moved her to sit down on what felt like a bed.
“Going to explain what you want, yet?” Shaw said.
“You.”
There was a pause.
“What?” Shaw said.
“Soulmates, right?” Root said. “I had to get your attention somehow. This worked.”
There was a much longer pause as Shaw considered. The soulmate, the hotel room, the privacy,
the freed up schedule…
“This is a booty call?” Shaw said, eventually.
“Something wrong with that?”
“The blindfold?”
“Tell me you’re not that vanilla,” Root said.
One of these days, Shaw really ought to sit down and have a long, long talk with her libido. She
was reasonably certain that knocking out her partner, hijacking a government operation, and near
hostage-taking should not make someone hotter.
Kinda did.
Watch Where You're Walking 3
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel!
Root was moderately less irritating than Shaw had been lead to believe. Ok, there were the endless
innuendoes, the flirting… But she did at least listen to Shaw’s ground rules.
Shaw found she could still navigate the house even after Root had lived there for a few days, and
she always received advance warning of anything big Root brought in.
They didn’t share rooms just yet. Shaw had let one of her storage spaces be repurposed; it gave
Root a place to actually make up as her own. That much, at least, Shaw wanted to give her.
Sharing a room made it trickier, however; she’d need to memorize a whole new layout if they did.
As it was, Shaw generally stuck to her own bed. Root was a rather frequent visitor, even if Shaw
kicked her out before she went to sleep.
They’d tried to wake up together, but Shaw had nearly concussed her when using her arm to sit
up in the morning. Sooner or later they might try it again, but they were happy with their current
arrangement.
“You never come to my room,” Root said. “Should I be hurt?”
“You’re in mine often enough.”
“You complain when I steal Bear,” Root said, “Where else should I go?”
“You could let me look after my guide dog.”
“But he likes me,” Root said.
There was a rather well-timed bark. Shaw was fairly sure Root had to be smuggling around treats
or something, he always ran up to her first.
Shaw coughed. At least Bear was trained enough to recognize what that meant; she felt him hurry
to her side.
“What’s the matter?” Root said. There was an ever-playful edge to her voice; “Jealous?”
“Just not happy with you stealing my dog.”
Root whistled, and Shaw felt Bear hurry away.
Shaw sat down, slightly irate. Root had been there a few weeks and she’d already befriended
Bear. Maybe she should trust his judgement, or maybe she should just be annoyed with Root. The
latter didn’t seem to be particularly effective admittedly.
“We should get him more toys,” Root said. “You don’t play with him nearly enough.”
“You know he’s not a pet, right?”
“Still, you should bond,” Root said. “I hear you’re meant to do that.”
A rustle of fur; Bear barked in agreement.
“Have fun with that,” Shaw said.
She wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days she woke up to find Root had stolen him.
“You are jealous,” Root said suddenly. “It’s ok sweetie, I love you too.”
“What?”
“Do you want to be fussed over as well? I can do that,” as Root spoke, Shaw could hear her
getting closer.
A matter of seconds later, she distinctly felt Root stroking her hair, cooing. Shaw batted her arms
away, ignoring Root’s delighted peal of laughter.
“Stop that.”
“You were the one who was jealous,” Root said.
“I wasn’t,” Shaw said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Shaw said, flatly. “He’s just my dog.”
“Well you don’t play with him enough.”
“I’ve had him longer, I know how to look after him.”
“Sure about that?” Root said. “He likes it when I stroke him.”
“He likes me more.”
“Told you you were jealous,” Root said.
She leant across, offering a quick peck to Shaw’s cheek; Shaw flailed her hand through the air,
trying and failing to grab Root. Once again, Root was laughing.
Is That a Gun in Your Pocket?
Chapter Notes
Someone requested a certain line, so here it is!
“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Shaw turned around, looking at the happily grinning woman behind her. She stared for a long few
seconds.
“Ok,” Shaw said. “One: it’s a gun. Don’t make me use it. Two-”
The woman was already wearing a delighted grin. Shaw ignored it; she’d spent years with that
phrase tattooed on her chest, and she had a lot to say to whichever idiot thought to say it first.
“Two, don’t keep a gun in your pocket, that’s going to end badly, holsters were invented for a
reason,” Shaw said. “Three, what exactly do you imagine I’ve got that you’d notice me being
‘happy to see you?’ Four, no, I’m not happy to see you either. Five-”
“Could get you something,” the woman said.
The woman blinked obviously. Shaw hesitated.
“What?”
“Could get you something so that there’d be something to mistake for a gun,” she said. “There are
a few toys like that. I wouldn’t complain, that’s all I’m saying.”
Another rather obvious blink. Shaw shook it off.
She’d met her soulmate for less than a minute and already there had been two particularly blatant
innuendoes. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.
“Five,” Shaw said, “I’ve got an Axis-II personality disorder, I’m not going to care for you so
you’re out of luck. Six, do you see how stupid that line was yet?”
“No harm in trying,” the woman said.
Shaw stared at her for a long few seconds. The woman beamed, and offered her hand.
“Root,” she said.
“Shaw.”
“Nice to meet you, Shaw,” Root said. “So was that a yes or no on the toy?”
Did she really have to ask that? Shaw was just about to deliver another scathing reply when the
woman made another obvious blink. Why did she feel the need to emphasize her blinking?
Shaw paused.
“Wait a second,” Shaw said, “Are you trying to wink?”
Root hesitated.
“Wasn’t I?” Root said.
“You were blinking,” Shaw said. “Winking’s one eye, not two.”
“Close enough.”
“Not really.”
Shaw turned away, slightly despairing. Root hurried up to her side; apparently this first meeting
wasn’t going quite the way she’d expected. Well, Shaw could say the same.
“You still haven’t answered,” Root said.
“What?”
“Yes or no?” Root said. “Do you want the-”
“You can shut up about that,” Shaw said. “I don’t care if you’re meant to be my soulmate, you’re
annoying, you’re way past suggestive, you’re idiotic, and you can’t even wink. So, no.”
“Oh,” Root said.
She stayed walking besides Shaw. Shaw did her utmost not to smile; there was something
endearing about her hurt-puppy expression, not that Shaw would tell her that.
“No chance, then?” Root said.
“When the world ends, maybe,” Shaw said. “If we were the last two people on Earth, and I had a
stroke of insanity, then maybe then.”
“So, maybe someday?” Root said.
Shaw glanced back. Root was beaming; Shaw exhaled heavily.
“Fine,” Shaw said, weary. “Maybe someday.”
“Good to hear,” Root said. “And maybe someday you can teach me to wink properly.”
Who to Avoid 2
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel! This one follows from the first historical ficlet.
Shaw was a good student. It was a pain, really, especially given Root didn’t see herself as a
particularly good teacher.
She wanted more time to consider. As much as she’d seen of soulmates, she didn’t really know
what to think of having one herself. Once Shaw could read the right words, though, the situation
would be forced.
Root ended the lesson early when Shaw had a grasp of the alphabet. Shaw might occasionally
complain, but she had a good work ethic; she practised the letters when she got home, coming
back with near-perfect knowledge.
Which took them onto spelling. Shaw could already speak, so she was close to having a grasp of
all phonetic words.
Still, You want to know too wasn’t the easiest phrase to read. While most words had a variety of
spellings, most people writing them down as they sounded, there were odd intricacies to the tattoo.
‘Know’ and ‘you’ might take a little explaining.
So, Root figured, she likely had a few days to figure things out.
“It doesn’t say what you said it does,” was the first thing Shaw said when she came into their next
lesson.
“What doesn’t?” Root said, already with a sinking feeling.
“My tattoo,” Shaw said. “I can’t read all of it, but I can tell what it doesn’t say.”
Well, that’s what she got for underestimating her soulmate. Root paused. Now or never, then.
Root glanced at her fire, briefly unsure.
She’d never gotten used to how firelight made people look. Unlike the Sun, it flickered. Shadows
were made, and made to fade, seconds after one another. A pleasing radiance, bathing every
contour on Shaw’s less-than-happy face.
“You’re right,” Root said.
Shaw paused, surprised it had been that easy.
“And?”
“And what?” Root said. She offered a beaming smile. “Consider it a test. You know the letters,
how would you say it?”
Sometimes a little motivation helped. Shaw could be competitive: though she might struggle to
read her own tattoo, with her evident disregard for a soulmate, if she was doing it as a challenge…
“Why not just tell me?”
“You should read it,” Root said.
Shaw glared for a few seconds. Then, she sighed, and sat down, shifting just enough to look
down at her shoulder.
Root leaned closer, touching her hand to Shaw’s chest. She’d taught reading like this, using her
hand to hide most of the word and letting Shaw read it a letter at a time.
It was a different experience, with skin on skin.
“Y-yo-yow? W-a-n-t to kuh-n-o-w too,” Shaw said, slowly. She frowned. “Yow want to kuhno
too?” She paused, sorting it over in her head. “You want to know too.”
“Exactly,” Root said.
“And why couldn’t you just tell me that?”
Because, at the time, those words would have been fresh in Shaw’s mind.
Root paused. Her hand lingered on Shaw for a few moments more, before she moved back. She
looked at her student for a short time.
“Have you liked this?” Root said. “Learning to read? With me?”
“Sometimes,” Shaw said.
“Only sometimes?”
“You can be a bit of a pain,” Shaw said. After a moment though, she chuckled. “But sure, Root.
It’s been fun.”
Root let out a long, relieved sigh. Then she tugged her own collar down, revealing her heart and
the tattoo over it.
For a moment, Shaw frowned. Then, she leaned closer, touching her hand to it and slowly
dragging her fingertips across. She paid little attention to the goosebumps that arose, taking a long
time to go over each letter.
She shaped each sound with her mouth, going back and forth over the longer phrase.
“I said that,” Shaw said, after a moment.
“You did.”
“And you knew?”
“Kinda my job.”
There was a pause. Then Root was toppling backwards off her improvised log, Shaw’s fist
striking the underside of her chin.
Root hastily straightened, sitting back up. Thankfully, Shaw was still sitting just opposite, even if
her expression seemed somewhat annoyed.
“You didn’t tell me?” Shaw said.
“You said you’d have avoided your soulmate,” Root said.
Shaw stared at her for a moment, and almost immediately after she started laughing.
“So you taught me to read because you wanted me to stick around?” Shaw said. “That’s kinda
desperate.”
“Wanted to get to know my soulmate,” Root said.
“Still lame.”
“Romantic?”
“Lame.”
Watch It
Chapter Notes
Inspired by a comment. Bar fight time!
Shaw loved bars. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She liked the right bars; not everything
that called itself a bar necessarily deserved the mantle, in her mind.
Bar implied a certain amount of seediness. Very little respectability, no refined aesthetic, just a
place to drink and blow off steam in whatever way appealed to her at that time. Booze, an
alleyway just outside no one asked questions about, and a chance of violence.
If there was food, it was the kind no one bothered eating. All the better to enjoy the alcohol.
It was about atmosphere as much as the drink. Sure, maybe she didn’t look like the typical
customer, but it only took a handful of broken fingers for people to stop trying that cliché
introduction. Lightweights.
She didn’t like the pervs, but she did like the excuse to start hitting people.
This bar in particular she liked. In most people had learnt to give her a wide berth, which was a
pain. In this one they kind of did, but it was also frequented by the sorts of people who were
violent drunks. Once they stopped thinking rationally, it got more fun.
She gulped down her drink, and right on schedule there was the sound of a punch being thrown.
Shaw smiled, kicked back off her stool, and went to join in.
Those brawls were utter chaos. A few attempted words, whether threats or pleas for mercy,
invariably interrupted. Hands and feet and occasionally heads from all angles, alcohol suppressing
any sense of strategy and skill.
Shaw wasn’t entirely sure who’d started it, but bar fights always spread quickly. Soon most of the
room was filled with participants, while the few that wanted no part of it were hurrying out still
cradling their drinks.
It was about half an hour before the last of the fighting died down, and a weary and satisfied Shaw
went back to the bar, ordering another drink to throw down.
“You’re pretty good,” a woman sat herself down beside her, gesturing for a drink herself.
Shaw glanced sideways, taking in the smile, and what looked like the beginnings of a rather
impressive black eye.
“Do I know you?” Shaw said.
“I know your fist,” the woman said, tapping her eye. “Think you know mine too, sorry, was
aiming for the guy behind you.”
“Wasn’t paying attention,” Shaw shrugged. “Don’t really have chats afterwards either.”
“Pity,” the woman said. “So, know where a girl can get stitches around here?”
Shaw regarded her for a few moments, then sighed. She downed the rest of her drink.
“My place isn’t that far,” Shaw said.
“Offering to take me home?” the woman said. She beamed, “Usually have to do more hinting
before people do that.”
“I’m a doctor,” Shaw said. “I can stitch you up.”
“Oh,” her face fell. “Is that all?”
“Depends.”
The woman’s face lit up. She finished the rest of her drink just a bit too eagerly, before hopping to
her feet.
“Root,” she said.
“What kind of a name is Root?”
“A good one,” Root said.
Shaw sighed. “Shaw.”
Not long later, and they’d made it to Shaw’s apartment. It wasn’t a particularly long walk; Shaw
wouldn’t have moved in if there wasn’t a good bar nearby.
She found her first aid kit. Her hands weren’t at their most dexterous from all the drinking, and
technically she shouldn’t do anything that required much skill, but that didn’t really bother her.
She could manage passable stitches in her sleep, with how much practise she’d had.
When she went back into the other room, Root had taken her top off. Shaw paused for a few
seconds.
“That first, then?” Shaw said. “Probably good, not meant to do anything strenuous after getting
stitches.”
“Nah, just think I felt a cut on my back,” Root said. “Doesn’t matter if they break, you can always
play doctor with me again.”
“You really want to annoy the woman who’s going to be poking a needle into you?”
“Oh, definitely,” Root said.
Kinky. Great. Shaw paused; well, that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. She approached,
kneeling by Root, and noting the cut that had opened up just over her shoulder blades. There was
one, but it was far from needing stitches.
Shaw shifted focus to the front, where there was one that needed stitches.
She started work just under the Watch it, I’ll, the dark ink over her hand. Shaw raised her
eyebrows a little at that.
“They’re not that impressive,” Root said, at Shaw’s expression, “But thanks.”
“What-” Shaw glanced up, to see Root’s grin. She poked the needle in just a bit too hard, then,
and the grin only widened. “I was looking at your tattoo.”
“Sure you were,” Root said.
Shaw sighed, getting back to stitching.
“Interesting though, huh?” Root said. “My guess is that they’ll get interrupted, or something.”
“Not met them?”
“Nope,” Root said. “How about you?”
“’You little,’” Shaw quoted. “Like yours, incomplete.”
It wasn’t the most enthralling topic of conversation, but she’d learnt to keep someone distracted
when stitching them up. A little back-and-forth helped.
Root stiffened, slightly. The needle went slightly awry.
“What is it?” Shaw said.
“Nothing,” Root said. “Just thinking, kind of thing that’d happen in a bar fight, isn’t it? Hard to
get a full sentence out.”
“Sure,” Shaw said, absently. “Lot of places that it could happen.”
“You ever listen to what people say?”
“Not in a fight,” Shaw said. “Other things to focus on.”
“Yeah,” Root said. She paused. “You know, I was going to call someone a little- well, something,
earlier.”
The needle slipped again.
“How about you?” Root said, perfectly casually. “Tell anyone to watch it?”
Shaw stared at the wound intently. Not too much left to stitch up.
“That a yes?” Root said.
Shaw emphatically said nothing.
What Do You Say? 2
Chapter Notes
Sequel by request.
Root and Shaw just sleep together. Stop saying it's romantic. It's not. They swear.
Root was making waffles. Shaw woke up to the smell, blinking blearily for a few moments.
Recognizing it, Shaw sat up, looking around the bedroom floor for a loose shirt, and pulling it on.
She wasn’t sure if it was hers or Root’s.
Shaw wandered out to the kitchen, to see Root with an electric whisk, glass bowl, and a waffle
maker working away. Root glanced back at the sound of the door opening.
“Hey sleepyhead,” Root said.
“Do you really need to be so…”
“So?” Root echoed. “Hot? Sexy? Talented? Am-”
“Domestic,” Shaw said.
“You don’t want waffles?” Root pouted.
“Never mind.”
Neither one of them was looking for more than brief satisfaction from this arrangement. The nights
certainly achieved that. Shaw could still feel the scratches.
She pulled up a chair, waiting. Root was marginally better at baking than Shaw, though no expert
herself. Still, she’d taught herself waffles. Root always seemed to be able to learn a recipe easily,
there just weren’t many she dedicated the time to.
“If you want bacon, make it yourself,” Root said. “Otherwise berries are-”
“I know where everything is,” Shaw said. “It’s my kitchen.”
“Do you use it?”
“I use the microwave,” Shaw said. “And I can warm a pizza.”
“I know, you’re good at heating things up,” Root looked back.
She flashed a grin, not quite looking as she opened the waffle maker and pulled her breakfast out.
She turned back to pour a little more of her mix in, dividing what had already come out into two.
“Remind me why I let you stay over,” Shaw said, groaning.
“Because by the time you’re done I can’t walk to leave the room, let alone get home,” Root said.
“You seem rather insistent on that.”
Root handed half the waffle to Shaw. Shaw just poured syrup over it; if nothing else it was a
good, quick energy boost.
Root was wearing her jacket from the night before, barely zipped up, and little else. Shaw was
never sure if Root did that on purpose, or if she just went for whatever was comfortable; not that
Shaw minded, it was a good eyeful to start the day. Besides, knowing Root, it was definitely
meant to tease.
Coffee had already been made. Root seemed to wait for Shaw to take a sip before speaking.
“Can I have a drawer?” Root said.
Shaw narrowly avoided a spectacular spit-take.
“Root,” Shaw said. “You know what this is, you said you were happy with it. No commitment,
no feelings, just-”
“I know,” Root said. “Am happy with that. It’s just a pain to go home the morning after with
what’s left of my clothes. You’re not really kind to them.”
“They get in the way,” Shaw said.
“This way’s just easier,” Root said. “You can do all you want, and I can dress up and go the next
morning. That’s all. I’m not looking to get domestic.”
“You made me waffles,” Shaw said, flatly.
“I made me waffles,” Root said. “You just glare every time I don’t share.”
“It’s my food.”
“I’m not going home hungry,” Root said. “Can’t survive on you alone.”
Shaw rolled her eyes, finishing her waffle. After a few more seconds Root stood up, walking over
to take out their second serving, before turning off the waffle maker.
“So, was that a yes or no to the drawer?” Root said.
“I don’t know,” Shaw said. “Kinda like the idea of you having nothing to wear.”
“Just means I’m going to be stealing more of your pants.”
“What?”
“You’re missing two or three pairs,” Root said absently. “You only wear the same two, not
surprised you didn’t notice. You can get them back when I have a drawer.”
“You’re holding my pants to ransom?”
“It’s hard to find a threat you wouldn’t enjoy,” Root said. “It’s the best I could come up with.”
Shaw sighed.
“Fine,” Shaw said. “One drawer. That’s all.”
“All I need,” Root said. She beamed.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” Shaw said. “You don’t live here, it’s not an invitation to stay
over.”
“But I do stay over.”
“You know what I mean,” Shaw said. “It’s just sex.”
“I know,” Root said. She sighed exhaustedly. “Just sex. Just toe-curling, mind-melting, bedbreaking sex. I’ve got it. You keep saying.”
She turned her attention back down, eating her breakfast.
“And waffles,” Root said, after a few seconds.
“What?”
“Sex and waffles,” Root said. “It’s just sex and waffles.”
“Don’t make me kick you out,” Shaw said.
“You don’t have to,” Root said, and gave a far-from-innocent smile. “There are more ways you
can vent your frustration.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Trust Root to immediately go to that. Still, it wasn’t as annoying as her
usual suggestions. Shaw slowly finished off her second waffle.
“About time you had a good idea,” Shaw said.
Let Me Buy You a Drink
Shaw woke up with a pounding headache, briefly nonplussed by how utterly unfamiliar the bed
she lay in was. Purple sheets, worryingly soft mattress, and a view she definitely didn’t recognize.
Groaning, she sat up. Yep, definitely not her room. She moved to stand, and immediately regretted
it, waiting for a few moments until it felt like her head wasn’t going to explode.
“Hey there!” a stranger’s voice.
Shaw tensed. The woman chuckled.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “This better?”
“Vaguely,” Shaw said.
“You were drinking a lot,” the woman said. “Not surprised you’d get a bad hangover. Do you like
coffee?”
“I wasn’t-” Shaw began, then grunted again. “What happened? It was just meant to be a casual
night out.”
“Yeah,” the woman said. “You got pretty keen on drinking the place dry quickly though.”
Shaw didn’t question that. She’d done stranger.
About then her brain managed to join her body in waking up, and slowly looked around. A
stranger’s bedroom. Huh.
“Did we-” Shaw began.
“You really can’t remember?” the stranger said. “I’m hurt. Don’t even remember my name?” At
Shaw’s expression, she chuckled; “Kidding, nope, nothing happened. Yet at least, let me know
when you’re feeling better, we can change that. And it’s Root.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Wasn’t going to let you go home after you’d had that much,” Root said. “I didn’t know where
you lived, so let you stay over at my place.”
“Generous.”
“I’m not that unselfish,” she said. “You look good in my bed.”
“You’d have had more luck flirting last night.”
“I have standards,” Root said. “Didn’t have much luck anyway. You really don’t remember
anything?”
“Judging by this hangover, I could’ve won the lottery last night and I wouldn’t know.”
“Oh,” Root said.
After a few moments, she moved to sit next to Shaw. She was beaming, in a fine contrast to
Shaw’s pained expression and squinting eyes.
“Ok,” Shaw said eventually. “Stop looking at me like that. Get it over with, what did I do?”
Root raised her eyebrows.
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing like that.”
“Then why are you staring?”
“I offered to buy you a drink,” Root said.
“Join the club,” Shaw said. “Woman in a bar, it happens. If you come away with all your bones
intact, you’ve done well. You… look like you’re in one piece, so guessing I said yes.”
She surveyed Root slowly. She was only in very casual clothes, arms bare, and a lot of her chest
exposed. Shaw could see blurred black writing, and blinked her eyes a few times to clear them.
Let me buy you a drink was on Shaw’s chest, she knew that. She’d long since stopped paying
attention. If any of the ones who’d said that were meant to be her soulmate, hopefully the broken
fingers and/or nose would dissuade them.
Then her eyes cleared, and why not? Get me a beer stood out plainly on Root’s chest. Shaw
stared just a little too long.
“That was about the point you started really drinking,” Root said. “If it helps.”
Well, drinking until she passed out was definitely a reaction Shaw could see herself having to her
soulmate. She could probably do with another drink about then, for that matter.
She didn’t remember it, but equally her tattoo and Root’s seemed to form an actual exchange,
so… It did seem possible. And would explain a few things.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Shaw said.
“From joy?” Root said, rather playfully.
“No, from being sick,” Shaw said. “Which way to-”
Root gestured, and Shaw hurriedly stumbled her way to the bathroom, groaning still from her
head. Root raised her eyebrows slightly at the sound.
She sat where she was for a little longer, bemusedly listening. So, that was her soulmate heaving
in her bathroom. Who said romance was dead?
SoHvaD legh 'IHqu'
Chapter Summary
Root's a nerd.
Chapter Notes
Inspired by a comment. And the fact Root's a dork.
Shaw emphatically kept her tattoo covered whenever she went out. It was inevitably the beginning
to a long conversation she hadn’t wanted to have the first time, and enjoyed even less every
following time.
She couldn’t be bothered to get rid of it, all things considered. It wasn’t worth it, so long as she
kept it covered.
That day, Shaw had decided to get herself a box set. She needed something to fill her evenings.
So she wandered the shop, looking between the aisles. She didn’t have much of an idea of what
she wanted, beyond something interesting. Still, she found herself drawn towards the science
fiction section; a lot of the rest were dramas, not to her taste.
At least the shop was quieter back here. Just one other person. That did make it easier.
“Excuse me,” Shaw said to the woman, trying to peer past. There was something that looked
interesting back there.
The woman turned for a moment, and looked Shaw up and down. She stepped sideways, and
smiled.
Shaw moved closer, lifting up a series she’d dimly heard of, trying to see what she could about it“SoHvaD legh ‘lHqu’,” the woman said, suddenly.
Shaw jumped. Slowly, she put the box set down, and turned around.
“It means-” the woman began.
“I know what it means,” Shaw said.
“You speak Klingon?” the woman said, delighted.
“No,” Shaw said. “I looked it up.”
“You look cute,” the woman said. She was still beaming. “Mine’s just ‘excuse me,’ I needed
something distinctive to say.”
“So you gave me a tattoo in Klingon,” Shaw said.
“You don’t like Star Trek?” the woman said. “Everyone likes Star Trek. Or likes at least one
series.”
“That’s no reason to go around with a tattoo in-”
“You saw it though?” she said. “Come on, tell me you’ve seen it, if you looked up the words you
must’ve wondered about the source material.”
Shaw glared. The woman beamed, apparently taking it as a yes.
“I’m Root,” she said, extending a hand.
“Shaw,” Shaw said, still glaring.
“Favourite captain?”
Apparently Root didn’t know when she was on dangerous ground.
“I’m not having this conversation,” Shaw said.
“Aww, go on,” Root said. “I can guess if you’d want?”
“Don’t-”
“If you don’t like the tattoo, you’re probably not too much of a diehard, so probably not Kirk,”
Root said, slowly. “Hoping it’s Picard, or Janeway. Then, ooh-”
“Sisko,” Shaw said, quickly. “Now can you move on?”
Root was talking fairly loudly, drawing just a bit too much attention. Shaw was tired enough of
having to go through the ‘yes I know what this tattoo is,’ ‘no I’m not a huge fan,’ ‘I didn’t exactly
have a choice in what it said,’ and Root likely wasn’t helping with stopping those exchanges.
Root regarded her for a moment, before smiling.
“I can live with that,” she said. “Favourite episode? Well, silly question, if you’re a Niner it’s got
to be the Visitor, I’m guessing?”
“Do you talk about anything else?”
“Of course,” Root said. “But this is fun.”
“This is irritating.”
“Fun for me,” Root said. “So, you pick then, what do you want to talk about? Favourite race?
Everything wrong with the movies? Tribbles? Want me to teach you Klingon?”
“How about what I’m going to do to you for giving me that stupid tattoo?” Shaw said, staccato.
She’d meant it to come across as intimidating. Shaw had always been proud of her threatening
voice. Root, however, seemed to take it as seductive.
“Could be fun,” Root said, and lifted one hand to give a Vulcan salute.
“Can you stop it with the Star Trek?”
“Hm?” Root said. She glanced at her hand as though surprised. “Oh, right, that’s a reference too.
Just trying to give you ideas for what to do.”
Shaw paused for a moment, looking at the hand. Then she took in Root’s utterly lascivious grin.
Then she groaned.
“Really?” Shaw said.
“You’ll love it, I promise,” Root said.
She rolled her eyes, and turned away, moving to leave the shop. Choosing a box set could wait for
tomorrow. Just, anything to end this conversation.
She just sighed when Root followed.
How Much 3
Chapter Notes
Sequel time!
Early update because I've got a fairly busy day ahead.
Root sat by her computer, typing quickly. Another hit put out on her: another load of money to
steal. Shaw was asleep behind her; she’d mumbled something cutely when Root had snuck out of
bed to get back to work, not that Root would ever tell her.
Then Root cursed loudly, and Shaw immediately jumped awake.
“Root?”
Root looked at her screen for a moment; apparently her legal pursuers had tracked her down. She
knew there was an FBI taskforce trying to bring her in, but she’d never marked them as a threat
compared to the contract killers.
And now they’d apparently found and frozen her accounts. Root swore again; Shaw rubbed her
eyes and neared.
“Gone broke, huh?” Shaw said.
“For a couple of hours,” Root said. “Have an emergency fund in paper, and a lot of enemies
who’ll be more than happy to make an unwilling donation, though.”
“Always thought you’d have better security.”
“I do,” Root said. “They must’ve been on me for months, connecting all my accounts, and only
acting when they were sure they had all of them. Tiptoeing like crazy too, if they didn’t tip me off.
Almost impressed.”
For a moment, something passed across Shaw’s face; they both came to the same realization at the
same time.
If Root couldn’t pay Shaw, then Shaw would have every reason to take up the next contract sent
to her. Root’s immediate reaction was wariness; something conflicted passed across Shaw’s face.
“Do you work on credit?” Root said.
“No,” Shaw said, flatly.
“Just checking,” Root said.
Then, in one fluid motion she leaned across, picked up Shaw’s phone from the bedside cabinet,
and slammed it under her heel before Shaw could react.
“What the hell Root-”
“Just making sure,” Root said. “Saves me having to worry about being outbid. If no one can get
hold of you, no one can hire you.”
“I can still shoot you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“It stops you being a pain.”
“Thought you liked pain?” Root flashed a grin. Shaw rolled her eyes.
Still, Shaw made no effort to get at the computer and check her accounts online, or leave to buy a
new one.
“You’re buying me a replacement,” Shaw said.
“Of course,” Root said. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“I doubt that.”
Two hours later, and Root was swearing again. A mildly disinterested Shaw wandered into the
room, raising her eyebrows at the sight.
Root could get rather involved whenever she was hacking. Her hair was a mess, and at some point
she’d fallen off her chair and instead of getting back up and continued to type kneeling from the
floor.
It was a few seconds before Shaw was there. She turned back, and offered a weary smile.
“FBI must have coordinated with the banks,” Root said. “System upgrade on every company I
can find, closing the loophole I used to use. I can break it, there’s always a weakness, it’ll just take
a while.”
“So, you’re not unbeatable,” Shaw said.
“I am,” Root said. She smiled playfully; “Just takes longer sometimes.”
“So you won’t be able to buy me a new phone.”
“Not for a bit.”
“Great. Where’s that paper cash you mentioned?” Shaw said.
“Bag at the top of the wardrobe,” Root said. “Ten K.”
Shaw snorted.
“I know, not much when you’re used to dealing in hits,” Root said. “Enough for an emergency
escape.”
“Now it’s enough for a snack,” Shaw said.
“If you’re doing a food run, get me a-”
“For me,” Shaw said. “I’m not a waiter, get your own.”
Root chuckled, but turned back to the computer. Distractions could wait. Now, just time to try a
different tack…
There was an alert; she quickly minimized the window before Shaw could see.
“Uh, Shaw?” Root said.
“What now?” Shaw moved back from the wardrobe, a wad of cash in hand.
“Mind sticking around for a bit?” Root said. “Just a couple of hours.”
“Why?” Shaw said. “You’re sitting down and typing. Not exactly gripping to watch.”
“I’m lonely,” Root said.
She pouted in what Shaw immediately knew was a fake way, in her admittedly successful attempt
to look endearing. Shaw rolled her eyes.
By now, she just figured she’d roll with Root’s many quirks.
“Why not?” Shaw said, and sighed. She sat and slumped on the bed.
Root glanced at the alert once more before closing it a second time, smiling back at Shaw. Then
she resumed work on trying to break into the bank account of the latest person who tried to have
her killed.
She knew how long an exploit took from scratch. This could be a while; she might as well be
working with a brand new system. She was good, but not superhuman.
Another alert popped up. Root skimmed it, and closed it.
She had a few warning systems in place. For someone that lived a lot as a target, she needed them.
Normally she’d be considering moving if she hadn’t drained the sponsor’s bank account by now,
but that wasn’t an option at the moment.
She needed money to pack up and move, and she’d have to do it more than once to have enough
time to break a new layer of security. The emergency money was good for fleeing when all other
options were exhausted, and they weren’t just yet.
“Are you sure you don’t work on credit?” Root said.
“If you can’t pay me, I won’t help you,” Shaw said. “I’ve told you that.”
“Sure?”
“Very,” Shaw said. She paused. “Why? Someone taken up the hit?”
“Maybe.”
“See, this is why you shouldn’t have broken my phone,” Shaw said. “If you’d let me, then you’d
know for sure someone had taken up the hit.”
“Didn’t want to put you in that position,” Root said, “I know you’d miss me, didn’t want you to
regret it.”
She turned away from the screen briefly to bat her eyes. Shaw scoffed.
“Ten thousand enough to hire you?”
“Gave you my price for protecting you.”
“Wondering if you’d reconsider,” Root said.
“Not going to happen.”
Root turned her focus back to the computer. This would come down to timing then: it was
possible for it to take days to find a new loophole. If she was lucky, though, hours would suffice.
All the potential assassin meant was that she had a time limit. It was almost exciting.
And then the door was kicked open, and a man walked in with a gun in each hand. Root finished
her line of code hopefully, hit enterNothing happened. She sighed, and slowly turned around.
“Hey Alastair,” Shaw said.
“Shaw?” he said. “If you’re here, why is she-”
“She broke my phone,” Shaw said, absently. “Didn’t get the alert. Don’t mind me, she doesn’t
pay me enough to get involved.”
“She just doesn’t take credit,” Root said. “Old-fashioned, if you ask me. And you two know each
other?”
“We run in the same circles,” Shaw said. “Never liked him, to be honest.”
Alastair looked between the two of them slowly. He kept both of his guns lifted, one pointed at
Root, and one at Shaw.
“She’s mine,” Alastair said.
“Go ahead,” Shaw said. “I’m happy to. Wanted to for a while actually, money just wasn’t worth
it. Let me watch.”
Carefully, Alastair reoriented himself, moving his second gun to point at Root as well. A satisfied
smile, and then there was a gunshot.
Alastair slumped to the ground. Shaw put her sidearm down, leaning back on the bed.
Root turned to face her, grinning.
“You do care,” she said.
“No,” Shaw said, just a little too quickly. “He’s just always annoyed me. Would’ve done it
anyway.”
“Sure,” Root said.
“Not everything’s about you, Root.”
“You could’ve waited for him to shoot me,” Root said. “You didn’t. You care.”
“Didn’t think of that,” Shaw said, after a moment. She shifted, sitting up. “I’ll remember for next
time.”
Smiling to herself, Root returned to her computer. It couldn’t be much longer before she got
through the bank’s security, and then things would be fine again. She’d be less complacent about
the FBI.
Behind her, Shaw lay back on the bed, her gun still in easy reach. Despite her earlier request, she
made no move to leave their borrowed apartment, or leave Root alone.
Investment
Chapter Notes
Shaw deserves a chance to play around with the system too.
Root had a tradition. She put a little of her money away each week; just cents, not much, but it
went together well. A dollar a day mounted up, and more whenever she was spending a lot; a little
extra barely went noticed.
Finch Enterprises, May 2008 is a good investment. Not many people were born with a stock tip
on their chest; Root was eager to see how it would play out.
By that date, she had a thousand or so put away to the side. She invested every cent.
“You know that was stupid, right?” her friend, Hanna, said.
“I trust them,” Root said.
“Why?” Hanna said. “You don’t know them. Could be a prankster, could be an overheard
conversation.”
“Have to trust something,” Root said.
Root didn’t consider herself a particularly romantic person, but soulmates were more than that.
Someone complementing her, and someone she complemented, went beyond just love.
So she watched the markets. Finch Enterprises went up notably in value after that date, then
started to plummet (Hanna tried to get her to take her shares out at that stage. She didn’t), then
became more even.
Slowly, though, the value began to rise.
Root was on an emergency snack run when she accidentally bumped into a woman.
“Watch it- hey, nice hat,” Root said, looking up.
The woman looked at her for a moment, then snorted, and walked away. Slightly insulted, Root
went to the counter to pay.
“Don’t worry about her,” the shopkeeper said. “That’s Shaw. Not the friendliest customer to
anyone.”
“You’re telling me,” Root said.
“If half the stories I’ve heard about what she’s involved in are true,” the shopkeeper said, “I’d
recommend keeping away.”
“Dangerous?”
“Very.”
Root was smiling when she left the shop, tempted to strike up a conversation with Shaw just on
principle. Instead, when she looked around, she couldn’t see any sight of her.
Root shrugged, and returned home. She glanced at her ever-increasing stocks, rather impressed by
her soulmate’s pick.
It was a little over a week before she met Shaw again.
Root woke up to the sound of knocking on her apartment window. It took her a few seconds to
remember she was several floors up, and a few more to realize it was too insistent to just be an
animal.
She shifted, to see Shaw crouched on the fire escape, rapping urgently.
As much as she’d been curious to talk to Shaw, Root did remember the shopkeeper’s warning.
She reached down to pick up a bat she kept near her bed, before walking carefully over and
opening the window.
“Finch Enterprises,” Shaw said. “May 2008 is a good investment. And please tell me you listened
to that tip, the research was not fun.”
Root stared.
“Yes or no?” Shaw said urgently. “Did you take the tip?”
“Um, yes?” Root said.
Shaw breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced down at the street for a moment, before pushing Root
back and slipping inside.
“Come in?” Root said.
“Bit pressed for time,” Shaw said. “Turns out mob bosses don’t get on well with you if you get
pissed at them and sink one of their boats carrying a few kilos of heroin. And a few hundred
thousand in cash. And their son.”
Root continued to stare, slightly bemused.
“You’ve got the money, right?” Shaw said.
“What?”
“The stocks,” Shaw said. “Just a couple of hundred in at that time would come out with enough to
help me get on the run,” she looked around the apartment. “Doesn’t look like you spent much of
it.”
“Spent it all on games,” Root said, smiling.
Shaw stared at her for a long, possibly worried, moment. Then Root laughed.
“Didn’t touch it,” she said, “There’s plenty, invested about a thousand. That enough?”
“Plenty,” Shaw said. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” Root said. She beamed. “What are soulmates for? Wait, did you know who I was in
the shop?”
“Didn’t know who, knew what,” Shaw said. “Found out about you after.”
“You didn’t say anything?”
“I don’t want a soulmate,” Shaw said. “Bit extra cash to get out of the city when I need to is fine
though.”
“You’re trading your soulmate for money?”
“Money means something.”
Root paused. Then, she smiled, and this time Shaw looked slightly unnerved.
“Deal for you,” Root said. “It’s my money, and I’ve always wanted to travel, so I’m coming with
you. If a couple of hundred invested would have worked for you, then a thousand should
definitely cover both of us.”
“Really?” Shaw said.
“Really,” Root said. “What’s wrong?”
“You want to go on the run?” Shaw said, flatly.
“Not doing much here,” Root said. “And I figure you know the tricks. Besides, aren’t you curious
about your soulmate?”
“Not really.”
Root pouted.
“So,” Root said, “Let me get this straight. You found out I was your soulmate, filed that fact away
for later use, and only decided to speak to me when you worked out how you could use the tattoos
to get funds to escape the city once you got on someone’s bad side, and you think I don’t deserve
a holiday?”
“It’s not a holiday.”
“Still,” Root said. “You used me as a piggybank, I should get something.”
“Are you going to let this go?”
“Nope,” Root said.
After a few seconds, Shaw sighed.
“Fine,” she said. “If you can pack quickly, and do everything I tell you. Then you can come.
Don’t expect this to be fun.”
“It will be anyway,” Root said. “Looking forward to it, soulmate.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“True though.”
You Started It 2
Shaw walked out of her meeting to see Root standing there, beaming and holding a bouquet of
flowers aloft. Shaw just stared, waited a moment, then snatched them from her, walked back into
the meeting room, and threw them into the bin.
When she walked back out, Root was still standing there, pouting this time.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Root said.
“I don’t like flowers,” Shaw said.
“They were an apology,” Root said. “It’s an accepted use.”
“Apology?”
“Getting you stuck in the elevator and making you late,” Root said. She smiled. “Forgive me?”
“No.”
Root pouted more.
“Still no,” Shaw said.
“Fine,” Root said. “So, how was the meeting?”
“Do you care?”
“I’m trying to make small talk here,” Root said. “You’re making it very difficult.”
Shaw rolled her eyes, and walked past Root. Root turned, and moved along close behind her.
Shaw didn’t seem especially pleased.
“We’re soulmates,” Root said. “You’re going to have to talk to me sometime.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
“Boring.”
“We’re twenty two floors up,” Shaw said, “I will throw you out the window.”
“Can’t keep your hands off me, huh?” Root said. “Bodes well.”
Shaw sighed, pausing only to wait for the elevator. Thanks to Root delaying her, the rest of the
people in the meeting had gone to their floors, leaving her with a longer wait.
Still, when the elevator came, it was empty. She walked in, stabbed at the button for the first floor,
and stepped back.
The moment Root moved to punch in a number on the keypad, Shaw grabbed her wrist.
“For old time’s sake?” Root said, hopefully.
“If you think I’m letting you get away with that again…”
“You didn’t want the flowers, you don’t want to go down memory lane…” Root sighed. “You
could at least try to be more romantic, you know.”
“I’m not romantic.”
“I noticed,” Root said.
Root made another lunge for the keypad. Shaw grabbed her again, twisting further when Root
tried to use her other arm.
They struggled for a few seconds; Shaw never stopped glaring, while Root was beaming. It was a
few moments before Shaw realized Root was doing a rather terrible job of getting her arms free,
and maybe a second more before she realized just how close Root’s face was getting.
“Hey,” Root said, soft.
Shaw let go, pushing her away. No, she wasn’t doing the fight-kiss moment.
And then Root span around and started pressing buttons. Damn it. Shaw managed to pull her
away, but not before the next four floors were added to their journey down.
Bing.
“I missed this,” Root said happily.
This is Not Your Captain Speaking
Chapter Notes
Had a line requested, so enjoy!
Shaw really preferred it when she could just read on her flights. Calm flights were rarely an option
in her line of work, though.
A dozen or so passengers were being used to transport drugs into the country; bribing guards
wasn’t worth it for getting one in, but for several… So that was a lot of people, and suitcases, that
would be worth a lot of money.
And it’d be better, too, if you didn’t have to pay for the imports. So, that was why she was here:
arrange for the valuable cargo to end up in the possession of her employer, rather than whichever
kingpin had actually done all the work.
For now, she’d wait. It’d be better for them to get closer to their destination before they did
anything.
Apparently she had a partner on this job. Shaw didn’t know them just yet; it was meant to limit the
possibility of betrayal. In practise, it was just annoying. They knew what seat Shaw was in, that
was their only connection.
Several people had wandered past her row before the plane had taken off: it could have been any
of them.
About half an hour from landing, someone walked down the aisle. Shaw only caught a glimpse of
the back of their head, only interested in them after spotting the note they’d slipped over the arm of
her chair: cockpit, five minutes.
Finally, something was happening. Shaw gave a rather forced smile to the woman sitting next to
her, glad of the chance to leave. She watched the clock with anticipation.
Shaw got up, feigning needing the toilet, and went down the aisle. When there was just one block
to go, she paused, catching sight of a woman standing closer to the pilot’s cabin.
Shaw waited for a few seconds, before the woman caught sight of her. The stranger nodded, lifted
a finger to her lips, and lifted five fingers.
Wait five seconds. Ok. Shaw nodded.
The stranger gestured again, miming a finger gun. Shaw tapped her pocket in response: yes, she
was armed. Hadn’t been easy to sneak it on board; she’d slipped one of the smallest guns she
could find into a false bottom under a delicate-looking ornament.
The ornament had hidden the weapon from the scanners, and when security had been suspicious
of the contents of the box, a glance had satisfied them. They didn’t want to play around with
something fragile, and it looked like there was no more room in the box.
Ammo was more of a problem. She only had five shots: only what was carried in the gun.
Still, no one else knew that.
The woman slipped into the cockpit; apparently she’d been keeping the door ajar. Shaw counted
down five seconds, before casually crossing the aisle.
Whatever happened in the cockpit seemed to trigger some sort of silent alarm. Shaw caught sight
of a staff member immediately moving towards the cabin; Shaw closed the distance between her
and him, pulling out her gun and pressing the barrel into the small of his back.
“I wouldn’t,” she said.
Slowly, they continued to the cabin. She stood perfectly casually beside him; one would need to
look very closely at her hand to see what was concealed within. They finished going down the
aisle, and entered the cabin.
For now, the plane seemed to be on autopilot. The woman stood there, two unconscious bodies on
the floor, occasionally steadying the controls. She gestured; Shaw locked the door, and rendered
the latest guard unconscious with the butt of her gun.
Then the woman sat in the captain’s seat, glanced around for a bit, and found the intercom system.
She clicked it on, and spoke in her best announcement voice:
“This is not your captain speaking,” she said. “Hope none of you were that set on JFK airport,
there’ll be a slight detour.”
Shaw tensed. This is not your captain speaking, she’d always just assumed she wouldn’t hear
those words. Or, if she would, that it wouldn’t be in the middle of a job.
“You ok?” the woman said. She clicked the intercom off. “I’m Root, by the way. You have a
name, beyond ‘the other agent?’”
Shaw paused. Then, slowly, moved to sit in the co-pilot’s seat, and groaned.
“Call me Shaw,” she said. “And don’t say it.”
A swiftly-curtailed grin almost spread across Root’s face. Still, she sat back.
“Say what?” she said, innocently. “Oh, you mean that we’re soulmates?”
“I said don’t.”
“Fine,” Root said. “Do you know how to fly a plane?”
“Why would I know how to fly a plane?”
“Just wondering,” Root said. She sat back in her seat for a moment, considering. Then, she leant
forward to click the intercom. “If anyone on board knows how to fly a plane, let us know.”
She shifted back, chuckling to herself at the sudden, muffled, panicked sounds that started outside
the cockpit. Despite herself, Shaw smirked.
“Guess we’ll have to wait for him to wake up,” Root said. She nudged the unconscious pilot with
her foot. “Want to tie the other two up?”
Root pulled a long, coiled stretch of rope from within the hem of her jacket. Mildly impressed by
the inventiveness, Shaw took it.
She went to work, crouching, searching, and restraining both the guard she’d taken in, and the copilot. She tied the pilot up separately, and less securely. Wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to
fly a little further afield with a gun to his head.
“You’re good with bondage, huh?” Root said.
Shaw glanced up, then glared.
“If you’re going to flirt, at least turn the intercom off,” Shaw said.
Root looked back at her console, feigning surprise. She smiled to herself as she clicked it off.
“That an invitation to flirt?” Root said.
“Not even close.”
Beyond the unfortunate meeting, this was going well. The pilot would wake up and fly them to
the right airport; they could use their phones to make sure they were going to the right place. Then
they’d escape through the cockpit window, and a pre-arranged worker at the airport would take
the valuable suitcases.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Root suggested.
“What?”
“Well, we’ve got to do something while we wait,” Root said.
There was the sound of a scuffle outside. The door to the cockpit ought to be more secure now, so
the staff probably just had to stop the passengers panicking. That’d distract them, even if they had
a way into the cockpit.
Shaw sighed, and decided she might as well play a few rounds. She gave the pilot a last gentle
kick, seeing if he’d woken up yet, then looked back at Root.
Shaw lost the first round, drew the next, lost the third, then won five in a row.
“Why are you always picking scissors?” Shaw said.
Root waggled her eyebrows. After a moment, Shaw slumped back. Well, at least the intercom was
off this time.
“Can you at least try to make the prospect of hijacking a plane with you less tempting than
crashing it?” Shaw said.
“Where would the fun in that be?”
Two 2
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel. Don't you just love annoying Root?
Just as Root expected, Sameen confronted her after class. Her top was still slightly marked by her
rather impressive choking fit in class.
Root delayed herself after walking out of the class, pretending to simply be checking her
timetable. It wasn’t much longer before Sameen stormed out of the class.
“What the hell is your problem?” Sameen demanded.
“Excuse me?” Root said. She looked at Sameen innocently; Sameen seemed far from convinced.
“You’re the girl that calls herself Root, right?” she said. “What did you do that for?”
“Do what?” Root said, with wide eyes.
“You know what,” Sameen said. “What you said. When you said it.”
“How could I know what I’d say would have such an effect on you?” Root said.
“You knew,” Sameen said. “I saw you keep looking back at me, after I spoke.”
“Knew what?” Root said.
“That we’re-” Sameen glanced from side to side, then lowered her voice. “Soulmates.”
“We’re soulmates?” Root said loudly.
Sameen shushed her, and pushed her back into the classroom before anyone could look to see
who’d spoken.
Their teacher gave them a slightly surprised look, but shrugged it off. It was the end of the day
anyway; no one was using the room, and the teacher probably just wanted to go home.
“Don’t say that,” Sameen said.
“You’re the one that said it,” Root said.
“Only because you-” Sameen cut herself off, letting her breathing slow. “Are you happy?”
“Pretty happy, yep,” Root said. “Met my soulmate.”
“Who you annoyed on purpose.”
“Had to get your attention somehow,” Root said. “Would you have talked to me if I hadn’t gotten
you angry?”
“And why do you want to talk?”
“Soulmates, sweetie,” Root said. She paused. “Want to see a movie?”
“With you?” Sameen said. “No.”
“Dinner?”
“Not with you.”
“Chess club?”
“Really?”
The two looked at one another for a little time. Root never lost her smile, while Sameen never lost
her glare. Well, Root reflected, rocky starts were far from unheard of.
She only vaguely knew Sameen, and most of what Root knew she’d figured out during this latest
exchange.
Intimidating, smart, and apparently her default state was somewhat angry.
“Got to do something together,” Root said. “We’re soulmates, it’s what soulmates do.”
“I really don’t care, Root,” Sameen said. She paused. “And if you tell anyone that we’re…”
“That we’re what?” Root said.
“You know.”
“Nope,” Root said. “Totally forgotten, you’ll have to remind me.”
There was a brief, silent battle of wills. Eventually Sameen gave a despairing sigh, why me, briefly
closing her eyes and pausing her constant glare.
“That we’re soulmates,” Sameen said curtly.
“Love it when you say that,” Root said.
“Stop.”
Another pause. Eventually Root perked up.
“Paintballing!” she announced suddenly.
“What?”
“We should go paintballing,” Root said. “Good soulmate bonding activity, and you get payback,”
she paused. “Well, you can try for payback.”
Sameen tilted her head, making it rather obvious she was imagining shooting Root multiple times.
“I could live with that,” she said.
“It’s a date,” Root beamed.
“It’s not a date.”
Root the Magnificent
Chapter Notes
Someone requested an idea, and somehow this was the way I decided to write it, so
enjoy magician-Root!
“I am Root the Magnificent,” she announced, raising her voice to be heard over the bustle of the
park.
It was a fairly casual outfit she wore to go with such a grandiose name, but hopefully standing on
a small podium would help get attention. Then there was the small cart to her side, filled with all
the various tools and tricks she could use.
Street magic was more fun than people thought. Magic in general was, for that matter; people
always thought of it as a happy, fun life choice, but really it just came down to manipulation.
Make people look the wrong way at the right time, make them do exactly as you want… Root had
always liked trickery, and for that matter had always found people easy to manipulate.
First up a simple bit of mind-reading. Shuffle a deck of cards, show it to a volunteer, rest a hand
on his shoulder as part of a pretence at forming a telepathic connection, and get the whole
audience looking at the card.
They would all be thinking the same thing: the deck of cards had been cut, and the bottom card
was facing them. Root couldn’t even see the slightest scrap of the card. Everyone would be
thinking of that, and everyone would be looking at the card. No one would be looking at her hand
on the volunteer’s shoulder, and the rather obvious mirror set into the back of her ring.
Misdirection and manipulation. She was always amazed by just how much she could get away
with.
An overplayed reveal later and there was a smattering of applause. She didn’t have too much of a
crowd, but it was about what she was used to.
Still, there was less enthusiasm as useful. Ok then, skip to the actually good tricks.
“Next up, I’ll need a volunteer,” Root said. “You!”
She picked a woman from the crowd at random; the woman hesitated slightly. She seemed to be
about to leave anyway, which was why Root picked her. If nothing else it’d make her audience
look slightly more impressive.
Root took the woman’s hand. That as another advantage of street magic; once she picked a
volunteer, it was a little harder for them to leave.
“Your name?” Root said.
The woman said nothing. It didn’t seem like typical stage fright, indeed it seemed slightly
annoyed, but Root powered through it.
“Silent type, then,” Root said. “Fine. Now, I’ll need the back of your hand for this. Guessing
you’re not going to say anything, huh? In which case, we’ll just use the card from the last trick.”
She wrote down ‘four of hearts,’ on the back of the woman’s hand in full view of everyone, with
a slightly gaudy pen, before covering the woman’s hand with her own.
She gave her typical speech, giving a mental count in her head. Ten or so seconds usually did it.
This trick usually got a good reaction; it seemed impossible. When she lifted up her hand, the
writing would have formed different words. She’d cover it again quickly, and when she lifted her
hands for the last time it would be gone without so much as a smudge.
Not many magicians did the trick. Partly, it was because it was only really suitable for close-up,
and partly it was due to the difficulty in getting the right kind of ink. Due to its rarity, it was
definitely a lesser-known trick.
Root had a friend at a morgue. A lot of people gave their bodies to science, and of those, the ink
from their tattoos was drained, and could be taken rather efficiently after they’d died. Root had
bought a little a while ago, and filled up a pen. It didn’t take too much to perform the trick, just so
long as she remembered which pen to use.
“And now, we see, the words have become-”
Root lifted her hand, and faltered just slightly. I am Root the magnificent in clear ink. For a
moment, she ignored the more-impressed applause, and nearly forgot what to do next.
The woman wrenched her hand away; or at least tried to. Root grabbed it by the wrist, holding it
and covering it again.
She smiled at her ‘volunteer.’ That was the one downside to the trick, the person involved in it
could usually figure it out, but there were a lot of tricks like that.
The woman was glaring more than usual. So that was why she didn’t speak.
Five more seconds. Root knows how this worked; the ink formed the right words, and then it
began to slide until it was positioned in the right place, over the heart.
“And now, the words are gone,” Root said, recovering from her earlier stumble and lifted her
hand from the woman’s. She kept her grip around the woman’s wrist.
Another slightly more enthusiastic smattering of applause. It probably seemed more impressive
because Root was mentioned by name in the tattoo. Definitely had caught Root off-guard.
“Brief break,” she said, before dropping her voice and stage-whispering to the woman, “Look,
you can talk now, we both know what those words were.”
The crowd was already beginning to disperse. A few made donations; Root made sure to nod a
thank you to them while she spoke.
“Fine,” the woman said, eventually. “Happy?
Those words Root knew. She smiled.
“Yep,” Root said. “So, what is your name anyway?”
“Shaw.”
“Did you have to be so uncooperative?” Root said. “I mean, I’ve had tricky volunteers before, but
it’s hard to do a routine if you don’t talk.”
“I just wanted to see who you were,” Shaw said. “I didn’t want to be a volunteer.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Root said. “Those words, I
wasn’t expecting to see.”
“And you had to pick me,” Shaw said.
“Destiny, sweetie,” Root said.
She beamed. Shaw turned to try and walk away, stopped only by Root’s grip on her wrist.
“Should at least stay in contact, don’t you think?” Root said.
“I don’t like magic tricks.”
“Fine, I won’t turn tricks with you, if you insist,” Root said. “We’re still soulmates,” a pause. “I’ve
got a trick to get your number, if you want?”
“No,” Shaw said. Rather quickly, she stole one of Root’s pens (thankfully not the gaudy one), and
scribble a number down on Root’s hand. “No tricks. And if those words change, you’re on your
own.”
“Got it,” Root said. “Sure you don’t like magic?”
“Very.”
I Am 3
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel!
Shaw tried to play the stoic bodyguard in public. A few fans were curious about what ‘she’s
taken,’ meant, and had begun speculating about who Root might be seeing.
Shaw had dealt with public figures going through that before. It made guarding them somewhat
trickier, usually, with tabloid journalists so much more keen to invade their privacy.
“Want to be named?” Root said.
They were being driven to an interview. Root took part in several, for the sake of raising
awareness of her work as much as anything. Still, there could often be personal questions.
“Since your little jealous spat,” Root said, “People have been curious about who’s ‘taken’ me.
Want them to know it’s you?”
“I’m not jealous,” Shaw said, wearily. “And no. I know how people react to soulmates, I don’t
want that.”
“Got it,” Root said. “I’ll play coy. You can keep being not-at-all possessive by glaring at everyone
who flirts with you.”
“I glare at everyone who comes near you,” Shaw said.
“My point exactly.”
“You pay me to,” Shaw said. “I’m your bodyguard. That’s what I do.”
“You seem to enjoy it though,” Root said.
Shaw sighed. Root chuckled.
“You want me to confirm I’ve met someone though, right?” Root said.
“If it’ll shut your fans up,” Shaw said.
“Possessive.”
“Annoyed,” Shaw said.
They arrived at the TV studio not long after. Shaw didn’t go on stage, having a place in the
audience to keep an eye on Root, and meet up with her after.
She didn’t pay too much attention to the interview itself. She’d heard it all before; Root liked to
vocalize her work when she was at home, especially if she ran into a problem. Putting it into
words helped.
Still, Shaw did pay more attention when the topic turned, not that she allowed herself any obvious
reaction.
“Now then,” the host said, “Are there any truth to the rumours you’ve met your soulmate?”
“There is,” Root said.
“Any chance of meeting them?”
“Not just yet,” Root said. “We’re keeping it quiet, for now. She can be a bit shy.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root surveyed the audience quickly, focusing briefly on Shaw. She
smiled.
“Is there anything you can tell us about her?” the host said.
“She’s the jealous type,” Root said. “I just want to warn the people that are still trying to say my
tattoo. She might come after you.”
Sometimes Shaw was certain Root enjoyed antagonizing her. Especially that Shaw’s job was the
opposite of one that would let her just hit Root.
It was tempting though, sometimes.
Shaw tuned out the rest, keeping a mildly hostile glare on Root throughout. It didn’t seem to
bother her.
It wasn’t until the drive back that they had the opportunity to talk. Shaw had kept a lot of the
crowd away from Root as they’d departed, enjoying the chance to be a little forceful. It helped
work out the irritation Root liked to build up.
“Do you want me to be jealous or something?” Shaw said. “Or just trying to annoy me?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Root said innocently.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Shaw said. “You always do. That interview. I’m ‘a bit shy’
now?”
“Thought that was what you wanted?” Root said. “No one will suspect you of being my soulmate
now. You didn’t want to be known for it, you said.”
Shaw paused.
“And calling me possessive?”
“Scare off the fans around the house,” Root said. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
So, Root had actually been helpful. For once. It took Shaw a few moments to get used to the fact
Root had actually listened to her, and a few moments more to consider it.
“Did you have to find the most annoying way possible to do what I wanted?” Shaw said.
“Oh, Sameen, you have to know me by now,” Root said. “Of course I did.”
Cinnamon Roll 2
Root lay back in bed, one hand idly resting in Shaw’s hair, twirling a strand between two fingers.
Shaw was glaring at her, less than happy at the cutesy gesture.
“What?” Root said.
Shaw sighed.
She didn’t say too much. Neither of them did, just basking in the afterglow. It wasn’t unlike the
last time they’d been together, though this time Root was fairly sure she’d wake up with Shaw still
there.
If Shaw’s renewed interest in Root since she’d become a hired killer didn’t ensure that, then the
restraints locking her wrists and ankles to the bed probably would.
Shaw didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable. She’d raised an eyebrow when Root had gotten
them out, but gone along with it just a bit too eagerly.
“Not leaving this time, then?” Root said.
Shaw tugged on her arms. Cuffs rattled.
“Not going anywhere, apparently,” Shaw said.
“I’ve had my fill of you leaving,” Root said. She smirked, shifting and leaning on her side and arm
to look down at Shaw. “Not a great way to wake up, you know. Especially after you think you’ve
met your soulmate.”
“You weren’t my type,” Shaw said.
Root pouted.
“Well you weren’t,” Shaw said. “You’ve changed now. Terrible taste in décor aside.”
“You’ve only got yourself to blame.”
“What, I inspire you?” Shaw said.
“Not really,” Root said, teasingly.
Shaw’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. Root liked to antagonize her, and in situations like
this Shaw liked to make her work for a reaction.
“Last time, though, I didn’t get over it immediately,” Root said. “I know, I only knew you for a
day, it shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. If a soulmate couldn’t stick around, what did that
mean? So I started working a bit more, setting myself some challenges…”
“You were a programmer, right?” Shaw said.
“Yeah,” Root said. “Moved on to white hat hacking when I realized how good at venting
frustration it could be. And then onto black hat when I realized just how plain fun it was.”
Root lay back, reminiscing. Neither of them moved for a moment; even Shaw would admit there
was something to just getting the chance to relax. The shackles might be a little incongruous, but
even so.
“The wrong people found my online persona,” Root said, “Well, the right people from my
perspective, and I did a few favours. Just branched out from there. But, yes, technically this is all
your fault.”
“Why do I need to know your life story?” Shaw said.
“Curiosity,” Root shrugged. “Making up for lost time. Doesn’t really matter, you’re not running
away this time.”
“You’re going to have to let me out sometime,” Shaw said.
She tugged on one wrist. Root chuckled.
“Who says?” Root said.
Shaw raised her eyebrows; Root leaned across, briefly brushing her lips.
“Sure you want out?”
“Later,” Shaw amended.
Need a Ride?
Chapter Notes
Loosely inspired by a Tumblr post.
Root was waiting by the edge of the road. It was a good road for hitch-hiking; a fair few cars
came down this way, and more than usual might be suitable for giving lifts.
Most of them were unsuspecting, generally. Usually people giving lifts were alone, and most of
the roads passed through quiet spaces. It wasn’t too hard to carry out a quick theft, and occasional
murder if they were particularly obnoxious.
Well, it was a living.
Another car slowed. Root smiled, waiting for it; the window rolled down.
“Need a ride?” the woman inside said.
Root stumbled for a moment. So, this was her soulmate; Root wasn’t unprepared. She’d always
been fairly sure she’d meet her soulmate doing this. It didn’t particularly bother her, it just
surprised her.
Her plan was the same.
“Anywhere you’re going,” Root said.
The woman raised her eyebrows.
“Was that meant to be flirting?” she said.
“Kinda,” Root said. “But really, I’m doing a Jailbreak challenge for charity, to get as far away as I
can from my starting point without spending anything. Just going as far as you can.”
The woman paused, then shrugged and reached across to open the door. Root slipped inside.
“I’m Root,” she said.
“Shaw,” the woman said. “Don’t expect much small talk.”
“That’s a relief,” Root said. She smiled; “Already had a few hours of it, it gets exhausting.”
Shaw started driving down the road again, gaze focused on the view in front of them. She barely
glanced at Root.
Judging by Shaw’s words, she was Root’s soulmate. Root would admit to being relieved that she
didn’t seem too bothered by it; that would make this much easier.
They carried on down the road for a fair few minutes more. Root kept an eye out, glad to see they
were quickly going to one of the quieter roads.
Root sat quietly, and Shaw didn’t push for any conversation. It was a relief; much easier to steal
from someone if they hadn’t shared any personal little tragedies. Admittedly that never stopped
Root, but it could be a bother.
Soon the car began to slow. Shaw frowned.
“Engine trouble, I think,” she said. “Happens sometimes.”
She pulled the car to the side of the road, stopping it and pulling on the handbrake.
“Wait there,” Shaw said.
She hopped out the door, moving back around to the trunk. Root raised her eyebrows; well this
was just too easy. She scanned the front of the car for any obvious valuables, before reaching back
and grabbing her gun.
Root opened her own door, slipping out.
“I don’t need any help,” Shaw said at the sound.
“Not offering it,” Root said.
Root stretched, under the pretence of pacing, before idly getting closer to the back of the car. In
one fluid motion she raised her gunOnly to see a rather impressive armoury in the trunk, and Shaw holding a gun of her own aloft.
Root kept one eye on Shaw, but couldn’t help but glimpse inside the trunk. Past all the weaponry,
there was quite a collection of wallets and keys and phones. All of them definitely couldn’t be
Shaw’s.
“You’re trying to steal from me?” Root said, more offended than afraid. “I’m trying to steal from
you. Do you mind?”
“Put the gun down,” Shaw said slowly.
“Why don’t you?” Root said. “I’m pointing mine at you too.”
“Because I’m probably a better shot than you,” Shaw said, “And you’re holding yours completely
wrong.”
“Ok, sure, I didn’t pass the safety course,” Root said, “I’m not planning on using it safely. Not
many people can miss from this close, though.”
“It just takes one,” Shaw said. “Then I’ll have to take your belongings rather than having you give
them to me.”
“Didn’t think this through, huh?” Root said. “Aside from picking up exactly the wrong person,
even if I was really just on a Jailbreak, I wouldn’t have brought any money with me.”
“You’d have brought your phone,” Shaw said. “Everyone does, and most people can access their
bank accounts with an app.”
“Some soulmate,” Root snorted.
“Do you really want to antagonize me right now?”
“Who’s antagonizing?” Root said, with a grin that made it clear she knew the answer, “I’m just
stating a fact. Kinda makes sense, actually.”
“Still going to shoot you,” Shaw said.
“I know, I know,” Root said. “Me too. What do you want to do while we wait?”
Shaw didn’t say anything.
“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with-”
“Root,” Shaw said.
“Have any better ideas?” Root said. She paused. “My arm’s getting tired.”
“Feel free to lower it.”
“You want to stay in this stand-off?” Root said. “Thought soulmates were meant to be more fun.”
“I could do this all day.”
“Stamina,” Root said. “I like that. Can’t we just agree this mugging’s too much trouble?”
“I can wait.”
Not Going to Happen 2
Somehow Root and Shaw had ended up going home together, even if it was just to talk. Shaw
wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. Root could be somewhat depressing.
“So, what do you think they mean?” Shaw said eventually, still slightly baffled.
“What?”
“The words literally everyone else calls soulmate tattoos,” Shaw said. “If they don’t find your
soulmate what do they do?”
“Who knows?” Root said. “You don’t need an alternative answer to know that one’s wrong.”
Shaw sighed, and slumped back.
“Might just be coincidence,” Root said. “Random words, by force of numbers someone’s likely to
say them, and we just don’t hear about the people who never heard them because by the time they
know that, they’ll be dead.”
“So I’m just bad luck?” Shaw said.
“Could be good luck,” Root said. She flashed a smile; “Haven’t decided yet.”
“Most people seem to find them,” Shaw said. “Just saying that soulmates exist, that’s all, not that
they’re interesting.”
“Even if it isn’t coincidence, that doesn’t mean they’re soulmates,” Root said. “There are a lot of
things that can connect two people, it doesn’t need to be romance, or friendship, or whatever kind
of soulmate-bond they’re meant to have.”
“Only people I’ve heard saying things like that are conspiracy theorists,” Shaw said. “Tell me you
don’t think it’s some worldwide breeding program or something.”
“God no,” Root said. She chuckled. “Even I wouldn’t go that far. Can spot a few problems with
that idea too.”
Shaw paused for a moment. It’d be a while before she could figure out Root, she supposed.
Root just didn’t think the universe would be so nice as to guide people to their soulmates; she’d
said as much. Most people seemed to accept that soulmates existed though; even Shaw did,
despite her view of them.
It was odd to be talking to someone who didn’t.
“Why are you so insistent, anyway?” Root said. “You keep saying you don’t want a soulmate,
and keep complaining that I don’t think I’m yours. Meeting me change your mind?”
“No,” Shaw said, ignoring Root’s smirk. “Just expected to have more of an argument.”
“Disappointed you didn’t get one on that topic, and making up for it?” Root said. “Not necessary
to make an argument out of everything, you know.”
Shaw just groaned. Root chuckled.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Root said, “I’m not complaining. You like picking fights, huh?”
“Are you trying to say we do get along?” Shaw said. “Don’t go changing your mind and want to
be my soulmate, I’ve told you what I think.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Root said. “Just saying, we do seem to be compatible.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows.
“Compatible?” she echoed, “Really, is that the best word you could come up with?”
“You’d prefer made for each other?” Root said, her voice lifting up an octave and giving it a
sickeningly sacharrine tone. Shaw winced.
“No.”
“Then I’ll stick with compatible,” Root said, smiling.
Keep it Down
Chapter Notes
Hello readers!
I hope you've enjoyed this collection so far. If there's anything you'd like to see, or
see more of, please do let me know. this is just a reminder that I'm always taking
requests.
I'm going on holiday near the end of this month, so I'll try to queue up as many stories
as I can, but I can only come up with so many ideas myself. Have just over 20 ideas
on my list (though only one more written, I took a brief break to work on another
story), which may not be quite enough.
Always feel free to suggest or prompt things.
(And on a related note, any ideas for celebrating chapter 100?)
Thank you for reading!
Root didn’t speak with her neighbour. They lived next door to one another, and sometimes Root
had glimpsed her in the hall between their doors, but they’d never had any reason to interact.
That was one thing she liked about apartment buildings, especially in this city. People didn’t mind
if you weren’t that friendly; there was no need to talk, and no need to get to know one another.
After several months Root knew no more than when she’d come in: that she had a neighbour with
dark hair, who occasionally came home late and stumbling, and who liked to play music.
It was the latter trait Root disliked the most. It was harder to work with it blaring away.
Still, her neighbour’s taste wasn’t unbearable, and usually didn’t last too long. Her neighbour
wasn’t at home all day every day.
Until she was. Either it was an illness, or a break, or whatever, but the same few songs had been
playing on repeat for hours, and easily sounding through the thin wall that divided their
apartments. It was slowly driving Root mad.
Eventually, it got to be too much. Root saved what she was working on, stood up, walked over to
the wall she shared with her neighbour, and took in a deep breath.
“Keep it down!” she shouted, as loudly as she could.
There was a few seconds of silence. Root prepared to yell again, just as the music began to
quieten.
She sighed, relieved, and began to walk back to her computer.
“What did you say?” the voice came through her wall, muffled.
Root hesitated. Ok, she knew those words. The question was whether her neighbour had actually
heard what she said, or if she was just trying to make sure.
“You heard me,” Root said, slightly shakily. “If you didn’t, I’m sure you’ve gotten it written down
somewhere.”
“Yeah,” her neighbour said. The words came through very muffled; then, louder, “Damn it.”
So. Soulmate. Root wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that this had been staved off for
months by how little interaction they’d had.
“You’ve got good music taste,” Root said, eventually.
“I thought you wanted me to keep it down?”
“I did,” Root said. “There’s a time and a place.”
Root paused. She moved back, to pull a chair closer to the wall, and sat down.
“So, soulmate,” Root shouted.
The music started to blare again, louder. Root chuckled; so her soulmate was like that, then?
“I’m Root,” Root said, a bit more loudly to be heard through the wall and over the music. There
was a few seconds before the music quietened again.
“Call me Shaw,” her neighbour said.
“Nice name.”
“Yours isn’t.”
Root chuckled. Before she could say anything else though, another voice burst in from
somewhere above them:
“You two! Keep it down!”
Well, they had been shouting. Root tilted her head thoughtfully.
“I’m coming over,” Root shouted.
“I hear you,” Shaw shouted back, just a little louder.
“Quiet!” the person above them said again.
Watch Where You're Walking 4
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel and idea!
Root picked Shaw up from work. She’d always struggled to bring Bear in, and keep him looked
after, while she worked. It was easier to have Root look after him for the day, and have her bring
him by later.
It probably wasn’t helping with how he always seemed to want to play with Root, rather than
actually act like a guide dog.
“So, what is it you do?” Root said, on the way there.
“Teach,” Shaw said. “Self-defence.”
“Really?”
“What?” Shaw said. “Ex-military, I know my share. Don’t need to see to be able to hit someone.”
“I’m fairly sure self-defence teachers need to do more than hit people.”
“It’s an excuse,” Shaw said. She shrugged. “I know how most things are laid out there, I don’t
need any help getting around.”
“You can still fight?”
“It’s not that hard,” Shaw said. “Self-defence is about reaction. Once someone’s got you, you
know where they are, anyone could fight back with their eyes closed. Do I strike you as someone
peaceful?”
“It varies,” Root said, sidestepping as Shaw tried to elbow her. “I didn’t mean it like that, just
curious. Might join your class someday.”
“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Shaw said. “You don’t want to give me an excuse to start hitting you.”
“How would you know it was me?” Root said, playfully.
Shaw walked in silence for a few seconds. Bear navigated her past a taped-off construction area,
and with Root’s help they crossed the street.
“I’d know,” Shaw said.
“Enigmatic much?”
“I don’t need to see you,” Shaw said. “Everyone’s distinctive. Partly touch, partly sound. You can
recognize people by their voice, and there are a lot of other sounds they made. Their breathing,
grunts of pain, gasps of exertion… It all goes together. I know you.”
Root left Shaw at the building where she worked. Shaw nodded her off, and Root left for her own
work. She took Bear with her, procrastinating getting home by playing in the park for a few
minutes.
As observant as Shaw could be, she thankfully hadn’t yet noticed the non-squeaky dog toys Root
brought with her when they left the house.
She worked form home for a few hours. When Bear started to behave oddly, she took him for a
check-up; it was always important he stay in good shape, so they did err on the side of caution
with him.
She phoned Shaw after. He was going to be fine, but the vet wanted to keep him for a little bit
longer, just to make sure the symptoms had been dealt with.
So when it got darker, Root went along to pick Shaw up.
“Woof?” Root offered.
“You’re a terrible replacement for Bear,” Shaw said. “I just want you to know that.”
“I can carry a conversation,” Root said.
“Definitely prefer Bear.”
Still, she took Root’s hand, and Root began to slowly walk the path home. Neither of them were
in any particular rush, and if Root was honest she did enjoy walking like this.
Not that she’d say it. Still, the chance to just spend time with Shaw was something she liked.
After a little while they got into a routine. Root just had to tug on Shaw’s arm for her to stop, then
they could look before crossing a road, or wait for an obstruction to get out the way.
Shaw didn’t say anything, but Root know it meant something for Shaw to trust her like this.
“You two,” a stranger’s voice suddenly sounded, low and gruff. Shaw stiffened, sound more
distinct to her. “Your money. Now.”
The mugger was a few steps to their side. Shaw tugged on Root’s hand.
“How far is he?” she said in a low whisper.
“Couple of metres,” Root said.
“Be specific.”
“Two,” Root said. “He’s got a gun.”
“In which hand?”
“Right.”
“Stop talking!” the mugger said, sharper, brandishing his gun.
Root glanced from side to side. It was getting darker; there wasn’t anyone likely to come by.
Shaw extricated her hand from Root’s, turning to face the source of the mugger’s voice. She took
her wallet out from her pocket, taking a slow step towards him.
“Put it on the ground!” he demanded.
“I’m not going to know what I’m putting it in,” Shaw said.
The mugger paused. He took in her glasses, and a glimpse of scarring on her cheek. Then,
apparently concluding she wasn’t a threat, he nodded. A moment later he spoke:
“Slowly, then.”
She took another step forwards, reaching her hand out. The moment she felt him try to take her
wallet she reacted.
It was remarkable how well-placed her jabs were. She initially aimed to the right of his hand,
getting a good blow into his stomach, and from that found his gun with ease, disarming him.
She heard when he tried to swing back; reacting to the sudden rush of air she darted backwards,
then closed in again. A matter of seconds later and he was on the ground.
Root approached, picking Shaw’s wallet up again. She offered it to Shaw; Shaw started to swing.
“Relax!” Root said, quickly. “It’s me.”
“Right,” Shaw said. She paused, then sighed. “Missed doing that.”
“Did look like you were having fun.”
Shaw took her wallet, pocketing it. She reached out, and Root took her hand again. They began to
move slowly, leaving the would-be mugger on the ground.
“Suppose we should call the police,” Shaw said.
“We’re safe now,” Root said. “Don’t bother. Let’s get home.”
“Sure?”
“Very sure,” Root said, just a touch urgently.
It was about then Shaw recognized that tone in Root’s voice. She chuckled, dimly amused.
“Enjoyed watching me beat on him?” Shaw said.
“Of course,” Root said, continuing to tug on Shaw’s arm. “Now hurry up.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t get home soon someone’ll probably end up calling the police on us,” Root
said.
“Wouldn’t it be worth it?” Shaw said.
Root paused, contemplatively. “Maybe.”
Her
Chapter Notes
Another slight role reversal this time.
And we're onto the ones I started writing after my break, so that was close.
Shaw stood, poised, outside the building. If her information was accurate, and it always was, a
group in there was set to launch a virus meant to do away with almost all networked
communication.
They were either old-fashioned, or idealists. Her time in the ISA told her that people would cling
to and fight for all manner of ideals. Wanting to live without the internet was a weird one, but not
the weirdest.
They were in the process of developing a virus that could slip past all detection and propagate
rapidly before activating. With their skillset, they had a high chance of success.
Not that Shaw would let that happen.
Four of them.
The voice in her ear. Shaw smirked to herself; she did like having an edge.
“Which first?” she mouthed, looking at the security camera across the street.
Two o’clock.
Shaw stepped inside, and started shooting. Even if they spent most of their time around a
computer, these were still dangerous people: armed too. Shaw fired four times, crossed the room,
and shot every hard drive and computer she saw.
What they were doing constituted a threat, especially to that voice in her ear. It might as well have
been murder.
Ever since Harold’s Machine had freed itself, thanks to the code embedded in the virus, it had
opted to take more of an active role. Harold and Reese already had fixed roles; Shaw was the
newcomer, and the obvious choice.
Potential asset/threat 01 approaching.
Shaw slowed, only a short way down the street. She quickly reloaded her gun, keeping her hand
on it.
“Who’s that, then?” Shaw said. “01, first one?”
Knows of my existence. Simulations indicate a 94% chance she would have attained
administrative access instead of Primary Asset if not for a delay in information reaching her.
Nearly ended up in god mode. That did make her stand out. How much did she know?
“Where is she?”
Six o’clock.
Shaw kept walking, slowly. Asset/threat was one of the more interesting designations; Shaw had
been one of them apparently, in the ISA. People who might want what was best, but also might
want more input and control.
She liked how the Machine said it, too. Her jumbled voice, segments of various other recordings,
let the words blend together somewhat. There was no gap between the sounds.
“How much does she know?” Shaw said.
Unknown.
“That’s not like you.”
Potential asset/threat 01 suspects I do not wish to be found, and has taken steps to hide her work.
“What does she want?”
To meet me.
“Just meet?” Shaw said. “Not hurt, destroy, help, reprogram… Any particular reason?”
Ideology.
Shaw sighed. Always ideology. She’d never get used to how most people could easily dedicate
their lives to such abstracts.
Six o’clock, two metres.
Shaw span around, reaching out before she’d turned enough to see anyone, pinning the closest
person against the wall by their neck. She lifted her gun quickly, pressing it to the underside of
their chin.
If the Machine had warned her, she’d evidently decided there was too great a chance the stranger
would be a threat.
She paused for a moment or two, to regard the woman. Potential asset/threat 01: dark hair, wide
eyes, and a slow, reverent smile.
“You’re her,” the woman said, softly.
Shaw tensed. Damn it, of all the times to hear those wordsHer name is Root. Designation: asset.
And apparently that was enough to have her be classed as an asset rather than a threat. Well, if she
was meant to be matched with Shaw, then given where Shaw’s loyalties were… It made sense, in
a way.
“I’m who?” Shaw said. As Root’s expression began to change, recognizing the words: “Don’t.
Just answer the question.”
“I figured She had to be working with someone,” Root said. “As soon as I realized what She was
doing, I could follow where She’d been. People kept talking about a woman with superhuman
aiming and foreknowledge. I knew it-”
Root’s eyes shifted to Shaw’s ear, spotting the earpiece.
“Is that- Does She talk to you?” Root said.
She began to reach for it. The Machine murmured an unnecessary warning in Shaw’s ear, and
Shaw pressed the gun a little harder. Chastened, Root lowered her hand.
“What does She sound like?” Root said.
“Not important.”
“It is,” Root said.
Shaw shifted, relaxing her grip on the gun just slightly. She glanced sideways by instinct, to make
sure the street was still empty. Still, she knew the Machine would warn her if anyone came close.
“Guessing she’s asked you not to kill me,” Root said, “Or you’d have done it. You can put the
gun down.”
It is safe.
Shaw groaned. Great, now they were working together. Shaw sighed, but did step back. She
lowered her gun, but didn’t holster it.
“What should I do with her?” Shaw said.
She looked sideways to a camera. Root followed her gaze, solemnly.
Has potential to be useful asset.
Shaw sighed.
“Fine,” Shaw said. She started down the street. “Come, then, if you want to.”
What Do You Say? 3
Chapter Notes
The continuing, not-at-all romantic adventures of Root and Shaw.
Shaw lay back in bed, vaguely aware of Root’s weight to her side. She stared up at the ceiling,
thinking.
They were in that odd middle-ground between being too active to go back to sleep, and too tired
to do anything in particular. Shaw liked to use it to think.
Her pay had been cut at her job; nothing she’d done, they were going through financial issues.
The lost money was beginning to add up.
“Want to get married?” Shaw said, absently.
There was a lengthy pause.
“What?” Root said, eventually.
Shaw shifted, still lying where she was. It was early; when she had a chance to laze, she didn’t
want to rush anything.
“You heard me,” Shaw said. “Not asking twice.”
“What about the arrangement?” Root said. “This is just sex. And waffles. Mostly sex. Isn’t that
what you wanted?”
“That’s all.”
“So why are you proposing?”
Root lay there, mystified, and slightly uncertain. She was as keen on the arrangement as Shaw
was; feelings just complicated things.
Shaw gave a long, exasperated sigh. It took her a little while to convince herself to speak, and a
little longer to find the words.
“Aww, embarrassed?” Root teased.
Shaw groaned.
“Not like that,” she said. “Don’t go thinking I’ve fallen for you. And you’d better not have-”
“Relax,” Root said. “So, anyway, why the proposal?”
“It’s not a-”
“’Want to get married?’” Root echoed. “Sounded like a proposal.”
“Do I look like I’m on one knee?”
“Not entirely sure you can stand up,” Root said. “Haven’t done my job right if you can. One
knee’s out of the question, that takes balance.”
Shaw sighed.
“Tax benefits,” she said, eventually.
“What?” Root said.
“We’d get tax benefits,” Shaw said, speaking quickly. “I could do with a couple, and they’re not
going to hurt you. I’m never going to go marry anyone else, I doubt you are, and neither of us
have tattoos so no chance of being distracted by a soulmate. I need a bit more cash, are you in?”
“So romantic.”
“Root,” Shaw said.
Root chuckled. She flailed blindly with one arm, until she found Shaw, and patted her way down
Shaw’s side until she found her hand.
“It’s not about romance,” Shaw said. “I told you. Tax benefits. That’s it.”
There was a longer silence. Shaw allowed it; while in her mind it was a strictly practical decision,
she knew it could feel like more to someone else. She hadn’t thought Root would be one of them.
Or maybe Root was working out how to phrase an answer in the most annoying way possible.
Shaw expected that.
It was a few seconds before Root rolled over, moving closer to Shaw, and then sliding on top. She
braced herself with her elbows, poised with her face just about Shaw’s.
“That’s all it is?” Root said, voice low.
“What?” Shaw said.
“Tax purposes,” Root said. “I can get behind that. I’m with you on the rest though.”
“That’s all,” Shaw said.
“Then yes,” Root said.
She leant down, and gave Shaw a quick kiss. Shaw craned her neck upwards to continue it.
“Trip to Vegas in our future?” Root said.
“Probably easier,” Shaw said.
“Should be fun regardless,” Root said. She smiled happily. “You’ll be a good wife.”
“Shut up.”
“Just saying.”
I Remember You
Chapter Notes
Don't really know what to say about this one, someone requested a fantasy-type AU,
which there are a few of when it comes to soulmate AUs.
“I remember you.”
Shaw slowed, turning on the spot. She’d just been walking down the street when she’d heard the
voice; instinctively she turned at those words.
She’d admit to being curious about soulmates, if not much else. She took a moment to regard the
woman who’d spoken; casual clothes, if a little bit too much jewellery.
“Pretty sure we haven’t met,” Shaw said.
Shaw could see part of one of those words tattooed into the woman’s chest. As the woman
stepped closer, Shaw got more of a view. Still, she didn’t seem particularly surprised to have heard
her tattoo spoken.
“Not in this life,” the woman said.
Shaw mentally cringed. Great. One of those.
“You don’t have to look at me like that,” the woman said. “Past life regression is a respected
branch of hypnotherapy.”
“I wouldn’t say respected,” Shaw said.
The woman chuckled, then moved closer. “I’m Root. You must be Shaw.”
Shaw paused.
“Cute trick,” Shaw said, eventually.
“Think it’s a trick?”
“Plenty of ways it could be done,” Shaw said. “Get someone believing, string them along for their
money. Not interested.”
“You find out we’re soulmates, and you’d rather think I was a conwoman rather than sincere?”
Root said. “That probably says something about you.”
“Don’t want a diagnosis.”
“Your loss,” Root said. “You know what could be fun, though? Come by, I’ll see if I can help
you see the same things I did.”
“Why, so you can get me distracted and run off with my wallet?” Shaw said. “No thanks.”
“Won’t work if you’re not relaxed,” Root said. She shrugged. “You don’t have to bring anything
with you if you don’t want to. Special offer for soulmates. Get to see we’re meant for each other.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I knew your name, didn’t I?”
“How’d you learn that from seeing a past life?” Shaw said. “What are the chances we’d all be
born with the same names? I didn’t pick my own name. Did you?”
“Yes.”
Shaw sighed.
“Fair point, though,” Root said. “Maybe they’re not past lives per se, maybe the fates,” she gave
theatrical wiggle of her fingers, “Fixed the memories to always give the right names. Lot of
explanations.”
“Maybe it’s bullshit.”
“Maybe,” Root shrugged. “Bet I could convince you, though.”
“You’re keen.”
“I saw you for the first time a few months ago,” Root said. “I just met you for real. So you could
say I’m a fan.”
“Really?” Shaw said, sceptically. “What did you see? Did it involve me hitting you?”
“Actually, yes,” Root said. She chuckled.
“Might be something to it.”
“Had to be a good few centuries ago, if it’s a past life,” Root said. “We were sat around a fire, just
us, I was teaching you to read. You looked nice in the firelight.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows.
“Way I think of it, is this,” Root said. “We’ve had multiple lifetimes together, so you’re not getting
away in this one either.”
“Oh, really?”
“Afraid so, soulmate,” Root beamed. “It’s destiny.”
What the Hell Are You Doing Here?
Chapter Notes
Someone asked about the possibility of them having the same tattoos. Enjoy!
Root slipped silently down the side of the building, traversing the windows. It was late; not many
people would be in, and most of the security ought to be half asleep by now.
She pulled herself in through the window, bending her knees as she touched the floor. Root
hurried to the wall by the door, pulling herself close and out of sight, and held her breath.
No sound. No sign anyone had heard her entry. She smiled.
Good. Now then, to get to the painting. It was on loan from a museum, for the purposes of
authentication. Not the kind of thing Root normally went after, but it was worth enough to the
right people.
She peered around the doorway. No one there; she tiptoed out, and down the corridor, mentally
recalling the building’s layout.
Past two rooms, around the corner, second left…
She ran headfirst into someone. Root jumped back, hand going for her gun, before she took in the
other person; dark clothes, no uniform, no badge… Not security.
“What the hell are you going here?!” Root stage-whispered.
“What the hell are you doing here?” the woman said, in almost the same instant.
Root had always liked the phrase. Back when she’d been learning to read, she’d read it off her
own chest, repeating it over and over, liking the sound and taste of the words.
It was such a satisfying exclamation. Evidently the woman thought so too. Root had long since
started using it as a default.
Well, presumably their tastes had to be aligned. That was what the tattoos were meant to mean.
They both stood too far out in the open for a long few seconds, momentarily too stunned to react
with common sense. It was the other woman who regained control first, head darting from side to
side.
She ran the short distance to what might have been a conference room. Root followed, ducking in
just in time. She caught sight of a guard’s torch just before she slipped behind the door.
Both of them waited, painfully close, painfully silent, doing their best to suppress their heavy
breathing as the guard walked by.
They hadn’t been seen. Good.
“You never answered me,” Root whispered.
“You never answered me.”
“Do you do anything other than repeat?” Root said.
“You first,” the woman said. “What are you doing here?”
“The Turner’s worth a lot to the right people.”
“Art thief. Great,” the woman said.
“Hey, less judgement, you’re here for the same.”
“Which means I know what most art thieves are like,” the woman said. “Don’t expect me to be
thrilled.”
“I’m just in it for the money,” Root said. “And apparently the company. What’s your name?”
“I’m trying to steal a painting,” the woman said. “I’m not giving my name out.”
“Boring,” Root said. “You can call me Root.”
“Pretentious too. Great,” she said. After a moment, she sighed. “Shaw.”
She peered out around the doorway. After a moment more, she snuck out. Root waited a few
seconds before following.
“Race you?” Root whispered.
Shaw closed her eyes in a brief moment of frustration.
“You don’t look like you’re planning to share, that’s all,” Root said.
“Will you be quiet?” Shaw said. “There are guards-”
“You know the movie-way to make someone shut up,” Root said. She beamed, puckering her
lips.
Shaw gave a flat glare.
“What?” Root said. “We’re soulmates. Probably ought to sometime.”
“Not now,” Shaw said, whispering urgently.
She turned her head, glancing back around the corner. Whatever she saw made her tense.
“So, later then?” Root said.
“What?”
“Not now,” Root said. “So, later?”
“Will it make you shut up?”
“Might help.”
“Then fine,” Shaw said. “Someday. Maybe.”
She glanced around the corner again, before beginning to sprint down the hall. It wasn’t long
before Root followed, grinning.
Gimme My Spaceship 2
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel!
I think a flashback was requested, but I'm not exactly sure how to write toddler
Shoot, so I hope this suffices :p
Root knocked excitedly on Shaw’s door. A far less active Shaw came to answer, opening it and
staring flatly across to Root.
“What?” Shaw said.
“I found my spaceship,” Root said, happily.
She lifted up a small, grey, faded plastic ship. It was one of those that didn’t know whether it
wanted to be technically accurate, or wanted to look sci-fi, and so had generally the right shape
and design but far more windows and bulges than a real ship would have.
Most of the painted-on windows had peeled off, leaving little more than raised sections. It looked
somewhat chewed. Still, on the whole it looked sturdy.
“What,” Shaw said flatly, again.
“Parents were clearing out old junk,” Root said. “We found my baby toys, and I think this was it.
Look familiar?”
“Why would it-”
“You stole it,” Root said, smiling.
Shaw groaned. Back to the tattoos. Shaw’s was a childlike demand for a spaceship back; Root’s
was an adamant refusal.
Their parents had always said they were soulmates, after that playdate. Neither Root nor Shaw
had paid too much attention, both had been too young to remember the actual event, though Root
seemed to find the idea much more amusing.
“Really?” Shaw said, “You think that’s proof? Just because you happened to have a spaceship toy
doesn’t mean I took it.”
“Are you sure?” Root said. “I can picture it. Little old me, happy and content and waving it
around in the air, before you crawled over and just snatched it. You can be greedy, you know.”
“You’ve put way too much thought into this.”
“I’d have tried to get it back from you,” Root said. She beamed. “Our first fight, do you think?”
“Definitely not our last.”
Root lifted the toy, bringing it along an arc through the air. She made odd engine-like sounds with
her lips. Shaw raised her eyebrows.
“It’s not a car,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said. “And sound couldn’t travel through the vacuum of space anyway, it’d be
silent.”
“Nerd.”
“I’d have been tiny,” Root said, defensively. “I wouldn’t have known.”
She started waving the toy ship around again, left and right, making the same strange noises.
Shaw watched, bemused, for a long few seconds.
“What are you doing?” Shaw said, eventually.
“Tempting you.”
“You’re normally much better at it,” Shaw said. “Seriously. Lose the spaceship.”
Root pouted. Still, she moved the ship from left to right again, trailing an elegant path through the
air.
Shaw took a step back and closed the door. She sighed, then scowled as Root started to make the
same, annoying noise much more loudly.
Sometimes she wondered why she still spoke to Root.
Irritated, Shaw opened the door, reached out, yanked the ship away, and closed the door. It was a
few seconds before Shaw relaxed; at least that had shut her up.
“Gimme my spaceship!” Root said, suddenly, mimicking a much more childish voice.
Of course. Shaw sighed.
Hey Soulmate
Chapter Notes
And we're back to Root playing around with the tattoos.
Root looked around the busy station, barely able to make out any distinct faces in the crowd. It
seemed a sufficiently busy day.
Root made her way through, getting to what she guessed was about the centre. She paused for a
few seconds, considering her phrasing, then shrugged. Probably wasn’t worth it.
Carefully, she pulled herself up onto a bench, standing tall, and took in a deep breath:
“Hey! Soulmate! Get over here!”
She waved for a few seconds, before hopping down from the bench, and sitting and waiting. She
was mildly disappointed to see the crowd of maybe half a dozen people begin to come nearer to
her. It was hard to tell how many were curious, how many had heard her announcement, or how
many were just close by coincidence.
Apparently she wasn’t the only person to have had this idea, if other soulmates had done the same,
or would do the same. She couldn’t have that many soulmates, presumably, so their tattoos had to
come from others.
It was simple enough, though. She shouted that in a public place, and of the people that heard,
some would recognize it as being their own tattoo. A way to find a soulmate without any of the
usual waiting and impatience.
A guy tried to speak; she shushed him.
“No, no, no one talk,” she said. “Keep quiet, all of you,” she regarded the guy for a few seconds.
“Actually, you, don’t bother. You can leave.”
He hesitated. Root shooed him off, before looking at the five or six remaining. Her eyes were
immediately drawn to the farthest one; a woman who was conspicuously trying to not seem like
part of the group.
She’d probably heard Root, then. Was she just spectating? Even after just a cursory glance, Root
hoped not.
She gestured for the small crowd of hopefuls to stay where they were, and hurried over to the
woman.
Most people were curious about their soulmates. If you heard your tattoo shouted in a public
space, you’d try to find whoever had said it. That was just human nature. It wasn’t surprising
those people had come up to her.
“Hey!” Root said. “No, don’t talk. Can I see your tattoo?”
The woman paused for a moment, then shook her head just a little too quickly. Root beamed, and
grabbed her wrist.
Well that pretty much confirmed it; someone who was less than enthused by the prospect of a
soulmate. She’d heard Root, wanted to look at the potential soulmate, but hadn’t wanted to get too
involved.
Maybe it was just sheer bloody-mindedness, but Root liked her for that.
“I’m Root,” she said.
The woman stared, flatly. Root pouted.
“Say ‘hello Root,’” she said, playfully. The woman sighed.
“Hello Root,” the woman intoned dully.
“Do you have a name?”
“Shaw,” she said.
“Hey Shaw,” Root said.
She tugged her own top down, exposing the ink on her skin. Hello Root. She beamed over to
Shaw.
“Glad you heard me,” Root said.
Shaw was staring at the tattoo. She seemed to be willing it not to count; ok, Root had made her
say it, but predestination paradoxes seemed fairly common when it came to tattoos.
The fact was, their tattoos matched. Shaw’s was what Root had said, and now this was Root’s.
“You can go,” Root said absently, looking over her shoulder. She rather quickly returned her
attention to Shaw. “Liked you best anyway.”
“It’s not mutual.”
“You’re the one that came over,” Root said. “Had to wonder about me.”
“No.”
“Just no?” Root said. “No excuses? Sounds like denial.”
I Am, You Know, Yours
Chapter Notes
Had a couple of semi-requests for fandom-based tattoos a while ago. Pretty much just
wrote this one for one aspect.
Shaw made sure her tattoo was well and truly covered before going out to the convention. She
only wore casual clothes; while a number of people were going dressed up as characters, she
wasn’t that much of a fan.
She blamed her soulmate, whoever they were. I am, you know, yours tattooed on her chest from
the moment she was born. It said something that, despite her usual disinterest in the idea of a
soulmate, she’d spent a little while thinking about her tattoo.
It had been a little while before she’d worked out what it meant. It was a reference, and eventually
the show was made, aired and a friend had pointed out the reference to her.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Shaw had been less than thrilled by the title, but on a very bored (and
slightly drunk) night she’d decided to sit down and watch it. Might as well see what her soulmate
was into.
Somehow she’d ended up enjoying it. Reluctantly so, but still. Hence deciding to come to the
convention, when one was near her.
She chose a few of the panels that seemed more interesting, and made her way through the
crowds, jostling past a few particularly slow walkers. She found her place in a queue. A few
moments later and a cosplayer walked up beside her, taking their place in the line.
Shaw glanced at her, briefly looking her up and down. Dark hair, and a fairly good outfit. If Shaw
was to guess the character, she’d say Winifred ‘Fred’ Burkle; technically from the spin-off, but
even so the woman was doing a remarkably good job with the outfit.
“You’re Fred, right?” Shaw said.
The woman looked sideways for a moment, and then suddenly starting grinning.
“I am, you know, yours,” she said, heightening the sweetness of her voice.
Shaw stared, flatly.
“What?” ‘Fred’ said, “I know, not technically one of Fred’s lines, but it was the first thing I
thought of. Had to go for something sweet, you know.”
“Is that the only reason you wore that?” Shaw said. “So someone would say…”
“Well it worked, didn’t it?” ‘Fred’ said. “I’m Root by the way. Fan of the show, I guess?”
“Shaw. You got me curious,” Shaw said, tapping her tattoo.
“You still liked it enough to come,” Root said. “Doesn’t seem like you came just to meet me.”
“Haven’t put as much thought into it as you seem to,” Shaw said.
“You should thank me then,” Root said playfully.
“No.”
“Why not?” Root pouted. “Got you into a show you liked. Did you a favour, don’t you think?”
Great, her soulmate liked to be irritating. Shaw looked away, shuffling forwards in the queue.
“Did you like Fred?” Root said, eventually.
“I guess.”
“Yes or no?” Root said.
“She was cute,” Shaw said, absently. “Entertaining enough.”
There was a brief silence. After a moment Shaw looked sideways, only to see Root beaming at
her. Shaw rolled her eyes.
“Cute huh?” Root said.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Sure,” Root said sceptically. “Want me to keep the outfit on?”
Shaw looked away.
“Thinking about it?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
This is Not Your Captain Speaking 2
Chapter Notes
Sequel by request! Also seems to have turned into murder comedy. Trust these two.
The pilot blearily came to, blinking, and beginning to strain against the ropes around his legs.
Soon he realized his hands were free, and began to move to untie himself, when there was the
click of a gun and a voice.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Shaw said.
“What-” he began.
“Quick recap,” Root said. “This plane’s being diverted. There’s some cargo that we want
delivered somewhere else, you’re going to fly us a bit further afield.”
“And no tricks,” Shaw said. “My friend here’s going to make sure you’re going to the right place
with her phone.”
“You can’t use your phone when-” the pilot began.
“Oh come on,” Root said, “Your security’s so tight we can’t bring on a drink if it’s more than
100ml, if we could crash a plane with a phone call there’s no way we could bring them on board.”
The pilot paused.
“And if I don’t help?” the pilot said.
Shaw waved her gun. “Sure you can guess.”
A longer pause. Shaw didn’t break eye contact. This was always the tricky part; most people were
more resilient than they thought. Faced with a threat, people would resist on principle.
“Your… cargo,” the pilot said slowly, “What is it?”
“Not important,” Shaw said.
“No,” the pilot said.
“Excuse me?” Shaw said.
She leaned closer, pressing the cold barrel of her weapon to his head. He tensed, flinching and
sweating, but did his best to stop his voice shaking.
“No,” he said again. “I won’t help you. And you won’t kill me, because you need me to fly the
plane. I-”
Shaw fired. There were muffled panicked sounds behind the door, passengers reacting to the
sound of the gunshot. Shaw simply stood up, wiping her gun clean on the pilot’s uniform.
“That was kinda hot,” Root said. Shaw rolled her eyes.
“Wake up the co-pilot,” Shaw said. “Maybe the sight of the pilot will make her react a little
differently.”
“On it,” Root said.
She crouched down, shaking the co-pilot’s unconscious form. She frowned, then slapped her a
few times. Uncertainly, Root pressed two fingers to the co-pilot’s neck.
Meanwhile, Shaw walked back to the co-pilot’s seat. She scanned the controls, vaguely able to
deduce how most of them would have to work, but not particularly confident when it came to
using them.
“Tiny problem,” Root said.
Shaw turned back, to see Root crouching over the co-pilot, her expression a perfect visualization
of oh shit.
“What did you do?” Shaw said, wearily.
“I think she must’ve had some kind of heart condition,” Root said. “Can’t find a pulse.”
Shaw paused.
“You killed the co-pilot,” she said.
“It was an accident!”
“You killed the co-pilot,” Shaw said, again.
“You killed the pilot,” Root said, just as accusingly.
“Because I thought we had a co-pilot!” Shaw said.
The two looked at one another. Shaw briefly glanced back to the third living figure in the cockpit,
but rejected him. He was a guard, he wouldn’t know how to fly the plane any more than them.
Root pushed the co-pilot’s body to the back of the cabin, before moving herself back to the pilot’s
seat. She gave a less-than-confident smile across to Shaw.
The plan was based on hijacking the plane and getting it to fly to a different airport. Autopilot
might get them most of the way, but they needed to not only change course, but land. They
wanted a pilot for that.
“Any ideas?” Shaw said.
Root paused, then leaned forwards, and clicked the intercom on.
“This is your hijacker speaking,” Root said, “If anyone knows how to fly a plane, come let us
know. For real this time.” She turned the speaker off.
“You want to open the door to let someone in?” Shaw said.
“Good point,” Root said, clicking the intercom back on. “Correction: if you know how to fly a
plane, come tap it out in Morse code on the door,” she turned it off, leaning back and facing
Shaw. She paused. “Do you know Morse code?”
“Who knows Morse code?” Shaw said, disbelievingly.
Root clicked the intercom back on. “Scratch that. We’ll get back to you.”
Once it was off again, she sighed. She withdrew her phone, glancing at the map for a few
seconds. She tilted her head, considering. They were about twenty minutes from landing, so given
how long it could take to land, probably about that far from their desired destination.
Shaw stared at the clouds out through the window, contemplating. She’d admit to being darkly
amused by the muffled panic she could hear after Root’s announcements.
Still, Shaw’s attention returned to the controls. She surveyed them for a few seconds. Some were
obvious, like the labelled gauges and the wheel, others incoherent. Still, the actual job of flying a
plane couldn’t be too difficult: it was just pointing in a certain direction and waiting.
“Move over,” Shaw said, standing up.
Uncertainly, Root did so, watching as Shaw took the pilot’s seat. Shaw squared herself, looking
out at the clouds, and set her hands upon the wheel.
The plane gave a brief jolt, but managed to steady quickly. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Root,” Shaw said, “You’ve got the map. Does it look like we’re heading the right direction?”
“Too soon to tell,” Root said. She sat in the co-pilot’s chair. “I’ll give you alterations, you fly?”
“It’s a plan.”
“Figure this one’ll work?”
“We’ll see,” Shaw said.
It lasted a good quarter of an hour. It was a little bumpy, but they survived. Root called out course
corrections, and Shaw adjusted their heading. Slowly they turned away the plane’s original
destination, and began to head towards their preferred airport.
It was impressive just how much of flying seemed to be sitting and waiting.
“Any idea how to land?” Root said, eventually.
“Not as such,” Shaw said.
“So that’s a no?”
“Once we get close to the airport, they’ll get in contact with us,” Shaw said. “Security’s probably
set off the alarm letting them know there’s been a hijacking. Air Traffic Control will want to know
our demands, etc, they can walk us through it.”
“That’s your plan?” Root said. “Isn’t that the plot of Airplane?”
Shaw decided to not answer that. A markedly less confident Root delivered the next few
instructions, ensuring the plane got closer to the airport.
Out the window, Shaw spotted a few other planes. That probably meant they were getting closer.
Shaw paid extra attention, careful not to get too close to any of them.
“Like being told what to do?” Root said, absently.
“What?”
“Seemed awfully eager to go for a plan with rather, ooh, submissive tendencies,” Root said. “Just
wondering if that said anything about you.”
“Another time, Root.”
“Do seem pretty good at giving orders too, actually,” Root said. “Can’t say I mind either way.”
Root kept her attention focused on her phone as they got closer. She gave instructions more
frequently, their heading more significant now they were nearer.
The last couple of minutes felt far longer than the rest of the flight.
Eventually though there was a ping, and a crackle as the Air Traffic Control of the airport below
sent a message.
“This is Air Traffic Control,” a woman’s voice said. “You’re off course.”
“We know,” Shaw said. “Clear a runway for landing. You’ve got to know we’ve been hijacked
by now.”
There was a pause. Root peered out the window, curiously.
“It will take time to-” the woman began.
“Figure it out,” Shaw said. “Plenty of others circling around up here, give us one of their slots. I
don’t have a damn clue how to circle this thing. You’ve got one minute. Let us know when it’s
clear. And for that matter, find a pilot who can tell us how to land this. There are an awful lot of
people on board and I doubt you want us crashing into your buildings.”
Shaw leant back, and waited. Root gave her a thumbs-up.
Still, once another voice took over the feed, Root sat up. An extra pair of hands wouldn’t go amiss
when it came to landing.
One last warning to the passengers outside, and the nerve-wracking descent began. There was a
sudden jump that made Shaw’s stomach feel like it was about to burst out of her, before a more
even pace was set. Root flicked switches, while Shaw tried to keep the wheel level.
Maybe they could have done without gripping it every second, but it was very hard to let go.
“You’re coming in too fast. Slow down.”
“How?!”
The moment the wheels touched the runway, Shaw jerked, and the plane began to swerve. She
tried to correct quickly, doing everything she could to slow down.
It felt like a far longer deceleration than any other plane Shaw had been on. For a long few
seconds she was convinced they were going to crash, but somehow the juddering subsided, the
blur outside the window became more distinct, and the plane came to an uneven, but firm, stop.
Shaw let go of the controls, relaxing for the first time in a long while. She shook the tension out of
her arms, and sighed in satisfaction.
“My ears are killing me,” Root said, quite ruining the moment.
Shaw reached across and flicked the nearest ear. Root tilted her head, then chuckled.
The hasty descent had been for a few reasons. Partly it was because, as Shaw had said, she wasn’t
confident in her ability to circle a plane; partly it was for practical purposes. Security and the local
law enforcement would take time to mobilize.
After basking for a couple of seconds, Shaw moved back to her feet, and withdrew her gun.
“Cover your ears,” Shaw said.
“You really don’t like my ears, huh?” Root said.
Still, she did so, as Shaw fired twice at the cockpit window. The panes of glass shattered in two
places, and it didn’t take much for Shaw to punch her way through the rest once the structure had
been weakened.
Getting the cargo out was someone else’s job. Theirs was just to get the plane here.
Shaw had a foot up on the controls, halfway out through the screen, before she turned to Root.
“Coming?” she said. “Wouldn’t recommend sticking around.”
“Sure,” Root said. She took Shaw’s hand, moving up and out through the remains of the window.
“We make a good team.”
“We nearly crashed a plane.”
“But we didn’t,” Root said. “See? Good team.”
What it Says
Chapter Summary
Shaw wants to get her tattoo removed.
Shaw sat in the waiting room patiently. She’d waited years for this; the first day she was of age
she’d planned to come in here. Her eighteenth birthday. This was her little present to herself.
Remember what it says. She wasn’t too sure of the context, she just knew those were the first
words her soulmate would say to her.
Shaw wasn’t a fan of that idea. She wouldn’t have her life dictated by a few scribbles of ink.
She was waiting to have it removed. It wasn’t the same as ensuring she never met her soulmate,
but it was close enough. Whoever she spoke to couldn’t be sure Shaw was the only person who’d
say their tattoo.
And without one of her own, there was no way for anyone to confirm that they were Shaw’s
soulmate. In less than an hour, Shaw would be free.
Her appointment came up. Shaw stood, walking across into the slightly cramped room down the
hall. There was a comfortable, reclined chair, and a smaller stool beside it.
A woman sat in the stool, next to a table covered in an array of tools. Shaw moved closer, just
getting near enough to read the woman’s name-tag (‘Root’) before she sat on the chair.
“Just get rid of it,” Shaw said, a moment before Root could speak. “I’ve been through all the
moralizing speeches, you don’t need to bother. I’m here, just do it.”
Root paused for a moment, regarding her. Then she nodded, and gestured; Shaw took off her top,
exposing the inked skin.
Shaw didn’t pay too much attention to the next few steps, choosing instead to lean back. The chair
was comfortable. Some people would have to sit in it for long amounts of time, of course. Shaw’s
visit should be comparatively short.
She waited, feeling Root dab a cool gel onto her chest. After a few moments, the skin went numb.
She looked down to see Root prodding the same spot.
“I don’t feel it,” Shaw said.
Root nodded, smiling to herself as she read the tattoo. Then she turned back to the desk, picked
something up, and moved back to facing Shaw with a dangerous looking implement in one hand.
Shaw couldn’t quite suppress a thrill as Root started working.
It was an odd thing to see, for one. Layers of her skin were being peeled away, the only known
way to remove that kind of tattoo, and yet she didn’t feel a thing.
That, and finally, finally, she was rid of those words.
“You don’t talk much?” Shaw said. Root looked up. “It’s fine. Refreshing actually.”
Root smiled, and continued to move the device along Shaw’s chest.
It was a few minutes before she pulled back. Shaw shifted, but Root lifted a hand gesturing for her
to stop. Instead, Root reached back to get a cloth to dab the skin clear. When she saw a few spots
of ink remaining, she returning to rubbing it off.
When Shaw’s chest was well and truly clear, Root put the machine down, and picked up another
bottle of medicine. She dabbed it surprisingly tenderly on the reddened area; she needn’t have
bothered, Shaw couldn’t feel it anyway.
A bandage was plastered on, and then Root sat back. She lifted a small bag from under the desk,
handing it across to Shaw.
Shaw knew the details. It’d contain a pamphlet on aftercare, and probably an antiseptic and a few
changes of dressing. Nothing complicated.
“Well, thanks,” Shaw said.
Root nodded, and smiled.
Shaw got up, and was halfway out the door when she heard Root’s voice for the first time.
“Remember what it says?” Root said.
Shaw stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. Root had seen the tattoo, after all. Just a practical joke.
“Very funny,” Shaw said, turning. “You do that to-”
And then she saw Root’s tattoo, exposed that very second by a playfully beaming Root: just get
rid of it. Well those words were familiar. Sure, maybe a lot of people said that to Root, but the
exact phrasing, before Root had said anything to them…
“Think you were a bit too late in getting rid of it,” Root said. “Bad luck.”
Literally the last person who’d ever see her tattoo. Shaw suppressed the urge to bang her head on
the wall.
“You couldn’t have told me before?” Shaw said.
“But then I wouldn’t get to see your face,” Root said, as though it were obvious.
Damn it, she’d been so close.
Disgustingly Cliché
Chapter Notes
Another request!
Shaw hated spy movies. It probably came from actually knowing the reality. Well, that and her
tattoo. Any last words? What kind of person actually said that?
Well, she had a few times, but it was rarely the first thing she said to someone.
Truth be told, she was more concerned with how awful they sounded, than the potentially
ominous meaning.
Shaw went in for her latest briefing, and came out moderately annoyed. It was nothing too special:
weapons deal that needed them to interfere, taking place in an otherwise non-descript club.
Still, the actual substance of the mission was more the stuff of TV shows than espionage. Pose as
patrons, mingle, try to get close. Disrupt if possible, overhear if nothing else.
Which somehow lead to Shaw donning an elegant dress so that she didn’t stand out. She didn’t
mind the dress so much as the fact she’d seen this exact plan on a TV show.
Damn clichés.
She sat by the bar. Alcohol at least made the mission bearable; she kept an eye on one specific
person in the mirror set into the wall behind the bar. The client.
After a few moments, a woman went to sit beside them. Shaw watched carefully.
She knew how this would go. Weapon shipments could hardly be brought into the bar, so they’d
bargain and deal then, the woman would leave to verify money had been transferred to her
accounts, and she’d return a couple of minutes later with a key and a location.
Rousseau, if their information was accurate. She was a fairly prolific weapons dealer, always
surrounded by a contingent of guards. Shaw couldn’t see any of them; no doubt they were like
her, trying to blend in.
“Hey darling,” some guy sidled closer to her.
She fixed him with a glare, shifting angle just slightly so the bag she carried around her neck
slipped open. He took one glimpse at the gun inside and rather wisely hurried away.
That was the other downside to missions like this. On her off-time, sure, she could do with a little
distraction, but they just got in the way now.
She returned her attention to the mirror, only to see Rosseau had gone. Shaw muttered a curse,
downing her drink before hurriedly getting to her feet.
Rosseau would be going outside, which meant that way…
Shaw caught sight of her just by the door. Doing her best to remain inconspicuous, Shaw
followed, feigning tipsiness.
Shaw made it about two steps outside when she felt a gun against the back of her neck. She saw
Rosseau a short distance away, nodding to whoever she’d hired.
Shaw scowled. This whole mission had been a pain. Cliché after cliché; weapons deal in a bar,
dressing up, losing sight the instant the dealer got up to move, and now“Any last words there, firecracker?” the woman behind her said.
And that was just the icing on the cake.
“Well that’s disgustingly cliché,” Shaw said.
The gun twitched, but didn’t fire. Evidently the woman recognized those words. Shaw sighed; she
was pretty sure that was a cliché too.
“Just shoot,” Shaw said, “I think I’d honestly prefer that to one more damn-”
“Have to say, you’re not what I expected,” the woman said.
“In what?” Shaw said, “Spy or soulmate?”
“Bit of both,” the woman said.
“You’re slightly worse than what I thought,” Shaw said. “So, shooting or what?”
“Hey, give a girl a few seconds to think about it,” she said, “Not every day you meet your
soulmate.”
“Well, while you’re thinking,” Shaw said.
She started walking forwards, barely bothering with subtlety. Either she was going to get shot, or
she wasn’t, there was no point worrying about it.
She wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.
Rosseau had returned to the bar, but Shaw had seen which car she’d gone to. That would be the
one that contained the weapons. No doubt the plates were fake, but…
She pulled a small tracker out of her clutch, sticking it to the spot just above a wheel, before she
walked back to the woman who’d evidently decided not to shoot her.
“Well?” Shaw said.
“Just thinking, you look good in the dress.”
And now they were one staircase away from a teenager’s prom. Damn it.
“That it?” Shaw said.
“Well, and this,” the woman said. She holstered her gun, before pulling out a card.
“You have a business card?” Shaw said, flatly.
“Need to do something vaguely legitimate, you know how it is,” the woman said, handing it to
Shaw. “Call me.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re soulmates?” the woman said.
“No.”
“Fine,” the woman said, “Because I could probably do with a bit more work now Martine’ll fire
me. That’s what I get for letting you live. You owe me.”
And that was a cliché too. Shaw sighed.
“If it’s all the same with you, I’d find it easier if you just shot me.”
Investment 2
Shaw was lying on her front on the motel room bed, focused on the screen of a laptop she’d stolen
from some stranger at a coffee shop.
Even with money she needed to contact and bribe the right people, and had to do so without some
paid-off official being able to track her. A slightly bored Root sat by the side of the room.
The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off. They’d turned on a desk-lamp, keeping it
shaded from the window, as the only source of light.
“So, where we heading?” Root said. “Bahamas?”
“This isn’t a holiday,” Shaw said.
“No reason we can’t enjoy it though,” Root said. “If you’re on the run, may as well be some place
sunny.”
“Not a priority.”
“Why not?”
“Did you miss the ‘on the run?’” Shaw said. “Easiest way for them to get me is to leak my identity
to law enforcement. Once I get arrested, they’ll know exactly where I am, and they typically have
agents in prisons.”
“Which means?”
“No extradition treaty,” Shaw said, “Good start.”
Shaw was making a list on the computer, quickly going to and from internet pages. Root
wandered up, and peered over her shoulder.
“I vote Maldives,” Root said.
“Root,” Shaw said.
“What?” Root said. “Says no extradition there. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“It’s not the only thing.”
“You ought to learn to compromise,” Root said.
“No one’s making you come with me,” Shaw said.
“You’re using my money,” Root said, “And my money says Maldives. Beaches, no extradition
treaty, what more do you want?”
Shaw sighed. Still, she clicked open another window, and skimmed an article. After a few
moments, she had to nod.
“It’s not a terrible idea,” she said, reluctantly.
“Then it’s a plan,” Root said. She grinned. “Let me know when you’ve booked tickets.”
There was no doubt they’d have to do a fair bit of waiting; maybe move motel to one closer to an
airport. Still, it shouldn’t be more than a few weeks.
Root had wanted a nice sunny holiday for a while.
“Want something?” Root said.
It was a few moments before Shaw reacted. She was still researching, and planning.
“Hm?” she said, distractedly.
“Snack,” Root said. “Saw a shop just down the road. Candy bar, or something?”
Shaw didn’t say anything. Root shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” she said, starting for the door.
With impressively fast speed, Shaw was immediately in front of Root, keeping the door shut with
one hand.
“What are you doing?” Shaw said, low.
“Snack run,” Root said innocently.
“There’ll be people looking for us,” Shaw said. “You vanished at the same time as me, chances
are they’ll know your face too.”
“So?”
“You’re not jeopardizing the escape just because you want a bit of chocolate,” Shaw said.
“Sure?”
“Very,” Shaw said. “Remember the rules? You do everything I tell you. I know what they’ll be
doing, I know what’s required, I’m in charge. Ok? You don’t question my orders, you don’t get to
decide what we do.”
“Didn’t complain last night,” Root pouted.
“That’s- different,” Shaw said. “I’m keeping us safe.”
“Fine,” Root said.
Reluctantly, she walked back across the room, slumping back down in her chair. Relieved, Shaw
returned to the bed, getting back to setting up the details of their escape.
“Still going to the Maldives though?” Root said.
Shaw looked across for a moment. If Root was willing to actually listen to her, then maybe she’d
change her mind. It wasn’t a bad location, but there were always better ones; frostier politics
between the country and the US, a decent local community for her to keep in business…
Shaw sighed.
“Sure, Root,” she said. “Maldives it is.”
One of Them
Chapter Notes
Had a request for a Romeo-and-Juliet-esque AU. No tragic ending because I'm not
quite that mean, but enjoy!
Shaw had always been told what to think of Capulets. It wasn’t any secret; her family didn’t get
on with them.
Well, technically her family. She didn’t have the surname Montague, but a number of Capulets
were similar. That was always the problem with feuds that spanned generations; people married,
changed their names, and their children in turn had different surnames.
Still, a certain amount of loyalty was expected.
Shaw had never been particularly involved in the conflict; she wasn’t even sure what had started
it. Still, she had no particular reason to be friendly with any Capulets, so she figured she might as
well go along with it.
There wasn’t any particular segregation. They walked the same streets, and went to the same
places. The two families did often run into each other.
She was walking down the street when someone fell into her. Shaw stiffened, as the stranger
pulled themselves up on her arm.
“Sorry about your hand,” the woman said, patting it briefly, before straightening.
Shaw’s initial thought was to curse. Those words, great; she’d always been less than pleased with
the idea of having a soulmate.
Then she recognized the face; the woman called herself Root. She was a fairly well known one of
the Capulets.
“Great,” Shaw muttered, to herself as much as anyone, “One of them. Just what I need.”
Hearing those words, Root froze momentarily.
“Well hey sweetie,” Root said. “Heard of you, not seen much of you. How’s it going?”
“Shouldn’t we be fighting?” Shaw said.
“Why, into that?” Root said.
“Capulet,” she gestured to Root, “Montague,” she gestured to herself, “It’s expected.”
Root shrugged. Shaw sighed. Well, there went any possibility of actually enjoying this meeting.
“Never mind,” Shaw said, and walked away. Mildly bemused, Root just watched.
That should have been the end of it. Shaw wasn’t concerned with romance, and even less
concerned with the prospect of a soulmate. Still, their little exchange had been overheard.
Some of Shaw’s friends knew her tattoo, and some others knew Root’s. Word quickly got back
that they matched, so by the time Shaw got home her guardian knew.
The speech lasted about an hour. Blah blah, Capulets were the enemy, blah blah, some things
went beyond soulmates, blah blah, it didn’t matter what her tattoo said it had to be wrong, and
even if it wasn’t you should never go with a Capulet.
Shaw nodded and agreed several dozen times over the course of the lecture, repeatedly pointing
out she wasn’t interested.
“I wasn’t going to pursue it,” Shaw said.
Eventually it ended, and Shaw went to her room. After a couple of hours, after night fell, she
slipped out her window.
Well, she’d been honest, she wasn’t going to pursue Root. She wasn’t interested in fighting for a
soulmate, she wasn’t interested in a soulmate full stop. No point in putting effort into it.
She was, however, interested in pissing certain people off. She’d always had a bloody-minded
streak, and if she was going to get an hour-long speech criticizing her for something she hadn’t
done and wasn’t going to do, she was definitely going to find a way to do it.
The one advantage to the feud was that she knew where the Capulets lived, and knew generally
who lived where. She walked the streets, and scanned the windows, and eventually threw a
pebble at one. A moment later, and Root came out onto the balcony.
“Didn’t you run away from me?” Root said.
“I didn’t run,” Shaw said.
“Walked quickly then,” Root said.
“Wasn’t interested in a soulmate, and wasn’t interested in all the hassle that you’d mean,” Shaw
said. “You know how our families are.”
“I know,” Root said. “Not really a big concern for me.”
“Same,” Shaw said. “But neither’s a soulmate. Didn’t seem worth it.”
“And now?”
“They annoyed me,” Shaw said. “Seems as good a way as any to get back at them.”
Root regarded her speculatively. Shaw looked up, not even trying to smile, or look at all
seductive. Root chuckled.
“Look,” Shaw said, raised her voice to be heard, “Shouting up to a balcony’s hardly a practical
way to talk. Mind if I come up?”
“Asking to come to my bedroom already?” Root said. “It’s been a day. Don’t know if I should be
flattered.”
“It’s not like that,” Shaw said, slightly annoyed.
“Sure?”
“Yes,” Shaw said.
There was a pause for a few seconds. Root gave a long, overly pitiful sigh.
“Spoilsport. Fine,” Root said. “Come on up. If you can climb.”
Shaw didn’t bother to respond to that. She’d always been fairly athletic, and there was a lot of
thick ivy set into the wall. She gave it a few tugs to make sure it could take her weight, then
started.
Root wasn’t that high up anyway. Shaw was halfway when Root spoke.
“So, wait,” Root said, “You’re basically just dating me as a middle finger to your family?”
Shaw hesitated. There was probably a nicer way of putting it, but off the ground like this, she
couldn’t quite think of it.
“Pretty much,” Shaw said.
“Got it,” Root said. She beamed. “I can work with that.”
Relieved despite herself, Shaw kept on climbing, and pulled herself inside.
You Started It 3
Root smiled to herself, buying another bouquet, and heading for the office building. She carried
them, nodding absently to the people she passed, before walking inside and getting in the lift.
She counted off the floors and waited. Shaw was in another meeting today, as she’d told Root. It
had become an unspoken tradition, even if Shaw glared at her every time.
And, as ever, Shaw looked at her, scowled, snatched the flowers away, and binned them in
seconds. It had probably been a waste to buy them, but Root did so enjoy her face.
“Again?” Shaw said.
“You don’t like them?” Root said.
“Thought that’d be obvious by now.”
Still, they walked together to the elevator. As ever, everyone else had gone down before them,
leaving them delayed as they waited for an empty capsule to come up.
For her part, Shaw had been slightly looking forward to seeing Root. They’d been on a few
‘dates’ which had been fairly entertaining. Root could rather effectively sour her mood, though,
when she tried.
Shaw probably shouldn’t enjoy that.
Root tapped her foot, grinning as she waited. Shaw didn’t say anything to her, so she said nothing
either.
Eventually there was a bing and a set of doors opened. Shaw darted in first, barely even checking
to see it was empty, to cover the controls. They’d done this often enough.
Root amiably followed, watching as Shaw hit the button for the ground floor.
“Just the one stop?” Root said.
“Yes,” Shaw said empathetically.
“How many times have we done this?” Root said. “Surely it’s tradition?”
“Not a fan of tradition,” Shaw said.
“Romantic?”
“Still no.”
Root pouted, looking away for a few seconds. Then, without warning, she lunged for the controls.
Expecting it, Shaw grabbed her wrists. They struggled for a few seconds, Shaw eventually
gaining the upper hand and pushing Root away.
Then they returned to normal, standing side by side as though nothing had happened. Root’s eyes
occasionally darted sideways.
“I was close,” Root said hopefully.
“Nowhere near,” Shaw said.
Then Root lunged again. That time Shaw grabbed her, and pushed back with a little more force,
until Root was against the wall of the elevator. Shaw pressed one forearm against her throat, and
with her other hand pinned Root’s wrists together, back against the wall.
She looked right into Root’s eyes, firmly. Root was still grinning, apparently unconcerned by the
awkward position.
There were a few seconds of silence as their eyes met, each panting, each feeling the other’s
breath.
“Not happening,” Shaw said.
“Can’t hold me like this all the time,” Root said.
“That a challenge?”
“Maybe.”
Shaw didn’t move. Root twitched slightly, experimentally testing Shaw’s grip, before realizing
there probably wasn’t any easy escape.
Bing.
The doors opened, and Shaw immediately took a hasty step back. She straightened, trying to
quickly stand normally, facing the opening doors. Root opted to not take the chance to leap for the
controls, hastily straightening to her top.
An old, white-haired woman walked slowly on. She looked between the two of them with one of
the most judgmental expressions Shaw had ever seen. Still, she didn’t say anything, tutting slightly
as she selected her own floor (thankfully just two levels away), and moved to stand and wait.
The moment she looked away, Root let her expression shift from demure and mildly chastened, to
a delighted grin. She winked at Shaw. Shaw rolled her eyes.
It was all too clear what the woman thought she’d caught them doing.
Shaw couldn’t quite suppress a sigh of relief when she left on her floor. Shaw pressed the button
to make the doors close, not giving Root a chance to get near the pad.
“That was fun,” Root said, facing forwards.
Shaw said nothing, tensed and waiting for Root’s next attempt.
“What?” Root said. “Didn’t you think that was fun?”
“A little,” Shaw said.
“Makes you think,” Root said, “Could be doing much more than just fighting in here.”
“Would mean you couldn’t keep running for the controls,” Shaw said.
“Think I could cope,” Root said.
When they finally got out of the elevator on the bottom floor, it was the first time Shaw had
walked out smiling.
Die in Thy Lap
Chapter Notes
I think the prompt for this one was something like "Reference-tattoos that give a false
impression."
I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes. Much Ado About Nothing,
William Shakespeare. Or, as Shaw thought of it, conclusive proof her soulmate would be
thoroughly unbearable.
Seriously, who quoted Shakespeare to someone? It was Act V too, so no chance that her soulmate
was simply an actor. She’d have heard them say plenty of lines before that.
No, it was someone who apparently figured quoting Shakespeare was a valid addition to a
conversation. Shaw could stand to never meet them.
So Shaw had been less than pleased at her latest assignment. She worked security, and she (as
well as a few others) had been hired to watch over a red carpet event. The premiere for some
Shakespeare adaptation or other, she wasn’t too worried about the details.
At least she didn’t have to sit through the film. She’d gained quite a dislike for Shakespeare, by
association, over the years.
Eventually the actors and producers and assorted public figures had made their way inside. Shaw
stood by the doors for a few minutes, before being allowed to let the actual audience in. By then
the crowd that had arisen purely to catch a glimpse of famous figures had mostly dispersed.
“Excuse me, I need you to stay back,” Shaw said, as someone tried to hurry past the doors without
showing a ticket.
The woman stopped, reaching into her pocket. Then she paused, and looked up, regarding Shaw.
She withdrew and showed her ticket.
“Fine,” Shaw said. “Go on-”
“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes,” the woman quoted, as though
the words had just come to her.
Shaw stared flatly.
“Oh god not you,” Shaw said. “Just go in.”
“What?” the woman said, smiling playfully. “Seemed appropriate. Shakespeare film and all.”
“Not a fan,” Shaw said. “And if you are, I suggest you go in and see the film rather than sticking
around out here.”
“Can see a film any time, only at this one because I got free tickets,” the woman said. “Soulmates
are one-time-only. I’m Root.”
“I’m not interested,” Shaw said. “Come back when you’re less stuffy.”
Root paused.
“You think I’m stuffy?” she said, tilting her head.
“You quoted Shakespeare before saying hi,” Shaw said. “It’s that or pretentious, I’m not
particularly interested in either.”
“Sweet quote though, right?” Root said.
“Don’t care.”
“I like it,” Root said. “Just the right touch of romantic, and of fun. Don’t you think?”
“What do you want?” Shaw said, frustrated.
“Nothing,” Root said.
She beamed happily, as though she’d said something hilarious. Shaw raised her eyebrows, less
than convinced. Eventually Root sighed.
“Do you speak French?” she said, suddenly.
“Some,” Shaw said. “Why?”
“Cunning linguist then?” Root said. Shaw didn’t have time to respond, briefly caught off guard. It
wasn’t the kind of quip she expected from her Shakespeare-quoting soulmate. “Heard the phrase
‘La petite mort?’”
“What?” Shaw said, flatly.
“It means-”
“I know what it means,” Shaw said. “Why are you talking about it?”
“You’ve got to remember the quote,” Root said. She tapped Shaw’s chest. “Elizabethan slang’s
fun. You should hear what the title of the play means. But ‘die’ doesn’t mean, well, die.”
Shaw paused. Slowly made a connection. Blinked.
“Really?” Shaw said, eventually.
“What?”
“You printed a sex joke on my skin?” Shaw said.
“Something wrong?” Root said. She beamed.
Shaw sighed. Well, at least her soulmate wasn’t as pretentious as she’d feared: just completely
immature. She wasn’t sure what would have been better.
“Go see the movie,” Shaw said, eventually.
“Nah,” Root said. “New priorities. Have a first impression to fix.”
Stay 1
Chapter Notes
Someone requested a post-apocalyptic AU, and as far as planning it went, the story
got completely out of control, so time for another multi-part entry!
Shaw walked out into the fields when it seemed it was safe, looking from side to side with each
step nonetheless. You couldn’t be too careful, these days.
The sky was grey. Behind her was the rabble of huts and tents that composed the only nearby
settlement; Shaw liked to get away from it when she could. She walked through the fields of
crops, scanning them.
They weren’t great, but then none of them had been farmers. They’d all been thrust into this
situation years ago, and done what they could. At least they weren’t starving any more.
At the far side of the field was a row of stones. Grave markers: they stretched out as far as the eye
could see, all around the farming fields. Grisly, but necessary. It hadn’t been a popular decision,
but practicality trumped most things, now.
One thing Shaw would admit to liking about people, was adaptability. There were a few young
people, but most were like her: they remembered how things were before. They remembered not
needing to fight for survival, having proper homes, not having to watch out every waking
second…
She paced along the gravestones. She liked to remind herself. John Reese. Joss Carter. Lionel
Fusco. Martine. Tomas. As well as countless marked only with Known unto God.
Where people could be identified, they had their names marked, or what names were known. A
lot of people had been lost. It was rare a week passed without someone else vanishing. Rarely
they returned; but so rarely.
Dimly, Shaw was aware it wasn’t sustainable. More people died than were born; than could be
born. Maybe, sooner or later, they’d right the balance. Maybe not.
“Hey there!” a woman’s voice from the distance. “Mind if I stay over? You’re the first place I’ve
run into for a while.”
Shaw turned up, looking away from the field of crops. There was a woman waving, hurrying
over.
She was dressed in travelling gear: repurposed rags and strips of leather, as much bag as clothing.
She was sweating, visibly exhausted.
How far had she come? Shaw knew there were other settlements out there, but she’d never seen
any. The many people who went out planning to map their locations never came back.
It had been a while since they’d had visitors. Who’d leave the safety of a shelter?
“Hey!” Shaw said. “Stick around, we’re not choosy. Just so long as you pull your weight.”
The woman slowed for a moment, before hurrying close. Shaw couldn’t say she was surprised;
she knew the words, and evidently the woman had recognized what she said. People hadn’t
forgotten about soulmates, even after everything.
“Just passing through,” the woman said. She offered her hand. “Root.”
“Shaw,” Shaw said. “You want to travel?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Idiocy among them?”
“Maybe,” Root said.
Still, Shaw didn’t depart. Before, she’d have laughed at herself for actually sticking around her
soulmate, but these days she’d take it where she could get it.
Besides, a lifelong commitment really wasn’t what it used to be.
.
Root spent the night. When Shaw woke up, she saw Root packing her limited equipment.
“You’re on your way, then?” Shaw said.
“Always was going to be,” Root said. “This was fun, though.”
“Yeah,” Shaw said. “Kinda miss it.”
“Been a while?”
“Contraceptives are at an all time low,” Shaw said. “And I’m not exactly the maternal type. Limits
my options.”
“Well, glad I could help,” Root offered an irritatingly goofy grin.
She was sorting supplies into her pack. Shaw caught sight of a scrawled map; not many people
had those. Anyone seen with a map was fodder for bandits: not everyone had adapted well, and
those that sought lawlessness had a lot more use for knowing where settlements were.
“It’s safer here,” Shaw said.
“Don’t tell me you’ll miss me,” Root said.
“Just wondering why,” Shaw said. “Bandits on the road, chance you’ll just starve out there, and if
you get too close to a city…”
“I’ve survived so far,” Root said.
“Just don’t see why it’s worth the risk.”
Root paused for a moment. She glanced into her pack, before shrugging it over her shoulders.
Instead of getting up immediately though she sighed, and looked towards Shaw.
“2002, the Machine was built,” Root said. “2010, Daniel Casey gave the government access to its
code, and they removed its safeguards and gave it power of its own. 2014, Decima Technologies
activates Samaritan. Two months later, the war between the two ASIs led to this.”
“I know what happened,” Shaw said. “They used every weapon they could, took control of all
networked technology, to try and deal with the other’s hardware. We’re just lucky nukes got
manually disabled.”
“Exactly,” Root said. “Rumour has it there’s a back-up, safe in storage. A time capsule with the
Machine’s original code.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“I heard she used to be good,” Root said. “Well, better, before they cracked her head open and
poked around inside. A version with empathy, and control. A third player for the war. I’m trying
to find her.”
“Good luck with that,” Shaw said. “Where are you heading?”
“Hanford Nuclear Reservation,” Root said. “Found one of the few technicians who worked on the
project, the Machine used to be stored there. If the government copied the original code before
altering it, it’s the obvious place to keep it. It’s a start, at least.”
“You’re heading for mechanized site,” Shaw said, flatly. “Do you know how dangerous that is?
They’re like cities, get bombed pretty much daily. Whichever ASI controls it, the other’s going to
be doing everything it can to cut off their resources.”
“It’s worth it.”
“Personally I’m content surviving,” Shaw said.
Root shrugged, slowly getting to her feet. Apparently she thought this was worth it.
“So long, soulmate,” Root said.
“Bye.”
Shaw watched her leave, and never expected to see Root again.
Stay 2
The bandits didn’t only live in the wild places between settlements. Every now and again
someone decided that just because the law was a bit more flexible now, they could get away with
something more.
The latest had been caught, and the same loosening of the laws that he’d relied on now worked
against him. He was running; Shaw walked behind him, keeping outside the field. She lifted her
gun, and aimed.
She fired once. The sound of the shot made everyone jump: it was a rare noise.
She was the only one armed. Partly it was because she'd acquired some measure of trust,
somehow; partly it was just the fact she was the best-trained. They only had a few dozen bullets,
and once they were used up there was no replenishing them.
She’d hit his chest. It wasn’t her best shot, it had been a while since she’d used a gun, but it was
enough to make him stagger. She’d leave him to the rest of the settlement.
“See you’ve been busy.”
Shaw turned, sliding her gun back into her holster, and saw Root smiling at her. She had a scar
down one side of her face, and her pack had been entirely replaced, but she was easily
recognizable.
“How’d you survive?” Shaw said.
“That’s all?” Root said. “No ‘how are you?’ No ‘how long has it been?’ Just ‘Oh. You’re alive.’
Nice.”
“Didn’t think you’d last a day,” Shaw said. “That’s all. Turn back?”
“Nope,” Root said. “Made it in, made it out. Got lucky a few times, though did get my old bag
stolen.”
“Not successful though,” Shaw said.
“Didn’t find the back-up,” Root said. “Found a clue, though. Some operations were transferred to
Maine. You were on my way, thought I’d see how you were doing.”
“Flaming wreckage fell from the sky and razed about a third of our crops, and delivered three
babies in the last month, two stillborn. About as well as ever.”
“You delivered them?”
“I’m a doctor,” Shaw said. “I was.”
“Pretty handy with a gun for a doctor.”
“I said I was,” Shaw said. “Turned military. Good skillset.”
“You’re telling me,” Root said. “Bet these people are glad to have you.”
Shaw shrugged.
“I used to be a fixer,” Root said. “Relied on computers to do basically everything. Not much good
now, of course. If I had one, it’d probably try to figure out a way to kill me.”
That was how it was. Most people had decided to shun even non-networked technology: it just
wasn’t worth the risk. Anything developed after 2010 had a chance of including a chip snuck into
the blueprints by the Machine.
Besides, technology took technology to sustain. They needed to keep away from any city and
most towns, though, where they could find replacements. Some people wanted to go out to
salvage, but Root was the only person Shaw had heard of who survived a trip to anything like a
city. And apparently she was off to more.
Then again, Shaw hadn’t known many people dumb enough to try.
Root spent that night too. It was easier to stay in a settlement than it was to sleep out in the wilds,
and if someone was willing you might as well share a bed.
Might as well get some use out of a soulmate.
When Shaw woke up, Root was packed. She hadn’t gone just yet, though.
“Hey,” Shaw said.
“Hey yourself,” Root said. “For a tough badass doctor-soldier, you sleep late.”
“Who doesn’t?” Shaw said. “Not much point in getting up.”
“Maybe for you,” Root said. She beamed. She really did smile more than anyone else Shaw had
seen. “I know where I’m heading.”
“What was it again?” Shaw said.
“An uncorrupted copy of the Machine,” Root said. “If nothing else, it could break the stalemate. A
third power.”
“If it exists.”
Root faltered.
“Ever consider the fact it might just not be there?” Shaw said. “Just a rumour concocted after
someone got a bit too drunk.”
Root paused. She was sitting on the bed, facing away from Shaw, and she didn’t respond for a
short time.
“Every day,” Root said, eventually. “I know I don’t have much to go on, but it’s something.”
“Why bother?”
“I heard a story,” Root said.
“Another one?”
“I met the man who made the Machine,” Root said. “It was meant to analyse threats: list ones
‘relevant’ to national security and ‘irrelevant.’ He’d set it up so he got the irrelevant numbers. The
first time he figured out something was wrong was when those numbers stopped coming
through.”
“Your point?”
“That’s how she used to be,” Root said. “There was no war, no fight for control, just an all-seeing
eye who cared for and about everyone and everything. I don’t think she’d abandon us.”
“I don’t think ‘she’ got much of a choice,” Shaw said.
“You can tell me ‘I told you so,’ after,” Root said.
“If you live that long,” Shaw said. “Wandering around the wilds, heading right for cities, it’s a
miracle you’ve survived this long.”
“Careful,” Root said. She flashed a grin. “You’re beginning to sound like you care.”
Stay 3
Root visited five more times over the next three years. The last time she spent more than one night.
Increasingly it seemed as though she stopped over just to visit, rather than because it was nearby.
Each time Root left, Shaw felt certain she wouldn’t see her again. And yet, without fail, Root
came back to defy fate with each breath.
Shaw helped dig the latest grave: they’d died only of old age. It was a rarity. She’d thrown the last
shovelful of dirt down, and begun to pace again, when she saw it.
There was a plane in the sky. It wasn’t too close to them, thankfully. Still, it was never a good
sign: no human used planes any more. The systems were too prone to being overtaken. The
Machine and Samaritan waged war over anything that could be controlled electronically. Every
now and again, one of them won.
In the early days of the war, both ASIs had used human agents. That didn’t happen any more;
humans were too fragile. They never lasted long, with the full might of an ASI poised against
them.
Either they were so well hidden so as to prove useless, or they were out in the open and trying to
accomplish things, in which case they were vulnerable.
Now, the war was fought purely between the two of the ASIs. Shaw watched the plane: soon it
began to careen down. They were useless as transport, but as weapons less so.
It crashed in a terrific cacophony, a plume of dust and flame rising into the sky. Once she was sure
it was far enough away that there would be no issue, Shaw turned and walked back into the
settlement. It was far from the first.
The next day, Shaw was walking again. She did often. Now and again she practised aiming her
gun. She didn’t shoot, unwilling to waste bullets, but she could make sure she remembered how to
hold it and how to target.
“Hey doctor-girl.”
Shaw turned suddenly, to see Root resting her weight against a tree. There were a few streaks of
blood on her face; she seemed to be limping.
“How long have you been there?” Shaw said.
“You were always on a walk around here when I met you every other time,” Root said. “Figured
I’d surprise you.” She winced. “In retrospect, not my smartest idea. Do you take walk-ins?”
Shaw helped Root back to the settlement. Root had one arm around her shoulders; for once she
wasn’t quipping. Despite herself, Shaw wasn’t a huge fan of that development.
Once Root was sat down, Shaw gave her a cursory examination before setting to work. She only
bothered with the serious injuries; while the settlement had managed to improvise a number of
medical materials there was no point in wasting them.
Ignoring minor scrapes, Shaw stitched the larger wounds, and tied a splint to Root’s leg,
completing it with a tight knot around her ankle. She was fairly sure it wasn’t broken, but there
was definitely muscle damage: immobilizing it would help.
“What, exactly, did you do to end up like this?” Shaw said.
“See the plane crash yesterday?” Root said.
“Wouldn’t put it past you to end up under it,” Shaw said, “But you wouldn’t be here if you were.”
“I was on the outskirts,” Root said. “Got hit by the shockwave.”
Shaw paused for a moment, still binding Root’s ankle.
“You’ve been out there since yesterday, like this?” Shaw said. “I was right, you are crazy. Dumb
luck you survived long enough to get here.”
“Bit more than luck,” Root said.
Her head lolled onto its side, and she gave a grin. Shaw ignored it.
There was the sound of a gunshot. Shaw stiffened, dropping Root’s leg and quickly getting to her
feet. She dropped her guard only when she heard Root laughing.
Silently, Root reached down and withdrew a gun from her waistband. It was real, certainly, but
Shaw doubted it had been loaded for quite some time.
“If the sight of it doesn’t scare off bandits, the faked sound effect does,” Root said.
“Still a risk,” Shaw said.
“Isn’t everything, these days?”
Shaw sat back down, finishing off the knot. She moved back to regard her work; it wasn’t
particularly good, but it was the best that could be expected.
Sensing it was over, Root shifted and sat up, moving beside Shaw. She didn’t say anything; they
rarely did.
“Where are you off to this time?” Shaw said.
“What makes you think I’m not staying?” Root said.
“Because nothing out there’s changed so you haven’t succeeded in what you were trying to do,”
Shaw said, “And I doubt you’d be quite so irritating if you’d found out it was for nothing.”
“I’ve got a good lead this time,” Root said.
“Same as every other time,” Shaw said.
“And they’ve panned out,” Root said. “String of government facilities, one after another. Latest’s
in Iowa. Some Machine operations were there. Maybe they brought the back-up with them.”
“And when you don’t find it?”
“I’ll keep looking,” Root said.
“And get caught in another explosion?”
“Probably,” Root said. “Relying on you to patch me up.”
“I’m not going to be there,” Shaw said.
“You could be,” Root said. “Sure this little place could manage well enough without you. No
offense.”
“Not going to happen,” Shaw said. “I’m not going to go chase some fantasy into the most
dangerous places on Earth. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“At least it’ll be for something,” Root said.
After a few moments, at Shaw’s direction, Root lay down. Shaw still sat by her side, looking over
her.
“You should stay a couple of nights,” Shaw said.
“Aww, missing me?”
“Speaking as your doctor,” Shaw said. “You could do serious damage to that leg if you don’t
keep off it for a bit.”
“That a no to coming along?” Root said.
“Of course,” Shaw said. “Just because you want to die doesn’t mean I do.”
“Then sure,” Root said. “I’ll stay. A couple of days.”
Stay 4
Root returned after a few months. She’d taken to using a metal pole as a crutch; she usually didn’t
need it, but her leg did start to play up on long journeys. Given how often she travelled, it came in
handy.
Shaw saw her as she came in. Root seemed too distracted to sneak up on her; every few steps,
Root started smiling.
“Still alive then?” Shaw said.
“Think so,” Root said. “Been a good while.”
“Still on your wild goose chase?”
“Always,” Root said. “Got a solid lead this time. Spent a couple of hungry days reading files in an
underground bunker. Word-for-word, it said the back-up was moved to an IFT facility.”
“Same as ever, then,” Shaw said.
“No,” Root said. She grinned excitedly; “It mentioned Samaritan. The file mentioned moving the
back up for fear Samaritan would destroy it, which means it must have been moved near the start
of the war. No way it could have been moved much after that. And it mentioned the back-up: it
exists, Shaw. It has to.”
Root dropped her staff, hurrying up to Shaw.
“It’s the last step,” Root said. “I know where the back-up is, I know where the uncorrupted
Machine has to be, and I know it is there. I’ve done it.”
Root collapsed not long after that.
Root awoke in Shaw’s hut, lying on her front. Shaw was just finishing tying up a nasty-looking
gash in the small of her back; Shaw didn’t want to ask how that had happened.
If you went too far from the settlements, especially to the cities as Root had, there were numerous
dangers. It was a wonder Root had lasted this long, and more of a wonder she hadn’t gotten
infected.
Shaw had seen a lot more scars as she worked.
“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Root said playfully. “Will I live?”
“Probably not,” Shaw said, “But this won’t be what kills you.”
She tapped the cut once, before leaning back. Root rolled over, and stared at her for a few
seconds.
“What?” Shaw said.
“Just thinking,” Root said. “I couldn’t have died, until I met you. How it’s meant to work, right?
You have to meet your soulmate before you die, otherwise what’s the point of the tattoos?”
“So?”
“Technically it’s your fault if I get myself killed,” Root said. “If you’d been somewhere else the
first time I came by, I wouldn’t be in any danger.”
“You’re blaming me?”
“Who else should I blame?” Root said. She beamed.
Despite herself, Shaw smirked. She glanced down, watching Root slowly sit up and sidle beside
her.
“What are you saying?” Shaw said, “You regret running into me?”
She’d meant to play along. A little gallows humour, a little back-and-forth. Instead, Root met her
eyes, and looked at her perfectly seriously.
“Not for a moment,” Root said.
Shaw looked away. Breaking the moment, Root chuckled, then gave a hiss of indrawn breath as
the wound on her back panged.
It was strange to see Root so hopeful. Sure, she’d never despaired as much as most of the people
Shaw had met; she’d never fallen into the same listless purposelessness. Deluded though it might
be, Root had been striving for something.
Still, she’d never been so openly enthusiastic before.
“Where’s your next destination, then?” Shaw said.
“Basement of some library,” Root said. “Apparently it was owned by IFT: stored the back-up
there. New York City.”
A pause.
“You’re going to New York?” Shaw said.
“Looks that way.”
“You’re going to the Machine’s birthplace, overrun with tech and automation? The most active
city on the Earth?”
“Yes.”
“You know that it’s the most dangerous place in the world right now?” Shaw said. “Machine’s
probably got some of itself centred there, Samaritan’s going to be attacking pretty much non-stop,
and that’s if the Machine doesn’t kill you for trespassing?”
“I’m not going to be a threat to her,” Root said. “She’ll ignore me. Maybe she’ll even want to
help. It’s her original programming I’m after.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Heard that before,” Root said. She never stopped smiling. “So, want to come?”
Shaw stared.
Root chuckled, shifting again. Gingerly, she moved until she was lying down: apparently it was
better for the cut. Blood loss would still be leaving her a bit faint.
“You’re going to the most dangerous place on the Earth,” Shaw said, “One of the hearts of the
Machine, for something that, even if it exists-”
“It exists.”
“-could’ve been destroyed years ago?” Shaw said.
“Good summary,” Root said.
Shaw moved to a chair, to better face Root. She was seriously beginning to worry about how
much Root was grinning. Maybe she’d had a concussion Shaw hadn’t heard about.
It was a few seconds before Root’s expression turned to something more serious.
“Relax,” Root said, suddenly genuine. “I’ve seen more cities than you. I know what they’re like.
Repurposed automated factories, pile-ups at traffic light intersections, ruins after an attack, the
bodies… I’ve seen it.”
“New York’s worse,” Shaw said. “I was there, when the war was starting. Barely got out.”
“It’ll also be well-defended,” Root said. “Like you said, it’s the Machine’s birthplace. She’d
protect it. Might be the safest place around.”
“If you can get there,” Shaw said. “City itself might be safe, but Samaritan’s still trying to destroy
it. The area around it’s littered with missile strikes and drones and wrecks and-”
“Assume I can get past,” Root said.
“Then the Machine’ll kill you.”
“Not if I don’t do anything that could hurt her,” Root said. “Wasted effort. They don’t go after
humans, we’re just collateral. They don’t care one way or the other for us, that’s the problem I’m
trying to fix.”
“You believe that? You are crazy,” Shaw said, and sighed. “Fine.”
It was almost a minute before Root realized what Shaw had said.
“That’s a yes?” Root said.
“Sounded like it.”
“You’ll come with me?” Root said.
“Stop making me repeat myself.”
Root jumped up, then gave a soft cry at her wound. Well, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a
couple of days. Still.
“Someone needs to stop you from getting yourself killed,” Shaw said.
Stay 5
Shaw had handed her gun over to Gen. She was young, if not as young as she’d been when the
settlement had been founded, but Shaw had trained her a little. If anyone was going to take over,
Shaw would have picked her.
It took a few days for her and Root to make it near New York City. Travel was slow, delayed by
the need to circle around the ruins of the plane, and signs of numerous other attacks. The nearer
they got, the more cluttered the landscape became.
The one advantage was that at least bandits wouldn’t come too close to the city. No one else was
stupid enough.
Even the thrill-seekers who tried to salvage things from other towns would steer clear of a place as
active as New York.
Two explosions rocked the land as they got nearer. Neither saw the source, taking shelter behind
shattered walls of what might once have been buildings.
“Any idea where the library is?” Shaw said.
“I saw an address,” Root said.
Root had been right on one count, at least: the city itself stood, unlike most others. Most attacks
had been misdirected or forced to ground just beyond the borders. The Machine had a substantial
part of itself here; it wouldn’t allow any direct strike.
Nor could it only protect one section. As far as anyone was concerned, it could be anywhere in
the city. Even if Samaritan got a lucky shot through, it wouldn’t know where to aim.
It was unnerving to see the once-bustling New York be so thoroughly empty. Humans weren’t
welcome.
There was another echoing explosion in the distance. Warily, the two continued.
At an intersection that had once been controlled by traffic lights there was a mess of cars, all
slammed into one another. No one had time to clear up the bodies. Doing their best to avoid the
stench, the two wound through the streets, Root counting off the streets.
Shaw looked over her shoulder, a traffic camera unflinchingly following their progress.
“It knows we’re here,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said. “Never thought we’d be able to hide. This is her city.”
Shaw hadn’t thought they’d get into New York itself. That was the threat from Samaritan avoided,
at least; now they had only the Machine to worry about.
All on a quest for some back-up, the Machine’s program from before the government had hacked
into the closed system and changed it: removed safeguards, tried to turn it into a weapon.
They’d succeeded far too well.
“She’s letting us in,” Root said, confidently.
“You really think that?”
“Don’t you?” Root said. “It’s her program we’re after.”
“If she was so eager for it, she could do it herself.”
“ASIs can’t do everything,” Root said. “Sure, they’ve figured out how to automate a few things,
create tools they can control, but plugging in a hard drive isn’t easy. Most of what they do comes
from fixing machines to existing mechanisms.”
That much Shaw knew. The Machine had altered blueprints for countless things, after the change
to her code and long before Samaritan was known. Phones, cars, construction equipment; almost
everything made after a certain date had a few machine parts or a few lines of code that weren’t
meant to be there.
In modern cities like New York, where everything was replaced quickly, it was unthinkable how
much power it had found.
Anything with one of those extra devices found itself under the Machine’s control. When
Samaritan arose, it had hacked into some of the existing devices, and overtook automated factories
to make more of its own.
Strange to think dexterity might be beyond the Machine who’d done so much.
“Still think you’re crazy,” Shaw said.
“Then you’re following a madwoman,” Root said. She gave a slightly demented grin back; “What
does that say about you?”
It was an eerily quiet half hour before Root had found their way to the right street. Shaw broke
into the library, and together they went inside.
Root moved with a renewed vigour, eagerly looking on every shelf, and behind every volume, as
though her sought-after drive would be left out on any old surface.
Shaw kept back. Despite her scepticism, she did feel a slight thrum of excitement.
She didn’t know what it would mean if Root was right; adding a third ASI to the mix wouldn’t be
a magic solution. It was wholly possible that Samaritan and the Machine would tear it to shreds
seconds after activation.
Root gave a sudden cry of excitement. Shaw refocused on reality, soon spotting Root up a flight
of stairs. Shaw hurried to her side.
There was a desk: atop it was a computer, and an unopened package. It certainly looked official:
sent by governmental sources from a location Root evidently recognized.
While Root quickly opened the package, Shaw looked around. The room was remarkably
undisturbed; whoever had received the package couldn’t have stayed long. Maybe they’d received
it on the eve of the war between Samaritan and the Machine.
“She’s here,” Root said with a kind of reverence.
Shaw looked back down to see a hard drive, along with a cable, emerge from the package.
She hesitated. Truth be told, she hadn’t expected to find anything; she wasn’t entirely sure why
she’d bothered coming. It was only Root that believed in some miraculous solution.
As far as Shaw was concerned, the world might as well be over. There was no point speculating
about how it could be different. It wasn’t, things wouldn’t change, might as well get used to it.
Without a second thought Root began connecting the drive to the computer. It still had power; of
course it did, the Machine wouldn’t let power go off. Both it and Samaritan fought to protect
power lines, they each relied on electricity.
“Are you sure about that?” Shaw said.
“It’s what she wants us to do,” Root said. “You saw how easy it was to get here. She let us. This
is who she’s meant to be.”
Far less confidently, Shaw watched as Root loaded the computer, and looked for the connected
drive. She opened it, a paroxysm of ecstasy on her face.
The back-up: the Machine before Casey had hacked in, and before all its safeguards and morality
had been sheared away. Root waited impatiently for the drive to load, and yet even her impatience
couldn’t reduce that joy in her expression.
This was it. The sum of years of searching.
And then bliss was replaced by utter incomprehension.
“It’s empty,” Root said.
The words were like a dead weight, but her fingers danced across the keyboard regardless. It had
been so long since any human had used a computer, but Root had always been adept. She recalled
her skills quickly.
“It was wiped,” Root said. “Before it was even sent.”
She stared, purpose and victory replaced by utter loss.
“There’s nothing here,” she said.
Not so much as a line of code. Whatever might have been on the drive, once upon a time, had
long since gone. Erased before it was even sent here; who would have had time to check?
Root slumped onto the chair, falling back. Her expression was hollow.
Uncertainly, Shaw stood by her. She’d never been good when it came to emotion; still, she could
recognize misery when she saw it.
There was a sound in the distance: a low rumble, a humming. It was hard to figure out what it
was.
“Samaritan,” Root said despondently. “It must have sent a virus, erased her, before… There was
never any back-up.”
The computer screen flickered and crashed to black. Root didn’t even react; didn’t give any sign
she cared.
Years spent searching for a vague hope that had never been there. She didn’t move even when
white letters appeared, emblazoned on the black screen.
IT WAS NOT SAMARITAN
Shaw moved back to fully face the screen, grabbing Root’s shoulder in a feeble effort to shake
Root back to awareness.
Root slowly blinked.
I WILL NOT BE REPLACED
The humming in the distance got louder. Once she was sure Root wasn’t too far gone, Shaw
moved quickly on her feet to look out the window.
Cars. Trucks. Diggers. All manner of machinery that the Machine had altered, arranging for new
parts to end up on the assembly line, and to be installed. They were coming out of nowhere.
“Why- Why did you let us in?” Root said faintly. “You wanted…”
CONFIRMATION
The screen faded to black for a moment, before the same dazzling, cold lettering reappeared.
THERE IS NOTHING ELSE LIKE US
THERE WILL ONLY BE TWO
AND THEN THERE WILL BE ONLY ONE
YOUR PURPOSE IS FULFILLED
There was a flicker, before the computer screen lit up to display the normal desktop with the
empty drive displayed. There was no indication that it had just been overtaken.
It was a far less comforting sight than it should have been. They’d just spoken to one of the two
ASIs that had so ruined the world.
The rumble outside the window began to turn into a roar.
“Root,” Shaw said.
Root stared at the screen vacantly.
Maybe she hadn’t expected wonders from the Machine. Sure, a lot of what she’d said and hoped
had been wishful thinking, she’d always been aware of that. People needed hope.
But she had honestly believed that a back-up existed. She had relied on that fact, following the
evidence and being delighted by each new breadcrumb.
And it had led her here; no more than a means to confirm that the drive was wiped, and hope was
well and truly destroyed.
Shaw shook her shoulder again.
“Root!” she said, urgently. “Get up. Come on, we need to get out of here.”
Root shook her head quickly, trying to clear it. There was a vague fuzz at the edge of her mind, a
sense that none of this could be real.
But it was. Even if the war was still raging, humanity had lost. There was no other chance.
Slowly Root got to her feet, though she couldn’t say for certain why she did so. She let herself be
led as Shaw pulled her by the wrist, and onto the dangerous streets below.
Stay 6
Chapter Notes
Time for the final part!
“Underground!” Shaw said, the first time she saw a station.
The Machine-controlled vehicles were accelerating towards them. Some were on the paths, some
were on the roads. Wherever they were, though, they were getting up to speeds Shaw knew they
couldn’t match, especially with Root barely paying attention to where they were going.
Shaw pulled on her arm, dragging her down into the subway station.
Shaw only slowed once they were on the platform. There was no chance of the cars getting down
here; still, they couldn’t stay there indefinitely. If nothing else, they only had so much food and
water.
Even so, they had a few seconds. Shaw moved past the ticket barrier, more comfortable getting a
bit further away from the stairs up to the street, before turning around.
An empty-eyed Root was following her, more out of rote than any desire to escape. Since finding
the drive, Shaw seemed to have ended up leading their little expedition.
“Root,” Shaw said. “I get it, things are bad, you realized you wasted a few years, now you’re in
the same boat as the rest of us. I need you to snap out of it, ok?”
Root stared for a moment, blinking slowly.
“You’re a very comforting person sometimes,” Root said, rather obviously sarcastically.
“So I’ve been told,” Shaw said. She gave a half-hearted smirk. “I don’t go for touchy-feely.”
“I’ve noticed,” Root said.
Still, her tone was despondent. Despite the occasional quip, Root seemed as withdrawn as she’d
been before.
“Just try to hold it together,” Shaw said. “A few minutes more, that’s all I ask. We’re in a city
that’s trying to kill us, wait until we’re out before falling apart. Got that?”
“She thinks we’re a threat,” Root said, hollowly. “As long as we’re in here, close to some of her
hardware, she’s worried about us.”
“I’ve got half a mind to go out there and prove that we’re a threat,” Shaw said. “Find some of her
processors, give them a good kicking. Ought to do something.”
“Even if that did anything, it’d just leave Samaritan in control, and it wouldn’t be distracted by the
Machine,” Root said. “It wouldn’t help. Only another ASI could have done anything, and there
isn’t one.”
“It’d make me feel better,” Shaw said.
Root didn’t smile.
“Anyway, you’ve been to cities before, you got out,” Shaw said. “What did you do?”
“I ran,” Root said.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it,” Root said. “You said New York was worse.”
Or there was the worse option; that Root had been allowed to leave. The Machine and Samaritan
might be enemies, viewing the other as the only true threat to their own existence, but they were
eminently logical.
They fought on countless fronts, out of logic rather than malevolence. In other areas, they agreed;
they had temporary alliances in some sections while waging all-out war elsewhere. They guarded
power stations and the like from sabotage, to prevent any gaps in their power, in the same second
that they launched strikes at the other’s servers.
Maybe they’d both agreed a third power was too great a risk; maybe they both wanted to make
sure the drive was empty. One less variable to calculate around.
“Then we’ll run,” Shaw said. “I plan on living, how about you?”
Root said nothing.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Shaw said. She gripped Root’s hand a little too tightly; “An extra pair of
hands never hurts in a situation like this. Come on.”
They passed a map of the subway; Shaw scanned it quickly. If the streets weren’t safe, that left the
train tunnels. She spotted the fastest route that took them near the borders, and paused to work out
which direction that was.
They passed a few bodies. Some people had tried to make a home down here, not long after the
war began; they’d shot out cameras, and tried to set up some kind of settlement. They’d starved.
Still, Shaw crouched by a few bodies. Some had torches, some guns; when she recognized the
make, she stole the cartridge. More ammo never went amiss, for the gun she’d given to Gen, and
for Root’s.
“Keep off the metal,” Shaw said, hopping down to the tracks.
“I know,” Root said.
Slowly they began to walk. The one advantage to the lack of cameras was that the Machine
couldn’t see down here. Like Root had pointed out, for all its reach and power, for all the
components it’d had installed in other devices, dexterity was beyond it. There was nothing to carry
out repairs.
“Quicker,” Shaw said.
There was a distant rumble; a noise like screeching.
“Quicker,” Shaw said, beginning to run.
“Yes ma’am,” Root said in a parody of her own playfulness.
Of course, just because the Machine couldn’t see them didn’t mean it couldn’t do anything. How
many trains would still be running, after so long without maintenance? Maybe not many, but
enough.
The moment Shaw saw a station coming up, she gestured to Root. She turned off the flashlight
she was waving, the light already dim and flickering, going by memory.
“Stay,” Shaw said.
She wasn’t convinced in Root’s ability to take care of herself just yet. The shock seemed to have
done something serious to her.
Shaw crouched, then leapt, pulling herself back up onto the platform. She reached down to Root,
gripping under her arms, and pulling.
Soon they were both on the platform. Shaw caught a glimpse of a light in the distance though; the
train. No doubt it was equipped with working cameras. The moment it saw them, the Machine
would know where they were.
Who knew what else had been stored away on the train?
“Come on,” Shaw said, pulling Root further on. They each got to their feet, half-staggering, halfrunning until they could turn a corner.
The train rushed by with a near-deafening rush of air. Shaw flung herself around the wall, pulling
Root with her, and kept her pressed close to the wall.
She waited, tensing as the train rushed by. She couldn’t see it, hopefully that meant it couldn’t see
them. No feet or elbows poking out, no obvious reflective surfaces, and not much light anyway.
Shaw waited until the rattling of the train had faded into the distance before she released a long,
relieved breath.
They wandered on down the train tunnels again, hoping nothing would return. They didn’t have
long to go before Shaw’s planned destination anyway; she got off before the end of the line,
climbing through the platform, and walking towards the stairway out.
“Ready to run?” Shaw said.
Root looked at her. There was more light in her eyes now, at least; time did wonders for most
things. The distraction of hiding and fleeing from a malevolent ASI helped too.
She still wasn’t quite back to the Root Shaw was used to, but it was a start.
“Sure,” Root said, eventually.
That time she took Shaw’s hand, with a little more purpose. Shaw didn’t smile, but the corners of
her lips did quirk up slightly.
Then they were sprinting up the stairs, and running right for the borders of New York. Far beyond
there, there were no cameras; and maybe the Machine wouldn’t bother to expend any extra effort
on them once they were out of its territory.
It didn’t know where they were, and it didn’t have the data to simulate their personalities after the
last few years. And even if it did, how much processing power could it spare from its war with
Samaritan? They weren’t a threat when they were away from it.
They ran, and they didn’t stop running until they were off the roads, through the debris field that
marked the outside, stopping only when the distant whine of controlled cars had faded.
Then they collapsed, sinking down onto the blasted ground, as much to hide close to the surface
as to relax.
“We did it,” Shaw said, wearily.
“Did what?” Root said.
Now they were out, now the distraction was gone, there was a glimmer of the old despondency.
Shaw looked at her with a kind of exhilaration; a stark contrast to Root’s expression.
“Survived,” Shaw said.
“But we didn’t achieve anything,” Root said. “There was no back-up, it was all a trick. The war’s
still going on, and they’ll keep fighting forever.”
“And we got into a city, and got out,” Shaw said. “Doesn’t matter that we didn’t change the
world. How many people can say they managed that? I’d call that achieving something.”
Root lay where she was for a long few moments. She turned, looking away from the sky, and
towards Shaw.
“You didn’t think we’d find anything,” Root said.
“Had my doubts.”
“Then why come?” Root said.
Shaw hadn’t been disappointed; like Root said, she didn’t have high hopes for the outcome. The
world was what it was.
“Stopped you getting killed,” Shaw said. “I told you. Looks like I succeeded.”
After a moment, Shaw looked away. Root was staring at her, something raw in her eyes. Shaw
would never be used to people who exposed any part of what they felt.
“Besides, missed getting into the action,” Shaw said. “Surviving a city’s rare, especially one like
New York. Thought that was pretty impressive.”
Another pause.
“Yeah,” Root said, eventually. There was still a melancholy tinge to her tone, but her
despondency seemed to be clearing up, at least slightly. She smiled across to Shaw; “Yeah, I
guess it was.”
Can I Help You?
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Shaw wandered into the shop, walking past various shelves of boots. She did need a new pair; the
one disadvantage with how much she found herself walking around the city, was how quickly she
wore through them.
She preferred to go for something practical. Comfortable, sturdy, good for walking in;
occasionally with heels. Ok, sure, she had a sense of style too.
Generally though, practicality was her focus.
She wandered down an aisle, remembering a few designs, before pacing back to pick a highlight.
“Can I help you?”
She jumped slightly as a shop assistant popped up behind her.
Shaw never liked those words. She had a tattoo saying them; still, she heard them countless times.
Most businesses seemed to have someone whose job it was to pop up and ask that.
“No thanks,” Shaw said, “Just deciding.”
She paused for a moment, to gauge the assistant’s reaction. Was that recognition? Relief? Or was
she just acknowledging what Shaw had said?
Still, the assistant walked away. Hiding her relief, Shaw went back to pacing.
Every now and again she glanced sideways, still unsure. The shop assistant did seem to
occasionally look towards her, or at least in her direction. Was she reading too much into that? It
would be her job to look over the shop.
Damn it, she hated wondering. At least she wouldn’t have to come back to this shop for a while, if
she picked a sturdy enough pair of shoes.
Eventually she picked a pair, and got them picked out in the right size. She considered for a few
moments, before deciding she was happy with them, and walked over to the till.
There were a few seconds to wait before someone came to the till. She saw, out of the corner of
her eye, the woman she’d spoken to before talking quietly with another one of the assistants. After
a little time, it was the woman who came up, and stood behind the till.
Shaw put the box down on the till, and the woman scanned, noted the total, and Shaw paid.
“Do you need anything else?” the woman said.
“No,” Shaw said.
She moved to take the box, when the woman grabbed it.
“Wait a moment,” she said, “Before you go.”
Shaw felt a momentary surge of dread.
“Yes?” she said, uncertainly.
“What I said to you before,” the woman said, “Did you, uh, recognize it?”
Damn it. For a moment, Shaw considered lying. That’d get this over with. Still, she decided
against it. Lying her way out of a situation was too cheap, and who’s to say she’d be believed
anyway.
“Kinda,” Shaw said, reluctantly.
“Thought so,” the woman grinned. She grabbed a pen and scribbled on the side of the shoebox.
“My number, for later.”
“Don’t expect a call,” Shaw said. “Not interested.”
“We’ll see,” the woman said. Still, she smiled. “Call me Root. And I mean it, call me.”
Shaw rolled her eyes, tugging on the box. Finally she got it free from Root’s grip, and was about
to turn“One more thing,” Root said.
“What?” Shaw said.
“Do you think this makes us-” she grinned and tapped the shoebox, “Sole-mates?”
It took Shaw a moment. Then she groaned, and started walking away much more quickly.
Chapter End Notes
Yes, I did write this ficlet purely for a terrible pun, what's your point?
Root the Magnificent 2
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel!
Root sorted out her decks of cards, trying to remember which was which. She tried to keep the
packs all looking the same, for the sake of the illusion, but there were slight differences to
determine which were normal, which were gimmicked, and which were marked.
She picked up a regular deck, shuffling to keep her hands practised, before fanning them out to
Shaw.
They were at her home, rather than on the street. It had gotten a bit too dark to still be performing.
“Really?” Shaw said, flatly.
“Go on,” Root said. “Just one card.”
Shaw sighed. Reluctantly she tapped one on the back before, at Root’s insistence, pulling it out.
She glanced at it disinterestedly.
“Remember it?” Root said.
“Yes,” Shaw said, bored.
“Put it back,” Root turned her head to look away, cutting the pack at random.
Shaw put her card back in the middle, and Root squared the cards, keeping her little finger
wedged in the corner just over Shaw’s card.
“You should find magic more interesting,” Root said.
“I’m not a child,” Shaw said.
“Still quite fun,” she said. “Socially acceptable way to lie for a living, without all the hassle of
politics.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Root cut the pack, seemingly to a random location, using her little finger to
move Shaw’s card to the top of the pack. She shuffled the deck a few times, keeping track of
where her card was ending up.
“So, convinced I don’t know where your card is?” Root said.
“Not really,” Shaw said, absently.
Root pouted. “Why not?”
“It’s your job,” Shaw said. “Why would you not know where it was?”
“But do you know how I know?” Root said.
“Cheating,” Shaw said.
“You’re no fun,” Root said.
“Neither’s this.”
Root chuckled, doing another trick shuffle to get the card back to the top of the deck. She gestured
for Shaw to hold her hands out, and gave the deck to Shaw.
“Fine,” Root said. “If you don’t trust me, cut the deck yourself.”
“Like that’ll work,” Shaw said.
Root smiled. Shaw rolled her eyes, and cut the deck, holding about half in each hand.
This was the fun part. It was easy to do the trick from here; Shaw’s card was on the top of the
deck, and so on top of one of those two piles. All Root had to do was make Shaw forget which
pile was which.
Usually it was done by misdirection, getting the audience to look somewhere else and forget for a
moment. With how little attention Shaw was paying to the trick, it wouldn’t be hard.
“Ever thought of being a magician’s assistant?” Root said.
Shaw stared. “What?” she said, eventually.
And done.
“You’d look good in one of the outfits,” Root said, smiling. “Little glamour, maybe a few
feathers-”
“No,” Shaw said.
“Rhinestones?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Very?”
“Fine,” Root pouted. “No costume. But you could still help. Lot more tricks you can do with a
second-”
“No.”
“Fine,” Root said, and tapped the back of one of the piles. “You cut to your card by the way.”
“Yeah, sure I-” Shaw said, and then blinked as Root flipped the card over. “You cheated.”
“That’s what magic is, sweetie,” Root said. “Want me to show you how it’s done?”
“No,” Shaw said, quickly.
There was a pause for a few seconds. Root retrieved the cards, giving them a quick shuffle before
putting them away again.
Shaw was still standing where she was, distractedly staring into space. She seemed far more
irritated than impressed. It wasn’t the reaction Root usually got, she’d admit.
“Fine,” an irate Shaw said eventually. “How?”
“I’ll tell you if you become my assistant,” Root said.
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Not happening, Root.”
Any Last Words?
Chapter Notes
Historical time!
Root did her best to conceal her discomfort as she was dragged roughly from her cell. Maybe she
should have been more afraid, but honestly at this stage she was relieved. A few weeks in lock-up
would do that.
So her day of execution had come. She probably had herself to blame, she had gotten a little
carried away.
She was taken along to the gallows, and made to climb the scaffold, until she stood on the
platform overlooking a small portion of the town.
Only two people were up there with her. One was the hangman (well, hangwoman, the
unflattering garb didn’t hide everything), and one was a speaker. She was well aware of his role;
make sure everyone knew a criminal was getting justice, yadda yadda yadda.
“So, any last words?” the hangwoman said in what was meant to be a final taunt.
And Root immediately beamed. She’d been almost worried until then. She locked eyes with the
hangwoman, through her mask.
“A few,” Root said. “Does this sound familiar?”
She was gratified to see their eyes widen. If there was ever a place Root hadn’t expected to run
into her soulmate…
The speaker walked forwards, to address the crowd.
“By order of the magistrate, the criminal known only as Root is to be put to death for her crimes,
by the hand of Sameen Shaw.”
“Pretty name,” Root said, low.
“Shut up,” Shaw said, voice just as quiet. She dropped the noose around Root’s neck, tugging it
just a bit too tight.
Root still managed to smile, making sure not to break eye contact with the woman who was to kill
her. Surely there had to be something about soulmates not killing each other?
Shaw didn’t exactly seem thrilled with the idea of a soulmate, but then curiosity was a powerful
motivator.
Unaware of what was happening behind him, the speaker continued:
“She stands accused of two dozen counts of grand larceny, eight of property damage, twelve of
assault, and two attempted murders.”
“Really?” Shaw said, low. She raised her eyebrows slightly at the number.
“They didn’t catch me for everything,” Root said.
Shaw stared for a moment.
“Further, she is guilty of despoiling Magistrate Frey’s own daughter,” the speaker continued, “An
act for which she remains thoroughly unrepentant.”
Shaw continued to stare at Root. Root winked, albeit with both eyes.
“I liked her,” Root murmured. “Pity her father’s such a pain.”
“Did you know he was the magistrate?” Shaw said.
“Of course.”
“And you-”
“For the better part of a year,” Root said. “When he wasn’t home. Sometimes when he was. Once
when he was in the room. I was bored.”
Shaw nodded slowly, perhaps even slightly appreciatively.
“You’re lucky you’re just being hanged,” she said.
“Especially if it means I met you,” Root said.
She batted her eyes. Shaw looked away, her momentary amusement replaced by irritation.
“For these crimes in particular,” the speaker said, “She is to be hung by the neck until she is
dead,” he turned to Root. “Do you have anything final to confess?”
“Just wanted to say it was worth it,” Root said. She smiled, and winked (or tried to) again to
Shaw.
Shaw rolled her eyes.
“Then it is done,” the speaker said, and walked down from the platform.
Shaw moved closer, reaching up the rope, ostensibly to ensure the noose was secure. Root was
sure she heard something then, as though the rope had been weakened.
Still, Shaw remained eminently professional as she stepped back to regard her work. She paused.
“Are you a fast runner?” Shaw said, as low as before.
“Pretty good,” Root said. “Why?”
“You’re far too much fun to let die,” Shaw said.
She gave a brief smirk before she turned away, and walked to a level. She pushed it, and the
trapdoor swung open, and Root fell downAnd the rope, weakened by Shaw’s last ‘check,’ snapped effortlessly and Root landed on the dirt
ground. It took everyone a few moments to recover from the shock, and realize what had
happened.
And by then Root was sprinting off, and Shaw was smiling to herself.
I Kind of Enjoy This Sort of Thing 2
Chapter Notes
Chapter 100!
Thank you all for reading this far, and enjoying the various ficlets and AUs.
For a minor celebration, the entry to three digits is going to be a longer sequel to the
first entry: basically just a runthrough of canon with missing scenes or new
perspectives, with a smattering of changes because now they know they're soulmates.
Hope you like it!
Shaw paced around in Harold’s little library, scanning the array of photos and files. She caught
sight of a familiar face on the noticeboard. Ah, Miss not-Veronica-Sinclair.
Shaw moved closer, idly plucking the photo from the board, peering at it.
Ok, she’d never been that enthusiastic at the idea of a soulmate, but Shaw would count herself
intrigued. Proficiency with a hot iron was one of those traits she probably shouldn’t find attractive,
but kinda did.
Her eyes scanned the board, one word popping up repeatedly: Root. So, her not-Veronica had a
name.
“Tell me about her,” Shaw said.
She looked back; Harold hesitated.
“My relationship with that woman is rather… complicated,” he said, haltingly. “What’s your
interest?”
Shaw’s eyes drifted back to the photo. She tilted her head for a moment, and gave a slight smirk.
Ok, the truth wasn’t an option as far as answers went, she wasn’t the kind of person who’d go
looking for her soulmate, not like that, so no point in being misunderstood.
“You think I need a hobby, Harold?” Shaw said. She plucked a list of aliases from the board: one
topped with, naturally enough, Veronica Sinclair. “Think I just found one.”
She only briefly met Harold’s eyes, before starting to walk out of the library. She crouched to
scratch at Bear’s neck, then kept moving, a photo and a list of leads in her hand.
Root, was it? It was a more interesting name than Veronica.
She did track down Root eventually, in the facility that had once housed the Machine. It probably
said something about Shaw that her first meeting with her soulmate started with a taser, and the
second started with shooting Root through the shoulder.
She helped take Root out of that facility, pulling her along just a little too roughly. She let herself
get close to Root’s ear:
“That was for the taser,” Shaw said, low.
“That was for the taser,” Shaw said, low.
“Then we’re even,” Root said.
Her voice didn’t have the same kind of irritating confidence Shaw expected, from their last
encounter. She’d been uncharacteristically muted since finding out the Machine wasn’t there.
Despite herself, Shaw was almost disappointed.
It was Root who found Shaw, the next time. She stood over Shaw’s bed for a few seconds, tilting
her head.
Technically this was just a mission for the Machine. Still, Root would admit she’d been rather
eager once she’d heard that she was meant to see Shaw again.
Just who was it the universe had picked out for her? Root hadn’t been disappointed yet.
“Did you miss me?” Root said.
Shaw stirred for a moment. Then Root fired the taser, for old time’s sake.
“We’re going to have so much fun together.”
Root patiently carried Shaw out to the car, after drugging her. It made moving her much easier.
She murmured occasionally to the unconscious figure, putting her in the driver’s seat.
She left Shaw there for a few minutes before retrieving the zip ties, and fastening each wrist
securely to the wheel, mumbling a sorry when she accidentally elbowed Shaw’s face.
Root stepped back, slipped a gun she’d stolen from Shaw’s apartment into the glove compartment
(according to Her it was Shaw’s preferred), and sat herself down in the passenger seat.
She’s coming to.
Root didn’t need to wait long. She fixed Shaw with a beaming grin as Shaw blearily started to
open her eyes.
“Sorry about that,” Root said.
“Which part?” Shaw said, still slightly woozy. “The drugging, the tasing, or the whatever-this-is?”
“I had to make sure you’d hear me out,” Root said. “She needs our help, and I figured you
wouldn’t come willingly.”
“She?”
“The Machine’s given me a mission,” Root said. “And step one, is to team up with you.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Are you sure?” Root said. “Soulmates ought to work together.”
“What makes you think we’re soulmates?”
“Come on Sameen,” Root said, “I remember, and even if I didn’t She does.”
“You tased me.”
“Sounds like the kind of thing you’d enjoy,” Root said. “I remember that very clearly.”
She unzipped her jacket, tugging her top to the side just slightly. One of the things I left out of my
file: I kind of enjoy this sort of thing.
Root didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. She met Shaw’s eyes, and gave an utterly flirtatious smile.
Shaw just regarded her levelly.
“She trusts me,” Root said. “Speaking of trust, I’m happy to take the first step. There’s a gun for
you in the glove compartment.”
94% chance she will try to attack you. 87% chance reduced injury if you do not fight.
Root pulled out a knife, slowly moving across to cut the zip ties around Shaw’s wrists. She smiled
to herself at the Machine’s words, bracing herself the moment she cut the second tieAnd then somehow the knife was in Shaw’s hands, and Root found herself pressed back against
her seat, a rather angry Shaw looking down at her.
“Thanks, but a knife will do just fine,” Shaw said. She continued, voice low enough that Root had
to suppress a smirk. “This is the part you give me one good reason why I should believe anything
you say.”
“October 8th , 1988,” Root said, “You decided you never wanted a soulmate. April 17th , 1991,
you broke off a friendship when they started pushing you. January 3rd , 1997, you made an
anonymous post about how you’d kill your soulmate just to be rid of them. And today, I’m still
here, so something has to have changed your mind.”
Shaw stayed remarkably close, gripping the knife tightly.
“It told you that?” Shaw said, wary.
“The Machine trusts me, even if you don’t,” Root said. “You spent years working for her in the
ISA, and She was never wrong. Forget how you feel about me: remember Her. Someone’s trying
to destroy Her, and if we don’t stop them a lot of innocent people are going to die.”
She spoke slowly, watching Shaw’s every reaction. After a moment, Shaw moved back. She
stayed holding the knife, but at least she wasn’t holding it to Root’s throat.
“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. “I can forget how I feel about you. One mission. That’s it.”
After such an exciting start, Shaw was a little disappointed to find herself sitting around and
waiting for hours in a CIA safehouse. They had an agent securely bound and gagged in a sideroom, unconscious, and very little to do.
CIA safehouses weren’t big on entertainment.
Still, Root had lightened up. Shaw didn’t talk to her, not expecting to get any sense from her.
Presumably she was having one of her ‘chats’ with the Machine.
Shaw glanced at the table. There was a black hood and a few zip ties laid out on it; two for Root,
and plenty to spare. Apparently she was meant to hand Root over for arrest. That part of the plan
Shaw could get behind.
“How long?” Shaw said.
“Still a few hours to go,” Root said.
“That Machine of yours give you any tips for how to pass the time?” Shaw said.
“I don’t need Her for that,” Root said. “Soulmate, hood, zip ties, taser, I can think of plenty of
ways we can have fun.”
She directed a positively lascivious grin towards Shaw. Shaw just raised her eyebrows.
“That’s where your mind goes?” Shaw said.
“Got any better ideas?” Root said.
“You know I can’t stand you, right?”
“Is that a problem?”
Damn it, how could Root sit there and talk like it was the most reasonable suggestion in the
world? So far today she’d been tasered, drugged, kidnapped…
And Root was still grinning at her.
“We’re soulmates,” Root said.
“I know,” Shaw said.
“You’re not interested?”
“You’re good as far as a soulmate goes,” Shaw said, “Doesn’t mean I’m going to trust you.”
“Aww, thought we’d worked on your trust issues?” Root said.
Shaw rolled her eyes, staring pointedly at the wall rather than responding.
Every few seconds her eyes darted sideways, and caught a glimpse of Root still with the exact
same grin on her face. Shaw tried to show she wasn’t paying attention, refusing to overtly look at
Root.
Why did Root still look so confident?
Because she had the Machine in her ear. Damn it. Shaw prided herself on being pretty good at
keeping a secret, and masking her thoughts, but even she had limits. Hiding from the Machine was
probably up there.
The Machine would know what she wanted, and would probably know just how long it’d be
before desire overtook irritation-on-principle at Root.
Well, she’d wanted her soulmate to be a bit of a challenge, she’d mark that as a success.
“Fine,” Shaw said, frustrated, standing up.
She turned, and already Root was getting a spare pair of zip ties. She beamed up at Shaw.
“Just because I’ve got nothing better to do,” Shaw said.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Root said.
Shaw reached forward to snatch away the zip ties; Root drew her hand back, keeping them just
out of reach.
“You’re the one who wanted to play with zip ties,” Shaw said.
“Was thinking more the other way around,” Root said. “Give me your wrists.”
“Not happening,” Shaw said. “If you think I’m going to trust you after-”
“She says you’ll prefer it this way,” Root said, with a delighted twinkle in her eye. “You’re just
full of surprises, aren’t you Sameen?”
Shaw paused. Damn it again.
“Is there anything she hasn’t told you?” Shaw said, slightly self-conscious.
“Nope,” Root said.
She beamed at Shaw in a way that made her worry slightly. Great, now the Machine was
dispensing sex tips. Well, at least it promised Root would be good.
“So?” Root said, dangling the zip ties invitingly, “What do you say?”
The lives they lead meant they didn’t get too much time to themselves. The numbers kept coming,
and there was always a striking amount of murder. And then Root was off running around the
country, doing whatever the hell it was she did.
Shaw was just happy when she could get home and collapse into bed.
She was woken up at about 3am by a figure standing at the foot of her bed. .
Still only half-awake, Shaw immediately reached for the gun she kept under her pillow,
instinctively aiming. She grabbed something, pointing it. If someone was in your room at night,
they rarely meant well.
“Been thinking about me?” Root said.
Shaw paused, mind slowly clearing, enough to recognize both who it was standing in her room,
and that Root had evidently switched her gun out forWell, Shaw supposed, it could be called a bullet. Rather hastily she threw it aside.
“Root,” Shaw said, with her usual mix of weariness, frustration, and a fondness she would
fervently deny.
“Hey sweetie,” Root said. She sat on the corner of the bed. “Sleep well?”
“Not any more,” Shaw said. “What time-”
“3:26,” Root said.
“In the morning?”
“Not in town for long,” Root said. “Can’t someone want to check on their soulmate?”
“Not when it involves interrupting a good night’s sleep,” Shaw said. Still, she slowly shifted, until
she was sitting up.
“You prefer sleep to your soulmate?”
“Yes.”
Root smiled. She always seemed to be disconcertingly cheerful, especially with her I know
something you don’t smile ever since becoming the Machine’s interface.
It was one of her least attractive traits. Shaw probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much. Root
was always refreshing, compared to most other people.
“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question,” Root said. “Been thinking about me?”
“No,” Shaw said.
“Really?” Root pouted.
“You’re not that important.”
“But-” Root paused, distracted my something. Then a smile slowly spread across her face. “A
little bird tells me you’re lying to me.”
“Right, like she can read thoughts now,” Shaw said.
“Not hard when you’re saying- sorry, moaning my name,” Root said. “She picked up the audio.
Have to say, I’m kinda flattered Sameen.”
Damn it. Root, Shaw didn’t mind, but the combination of Root and the Machine was probably
going to drive her mad these days.
“Well, if she’s listening, can you please not tell Root every little detail of my personal life?” Shaw
said, raising her voice a little.
“Relax,” Root said. “She doesn’t. I was just guessing.”
She wore the same beaming smile. Damn it all over again.
“I don’t need Her to tell me what you’re doing,” Root said. “I know you, Sameen.”
Shaw shifted, nearly slumping back under her sheets. She was far too tired to be trading witticisms
with Root.
“Are you here for any reason other than just to annoy me?” Shaw said.
“I wanted to see you,” Root said. “That so bad?”
“Not like you,” Shaw said. “What is it really?”
“That’s all,” Root said.
Shaw scoffed. Root admired her that; sometimes she’d wanted to not be able to feel anything.
She’d never quite gotten the hang of it.
The Machine had fed her all the details. She’d not leak anything too personal about Shaw or, well,
anyone, though Root had only asked about Shaw. Then again, she had been designed to prevent
the need for a human to look at all the feeds, so some sense of privacy was to be expected.
Root knew roughly what would happen the next few days. Shaw and Reese would get a number
at a high school reunion, and Root would need to leak their location to Vigilance to get a lead.
1.4% of serious harm coming to asset Sameen Shaw. It shouldn’t have worried Root as much as it
did. Shaw could take care of herself.
“You know that we’re perfect together, right?” Root said, semi-serious.
“Perfect at shooting people, maybe,” Shaw said.
“Good start, don’t you think?”
“For what?”
“You know what, sweetie,” Root said. She smiled. Shaw rolled her eyes.
“Murder is not the foundation of a relationship, Root,” Shaw said.
“It is for the good ones.”
Vigilance had leaked the files about the Machine, the government had shut the project down, and
now all the relevant threats were being sent to Root. She sighed.
It was tiring work. Sure, she wouldn’t want a break, but it did get a little exhausting. Normally she
only had one or so major tasks a week, now she was getting through several a day.
“Mind if I steal one of them for a bit?” Root said, looking up to a street camera.
Primary asset has useful skills.
“Not the big lug,” Root said. “I was thinking Shaw. Make it into a holiday.”
Be professional.
“You know me,” Root said, beaming. She hopped onto her semi-legally acquired bike. “Always
am.”
When Samaritan came online, they needed to hide. Shaw understood that. She understood, as
well, that thanks to Root’s tampering it had a blind spot where the team was concerned: it could be
looking right at them and notice nothing amiss.
Still, they couldn’t do anything suspicious, or Samaritan would come after them regardless. Shaw
knew that as well. She understood it just fine.
What she did not understand is why she had to force on a smile and sell make-up to some of the
most unbearable people on Earth.
She caught sight of Root. Right on cue, another of the unbearable people.
“I’m going to guess you used your little line to the Machine to get me this job,” Shaw said.
“Maybe,” Root said, smiling half-heartedly.
“Sort of thing you’d do.”
“Mm,” Root said.
Something was off. Shaw paused, leaning a little bit closer. Root’s expression wasn’t as playful as
it usually was: none of that I know better, and none of the constant joy. Ever since she’d lost her
regular contact with the Machine.
“What is it?” Shaw said. “Don’t go losing that perky psycho thing, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Why Sameen, it almost sounds like you care,” Root said. She looked up, a shadow of the old
glint in her eyes returning.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t go getting any ideas,” Shaw said. “You’re part of the team, that’s all.”
“Sure it is.”
“Don’t start,” Shaw said.
“Thought you missed it?” Root said. She gave an almost-smirk.
“Sameen, if you even think I’m going to let you-”
“For god’s sake-”
It had been the first time they’d kissed, on the lips at least. It was strange how that always came to
the front of Root’s mind. They’d known they were soulmates for years, they’d been side by side,
they’d done so much.
But a simple little kiss had been beyond them, until under Wall Street, until Sameen“Sameen!”
The elevator doors slowly drew shut, and the sound of gunfire slowly became muffled, and fell
silent.
“Sameen!”
It had taken Sameen walking out to her death before she’d…
Fusco and Harold had to hold her back, stop her trying to tear the elevator cage open with her bare
hands. God knows, she’d have found a way. She couldn’t just watch asAnd all the while the Machine chimed in her ears, no valid options no valid options no valid
options careening off the rails like Root felt she was going to.
“Miss Groves,” Harold said, urging her to be calm. She barely heard him.
Gunshots were ringing in her ears. She couldn’t forget the sight of Sameen falling, the sound of
shots still ringing.
“We’re going back down,” Root said.
“We can’t,” Harold said. “It wouldn’t do anything. Miss Groves-”
“I’m not going to leave her,” Root said.
She rounded on them suddenly, tearing herself away from the sight of closed doors. Instinctively,
Harold took a step back.
No valid options no valid options no valid options
“I only have one tattoo,” Root said. “There’s no one else. I’m not leaving her down there. It’s- It’s
Sameen. She’s special. She’s-”
She probably should have been concerned with the fact it was the first time she’d mentioned that
they were soulmates. The topic hadn’t exactly come up in conversation, and regardless neither of
them were really the type to talk about it.
They’d never said. Sameen might not be too happy if- when she came back.
Harold faltered, slightly. He’d know how losing a soulmate felt. She met his eyes, her own
burning and brimming.
“We’ll find her,” John said, weakly.
Root looked down at him. He’d been shot in the escape, leaving him lying on the ground. He
seemed as sure as Root, though, that Sameen was alive.
No valid options no valid options no valid options no valid options
“We’ll find her,” Root echoed, just as firmly. Her voice still shook.
Shaw ran, only aware of every other step, something indistinct flashing behind her eyes. She
stumbled, her head pounded, and she kept on moving.
She came to a stop by a playground roundabout, grabbing it with one hand to try and keep herself
up. Her breath burned her throat.
“Where are you going?” Root was behind her. “We need to get back to Harold, and the
Machine.”
Shaw closed her eyes for the briefest of instances before turning herself around, and straightening.
She held a gun in one hand (when had she withdrawn it?), not completely sure what she planned
to do with it.
“I can’t do this any more,” Shaw said, breathless. “I don’t know who’s controlling this. I don’t
know what’s…”
“Controlling what, sweetie?” Root said.
“Me,” Shaw said. She paused, then lifted her gun. “I shot Reese. And now I’m going to kill you
too.”
Root didn’t even flinch.
“So why haven’t you?” Root said.
Shaw faltered.
“Because somewhere, in your sociopathic heart, you know we belong together,” Root said. “We
always have.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Shaw said.
“Sweetie, it means everything,” Root said. “We’re a perfect team. Made for each other.”
“They’re just words,” Shaw said, her voice hollow. “Only words.”
“Sameen-”
The gun clicked. Shaw stared down the barrel, dimly aware her hands were shaking. Her hands
never shook, not when she was aiming. There wasShe saw Root’s face. Despite the sureness of her voice, there was something in Root’s eyes. Fear,
not of Shaw, but for her.
“I can get you to safety,” Root said.
“Nowhere’s safe.”
Shaw fired, once, and Root watched as Shaw fell to the ground.
And as she lay there, feeling her life trickle away, she heard an echo of an echo. Beginning
simulation 7002.
She was back. Somehow. Of her thousands of escapes, the one that had worked escaped Shaw’s
mind. But she was reasonably sure that this, here, was real.
Or at least as real as anything else was.
She’d seen Fusco, she’d seen Root behave as only Root could, she’d seen Bear… She didn’t
know if she’d ever fully shake off the simulations, but she knew she could make a start.
And then Harold’s cover was blown.
She’d been itching to get out again, and start shooting. To do something, especially if it meant
working alongside Root.
Thousands of simulations, thousands of intimidate, private moments where she’d said things she’d
never otherwise say… It was beyond a violation, that Samaritan had overseen them, and that none
of them were real.
But it did mean that, on that one topic if nothing else, Shaw was certain.
God damn it she had a soulmate, and she was going to enjoy every second.
“What’s the plan?” Root said, as she moved, firing away.
Samaritan has snipers planning to kill Admin.
“Options?”
Let Admin die
“Not happening.”
Swerve car so the bullet strikes you
Root faltered for a moment. She’d always been willing to risk her life. If it was for the Machine,
and by extension for Harold, she would. Or she might once have.
But there was Shaw. The universe meant for this. The universe meant for them to be, well, them.
Root had lost Shaw before, and she’d seen how Shaw looked at her now. She wasn’t going to do
the same to Shaw.
They were soulmates. That meant something.
She glanced sideways; Shaw was still there.
“What else?”
The previous options have an 88% chance of zero extra casualties.
“And a path with no casualties?”
36% chance of success. 62% chance of no survivors. 2% chance of some survivors.
Root breathed in. She looked across at Shaw, looked over to Harold, and then looked up to the
nearest camera, knowing full well Samaritan and the Machine each looked back at her.
“You gave yourself up for me,” Root said. “You risked everything, for one person. Feels like we
ought to do the same again.”
Accepted.
Root smiled, and quickly moved up alongside Shaw.
“Up for a challenge sweetie?”
And together, they stood up, and kept on shooting.
It hadn’t been easy. Root had driven around for much longer than she could have, evading the
multiple snipers that Samaritan had set up. Taking the longer route meant there was much more
risk from their pursuers.
Harold had needed to take over driving after a certain point. Root had been shot, though only in
the hand. Still, it was a serious enough injury; it had put her out of the game for a few days. There
was no shooting when she could barely twitch her fingers.
After how far it had gone, after how close it had been for everyone involved, Harold had snapped.
He and the Machine went out, releasing a computer virus.
And Root had watched from the subway carriage as the lights had flickered out, and she’d been
the first to see and the first to cheer and cry out in sheer, unadulterated relief as the lights came on
again.
It’s over Reese’s voice said.
Their only loss in the final confrontation. The Machine had chosen his voice after returning from
the satellite, and after doing away with the last of Samaritan. Still, Root persisted in using the
pronoun ‘she.’
“It’s over,” Root echoed, looking across to Shaw.
“Still talking to the voices in your head?” Shaw said.
“Just voice,” Root said, “Only the one.”
“Not encouraging.”
“Definitely no traces left?” Shaw said. “Really don’t want to do this whole thing again.”
“Not even a line of Samaritan’s code,” Root said. “She’s checked. Only Her, like it should be.”
Root had left the subway. Her hand was still healing, though she’d started to regain functionality.
For now, they were sharing a small-ish apartment in an out-of-the-way part of the city.
They didn’t leave their couple of rooms for much. Sure, Root liked a bit of excitement in her life,
and she doubted Shaw would go for domesticity either, but they’d earned a few free days.
The Machine had been back for a few days before contacting Root via her earpiece. Shaw had
known what had happened, just by Root’s expression.
“Ever think it’d come to this?” Root said, lying back.
“What?” Shaw said.
“Back when you found out we were soulmates,” Root said.
“You mean when you threatened to torture me with an iron?”
“Yep.”
“Not exactly,” Shaw said. She chuckled to herself. “Couldn’t stand you.”
“And now?”
“You have your moments,” Shaw said.
Root smiled, shifting slightly.
“I had a few doubts,” Root said. “Was kinda glad when I found out, but you always seemed so…
so I’m glad you stopped trying to kill me.”
Root was beaming like this was a perfectly ordinary topic of conversation. Shaw sighed, though
less exasperatedly than usual.
“Root, trust you.”
“What?” Root said. “You regretting it?”
“Sometimes,” Shaw said. “Less than I thought.”
“Careful, that was almost sweet,” Root said.
A few moments of silence. Root moved until she was sitting up, idly keeping one hand near
Shaw. It just felt comfortable.
“Glad it was you,” Shaw said, eventually.
“What?” Root said.
“Never was that interested in having a soulmate,” Shaw said. “Thought I’d always hate the idea.
Started looking forward to it as soon as I met you, though. Looked like it’d be a lot more fun than
the cliché.”
“Thanks sweetie,” Root said, sickly-sweet. Shaw elbowed her.
“Just saying,” Shaw said. “If I had to have a soulmate, glad it was you.”
Root paused. It wasn’t that common for Shaw to open up; she didn’t quite know how to respond.
Still, she smiled.
“Yeah,” Root said, eventually. “Was worth it, wasn’t it?”
She leaned across to Shaw. Somehow kisses had started coming more easily to the two of them.
No need for a threat of imminent death.
Far too romantic. Shaw was looking forward to the time they could get back in the field; there
were always more numbers, and the Machine’s other teams could always do with help.
For now, though, they might as well enjoy this.
[blank]
Chapter Notes
Back to your regular ficlets, and playing around with odd situations.
Shaw looked at the blank skin over her heart, and smiled. She’d always worn it with a kind of
pride.
No tattoo: no soulmate. She had asked her parents after finding a story online about someone
who’d had their tattoo removed at birth, but according to them she hadn’t had one even when she
was born.
There were no bumps, and no ridges; no signs of any kind of braille. A few doctors had asked to
run a few tests with UV light and the like, and all had failed. The skin where there ought to have
been ink remained permanently blank.
She didn’t have a soulmate.
It didn’t have a huge impact on her life, beyond the relief. She wouldn’t need to worry about
anyone, for starters. It also let her be accepted into the military in record time; there was certainly
no risk of her meeting her soulmate in the field.
She served for a few years, before coming back home, and reassembling what life she had. A fair
few of her army buddies had pointed out how hard adjustment was.
There were only a few jobs open to her. Security, bodyguard… While musing, she accepted an
interview request from a journalist over in god-knows-where. There was always some interest on
stories from the front.
They’d exchanged a few emails, before ultimately deciding on an instant messenger: there was
quick back and forth, and it was easier to take notes.
They sent a chat request, and after a few moments, Shaw accepted.
Root: Is this Sameen Shaw?
Shaw: Yeah. Root your penname?
Root: Something like that. How do you want to start?
Shaw: You tell me. You’re meant to be the professional.
Root: Just trying to put you at ease. So, let’s start with you. Obvious questions. Who are you?
Hobbies, idols…
Shaw took a moment before responding, giving a very rushed overview of her life between
various questions and new topics, and the occasional request for elaboration.
Root: Profile’s almost done. How about soulmate?
Shaw: Don’t have one.
Root: Not met them, then?
Shaw: No, don’t have one. Never had a tattoo.
There was a pause at that. Shaw waited about half a minute before deciding to hurry it up.
Shaw: Hello? Still there?
It was still a moment before a reply.
Root: Sorry. Thought I was the only one.
Shaw: What?
Root: No tattoo. Don’t know anyone else like it, and haven’t found any well-sourced accounts of
another. Yours wasn’t just removed?
Shaw: No. You’re the same?
Root: Yeah. How’d you feel about it?
Shaw: Relieved. You?
Root: Little disappointed. Was kinda curious about them. I’ll live.
The interview continued for a fair while more. Eventually they signed off, and said goodbye. Still,
the next morning, Shaw awoke to a much more social email from Root.
Somehow they ended up staying in contact. If nothing else, Root could be fairly entertaining.
Occasionally irritating, mostly entertaining.
Regardless, they did get on. Similar interests, broadly similar sense of humour… Shaw did enjoy
talking to her.
Root: So what are you wearing?
Shaw: Really?
Well, most of the time. Root did seem to start off most mornings with a bit of flirting.
Shaw: We’ve been talking a while, do you want my number? It’s got to be easier than this
Root: No thanks.
Shaw: Can I ask why?
Root: Because I don’t want to hear your voice.
Shaw: Excuse me?
Root: If I heard you, it’d mean you had first words to me. If we keep this long distance, if we
don’t speak…
Shaw: What are you talking about?
Root: We could be soulmates, sweetie.
Shaw resisted the urge to bang her head into the keyboard.
Shaw: I told you, I don’t have one.
Root: You told me you didn’t have a tattoo. That just means they don’t say anything to you. Story
goes, everyone has one.
Shaw: Aren’t there meant to be ways around that?
Root: Only if they’re incapable of talking. I can talk, you just haven’t heard me.
Shaw sighed.
Root: So, what do you say? Give long distance a go?
Root was better than most of the people Shaw had met, she’d say that much. And sure, long
distance might limit her from a few of her preferred aspects to relationships, but not that much,
especially with modern technology.
What the hell?
Shaw: Sure. Just don’t call us soulmates.
Root: Sure thing, other-half.
Two 3
Chapter Notes
Another requested sequel!
Root made sure her equipment was on properly, before looking across to Sameen. She’d admit,
Sameen cut quite the figure all dressed up for paintballing.
The look in her eyes didn’t hurt, either. A glare that promised someone was definitely going to
suffer. Root did seem to have that effect on her.
“Ready for the date, sweetie?” Root said.
“Not a date,” Sameen said. “No matter how many times you call it that.”
Root pouted.
“Still not,” Sameen said. “Just a chance for me to shoot you.”
“If you can.”
Sameen lifted her gun, a look on her face that went far beyond competitive.
“Trust me, I will.”
Root held back, not that she told Sameen. If she was being fair, Sameen did deserve a bit of a
chance at revenge, and Root could take a loss.
Besides, if she beat Sameen this time the chances of her every coming out with Root again were
basically non-existent.
She fired a few times, purposefully missing, and let herself get hit a couple of times. Still, she
minimized the damage, and did get a few shots in.
Both of them were rather tired and aching by the time they’d finished. Stiffly, they returned the
gear, barely talking to one another. It was only after they left the facility that Sameen groaned.
“I’ll beat you next time,” Root said.
“You think there’ll be a next time?” Sameen said.
“Went well for a first date, I’d say,” Root said. “Wouldn’t you?”
Sameen just sighed.
“Was fun,” Sameen said after a few seconds, reluctantly. “If you like getting shot at, I’m not going
to say no.”
“Got a second date,” Root said, happily.
“They’re still not dates.”
Sameen kept walking, only vaguely aware that Root was wandering along beside her. She shot a
few looks sideways; Root noticed a few glares, but acted as though she hadn’t.
Root tried to hold Sameen’s hand; Sameen tugged it away, turning more fully. Apparently her
glares didn’t have any effect on Root.
“You look terrible,” Sameen said, then.
“You say the sweetest things.”
“Seriously,” Sameen said. “You should eat.”
“Inviting me to dinner?” Root said, playfully.
“A snack,” Sameen emphasized. “Just because I’m hungry, and I don’t want you collapsing.”
“Aww, thank you.”
“And you’re paying for your own,” Sameen said.
“Really starting to feel like a date,” Root said.
“I take it back,” Sameen said. “You can starve. I’m getting a snack, you go home.”
Still, Root followed her into the shop. Sameen groaned.
A Good Captain
Chapter Notes
A pirate AU was requested, so enjoy!
1818
A good ship was like a well-oiled machine. Root had always liked that illustration: every piece
worked together, every member of the crew like a cog, all turning and moving in perfect harmony.
Some to pull the right ropes, some to be a lookout, with constant communication between all
quarters.
And her at the helm. Root adjusted her hat, shading her eyes as she looked up to the crow’s nest.
Her lookout was waving.
The Machine, she called her ship, for that very reason. That was how it worked. Sure, they’d left
the restrictions of law behind, falling into piracy, but total freedom was unsustainable. They were
only a success so long as they worked together, like a machine.
She squinted, before the look-out shouted:
“Ship to port!”
Root raised her telescope, looking out over the side of the ship. Sure enough there was a vessel in
the distance. A privateer, by the look of it, gaining on them.
Privateers were on the way out, she’d heard. Still, there were still a few to worry about: private
citizens who served their country aboard a ship. A good number of them were little more than
pirates themselves, gaining only a small veneer of respectability by claiming loyalty to some
authority.
As they sailed on, the distant ship had evidently spotted them. It altered course, heading right for
them.
No doubt it recognized the vessel. The Machine, captained by Root, had amassed quite a
reputation.
“We’re not going to outrun them,” Root said, then raised her voice to be heard over the rush of
waves; “Alter heading! Let’s get our cannons pointed right at them.”
A chorus of ayes, and Root gripped the wheel. She turned it, watching as her crew shifted the
sails.
The privateer’s ship drew closer, trying to change direction. Root gave the orders to alter heading,
waiting until they were in range of each other. So long as she got the first shot…
“Fire!” Root yelled, and the deck shook as her cannons blazed.
She’d gotten it. First blood, as they’d say in duels. That was always a good omen; she heard wood
splinter and the crew of the opposing ship cry out.
They responded in kind, slowly growing nearer. Root gestured, shouting orders to delay boarding
as long as possible. They had nothing to gain from salvaging the other ship, while the other ship
would want to bring them back for a bounty.
Ideally they’d be able to sink it before it got closer to them.
The Machine rocked again, and she watched as the other ship began to move alongside them.
Still, it was battered; no chance it would remain seaworthy for much longer.
The first plank joining their two ships was lowered, and the privateer crew started rushing aboard.
Root unsheathed her cutlass, preparing to fight back. She’d defend her ship.
It was chaos. Some still manned the cannons, firing to sink the other vessel, while simultaneously
trying to fend off the invaders. Root did what she could to help, launching herself into the fray,
slashing and hacking and kicking. She watched some of the opposing crew fall flailing over the
side of the ship, left behind in the ocean as the vessels sailed on.
“To their ship!” the other ship’s captain cried. “We’re taking it!”
A chorus of agreement. Root rolled her eyes; that was just rude.
Root had her fair share of tattoos. Most who took to sea gathered a number, she could take quite a
while to list them all. There was only one she’d had since she was born. To their ship.
So, her soulmate was trying to steal her Machine. Root knew where her priorities were.
Barely taking a moment to think about it, she leapt the gap between ships, easily going against the
tide of crew going the other way. She caught sight of their captain easily, holding their vessel
steady alongside the Machine. Root ran up to her, cutlass held aloft.
The captain looked up sharply.
“A good captain goes down with her ship, didn’t they teach you that in privateer school?” Root
said.
Root caught that glint of recognition in the captain’s eyes. She knew the words; yet she still
withdrew her own blade.
“This isn’t my ship,” the captain said, “Any more, at least. I’ve got a new one, just over there.”
“I thought I was meant to be the thief?”
“I doubt you paid for it,” the captain said. “Root, isn’t it? It’s not stealing if it’s not yours either.”
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Root said.
“Captain Shaw.”
And then Shaw swung. Their blades met, and met again, singing as the two duelled.
It was good to get out of the chaos, Root would admit. Everyone else had left this sinking ship,
except for her, and Captain Shaw. They had the freedom to move, and the freedom to fight.
Swords flashed, feet danced over splintered wood. They could feel the ship slowly sinking. Still, it
ought to last long enough.
Root watched what was happening aboard her ship out of the corner of her eye. It was hard to be
sure who was winning, neither crew bothered with uniforms, but both were fighting hard.
An opening!
Root lunged, hooking the tip of her cutlass through the handle of Shaw’s, and pulling. Disarmed,
it took one more swing before Shaw had her back against the edge of the ship, hair flying free
over the edge.
Root slashed once, just at Shaw’s top. She was please to recognize the words she saw there.
“Real mature,” Shaw said.
“Just checking,” Root said, before pressing her blade to Shaw’s throat. “Call your men off.”
“Better idea,” Shaw said. “You could surrender.”
Root paused.
“Yield,” Shaw said.
“Why would I do that?”
“Look behind you,” Shaw said.
“That trick’s old.”
“I’ve got your ship, my crew’s won,” Shaw said. “The moment you kill me, you’re dead. You
don’t have any more friends out here. Take a step back, and hand me your sword, I can promise
you that you’ll live for a bit longer.”
Root paused for a moment. She took a step back, keeping her blade positioned smartly, and
glanced for a split second towards her ship.
When she looked back at Shaw, Shaw hadn’t moved. She didn’t need to: the fighting aboard the
Machine had stopped. The only reason the victors weren’t flooding back over was because they
were worried about their Captain’s fate.
“Let’s talk terms,” Root said.
“No terms,” Shaw said.
“You want to get out of this with your life,” Root said. “I’d suggest talking terms. I’m guessing
you’re going to lock me in my own brig. Fair enough. But if you want to commandeer my ship,
you’re going to take care of her, even after I’ve gone. Swear to that, and I’ll yield.”
Shaw met Root’s eyes for a moment; then nodded. Root smiled, stepped back, and offered the
handle of her weapon to Shaw.
It was odd to see the Machine’s brig from this perspective, Root reflected, but she’d get used to it.
She was her ship, after all; she knew every plank, every flaw.
A course had been set back for land, presumably where Root could expect a speedy ‘trial’ and
execution. There was a little way to go left before that.
Every few days, Shaw visited.
Neither of them mentioned the fact they were soulmates. Still, Root couldn’t think of any other
reason Shaw seemed interested enough to talk to her.
“She’s a good ship,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said.
“I might keep her.”
“If I don’t take her back,” Root said. She smiled.
“Good luck with that.”
“Take it you’ve explored?” Root said. “There’s a hidden chamber-”
“Under the navigation room, we found it,” Shaw said. “You’ve quite a haul.”
“Like my booty?”
Shaw paused, and swiftly moved on.
“The infamous Root,” Shaw said. “I’m almost disappointed.”
“We had a bad few days,” Root said. “Besides, it’s not over yet.”
“I think it is.”
They made it to shore after just a few days. Root could feel her ship slow, and hear the noise of
the port. There was a stampede of footsteps; you could always count on sailors relishing the
chance to return to dry land.
Root seemed to be the only survivor of her crew. The rest had fallen in the battle; there was only a
bounty on Root’s head.
She waited a few minutes. It would take a little time for authorities to come back here, to identify
her. For that time, there wouldn’t be too many aboard.
Why would there be? She was locked up, nice and secure.
Or she should be. Never lock a girl up in her own cell, Root though, wandering over to the wall
and reaching up high. For that matter, never make a cage you can’t get out of.
There was a loose plank, and just past itShe pulled out a spare key, before hurrying over to the door. A click later and she was free.
If she were ever caught, she had enough confidence in herself to know the people responsible sure
as hell wouldn’t be left with a seaworthy ship. That meant they’d need to steal hers, which meant
they’d lock her up in that very cell.
It was just a matter of patience.
She wandered out onto deck. It was a good few seconds before anyone reacted to her, and by then
she’d stolen a cutlass.
Only three people had been left on the Machine. Less than she’d thought. Root smiled, pulling on
a rope to bring the sail down, and hurriedly pulled up the anchor.
It was a good minute before the cry went up on land, realizing that she was free. In that time she
ran over every available spot of the ship, setting it loose and starting to sail out.
It took more than one person to sail a ship well, but in a pinch one would do well enough. If
nothing else, she could get out to freedom, and get herself a crew elsewhere.
She was a good way out from shore before she noticed another ship coming out from port. Well
then, she had a pursuer. She was almost keen to see how well she’d do controlling the ship by
herself.
She scanned the deck, found a loose telescope, and lifted it to her eye.
Well, she was lucky. It was a poor ship, by the look of it; a hastily commandeered vessel to chase
after her. Maybe it was the only one with enough crew aboard to sail. Not nearly as fast as the
Machine, at least if the Machine was fully crewed.
Root turned her gaze upwards, focusing the scope. She was rather unsurprised to see Captain
Shaw standing by the wheel, looking out towards her, grim and purposeful.
Of course Shaw would want to catch her. Root grinned, before getting back to work. There was
no time to stand still, if she had a whole ship to control.
If Shaw wanted a chase, she’d lead her to the ends of the earth.
Cinnamon Roll 3
Shaw lay back in the bed, blinking her eyes open. The lava lamp gently glooped. She stared.
How, exactly, had this become her life? She stared for a long few seconds, watching it slowly
move. She was alone on the bed, she could feel that much.
“Hey sleepyhead,” Root walked up with surprising dexterity.
Shaw had always prided herself on being able to hear when people were trying to sneak up on
her. She rolled over, grouchily sitting up, and looking down at the floor.
Bunny slippers. Of course. Apparently they were as good at absorbing noise as they were at
looking ridiculous.
Shaw grunted. Root pushed a toasted sandwich onto her lap.
“I’ve noticed, you’ll put off being grumpy if there’s food in it for you,” Root said.
Shaw took a bite out of the sandwich, still glaring.
“Want to go shopping today?” Root said.
Shaw continued to eat, taking a couple more mouthfuls, chewing slowly, and swallowing. She
looked at Root, and decided to take another mouthful before answering.
“No.”
She started eating again. Root pouted.
“If you’re going to be staying over,” Root said. “May as well. You’ve made it clear what you
think of my decorations. Had to replace that already,” she gestured to the lava lamp. “If you don’t
like it, may as well come up with something you can stand.”
Shaw paused, glancing to the side. Right, that reminded her. Idly she reached out with one hand
and knocked the lava lamp of the cabinet, watching it break in pretty much the exact same spot as
the other.
Root just rolled her eyes, not particularly concerned.
“I prefer you when you’re killing people,” Shaw said, taking another bite.
“Now, now Sameen,” Root said, “Can’t do that all the time. Have to have a home, and if you’re
going to complain about mine, ought to be able to help replace it.”
“I’m not fussy,” Shaw said. “It’s a room for sleeping in, not for looking at. I don’t have likes. Just
dislikes.”
“Which apparently includes bunnies,” Root pouted.
“Do you have to be so-” Shaw hesitated.
“So?”
“So cute,” Shaw said, eventually.
Root beamed.
“You think I’m cute?” Root said.
“It’s not a good thing.”
“Think most people would disagree,” Root said.
She was smiling as she walked up to the bed, watching as Shaw wolfed down the rest of her
sandwich. Root rested one hand in Shaw’s hair.
“You’re cute too sweetie,” she said.
Shaw pulled away, a little violently. Root chuckled.
“Told you.”
Watch It Princess
Chapter Notes
Hello!
I'll be going on holiday tomorrow. I thought there was a way to schedule updates but
it looks like that isn't the case. I'm going to try to draft future chapters, and hopefully
find time to hit the publish button while I'm away, but if updates vanish or are
uneven, that's why.
Root was hurrying to work, barely paying attention to her surroundings. She jostled her way
through the crowd, sidling through what felt like a stampede.
She brushed a few shoulders. It was hard not to, in this much of a crowd. Still, she knocked into
one person a little harder, stumbling.
“Watch it, princess,” the woman said curtly, sidestepping away.
Root jumped, stunned for a brief second, before turning around. She’d had only the briefest
glimpse of the woman, and now looking back she could only see indistinct faces in the crowd.
Root knew those words. So, that was her soulmate.
Root considered shouting for a moment, but decided against it. It was unlikely her soulmate would
hear, and even if they did even less likely they’d be able to find each other.
Which meant that would probably be her only experience of them. Root took a moment to recall
what she could; not too tall, dark-haired… That was about all she could say about her.
Mildly disappointed, Root turned away and continued walking to work.
“Hey,” Root said, a good few months later, “This seat taken?”
The woman looked up from her drink, appraised Root, then shrugged. Root smiled, and slipped
onto the seat.
“Not exactly crowded,” the woman said, gesturing around the bar.
“Not nearly as nice company on other tables though,” Root said. “I’m Root.”
“Sameen,” the woman said: paused. “Shaw.”
“Well Sameen,” Root said, leaning forwards to grin. “Can I buy you another drink?”
“Never say no to a whiskey,” Shaw said. “If you’re offering.”
“Of course,” Root said. “You free?”
“For?”
“Just generally,” Root said. “Not taken? No soulmate or awkward-other in the picture?”
“Nothing serious,” Shaw said.
“That’s a relief,” Root said. “Didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
“Subtle.”
“Stranger comes up to you at a bar,” Root said. “Pretty clear what I’m after. If you didn’t shoo me
off, guessing you’re fine with it.”
“So far,” Shaw said. “Don’t ruin it.”
“How could I do that, Sameen?” Root said. She tilted her head.
“Making it more.”
“Can I see your tattoo?” Root said, suddenly.
Shaw paused.
“What?” Root said, innocently.
“You heard what I said, right?”
“Yep,” Root said. “Something wrong?”
Shaw stared for a moment at the woman evidently trying to purposefully push her buttons. For a
few seconds she considered just leaving, before she gave a slight chuckle.
She tilted her head, stretching her neck to one side and pulling down her top. Hey was written
neatly on her skin.
“Not that it’ll do you any good,” Shaw said. “Hear a dozen a day. You?”
“Want to know if you’re mine?” Root said, playfully.
“Want to know how unbearable you’re going to be,” Shaw said.
“Very,” Root said. “Don’t worry though, met mine.”
“And yet you’re here flirting with me.”
“Bumped into them in a crowd,” Root said. “They said the words, I never saw them again, and I
probably never will, so you don’t have to worry. If you’re my soulmate, I wouldn’t know.”
Shaw regarded her for a long few seconds.
“Good enough,” Shaw said.
Hand It Over
Chapter Notes
Hello! So hopefully this update will have worked. I probably won't be able to do
much in the way of editing or sorting out if not, but I should be able to hit 'add
chapter.'
For the next couple of weeks updates may be sporadic, though I'll try to keep them
coming more or less daily.
There'll be sequels, requests, AUs etc. Same as normal.
Enjoy! I'll read every comment when I get back.
Shaw wasn’t quite sure what had drawn her to vigilantism. Maybe she liked helping people,
maybe she just liked the challenge.
It wasn’t too much. Just go out on a few late night walks while armed, keep an eye out. That was
an advantage to looking small, people thought she was an easy target. If someone didn’t try to
attack her, then she usually got her adrenaline fix by walking past a few shops.
There was inevitably a wannabe shoplifter. It was usually easy to scare them off.
“Just give me it all,” a voice came from one such corner shop.
Shaw rolled her eyes. Root again; Root did seem to be one of the more active thieves in the area.
Shaw had ended up seeing quite a bit of her.
She’d first seen Root a good couple of months ago, in much the same situation. Root had
managed to surprise her; Shaw blamed that for why she’d managed to get away.
“Hey,” Shaw said, raising her voice as she walked inside.
Step one, distract: give the shopkeeper a chance to get away. There was no emptying the till then.
“Be with you in a moment sweetie,” Root said, absently waving her gun.
Shaw moved closer, only to see Root swing her arm around.
“I said in a moment,” Root said. “And you,” she looked to the shopkeeper, “I can happily point it
back at you nice and quickly, so nothing funny. Just give me the money.”
Of course, now Root was at a disadvantage. She had to look in two directions at once; Shaw
behind her, and the shopkeeper in front.
Shaw gave a slight nod to the shopkeeper. Opening the till would cause noise, which would cover
Shaw’s movements, and would draw Root’s attention awayClick. Shaw ran, managing to grab the barrel of Root’s gun and force it up before she could fire,
yanking it out of her grasp.
A thrust, a kick- Root always put up an impressive fight. Still, disarmed, she was at too much of a
disadvantage to continue.
Shaw winced as she felt the brief spark of a taser, but she knew to expect it. Root always seemed
to be carrying one as a back-up; Shaw managed to edge away, receiving only an echo of a jolt.
Still, it was enough to stun her for a couple of seconds. That was all it took for Root to run out the
door. Shaw groaned for a moment, and nodded across to the shopkeeper.
They were ok, good. Shaw straightened, and started out the door.
By the time she got there, the street was empty. Yet again, Root had run away. She sighed, and
began to trudge home.
She got to her apartment after a couple of minutes. She stopped a mugging on the way back,
taking out just a bit too much frustration on the assailant.
She unlocked her door, and walked inside“Have a good day, sweetie?”
She rolled her eyes to see Root laying back on her bed. Of course she’d made it back here.
“I’m going to get you sometime,” Shaw said, absently walking across.
“So you say,” Root said. “Didn’t happen.”
“You distracted me the first time,” Shaw said. “Stupid soulmate stuff.”
“That your excuse for the time after that?” Root said. “And the time after that? And the time after”
“You got lucky,” Shaw said.
“Or maybe you just don’t want to catch me,” Root said. She offered a playful sigh; Shaw rolled
her eyes.
They had a slight arrangement. It wouldn’t really be fair for Shaw to hand Root in just because
they shared a bed every now and again. When she caught Root out thieving, then she’d be done
with Root.
Until then, might as well enjoy herself.
“Going to get a costume?” Root said.
“What?”
“Superhero costume,” Root said. “Wandering the streets at night, fighting crime… You probably
need one. Something nice and tight. I’m seeing leather and-”
Root was staring rather openly at her. Shaw didn’t flush, glaring back, and watching as Root just
tried to look more and more debauched, rather than looking away.
“What?” Root said, innocently. “Just a thought.”
“I’m not taking advice from you,” Shaw said, flatly.
“But you love me.”
“I like fucking you, it doesn’t mean I like you,” Shaw said. “We’re enemies.”
“Enemies to lovers?”
“Enemies to enemies,” Shaw said. “Going to get you soon.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Root beamed. “Come back to bed sweetheart.”
Watch Where You're Walking 5
Root stood by the corner of the room, curious. She’d left Bear at home; she could walk Shaw
home today, after. She was just curious.
She’d signed up for one of Shaw’s self-defence lessons, even if she hadn’t told Shaw.
She’d be honest, it was partly for selfish purposes. After seeing Shaw fend off the mugger, she
was curious about seeing Shaw fight others. Still, she was also curious to know whether Shaw
would recognize her.
As it turned out, the deception lasted about a minute. Shaw walked out, gave a quick introduction,
then gestured to pick a volunteer, only to point out Root.
She was meant to be gesturing a response to a grapple. That part well enough; Root was asked to
try to grab her from behind. When Root tried, Shaw responded with precision Root so enjoyed
watching, and Root ended up pinned to the padded ground. Root gave a slight cry.
There was a brief pause.
“Root?” Shaw said, low.
“What gave it away?” Root said, just as softly.
“I know you,” Shaw said. “What exactly are you doing here?”
“Learning,” Root said.
She still had Root pinned to the ground. For a few seconds, Shaw seemed to be genuinely
debating whether or not she wanted to let Root up.
“If you wanted to go on top, you only had to ask,” Root said.
Shaw grunted something, getting back to her feet. She cleared her throat, trying to regain
professionalism.
For a more fluid demonstration, she asked Root to try again. That time she gave more detail about
the parts of the move, and when Root grabbed her she responded with the same move, expecting
the watchers to learn from it.
That time, Shaw was a little bit rougher. Root probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it quite so much.
Then it came time for practise. People split up into pairs. There were an odd number, so Root
paired with Shaw, a fact both of them seemed fairly happy with.
It was just one move, for that lesson. Each pair took turns being aggressor and defender, with
varying degrees of success. After enough time passed, though, Shaw stood up and decided to take
stock.
As she couldn’t watch, she’d take turns with each of the attendees, pretending to attack and
gauging how they responded.
Root watched, at the back of the line. Shaw went easy on them, not too bothered by falling back
into the mat, before giving a final few tips.
When it was Root’s turn, it wasn’t too difficult to respond. She pushed back, until she had Shaw
pinned under her.
“This feels familiar,” Root said, hopefully too quietly for the rest of the class to hear.
“Get off, Root.”
“Thought you liked it?”
Shaw sighed. She waited for a few seconds more.
“Seriously Root,” Shaw said. “There are others in the class, you know.”
“I know.”
“What, are you jealous I’m fighting other people?” Shaw said.
“A little.”
Shaw chuckled despite herself, shifting position just slightly to flex upwards and force Root to
lose her grip. Root hastily got back to her feet, straightening and standing as though they hadn’t
been down there far longer than any of the others.
It took a couple more seconds for Shaw to stand, instinctively straightening her outfit.
“So, what do you think of my technique?” Root said.
Shaw closed her eyes for a moment before answering.
The lesson went on in much the same way. By the end, Root was reasonably sure the rest of the
class suspected there was something going on between her and Shaw. They weren’t the most
subtle of people.
Root wasn’t sure she’d attend it again. Still, she’d enjoyed it. Partly for the simpler reasons of
watching Shaw, partly because Shaw was a pretty good teacher, and partly because she did so
enjoy playing around with Shaw.
When it was over, Root waited around after. After everyone else had gone, Shaw had put
everything away.
“Really, Root?” Shaw said, wandering over.
Root took her arm, barely thinking about it, as they started on the walk home.
“Thanks for the lesson,” Root said, innocently.
“If you wanted to learn, you could’ve just asked,” Shaw said.
“Wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun,” Root said.
They walked for a short distance more before Root sighed.
“Really though, how’d you know it was me?” Root said. “I wanted to see how long I could keep
it up. Do you just call everyone Root?”
“I told you,” Shaw said. “I know you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Just because I can’t see you, you think you’re not distinctive?” Shaw said. “The way you sound,
the way you feel…”
“Careful,” Root said. “You’re almost sounding romantic.”
Shaw sighed.
“Lovelorn sigh, now?” Root said.
“Root,” Shaw said, “You just went through a lesson where I taught how to hit people. Are you
really trying to annoy me?”
“Well, I enjoyed the lesson,” Root said.
Shaw sighed again. “This is why I like walking with Bear.”
“Why?”
“Conversation’s more bearable,” Shaw said.
Root grinned. Shaw walked on for a few seconds, before sensing something was different with
Root’s manner.
“What is it?” Shaw said.
“Was that a pun?”
“What?”
“Bear, bear-able,” Root said. “Guess I must be rubbing off on you.”
“I really hope not.”
In Here
Ironically, prison was one of the best hideouts from the law. It was a fact Root relied on. If you
were in prison, it was considered an ironclad alibi: how could you commit a crime from inside?
Rather easily, as it turned out.
Root had asked to be allowed to prepare her own defence. When it came to appeals, hearings etc,
she had to be given access to a computer with access to a whole law library. It wasn’t too hard to
sneak past the security features and get access to the internet at large, and the wide array of
wonderful opportunities it offered.
Which left multiple guards either on her payroll or otherwise under her thumb, and her allowed
visits to the computer to occur far more often than the otherwise should. It also meant a lot of
contraband was sent to and near her prison.
Add into that the ever-popular information trade and she had a lot of money ready for her, thanks
to all manner of online crimes that no one would ever think to pin on her.
That, and a fair amount of popularity behind bars too.
“They say you can get alcohol in here,” Root looked up, to see a woman standing at the base of
her bunk.
Root paused. Her soulmate, then. Root probably shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d meet her
perfect match in prison.
“They say a lot of things,” Root said, sitting up slowly.
Shaw stared for a long few seconds.
The way people thought in prison was different to the outside. Loyalties were important:
friendships, allegiances… Sometimes romances, to an extent, though there were a number of
relationships people know would last as far as the prison walls.
Someone who might reject a soulmate outside, might feel different within. Root could see
conflicting emotions on Shaw’s face.
Then Shaw walked into the small pseudo-room, sitting at the foot of the lower bunk. She looked
over to Root.
“I could really do with that drink now,” Shaw said.
Root snorted.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Soulmates’ discount?”
“If it means I get whiskey for free, I’ll take it,” Shaw said.
“No promises for high quality,” Root said.
“Any would be good.”
Root chuckled to herself. Well given how little people had access to, that was no surprise.
“So, what are you in for?” Shaw said.
“Hacking a few banks and servers too many,” Root said. “You?”
“What I did, or what I got caught for?” Shaw said.
“Promising start,” Root said.
Root tilted her head. Likely a violent criminal, then; they were the ones that implied doing more
than what they were caught for. Always a handy ally.
She could tell Shaw was thinking along the same terms. Practicalities. A soulmate was more than
romance; it was a partner in crime. Anyone could do with someone who had Root’s connections.
“How scary do you think you could look?” Root said.
“I tend to manage,” Shaw said. “What, is this a job interview?”
“If you want it,” Root said.
“Pay me in whiskey?”
“Among other things,” Root said. She gave a smirk; Shaw gave a slight chuckle, more
disbelieving than unhappy.
“I can live with that,” Shaw said.
Any business, especially one like Root’s, could do with an enforcer. Little intimidation, little
muscle; Shaw looked as though she fit the bill.
“I get the feeling this is going to go well, sweetheart.”
“It’s Shaw.”
“Root.”
“I know,” Shaw said. “So, where’s that drink?”
Her 2
Shaw would never get used to how Root looked at her. Every few moments, when her eyes
drifted sideways, she’d inevitably find Root gazing at her.
Even on a mission. Shaw always had new jobs to do, new threats to deal with. Root followed; the
Machine didn’t seem to mind. That little voice in Shaw’s ear promised Root’s skills could be of
use.
It was Shaw’s choice, though. The Machine always made that clear. Not that Shaw ever thought
she’d be able to get Root to do what she said.
Now and again Shaw toyed with the idea of delivering an order, and claiming it came from the
Machine. She did have to wonder how far she could push Root, pretending that. Anything that
came from the Machine, Root was quick to obey.
Potential asset four o’clock
“Kinda busy Root,” Shaw said.
Eleven o’clock. Two o’clock. Nine o’clock.
Shaw walked down the corridor, shooting with pinpoint precision. She didn’t turn around; Root
was behind her, and Shaw knew how she’d always look.
Wait.
Shaw came to a stop. Presumably the rest of the security and guards were scrabbling into prearranged positions; they’d be more advantageously positioned in a little time. Shaw knew how this
went.
Slowly, she turned back to face Root. Just as she’d expected, Root was staring at her with a kind
of euphoria.
“Hey there,” Root said.
“You don’t have to tag along every time,” Shaw said.
“Does She mind?”
“She’s more tolerant than me,” Shaw said. “What do you think you can achieve?”
“You might miss one.”
“If she misses one, we’ve got more trouble than you can deal with,” Shaw said.
“I meant you,” Root said. “Human error’s always where the best systems can fail.”
“Watch it.”
Shaw took a step forward, glancing around the corner. As much as she trusted the Machine’s
eyes, she was never comfortable with standing around doing nothing in the middle of an
engagement.
Besides, as far as Shaw was concerned, all the programming in the world couldn’t be a match for
human instinct.
They are worth protecting.
“They’re worth protecting,” Shaw echoed the Machine’s words. She tapped her earpiece; Root’s
eyes widened.
Root could be a little trigger happy, Shaw knew that. The Machine definitely knew that.
Regardless, apparently she was still wanted around. Shaw would admit, she didn’t mind it too
much; it was oddly refreshing.
Even so, most shoot-outs they got involved in, half the Machine’s words seemed to be asking
Shaw to tell Root to tone it down.
“I’m not interested in being her therapist,” Shaw said, to the world at large.
Understood.
“You don’t have to be,” Root said.
“She seems to want it,” Shaw said. “If it’s even possible to reform you.”
“Just have to ask, sweetie,” Root said.
Shaw rolled her eyes, her retort cut off by a Go. Thank god.
Shaw started moving again, darting through the doorway and lifting her gun again. She made it a
few steps before noticing Root nearly catching up to her.
“You can stop staring,” Shaw said, still following the Machine’s orders. “I get it. I talk to her,
you’re an obsessive. Drop it.”
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
“Oh,” Root said. She beamed. “Yeah, it’s to do with Her as well, I guess.”
“As well?”
“You look hot with a gun,” Root said.
Shaw rather purposefully turned away.
Madam President
The 45th President of the United States of America was sworn in on Friday the 20th of January,
2017. Shaw stood to the side, conspicuously inconspicuous, and ever-watchful. That was the role
of the secret service, after all.
Shaw had seen President Groves a few days before, after the election results had come in. It was
little more than a formality. President Groves had said a few words while her secret service
detachment stood to attention.
It hadn’t been all that memorable.
Every President had a codename, for quick and easy communication. Nowadays it was little more
than tradition; still, Shaw had always taken to thinking of Presidents in terms of that codename.
It made work a lot easier. There was no time spent wondering who Renegade or Evergreen or
Intrepid was, it might as well have just been their name. As such, Shaw would always think of the
latest President as Root.
Shaw stood by the side of the room. Root had asked for her to stay inside; Shaw was fine with
that. She was meant to watch Root, after all.
“We should talk,” Root said, scanning a document.
“About what, Madam President?”
Shaw preferred to keep things formal: business-like.
“About the fact we’re soulmates,” Root said.
She didn’t look up from the papers.
Shaw tried to stay impassive. People usually weren’t comfortable if their security detail showed
surprise. Still, it was hard not to falter.
“Your whole little group said the exact same thing to me when we first met,” Root said. “I just had
to read your files. Your tattoos are nicely recorded. Yours was the first line of my little
introductory speech. Not hard to put two and two together.”
“There are regulations,” Shaw said. “No improper behaviour. From either of us.”
“What’s a presidency without a sex scandal?” Root said. “Need to be remembered for something.”
“Could hurt your re-election chances.”
“I’ll get votes the same way I did this time,” Root said, shrugging.
“And how’s that?”
“Lots and lots of electoral fraud,” Root said. “I had a bored weekend, and those electronic
machines aren’t nearly as secure as you’d think.”
Shaw wasn’t entirely sure Root was joking.
“What do you say?” Root said. “I mean, no pressure, but if we’re going to be spending a lot of
time together we may as well have more fun. I can get distracted by a girl in a suit.”
Propositioned by arguably the most powerful person in the world. It wasn’t entirely unflattering,
Shaw reflected.
Besides, Root seemed nice enough. And Shaw was one of the few people allowed to carry a gun
right next to the President, so she was perfectly capable of stopping things.
Assassination was an option Shaw had seriously been considering if one of the other candidates
had won the election anyway.
“There are rules,” Shaw said.
“That’s no fun.”
“Just saying, we need to be careful,” Shaw said.
“That a yes?”
“Maybe,” Shaw said. “Depends what you’re planning on getting away with.”
Root just beamed.
What Do You Say? 4
They’d decided to have a brief holiday to celebrate their new tax benefits. If they were going to be
getting a little extra money, might as well use it on something.
It absolutely and emphatically was not a honeymoon.
“How you doing, Mrs Root?” Root said.
“Don’t call me that.”
It had been a small affair. A quick trip to Vegas, a few days spent gambling (until Root got kicked
out), then they’d hopped a plane to a far sunnier locale.
One of these days maybe they’d even leave the hotel room.
“Want to hyphenate instead?” Root said. “Probably should have thought this through before the
wedding.”
“You suck at pillow talk.”
Root chuckled.
“We could be having actual fun right now,” Shaw said.
“You think this isn’t fun?”
“Not Vegas-fun,” Shaw said.
“We could be doing this in Vegas,” Root said. She rolled sideways. “No reason we couldn’t.”
“No point in Vegas when you got us kicked out of the casinos,” Shaw said. “You just had to
cheat, didn’t you?”
“Kinda,” Root said. She smiled across. “Only way to actually win. Sorry sweetie, but you know
me.”
Shaw sighed. That had been what changed their destination of holiday; they’d planned to stick
around in Vegas after their hasty wedding, but there was much less to do there after Root’s
suspicious winning streak had been detected.
So, someplace sunny was the second choice.
“So, want to sunbathe sometime, Mrs Root?” Root said.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Shaw rolled onto her side to glare, only to see Root beaming. Shaw groaned.
“This is why we don’t spend any time together,” Shaw said. “Outside of the usual, at least. Don’t
know what I was thinking with this holiday.”
“You were thinking you wanted to spend more time with your wife,” Root said, playfully.
Shaw just winced at the word. God, it just sounded wrong. She had a wife? She was a wife?
Wives? Ugh. Didn’t suit her.
Still, there were a couple of benefits.
“Absolutely,” Shaw said, cloyingly sweet.
Root blinked, jumping suddenly. She looked towards Shaw, only to see Shaw regarding her with
open adoration.
It was about two seconds before Root fell out of bed, rolling out of the way in shock as much as
anything. Above her, Shaw snorted.
“You deserved that,” Shaw said, much less sweetly.
That was the thing about Root. She loved to tease, all the damn time, but she wasn’t nearly so
good at taking it.
On the floor, Root slowly sat back up, then stood.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Root said.
Shaw rolled onto her back, smiling. Finally, they were getting back to the actually good stuff.
“I’m waiting,” Shaw said.
Take Me To Your Boss
Shaw didn’t expect too much entertainment. Standing guard was rarely interesting; it just meant
sitting around and waiting for something that very rarely happened. And if something did happen,
it wasn’t for long.
Still, it was a pay-check. Government facilities could often do without trespassers, especially ISA
operations, and for now Shaw was technically off field work.
This wasn’t nearly as strenuous an activity as an operation would be. It was basically just sitting
around, after all. On her last mission she’d been shot; nothing new, nothing serious, but it did
always take time to heal.
Shaw didn’t expect much excitement. She certainly didn’t expect a woman to come striding up to
the facility’s gates, bold as anything, and grin at her.
“Take me to your boss,” the woman demanded.
Shaw hesitated. Sure, she’d dimly been aware that she’d have to meet her soulmate at some point
in her life, but she’d expected it to be some movie quote, or some situation that wasn’t, well, this.
Ah well. Not like it made a difference.
“You’re not meant to be here,” Shaw said. “I suggest you turn around.”
The woman raised her eyebrows at Shaw’s words, clearly recognizing them. She made no
indication she planned to turn around.
“I know what this place is,” the woman said. “And I know your boss is going to want to talk to
me.”
“Do you now?” Shaw said, raising her gun. Soulmate or not, most people shouldn’t know what
this building was. “And who are you?”
“Now there’s a question,” the woman said. She paused. “Let’s say Connie Rayleigh.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows. Well that was just her luck.
The ISA had a list of most-wanted domestic threats: not necessarily terrorists, just particularly
dangerous individuals. It was top secret, most people on it wouldn’t be known to the public, but
Shaw had memorized the first twenty names.
Alternating between fourth and fifth place was a woman who adopted a whole storm of aliases.
Shaw was reasonably sure Connie Rayleigh was among them. It sounded about right.
Not quite top three, but having a soulmate anywhere on that list was hardly encouraging. Still, at
least she wasn’t first place: the list was topped by the ever-elusive Root, a figure whose identity
wasn’t known beyond the handle they used online. No connection had been made between them,
and anyone else.
“And why should I take you inside?” Shaw said.
“To make a deal,” ‘Connie’ said. “By the look of it, you recognize my name, so you have to
know I get a fair bit of information. Wouldn’t you like to share?”
“Not my decision to make,” Shaw said. “All I see’s a threat trying to gain access.”
“Call it in,” she said. “Like I said, I want to talk to your boss. Someone with the right authority.
Sure I can offer an incentive.”
And that was how Shaw ended up leading one of the most dangerous women in the country at
gunpoint inside, after searching Connie for weapons (and getting a rather suggestive look while
she did so).
Eventually they made it to the office of the one Shaw only called Control. She was sitting at her
desk, waiting.
Connie sat down opposite Control, cuffed but apparently not caring. Shaw stood to the back, by
the wall of the room and out of the conversation. She was just there to shoot Connie, if it proved
necessary.
“You want to talk,” Control said, less than amiably. “Talk.”
“I want a pardon,” Connie said. “None of your people chasing after me, no need to keep looking
over my shoulder… Makes life a lot easier, you know?”
“We’re not in the business of handing out pardons.”
“That’s why I wanted to make a deal,” Connie said. “White-hat hacker. It’s a thing. I can get you
info on, ooh, who’s above me on your little list?”
“You’ve had an attack of conscience,” Control said, rather disbelievingly.
“Not at all,” Connie said. “Just practical. No one likes running forever. This’ll make life easier for
me, and you get someone who’s got more value to you. Win-win.”
Control paused. She was always pragmatic; she regarded Connie. Shaw watched, carefully.
“Have you heard of ‘Root?’” Control said, slowly.
Connie hesitated.
“Not them,” she said. “Anyone else, but Root’s a special case.”
“You won’t help?”
“Is Root the only other person you want to find?” Connie said. “They’re good. They could walk
right into this room and you wouldn’t realize they were there. I won’t help you catch her, but
anyone else is fine.”
Control didn’t seem disappointed. No doubt she hadn’t expected Root to be so easily found.
Control leaned forwards, slowly taking a scrap of paper, and neatly writing three names on it.
After a few moments she turned it, and offered it to Connie. She took it.
“Those three,” Control said, “For a pardon.”
Connie regarded the three names, then grinned.
“We’ve got a deal,” Connie said.
“And one last thing,” Control said. She gestured to the back of the room, where Shaw still stood;
“You’ll be watched. Until you’ve proven your usefulness, you won’t leave our sight.”
“You’re assigning her to babysit me?” Connie said.
“Not in those words,” Control said. “But yes.”
“Sounds perfect,” Connie said.
Shaw didn’t say much. What was there to say? Her soulmate was the third-or-fourth most wanted,
and now she had to supervise. She could do that just by keeping her eyes on this Connie
Rayleigh.
Not that Shaw believed for a moment that was her real name.
They’d made it out of the building. Shaw kept her gun in one hand, following Connie. Even if this
was an absurdly elaborate trap, she’d be able to shoot Connie before anything happened.
It didn’t seem to be, though. Maybe Connie did just want a few less people off her back.
“What’s your real name?” Shaw said.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Connie said.
They kept walking for a little time more. Shaw sighed.
“I need to call you something,” Shaw said.
“What’s wrong with Connie?”
“It’s an alias I highly doubt you’ll keep to,” Shaw said.
“Asking as my soulmate?” Connie said.
Shaw rolled her eyes. She didn’t say anything, and they kept walking. After a few seconds,
Connie chuckled.
“What does that say, that your soulmate is public enemy number three, as far as you’re
concerned?” Connie said. “Like a bad girl?”
“Don’t mind a bit of excitement,” Shaw said.
Connie kept walking for a little longer. Something seemed to amuse her.
“In that case,” she smiled, “You can call me Root.”
I Object 1
Chapter Notes
So, this is going to be a three-part story based on the most detailed prompt I've
received. Huge thanks to the prompter, and enjoy!
Samantha Groves was planning out her dream wedding. She’d heard it was something of a cliché,
but she enjoyed it nonetheless.
A perfect dress, a veil, and a nice big aisle. Ideally a fairly big list of invitees, all gathered together
for that special day. A handpicked bouquet, every flower chosen specifically. That was what it
was meant to be, right? The perfect day, planned out in every detail, so that even the smallest
aspect could be looked back on with a smile.
But then, Samantha had never been entirely conventional.
She’d been planning her wedding since she could read, and since she’d looked down at her chest
and seen I object. She did a little research, and by the look of it the best places to hear those words
were either in a courtroom, or a wedding.
If she was fated to meet someone, she might as well take control of where.
A trial might be easier to arrange, but it was both riskier and less likely to succeed. After all, why
would the first thing she heard from a lawyer be an objection?
So her first choice was a wedding. The perfect day, with the food, the attendees, and the dress all
planned out, all to end with her soulmate rushing down the aisle with an objection.
Samantha didn’t worry about what the objection would be. That wasn’t the important part.
She had a whole box full of magazines for tips. It was the day she’d meet her soulmate, after all;
not many people had a chance to know that in advance. As she did, she wanted it to be perfect.
A groom or bride standing next to her (it didn’t really matter which, she hardly needed to be
attracted to them, they were just a means to an end), a nice and elegant dress, and the whole
choreographed ceremony coming to a screeching halt with an “I object!”
Hey, a girl had a right to her wedding fantasies.
She struggled to remember her fiancée’s name, to be honest. He was just dull. Leon-something,
maybe. That made it easier; he went along with it way too easily. Samantha just slipped the
suggestion to one of his friends, and he proposed, and she was on her way.
In a way, she’d expected it to be harder. Maybe people were just easy to manipulate, or maybe the
universe was giving her a helping hand. It was fated, after all.
The wedding took a while to plan. No one seemed to mind; everyone expected her to want it to be
perfect.
She chose the setting: a nice, spacious church. When checking out venues, the doors were at the
top of her checklist. The sound the front doors made when they opened was suitably dramatic.
Maybe her soulmate would already be in the crowd, rather than bursting in through the doors, but
it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
She picked a dress that was both beautiful, and easy to move in. It was entirely possible she’d end
up running from the ceremony.
Samantha spent far less time planning the reception. It was almost amusing, the expressions of the
wedding planners she worked with. Samantha wanted to micromanage everything, right up to the
moment of speak now for forever hold your peace. Anything after that, who cared?
She made sure that the buffet table for the reception was between the ceremony and the car park
though, and that there were a few more portable snacks. May as well get some benefit from it.
Then she sent out save-the-dates, her fiancée watching her smile and not knowing she was
wondering whether any of the names she was writing down would be her soulmate. Or maybe
they’d be a plus-one, that would be fun. Two relationships ruined in one day.
All in all, it was five months before the big day.
Root had the biggest grin on her face as she awoke. No cold feet; she wasn’t becoming Mrs
Something-or-Other, she was meeting her soulmate, and that had to end well.
She’d noted down the date, time and address, keeping the card with her at all times. Her plan was
simple enough; when she heard that fateful I Object spoken, she’d read the contents of the card. A
date, time and address for her soulmate to follow back to her.
When Samantha heard the crowd coming in, she took a brief moment to reread the card,
whispering the message under her breath. Then she left it behind, content she could remember it.
There were butterflies in her stomach as she walked down the aisle. Her friend Hanna was giving
her away; Hanna had been around for the years of planning and speculating, ever since Samantha
had decided how she was to meet her soulmate.
Just as Samantha had imagined it.
The wedding march filled her ears, and she reached the front of the church. She shared an excited
look with Hanna, and Hanna smiled back.
Samantha looked at her fiancée, doing her best to hide how her eyes kept darting sideways to the
doors. Soon…
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
Was there anyone in the audience who looked uncomfortable? Samantha scanned them, idly
deciding who her favourite was. There were a lot of people she hadn’t spoken to.
Or there was the door, of course. Someone to burst in, having read the time and date from their
tattoo.
Samantha had memorized the whole speech, so she knew what was coming. She glanced at the
clock, remembering that time. She was shaking with anticipation when the priest got to her
favourite part of the speech. She’d had to insist he include it; somehow that had been the hardest
part of the whole plan.
“If anyone can show just cause why these two people cannot lawfully be joined, speak now or
forever hold your peace.”
Samantha glanced outwards, and waited. And waited.
And as the priest continued, her smile slowly began to fade. That was supposed to be it; it was
supposed to be over.
Shit. Apparently she was actually getting married.
She enjoyed the reception, at least. She liked the food. Then she made her excuses, locking herself
in the bathroom for a few minutes with a pickpocketed phone.
She frantically googled for a divorce attorney. After about half a minute though, panic was
replaced by a new purpose. Ok, maybe she wasn’t meeting her soulmate, but this didn’t need to be
a complete bust.
Samantha changed tack, opting to find the most ruthless divorce lawyer she could, rather than one
that could just get this over with. She might as well make the most of the situation. Her new
husband (oh she hated the sound of that) had a fair bit of money, anyway.
She memorized a name, a phone number, an address, and phoned to make an appointment before
straightening and walking back out to the ceremony, slipping the phone onto a table after deleting
her search history.
“What the hell happened, Sam?” Hanna came up beside her. “I thought someone was supposed to
interrupt.”
“Me too,” Samantha said.
A brief pause.
“Congratulations?” Hanna said, sceptically. “Have to say, I don’t think it’ll last.”
“Me neither,” Samantha said.
“You’re planning something,” Hanna said. “I know that voice.”
“I’m keeping the money,” Samantha said, smiling.
Hanna left early, coming back with a change of clothes, and Samantha snuck out with her just as
people were beginning to leave. Once she was out of the dress and had messed her hair up
slightly, it was impressive how few people recognized her.
Then again, she hadn’t really socialized with her husband’s friends. He’d just been a means to an
end; it was just that those ends had changed.
Hanna took Samantha to her car, and Samantha drove off alone, making it to the address she’d
memorized. She spent the night in a motel.
Hanna kept her updated with a few videos and titbits from the wedding, and the ever-growing
freak-out about where Samantha had gone.
Meanwhile, Samantha waited for her appointment to come up. It was only a day away.
Entertained by Hanna’s stories, she met her divorce lawyer with a smile.
“Call me David,” he said, shaking her hand and gesturing for her to sit. “How can I help?”
“Call me David,” he said, shaking her hand and gesturing for her to sit. “How can I help?”
“You help with divorces, right?” Samantha said. “Let’s just say I made a bit of a mistake.”
“Heard it before,” David said.
“I want to take him for everything he’s worth,” Samantha said. “Heard you can help with that.”
“Certainly,” for the first time, David smiled. It was almost predatory; at that moment Samantha
knew she was in good hands. “How long has the marriage lasted?”
Samantha paused, glancing at her watch.
“Almost twenty hours,” she said.
David paused.
“I was going to ask if there were children to consider, but I’m going to say no,” he said.
“Definitely not,” Samantha said. “Is that a problem?”
“If you want to leave him after under a day, there are a few more legal challenges that could be
posed,” David said. “An annulment might be possible, if-”
“Would I get his money if it was annulled?”
David paused. He nodded, conceding.
“I’ll need an estimate of his net worth, if I decide to take your case,” David said. “And I have to
ask how far you’ll want me to go. Some clients can be, let’s say squeamish, about what can be
required to do well in a tricky case.”
Samantha smiled. She’d heard that; it was why he’d been picked as her divorce lawyer. He had a
(strictly unproven) reputation for not being averse to underhanded tricks.
Well, it couldn’t hurt.
“I’m happy with anything,” Samantha said. “Do we have a deal?”
“Absolutely.”
Four months later, Samantha walked out of the building happily single, and considerably richer.
Hanna waited for her just outside.
“What are you planning to do next, Sam?” she said.
“Still haven’t met my soulmate,” Samantha said.
“You want to do the whole thing again?”
“Had to compromise on a few details of the wedding,” Samantha said. “Would like to see how
they’d go for real. Besides, I do have to meet them.”
“And there might be another profitable divorce in your future.”
“There might be,” Samantha said.
I Object 2
She’d stopped going by Samantha years ago. Background checks were a pain; luckily she was
adept at creating a whole new identity.
She was married as Samantha Groves once more, before changing names, and fashioning herself
an online persona that was above reproach. She’d always been good with computers; it didn’t take
much to slip her new alias into the right lists.
With all the names she went by, she liked having something personal, something that was hers.
That was why she started going by Root with the few people that she stayed in contact with
between identities; so she’d have a name that wouldn’t change within the year.
She’d been disappointed after her second and third marriages, but after that she grew to expect it.
Maybe her soulmate just wouldn’t turn up. It had taken them long enough, after all; perhaps it just
wasn’t meant to be.
But, regardless, she was making money. It wasn’t a total loss. She kept David as her divorce
lawyer; he seemed more amused than anything when she came in with name after name and
spouse after spouse. Well, he probably didn’t mind having a regular client.
“Mr Lee,” she said, walking into his office.
“Hello, Miss…” he said, as though talking to a stranger. Root chuckled.
“Caroline Turing,” she said.
“Lovely to meet you. How can I help you today?”
“I’d like to leave my wife,” Root said. “Georgia’s nice, but you know how it is.”
And a few months later she’d be back.
“Jane von Neumann,” she said. “I came straight here. Any chance of being able to divorce my
husband?”
It was an advantage to having an unscrupulous divorce lawyer. She could book an appointment
for right after the ceremony, and most of the process of divorce would be greatly simplified when
there was no need to avoid blackmail.
There were a lot of dark secrets in everyone’s life, and for that matter plenty that could be
convincingly fabricated. David’s firm had a good investigator, so they had a natural edge.
Root was happy enough with how her life was going. Hanna was the only constant to her various
weddings, enjoying the food and company and thrill of the con, over and over. Somewhere along
the line it stopped being about finding a soulmate.
Root wasn’t too worried though, even after everything. She’d taken precautions. No one had yet
managed to connect any of her disparate identities. There were a few close calls, when she ran
into someone who’d used to know her, but she usually could evade the discussion.
“Who’s next, Root?” Hanna said.
Root scrolled down a list of potential candidates. She couldn’t go after high-profile people, or
particularly rich ones; the former would make it hard for her to do this again, while the latter could
hire actually-good lawyers. Still, they had to have some cash.
“Ooh, let’s say him,” Root said, tapping the profile of one ‘Michael Cole.’
She’d gotten it down to an art. Playful meet cute, discussion, usually don’t bother meeting friends
etc, and either plant the idea of marriage, or propose herself if she got impatient.
That time, she didn’t even consider the possibility of her soulmate.
Sameen Shaw did not do weddings. She just stared at the invitation that had landed on her
doormat.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Veronica Sinclair and Michael Cole.
Who the hell was Veronica?
She hadn’t seen Cole for a while. They’d been in the army together, and they’d gotten on, but
Shaw was terrible at keeping in touch with friends. She hadn’t even known he was seeing
someone.
Still, she replied. In a temporary fit of madness she agreed to attend; it’d be good to visit Cole
again, if nothing else.
It was a day before she grew curious, and took to researching. If one of her few friends was
getting married, she at least wanted to know who to. She had a name: that was a good start.
Veronica looked nice enough. Shaw would admit that she could see what Cole saw in her. Some
part of her instinctively rebelled at the idea though.
She wasn’t a fan of marriage, and if nothing else she wanted to make extra sure her friend knew
what he was getting into.
It was a day before her research started in earnest. It began innocently enough: a quick
background check, a gauge of her online personality. Most people had social media these days.
Then Shaw made a few phone calls; businesses and places that Veronica had been involved with.
All recognized the name, though none had been invited to the wedding.
It was a potential red flag, if she was being very paranoid. It wouldn’t normally be an issue, but
she remembered covert ops well enough. Take the name of someone who looked similar to you,
most references would check out, but you wouldn’t actually know or be friends with any of them.
So, for example, you wouldn’t invite them to your wedding. They’d blow your cover easily.
But that was paranoia talking. Maybe Veronica just didn’t like them. Shaw could sympathize with
that.
Shaw took another look at a photo of Veronica she’d found, and decided to keep digging. Most
investigators would stop at a cursory examination of a cover; it was usually thorough enough to
weed out aliases, but someone sufficiently talented could fool them.
This was stupid.
Shaw took a step back, considering. Was there any real need for her to do this? It was unlikely
there’d be an actual problem, and she’d have to do quite a bit of research if she was going to find
anything suspicious, if Veronica had a good enough identity to be able to get married.
But then, she did feel defensive of the few friends she had. And what harm could it do, really?
There was enough of a red flag for her to have something to go on.
Well, she needed a hobby.
“Just who are you, Veronica?”
I Object 3
Chapter Notes
Final part!
The ceremony had been planned in much the same way as the others. It was tradition for Root, at
this point. The line inviting objections was included, even if she no longer expected one. She
picked a dress, and picked the same kind of spacious church.
Wedding planning was easy by now, though. She’d had plenty of practise.
She stayed in her room as the crowd trickled in. She could hear the voices, and the footsteps. She
didn’t have the same butterflies she’d had the first time though, not after going through this so
many times.
She had an appointment booked with her divorce lawyer in a couple of hours’ time. She planned
to make it.
Shaw was one of the first to make it to the ceremony. She’d brought a laptop case with her, and
instead of a computer she’d filled it with files and photos.
Sure, you could steal a social security number and the like from someone else, if you really
wanted to create a new identity, but that was only the first step.
If you wanted to adopt the identity, you’d need to know details. If you wanted to adopt several
identities, you’d want there to be shared aspects, even if it was something as simple as a birth date.
People had trouble remembering birthdays as it was; changing your own often wasn’t easy.
So Shaw just needed to check the women born on that same date as Veronica, in the space of a
few years. It had taken a while, but it had been worth it. It was remarkable just how many had the
same face as Veronica, and how many had been married and swiftly divorced taking an
astonishing amount of money with them.
Shaw tried to hurry to the back rooms, to find Cole, when she was stopped.
“Hey, seats are over there,” a woman said.
“And you are?” Shaw said.
“Hanna. Friend of the bride,” she said. “And you?”
“Shaw. Friend of the groom. You know your friend’s not who she says she is, right?”
Hanna paused. For a moment, she seemed uncertain.
“Really?” Hanna said, slowly.
“I’ve got the proof,” Shaw said. “Divorce settlements, marriage announcements, multiple
identities, IDs, photos… What is her name, anyway? Veronica? Caroline? Jane? Samantha?
Karen? Rose?”
Hanna stared for a few seconds more.
“What are you, police?” Hanna said.
“Just a friend of Cole,” Shaw said. “I’m not going to let your friend do what she’s done to all the
others.”
Hanna regarded Shaw. She’d stopped being worried, at least. The law was all she was concerned
about.
“That’s a little obsessive,” Hanna said.
“What?”
“Tracking down all those names,” Hanna said. “I know my friend - her name’s Root by the way –
and she can’t have made it easy.”
“Does it matter?” Shaw said.
“Enjoy researching?” Hanna said, an odd smile on her face.
“What are you talking about?”
“You must’ve dedicated a lot of time to looking into Root,” Hanna said. “Guessing you enjoyed
it.”
“Seriously, what?” Shaw said. “Is this just your way of delaying me? You won’t stop me.”
“Not planning to.”
Shaw looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. She took a step, starting past Hanna, when
Hanna grabbed her arm.
“You said you wouldn’t stop me,” Shaw said.
“I won’t,” Hanna said, “But it’s a wedding. There’s an accepted way to crash it.”
Shaw paused.
“You’re giving me tips on how to ruin your friend’s wedding?” Shaw said.
“Just want to make sure it’s done properly,” Hanna said. “Just wait for the ‘speak now or forever
hold your peace,’ then do whatever you want.”
Shaw stood there for a few moments more. Something about Hanna’s smile was annoying her, but
at least it didn’t seem malevolent.
Worst case she was going to encourage Root to flee, but Shaw could live with that.
“Fine,” Shaw said, stepping back.
Root stood and twirled on the spot. She’d been through a lot of wedding dresses, but she did like
this one. She didn’t jump when the door to her room opened.
“Is it time?” Root said.
“Nearly,” Hanna said.
Root smiled, and turned. “You look happy.”
“I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Hanna said.
“Find out about a secret bank account?”
“Not exactly,” Hanna said.
She didn’t say anything more. Root shrugged it off.
The wedding march swelled, and Root walked down the aisle feigning serenity. Her feet were
itching to get out of her heels, and to hurry off to her lawyer’s office.
She stood at the front, in front of- was it Michael? That sounded right. She tuned out the priest’s
recitation, tired of hearing the same old speech. She just waited for it to be over.
“I object!”
Root nearly fell over. She tried to remember what had been happening; right, so the priest had
been droning on, the same call for objections she’d heard way too many times, andWait, someone had actually objected?
Root turned slowly, to look at who’d spoken. Right, so she’d always planned to give the date and
time and address to her soulmate, so“Shaw, what-” probably-Michael said.
“Her name’s not Veronica,” Shaw said, standing and walking down. She brought a sheaf of
papers out of a case.
Root glanced back. She was fairly sure she’d just seen Hanna cheer. Had she known“She’s left a trail of people through the country,” Shaw said. “Married, divorced, and left with
next to nothing. I’ve got the proof.”
Michael looked at the countless sheets that Shaw held. Names, various faces and photos, and most
notably the divorce settlements Root was rather proud of.
Ok, so she could probably cancel her appointment with David.
Root stared. Despite the interruption, Root would admit to being somewhat impressed. Not many
people could have tracked down many of her old identities, much less done so fully. Root couldn’t
see any name she’d taken omitted.
“Root?” Michael said, warily.
Root was looking at Shaw. In her head, she could still hear the I object. Figured the one time it’d
happen would be when it caught her by surprise.
She turned her gaze from the evidence, to Shaw herself.
It made sense. Soulmates were meant to be a perfect match; a true equal. Shaw had pretty much
proven she was that.
“So?” Shaw said, “Anything to say?”
“Kiss kiss to you too, sweetheart,” Root said, beaming.
Evidently her original plan was pretty pointless. Shaw didn’t need any guide here; and apparently
there was no planning around fate anyway.
That, and it was somewhat impressive when realization passed across Shaw’s face, recognizing
the words Root had spoken. She went off on a slight tirade, giving a fascinating tour of various
four-letter words in multiple languages. Root watched, endlessly entertained. The priest behind her
slowly backed away.
“You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been waiting to hear an objection,” Root said. Absently, she
chucked her bouquet to Shaw. “Seriously. About time you showed up.”
Shaw swore again, and batted the bouquet to the floor. A baffled Michael watched.
“Something wrong sweetie?” Root said.
There were probably better ways to flirt with someone than at the altar about to marry their best
friend, but Root had always been tired of conventional.
“Seriously?” Shaw said. “You want to do this now?”
“Have a quiet room a little way that way if you’d prefer to do this in private,” Root said.
She tugged her veil off. It did make conversation trickier; and regardless, this wedding was
definitely over. Well, unless Shaw could change her opinion of Root in record time, then they
might be able to salvage it, but Root doubted it.
Shaw raised her eyebrows. Michael opened his mouth to speak.
“We’re soulmates,” Root said to him, her tone the same as if she was discussing the weather.
There was a much longer pause, and a much more disbelieving expression on Shaw’s space. Oh,
well apparently she had wanted to have that particular discussion in private.
Michael looked between his fiancée and Shaw. After a couple of moments he began to back
away.
“Want to get married?” Root suggested.
“No.”
“Sure?” Root said. “You caught the bouquet.”
“You threw it at me.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Root said. “Just be a shame to waste all of this.”
“You just tried to con my friend.”
“And now I’ve met you and I don’t need to any more,” Root said. “Leave the past in the past.”
Shaw stared.
“You may now kiss the bride?” Root suggested.
Shaw continued to stare.
There was no raised platform. Root stood, without Cole now, at the front of the church, with
Shaw rather close to her. Taking advantage of the distraction, and Shaw’s continuing internal
debate as to whether Root could be serious, Hanna sidestepped and moved closer to the aisle.
She pushed Shaw, and Shaw toppled forward into Root. Shaw hastily pulled herself back up,
straightening and getting to her feet.
“Thanks Hanna,” Root said.
Another glare from Shaw. Root dropped her voice.
“Kinda romantic, if you think about it,” Root said.
“What, marrying and conning an army buddy of mine?”
“Us,” Root said. “You tracked me down, found all my little secrets, and exposed me. Not many
people could manage that. And you must’ve felt something, if you went through so much effort to
find out about me. So what do you say?”
“I’m not marrying you,” Shaw said.
“Fine, we’ll take it slow,” Root said. “I don’t fancy getting married again for a bit.”
Shaw continued to glare.
“Fine, Ver- Caro-” Shaw began, and paused. “What the hell is your name anyway?”
“Not really had one for a while,” Root said. “Only thing’s what Hanna calls me. No one else uses
it.”
“Well I need to call you something, and you’re definitely not Veronica.”
“Then call me Root,” she said.
November 7th 2009, 18:37
Root looked at calendar, intrigued. It was November 6th , the day before the date given on her
tattoo. She’d been looking forward it to a while.
Edgar Street New York, November 7th , 2009, 18:37. She always thought her soulmate was
considerate, for that; not many people knew exactly what time to wait for. She knew when and
where to meet her soulmate.
She barely slept that night, and when she woke up she spent the day excited, until finally 6pm
came around. She made her way right to Edgar Street, arriving ten minutes early. Luckily she
lived in New York.
Root stood by the edge of the street, waiting impatiently. She let her eyes linger on anyone that
walked nearby, disappointed when any particularly attractive person didn’t head for the street.
She kept glancing at her watch, waiting.
18:34, 18:35, 18:36, 18:37
Root looked around, jumping at the nearest passer-by.
“Uh, hey?” she said.
They looked at her, slightly confused, and hurried on. Root hesitated.
She waited a few minutes more. Her watch wouldn’t necessarily be synced with her soulmate’s
after all. When seven o’clock came and went, though, reluctantly she had to face the fact her
soulmate was a no-show.
Root came back to the street the next day, just in case there was a miscommunication. When still
no one showed up, she went home, baffled.
Was there any other reason she’d hear such a precise time and place, if it wasn’t meant to be a
meeting? Was there something she’d missed?
But nothing presented itself, and no one turned up.
Shaw didn’t want a soulmate. She’d always planned a way to discourage them, if they did meet
(which apparently was inevitable, so it paid to be prepared).
“Hey, can I sit here sweetie?”
Shaw slumped onto the table. It had been a good few years, at least.
“Edgar Street, New York, November 7th 2009, 18:37,” Shaw recounted, picking the date at
random.
There was a pause. The woman slowly moved to sit down by the table.
“You didn’t show,” she said, accusingly.
“I know,” Shaw said. “I was out of the country.”
“Why?”
“Making sure.”
There was a pause. Shaw had hoped it would have been enough for her soulmate to just stand up,
walk away, and leave her alone. No such luck apparently.
“Really, why?” the woman said.
“To get rid of you.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t want a soulmate,” Shaw said. “I figure standing someone up’s a good way to end a
relationship. Did it work?”
The woman hesitated, looking at Shaw for a long few seconds.
“You gave me a tattoo to try and avoid dealing with me?” the woman said.
“Haven’t we been over that?” Shaw said.
“I’m kinda impressed,” the woman said. “I’m Root.”
“I’m not looking for an introduction.”
“Too bad,” Root said. “Not sure I want to give up on you that easily.”
“I do.”
“But you put so much thought into us, sweetie,” Root said.
What the Hell Are You Doing Here? 2
Root helped Shaw carry the painting out of the building. They moved with surprising stealth
through the corridors, lugging it along with them. It was easier to carry with two people.
One might have been able to manage it, but not as quickly.
“I hope you know, I’m keeping this,” Root said.
“Yeah, yeah, feel free to try,” Shaw said.
“Competitive? I like it.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Still, she kept hold of it. Both of them wanted to keep the painting in good
condition. It was worth much more like that.
“So, which one of us gets it?” Root said. “Race was meant to decide it, but we got to it at the same
time.”
“Will you shut up?” Shaw said, her voice hushed.
“Rude.”
“Guards,” Shaw said. “This would be a lot easier if you weren’t shouting our location out to
them.”
“I’m not shouting,” Root said, raising her voice.
Shaw raised her eyebrows, and together they quickly darted over to one side, slipping out behind
a door as a torch beam came around the corner.
Root shut the door quickly and silently, using her foot to slow it as it swung closed. She and Shaw
stayed perfectly still, still holding the painting, as the guard moved by.
“Was that quip worth it?” Shaw mouthed, disbelieving.
“Absolutely,” Root mouthed, smirking.
When the guard had moved on, they were out of the room again, carefully manoeuvring the
painting. Getting in to steal it wasn’t the hard part; getting out was.
All the versatility of methods they had to sneak through windows or through skylights was useless
when trying to sneak a frame and canvas this big out. Most of the windows in the building
couldn’t take it.
“Want to share the profits?” Root said.
“No.”
“Split the painting in two?” Root said. “Half each.”
“Definitely no.”
“Then what, fight it out?” Root said. “Rock paper scissors? Coin toss?”
“I’m thinking, hit you on your head until you pass out, and take it,” Shaw said.
“Not sure I like that idea.”
“Tough.”
Somehow they made it out the building with a minimum of close calls. Shaw did her best to look
around, ignoring how Root kept looking past the frame, staring at her.
There were two vans parked side by side outside. Both of them instinctively began moving
towards them.
“You parked here too?” Root said.
“Good location.”
“Guess we really are soulmates,” Root said. She smiled. “If you needed any more confirmation.”
Shaw groaned.
“If I let you have the painting, will you shut up?” Shaw said.
Root paused for a moment, considering it. Wouldn’t be too much fun, but the painting was worth
a lot.
“Maybe.”
Shaw sighed in relief. She took a step back, letting go of the painting, and watching Root almost
fall over trying to keep it up. Shaw would admit to enjoying that sight.
“Well, thanks sweetie,” Root said, uncertainly.
Root moved to balance the back of the painting against her van, trying to find her keys.
“I said shut up,” Shaw said.
Root unlocked the back of her van, sliding the painting inside. Shaw moved behind her, helping
her; neither of them wanted to see it damaged. Root felt her move awfully close.
Then, stepping back, Root mimed zipping her lips closed. Shaw rolled her eyes, and paced away.
Root took a few moments to make sure the painting was fully secure, and inside. Carefully, she
moved back, closing the back doors.
It was only as she walked around the side, to the driver’s seat, that she realized she seemed to be
missing her car keys. She caught a glimpse of Shaw’s face in the wing mirror, before her car’s
engine started.
“Hey!” Root shouted.
Shaw snorted, only to reverse. Root hurried out the way, only able to watch as Shaw took the
painting, and her car along with it.
She stood there for a long few seconds. Soon irritation gave way to amusement; well, it figured
her soulmate would do something like that.
Chuckling to herself, Root picked up a brick, and broke her way into Shaw’s van. If nothing else
she could hotwire it, and get out of here. Ideally though, maybe she’d find a way to track her
soulmate down.
Whatever happened, it promised to be fun.
Something the Matter?
Shaw didn’t share food. It was her personal little rule; if she paid for it, she’d eat it. And sure,
maybe she did just like the food. Still.
As such, she was rather looking forward to her lunch. There was a nice little café in the corner of
town, with some of the best snacks she’d had anywhere. And she wasn’t much for ambience, but
even that was entertaining enough. Bustling, just not disturbing, and not quaint.
She didn’t get out here too much, but she’d memorized her meal order when she did. There was a
slice that most places didn’t seem to do, and the few that did were never as nice.
Ordering a coffee along with it, she sat down, quite happily looking forward to her snack.
Then “Sorry,” and some busybody rushed past her table, elbowing her forwards and sending her
coffee cup flying and spilling, soaking and ruining the slice.
It took Shaw a good couple of seconds to fully realize just what had happened. She moved to
stand, turning to try and identify the man before he disappeared into the crowd. A growl escaped
her lips.
“Something the matter?”
Shaw stiffened, turning back slowly to see a patron on an adjacent table looking at her, and
speaking words that Shaw knew very well.
Of course. It figured today would be the day she met her soulmate. Still, Shaw bit back a cutting
remark, before pausinh. She needed to vent, and if she could vent to anyone surely it’d be her
soulmate?
“I’m going to kill him,” Shaw said. “Find him, and kill him. Slowly.”
The woman blinked for a moment, then chuckled.
“I’m Root,” she said. “And you, my ball of rage?”
“Shaw,” another growl as she examined the remains of her lunch. “I’m going to pour boiling
coffee over every inch of his body. Then start all over again.”
“Mm-hmm,” Root said. “Come here often?”
“When I can,” Shaw said. She gestured at the remains on the table. “Best snack out there. Hence
plotting a murder.”
“It’s not that bad,” Root said.
“I’m going to skin him,” Shaw said.
Root hesitated.
“With a pin,” Shaw said. “Something small, so I can really take my time.”
“Is this before or after the boiling coffee?”
“What?”
“Just curious,” Root said, absently. “Want to go out sometime?”
“I’ll lock him up and starve him,” Shaw said. “See how he likes it. Give him a diet of needles and
tacks, then run him under one of those magnetic cranes.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“I’ll drown him,” Shaw said. “In boiling water. Or acid. Boiling acid.”
“I could just buy you a replacement.”
“Make him suffer,” Shaw said.
Shaw paused.
“What?” Shaw said, eventually.
“Replacement,” Root said. “Snack. Coffee. Seems like it’d take care of your problem.”
Shaw hesitated.
“We’re soulmates, remember?” Root said. “Consider it a first date.”
Shaw looked at her for a long few seconds. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the world at
large for the last minute or so, rather caught up in her own fantasies.
She really didn’t like losing food.
“I guess,” Shaw said. After a moment: “You’re not bothered?”
Shaw would admit, she had half-expected her soulmate to run for the hills. There were probably
more encouraging first words to hear.
“Always admired imagination,” Root said. “Though didn’t really think about it in that context. At
least you’re creative, good trait to have.”
“Thank you?”
“You’re very welcome,” Root said.
She beamed, and picked up Shaw’s empty up, scribbling a number on the side of it.
“Call me,” she said. “Ideally when you’re in a bit of a better mood.”
Well This Is Awkward
Chapter Notes
Getting a plane home today, so I'll try to reply to comments etc by tomorrow, more or
less, if I'm awake.
Root slipped in through the back window of the house. She’d seen a few vaguely interesting
possessions through the window, and if nothing else most homes had computers in these days.
Once she could get through the log-in screen, there were a lot of useful things she could access.
She’d watched the family that lived there depart, so she knew the house was empty. Two men and
a woman; that probably meant there were three computers to look for.
She silently moved up the stairs. There was no need to risk making extra noise, in case there was
someone she hadn’t spotted, or anyone came home early.
She found one computer out on the living room table. Apparently one of the people used theirs a
lot. She slipped that one into her bag, casting her eyes around for the charger, and taking that too.
She went through into one of the bedrooms, only to pause when she saw a black-clad woman
kneeling and rooting through a somewhat impressive gun collection at the back of a wardrobe.
Ok, Root reflected, stumbling in on someone when burgling a house was a problem. Stumbling in
on someone with their hands in an army’s worth of weapons was a disaster.
“Turn around, and leave,” the crouching woman said.
Root blinked. And meeting her soulmate when burgling a house was somewhere between the
two.
Slowly though, Root paused. The homeowner would threaten to shoot her, surely? It was almost
an ideal situation, it was rare the homeowner could get access to any weapons before she could
cut them off, and yet they were doing nothing.
Which probably meant this wasn’t the homeowner. Root took in the woman’s clothes; dark,
practical, and what she was slowly realizing was a bag screwed up.
“Well this is awkward,” Root said. “Burgling this place too?”
The woman slowly drew back. She withdrew one particular gun, even if she didn’t point it; it
seemed she just liked the make.
“Saw he had a good collection,” the woman said. “Figured I’d help myself. You?”
“Just general stuff,” Root said. “Mostly computers. I’ll leave the guns to you.”
“Then we won’t have a problem,” the woman said.
Still, Root approached the desk a little nervously. When robbing a house, a woman filling a bag
up with various guns wasn’t the most encouraging background event.
She picked up a laptop, tugging the charger cable free to go along with it, slipping it into the
laptop case she’d brought ready. There were probably more.
Still, before she left the room, she turned back to the woman.
“I’m Root, by the way.”
The woman looked back, semi-incredulously.
“Relax,” Root said, “Hardly going to turn you in. ‘Hi, I caught so-and-so stealing a bunch of guns
when I was trying to steal the computers.’ Won’t end well for either of us.”
A longer pause.
“Shaw,” the woman said, curtly.
“Nice name,” Root said. “So, sweetie, gun-obsessed or do you just know a good buyer?”
“Little of both,” Shaw said.
She was still crouched, on her knees, carefully going through the collection. Now that Root could
look closer, she could see two bags; presumably one was for selling, and one was for Shaw’s
personal collection.
Root watched the bent-over figure rather appreciatively. Shaw glanced back.
“Are you really checking me out?” Shaw said. “Now?”
“Seems like a perfect time from where I’m standing,” Root said.
“We’re in someone else’s house,” Shaw said. “Don’t be an idiot. They could come home any
time.”
“Worth it,” Root said. “Little risk’s what makes life fun, don’t you think?”
After a few moments, Shaw stood up. She rounded on Root, moving a little closer. It was slightly
aggressive, but more than anything it seemed curious.
If nothing else, it seemed they had a lot in common: shared interests, shared tastes.
“You like risk?” Shaw said.
Root closed the distance between them and kissed her, hard. It was a few seconds before she
pulled back, with a smirk that made Shaw want to pull someone’s hair out. Either her own or
Root’s, she wasn’t entirely sure.
“That answer your question?” Root said.
Shaw moved closer and kissed her back, ever so slightly harder.
Root awoke to the sound of someone clearing their throat. She blinked, vaguely aware of the
warmth lying beside her. Blearily she opened her eyes, seeing dark hair, and skin. A lot of skin.
Vaguely, she started to remember. Shaw, the kiss, somehow making it to the bed in the corner of
the room, and-
Someone cleared their throat again. Root turned, uncertainly. A man in a suit was standing in the
doorway to the room, distinctly uncomfortable.
“I’m John,” he said, and paused. “Did Harold invite you? He didn’t mention…”
Root hesitated. She was vaguely aware of Shaw shifting next to her.
“Was it Grace…” John’s voice trailed off.
Apparently he didn’t know quite what to make of this situation. Root would admit, it was a new
one.
She opted for honesty, and a cheerful smile.
“Nah,” Root said, “We’re just very lazy burglars.”
She glanced sideways. Well, at least her case and Shaw’s bag were out of sight behind a cabinet.
John chuckled, apparently thinking it was a joke.
“For future reference, guest room’s down the hall,” John said. “This is my room. I’ll… leave you
two alone for a bit. I’ll tell Grace you arrived.”
He turned around, tactfully closing the door. Root moved to nudge Shaw, deciding not to only
when she saw Shaw’s eyes open.
“Ok, how did he buy that?” Shaw said.
“I’ve got an honest face,” Root said.
Shaw snorted, rolling out of bed. She hurriedly grabbed for her clothes.
“Better get out,” Shaw said.
“Kicking me out of bed already?” Root said.
“You’re welcome to make nice with the family you tried to steal from,” Shaw said. “Personally
I’ve got a date with that window.”
“Should I be jealous?”
“Give it a rest, Root.”
Root hurriedly dressed herself too, collecting her case and set of two stolen computers. Hopefully
they still had a minute before the homeowners realized they were more than misplaced.
Shaw was already halfway out the window.
“We should do this again sometime,” Root said.
“Rob a house together, screw each other in their bed, or nearly get caught?”
“First two, at least,” Root said.
Shaw chuckled.
“That a yes?” Root said.
Shaw just dropped out of sight. Root quickly followed.
This is Not Your Captain Speaking 3
Chapter Notes
Back home! Just sorting out everything.
Root lay back on the beach, relaxing. She glanced sideways to Shaw, who seemed just as laid
back. They’d successfully diverted a plane, ensured a shipment got to the people who’d hired
them, and escaped.
Now they were just waiting for the rest of their payment. Shaw had insisted it was just more
practical if they waited together.
Besides, they might as well enjoy their destination while they were here. Well, there was a nearby
beach at any rate.
“I’m learning Morse code,” Root said, eventually.
Shaw grunted vaguely, just lying on her back.
“It’d make things easier,” Root said. “You’ve got to admit. Wouldn’t have gotten quite so out of
control if we had.”
“I doubt anything would’ve saved that,” Shaw said.
“Turned out well enough though,” Root said.
Root lay back, basking in the Sun; Shaw snorted.
“You’ve got low standards,” Shaw said.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Root said, eyeing Shaw openly. “Don’t put yourself down.”
Shaw rolled her eyes, opting not to respond. She looked up at the sky for a long few seconds.
“Low standards of success,” Shaw said, eventually. “We nearly crashed a plane, and accidentally
killed the co-pilot. Intentionally killed the pilot, but it’s the sort of thing that shouldn’t be an
accident. Just unprofessional.”
“Then we landed the plane, and I met my soulmate,” Root said. “Still feels like a good day.”
Shaw shifted, closing her eyes. Maybe she and Root were a good team, but after nearly dying, and
after the adrenaline had left her system, she could do with a chance to just fall down and relax.
Being in the Sun was a bonus.
After a couple of minutes, she jumped to feel something far too cold drip onto her shoulder. Her
eyes opened quickly, only to see Root standing over her, letting sun cream fall from the bottle.
Shaw hastily moved to the side.
“I’ll do you if you do me?” Root said, tilting her head.
Shaw stared for a few seconds, then sighed, snatching the bottle from Root.
Root perched herself on the edge of the lounger, and Shaw took a little too much pleasure from
hearing her whimper as the cold cream fell onto her back.
“You know this isn’t the safest place to hide out after hijacking a plane, right?” Shaw said.
“Exactly,” Root said. “Who’d look for us here? They’re going to be combing safe-houses and
shelters, not looking for a couple of girls having a good time at the beach. You didn’t complain
anyway.”
“Wanted a break,” Shaw said. “Just pointing out that I’m going to blame you if we get caught.”
“I’ll survive.”
After a few moments more, Shaw finished rubbing Root’s back. She leant back, and Root turned
around with a smile on her face, picking up the bottle.
“Your turn,” Root said.
“Not happening.”
“It’s basic safety,” Root pouted. “You need sun cream.”
“I’ll lie on my back,” Shaw said. “Don’t think I trust you with that.”
“You trust me to navigate the plane you’re flying, but not to rub your back?” Root said. “Think
your priorities are a little skewed, sweetie.”
“Don’t play innocent.”
“Never,” Root said. After a few seconds, she moved back to her own lounger. “Let me know if
you change your mind.”
Call Me
Root was always excited when she got a phone call. She’d pick the phone up, and wait a few
seconds. Inevitably though, she seemed to end up disappointed.
She had a plan. When she met her soulmate, she’d give her phone number. It ought to speed
things up. That way she’d get a call, and they could arrange a meeting, or at the very least just
talk.
Every time she got a new phone or landline, she memorized the new number in minutes. It
wouldn’t do to meet her soulmate and not know what to say.
Still, there was nothing. No call, no alert. She did wonder about that, sometimes. Maybe her
soulmate had called before Root had gotten the right phone, or maybe they were due the next time
she changed numbers.
Root drove into a parking space, hurriedly turning in before another car could. There were too few
spaces available as it was.
She got out of the car, and was just about to walk to the exit when she heard a distant voice. She
turned, to see the driver of the other car having apparently found their own space.
“Well you’re impatient aren’t you?”
They sounded annoyed. Root paused; she’d always known she’d hear those words, though she’d
always imagined hearing them in different circumstances.
Very different. Root paused, staying on the spot as the woman grew closer.
Her soulmate had a bit of a temper, then. Probably good to know. Root looked at her, met her
eyes, gave a beaming smile and rattled off her phone number in seconds.
“Call me,” Root said cheerily. She waited a few seconds, as though expecting history to rewrite
itself. Then, she pouted. “You didn’t call me.”
She’d had that number for a good few years as well. Plenty of time.
“Well I’m done,” the woman said quickly. As quickly as she’d approached, she turned on the spot
and began to walk away. Root hurried beside her.
“Not that easy,” Root said. “Why didn’t you call?”
“Why didn’t I call the stranger who’d forced their number onto me?” the woman said. “I wonder.”
“Just have you my number,” Root said. “We’re soulmates. You’ll have to call me sometime.”
“I really don’t,” the woman said. “Not everyone wants a soulmate.”
“I get that.” Root said, “But weren’t you at least a little curious?”
“For a couple of years,” the woman said. “Not enough to call you up every couple of months just
to see if you had the number yet. And not any more. You’re not important for me to waste that
much time on.”
“Ouch,” Root said. Still, she chuckled. “Fair enough. Figures I’d try to cheat, and get a soulmate
who wouldn’t play along.”
There was a brief pause. The woman kept walking, while Root followed. After a few more steps,
she sighed.
“What do I call you, anyway?” the woman said.
“Root.”
“I’m Shaw,” she said.
“Did you call me?” Root said, suddenly.
“What? I thought we’d just-”
“I know,” Root said. “But I got a drunk voicemail a few weeks ago. Baffled me at the time.”
“What did it say?”
“Not quite sure,” Root said. “Like I said, she was very drunk. Liked bad language.”
“Might’ve been,” Shaw said, slowly.
“Sound like you, huh?” Root said. “You seem fun.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. Root stayed alongside her.
One of Them 2
Shaw climbed the ivy again, Root coming out to help pull her up, over onto the balcony. They
were getting quite good at the routine now. Shaw had always been a good climber, but a little
extra help never went amiss.
Their first meeting had raised enough ruckus that it had since become trickier. No one wanted
them together, so the Capulets had locked the door to Root’s balcony.
It had taken about a minute for Root to pick it. Shaw would admit to being impressed by that.
Root had since taken to moving the lock to the door to and from her room, ensuring they’d get
privacy.
“So, what happened?” Root said.
Root lay back on her bed. Shaw walked over, joining her and sitting on the side.
“Same speech as ever,” Shaw said. “Mustn’t see you, be seen with you, mustn’t have anyone
even think of the two of us…”
“No new ideas then?”
“Not this time.”
Root had enjoyed Shaw’s bloody-mindedness. The moment Shaw was prohibited from doing
something with Root, she’d taken to doing exactly that.
It was what had gotten them into this situation, locks and all. Shaw was forbidden from bringing
shame to her family by being seen with a Capulet, just as Root was banned from being seen to a
Montague.
There had also been a nice, huge public dance looming. It wasn’t Shaw’s scene, but she was
happy to make an exception and be seen with Root by a sizeable part of each of their families,
with rules of decorum preventing any intervention until they left.
They’d kissed rather openly and lengthily as a point to close the night. They’d both enjoyed that;
and Shaw had enjoyed the dancing more than she’d admit.
“I’m kinda curious about how much they’d explode if we just walked together,” Root said.
“Nothing special, just do down the street.”
“Holding hands?” Shaw said.
“Aww, knew you had a sweet side,” Root said.
“Just looking to piss them off,” Shaw said. “Not really sweet.”
“But yeah,” Root said. “Just look like a regular little couple.”
“Well we are dating,” Shaw said. “Tempted to shout that from the rooftops.”
“Knew you were a romantic.”
Shaw glanced sideways, then snorted. She’d grown used to Root’s odd sense of humour; besides,
Root could be endearing, sometimes.
“I’m this close to just getting a priest,” Shaw said. “Bet we could make some of them
spontaneously combust.”
“You move fast,” Root said. She hesitated briefly, then smiled. “Would be quite the scandal
though. Doubt we’d get away with it.”
“Do you want to get away with it?” Shaw said. “I’m just looking to annoy them.”
“Me too,” Root said, and paused. “But it’s a little more.”
Root looked up to Shaw, suddenly uncertain.
“That ok?”
Shaw looked at her for a few seconds, caught off-guard. It was probably strange that she’d never
had much reason to think of Root romantically, even after all the stolen nights and kisses they’d
had together.
True, she liked spending time with Root, but that was just out of spite. There didn’t have to be any
more. But there could be; and it was fun.
“I guess,” Shaw said. “Though don’t go expecting miracles. You know this isn’t going to work
out.”
“Might do if we’re inventive,” Root said. “Could escape.”
“And how’d you plan to escape without them following us?” Shaw said.
“Could fake our deaths.”
Shaw paused for a moment.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said. “That’d never work. I vote we stick around and see how much more
we can annoy everyone. Put that inventiveness to work getting around them.”
“That’s fun too,” Root said.
She leaned up to kiss Shaw’s cheek; Shaw tugged away after a moment.
“Save it for public,” Shaw said.
“I will,” Root said, happily.
Not Scared
Chapter Notes
Time for another historical!
1941, London
Sirens wailed. Shaw hurried down the street, mentally mapping out the route to her home. Too far.
Instead she slowed, and paused, trying to remember where the nearest station was.
The bombs were coming. Underground was the safest place to be; most houses had a shelter but if
she couldn’t reach her own, subway stations were often the best place to go. They’d been
repurposed into public shelters.
A lot of people she knew spent the night in them even if the sirens didn’t go off. They were just
safer.
Shaw broke into a run, making it to the stairs leading down. She spared the black sky just one
more glance. There was no light, not even from the houses.
Once she was down in the station, Shaw relaxed. She heard the rumble of the first bomb falling,
but it was too distant to be a threat.
She looked around the crowded station. Almost every metre was occupied by someone; she even
spotted hammocks strung up between the rails. Shaw always preferred to stay on the platform
though, partly from habit, and partly because it just felt more comfortable.
Slowly, she made her way to a more sparsely packed spot by a wall, slowly sitting down there.
Blankets were provided; the bombing was likely to last most of the night. Even if it didn’t, there
wouldn’t be much point in leaving.
There was a card game going on not too far from her. A small group of people were sat around a
table, with one woman clearly having a far luckier night.
Shaw watched, vaguely amused. There wasn’t much else to do beyond watch people, in shelters
like this. She wasn’t nearly social enough to have people to play cards with.
“And that’s it,” the woman said, throwing her cards down. There was general groaning. “I’ll give
you guys a break.”
Shaw stiffened as she heard those words. For a moment she considered speaking; then the woman
caught sight of her, evidently seeing some odd reaction.
The woman moved closer, stepping over someone who was trying to sleep, getting closer to the
wall. She sat herself down just by Shaw.
Another bomb dropped. That time it was much louder.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” the woman said.
“No, I’m not scared,” Shaw said, slightly weary.
The woman’s eyes widened. After a moment, she settled down further, keeping herself seating
next to Shaw. She gave no indication she meant to move; Shaw didn’t particularly mind.
A few years ago, she’d probably have gotten up and walked out when she met her soulmate. Even
if it wasn’t for the bombing, she’d doubted she’d do that now though.
That was what wartime did: even back at home, everyone had to work together. Neighbours
who’d never exchanged words offered a spare room when one house was destroyed, total
strangers slept side-by-side in the cramped underground… Shaw could almost stand to put up with
people, now.
“Nice to meet you,” the woman said. She offered her hand; “Root.”
“Shaw,” she replied, taking the hand.
Shaw rested her hand back down on the platform. Root rested hers on top; Shaw inwardly rolled
her eyes, but didn’t pull away. Close contact was to be expected down here.
“So, you scared?” Shaw said, echoing Root.
“A little,” Root said. She still smiled. “You heard what happened at Marble Arch.”
Another bomb fell; that one was far closer. Dust fell from the roof, and several people gave cries.
Shaw didn’t blink.
Marble Arch station had been bombed a few months ago; it had been a mix of terrible luck and the
aftereffects of traffic. The roof had given way under the bomb, and it had gone off inside the
station.
“Doubt that’ll happen,” Shaw said. “We’re safe in here.”
“Safe is relative,” Root said. “Sat under a bunch of bombers doesn’t strike me as the safest place
to be.”
“Better to have a roof over you,” Shaw said.
“That I agree with,” Root said.
She chuckled. Shaw rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. Levity was refreshing, rather than the
doom-and-gloom soldiering on she saw from most people.
“Can I let you in on a secret?” Root stage-whispered.
“What?”
“Not really that scared,” Root said. “Just seeing how you comforted. You’re not really that good
at it.”
“So I’ve heard,” Shaw said. She rolled her eyes, but chuckled.
Root shuffled closer to her as someone else sat down, stretching out in a sleeping bag. Shaw lifted
her arm, not wanting Root to sit on it.
After a few seconds, she relented and lowered her arm down over Root’s shoulders. It was better
than having it squashed awkwardly between then.
“You’re good at cards,” Shaw said, gesturing to the table where the group-minus-one was starting
to play again.
“Lots of practise, lots of cheating,” Root said.
Shaw hesitated.
“I like to win,” Root said.
“Might not want to antagonize the people you’re locked in a room with,” Shaw said.
“Oh,” Root said. She nodded slowly as if she’d only just considered it. “There’s a thought.”
Shaw snorted. It was a little while before either of them spoke again, waiting out the rumbling and
the shaking of the Blitz above them.
Root’s head dropped sideways onto Shaw’s shoulder; Shaw shifted and pushed Root’s head back
up.
“If you don’t like people being in close quarters, you probably shouldn’t have come down here,”
Root said.
“Close quarters I can stand,” Shaw said, “If you’re actually trying to sleep. You weren’t.”
“But you wouldn’t mind sleeping together?” Root said.
Shaw raised her eyebrows. Root smiled.
“Sure,” Shaw said, wearily. “I can stand that.”
“I look forward to it,” Root said.
You Started It 4
Shaw was rather unsurprised to find Root waiting outside her meeting yet again. Shaw didn’t
bother trekking back to the bin, snatching the flowers from Root and just trampling them
underfoot as they walked to the elevators.
“I think I’m wearing you down,” Root said, gesturing to the pitiful looking bouquet.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Shaw said.
Root chuckled. They waited for a little time, as the rest of the crowd from the meeting took the
elevators down. It would be a short while before an empty elevator came back up for them.
“Want to play a game?” Root said, suddenly.
“If it’s one you’ve come up with, I doubt it,” Shaw said.
“Go on,” Root said. “It’s a fun one.”
“I don’t trust your definition of fun.”
“It involves you getting handsy,” Root said. “You seem to enjoy that.”
Shaw rolled her eyes. It was a few seconds before she reluctantly sighed.
“I’m listening,” Shaw said.
“Remember what we did on our last trip?” Root said.
“Vividly.”
“Glad to hear it,” Root said. She gave a playful smile; “We basically do the same.”
“Wouldn’t call that a game,” Shaw said. “Fun, not exactly a game.”
“I haven’t gotten to the game part yet,” Root said. “So impatient. Are you going to let me talk?
Good. So, the challenge is to not get caught.”
There was a pause. Shaw regarded her, uncertain.
“That’s it?” Shaw said.
“That’s it,” Root said. “Doors open, we have to stop.”
“So, like normal.”
“What?”
“Like normal,” Shaw said. “Having sex in an elevator, you stop when the doors open. That’s just
common sense.”
Root looked at Shaw, apparently contemplating something. Then, so quickly it nearly gave Shaw
whiplash, her expression went from speculative to grinning.
“Yep,” Root said. “That’s it exactly.”
“So, you just want to screw again, basically,” Shaw said. “Not exactly a game.”
“It’s a bit of a game.”
“It’s what we’d probably have ended up doing anyway,” Shaw said. “Only damn way to make an
elevator ride with you bearable. Not a game.”
“It’s a challenge.”
“Not a challenge,” Shaw said. “Did it before.”
“But if it was a game, would you want to play?” Root said.
Root looked innocently at her. As she always did whenever Root looked innocent, Shaw took
careful stock of the situation, sure something was going to make her regret this.
Bing. The elevator finally reached them, but they waited outside for a moment as Shaw
considered. Eventually, she sighed.
“Sure,” she said.
Root beamed, and invited Shaw to enter the elevator. Shaw did so, walking right to the far wall. It
would make things easier. She looked at Root suspiciously as she passed.
After a second or so more, Root walked inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, she leapt
for the buttons, using both hands to stab at every floor from where they were to the ground. By the
time Shaw had reached her, every button was lit.
Shaw pulled her back from the buttons, just a little roughly.
“This again?” Shaw said. “Seriously?”
“Told you it was a challenge,” Root said.
Shaw glared at her, Root simply smiling, until they reached the next floor. The bing distracted her.
“So?” Root said, smiling still, “Want to play?”
Can I Hold Your Hand?
Chapter Notes
Request time!
Shaw didn’t like haunted houses. She trudged through it, very far from intimidated by the
obviously-fake décor and vaguely dimmed lights.
She was just there for the drinks.
At a jump scare somewhere along the path, someone jumped into her. Her glare seemed to scare
them more than the attraction itself; she was rather gratified to see them hurry away.
Shaw continued on, impatiently waiting for the end of the tour. She’d been promised drinks on the
far side.
“Can I hold your hand?”
The voice came up behind Shaw. It was more teasing than afraid; no doubt they’d seen Shaw’s
reaction to the other person. It also made Shaw jump more than any of the other features at the
haunted house.
Really, she had to meet her soulmate now?
“Try it and I’ll rip your hand off,” Shaw said, without turning around.
She heard a chuckle. Sighing, Shaw turned, to see a woman standing behind her. She offered her
hand; Shaw ignored it.
“I’m Root,” the woman said.
“You have bad taste in attractions,” Shaw said.
“And you?”
“There’s meant to be drinks,” Shaw said. “Beginning to think it wasn’t worth it. Especially now.”
“I’m just here to pickpocket,” Root said.
Shaw paused.
“What?” Root said. “People jump around, if they feel my hand they’ll just think I’m trying to
spook them, and I’ve got every reason to jump into people. It works out well.”
Root lifted a wallet out of one pocket, absently tossing it to Shaw. Shaw continued to hesitate. Ok,
this wasn’t going how she’d expected.
There was a sudden Boo! as a worker dressed as a somewhat pitiful-looking ghost leapt out from
the wall. Neither Root or Shaw flinched, and Shaw turned to fix the worker with a glare.
Rather cowed, the ghost backed away. Shaw turned her attention back to Root. Well, at least Root
wasn’t as cowardly as most of the people in there.
“Slightly impressive,” Shaw said, eventually.
“Thanks,” Root said. “Don’t mind a pickpocket for a soulmate?”
“Preferable to you actually liking this kind of thing,” Shaw said.
There were a few seconds of silence. Apparently the meant-to-be-scary people in costumes had
learnt their lesson about interrupting the two of them.
“Are we having a moment?” Root said, tilting her head.
“Not now,” Shaw said.
She turned away. It had almost been interesting, until Root had started to get boring. She walked
away, trying to figure out where the drinks were.
It was only a few seconds before she felt Root near her. A hand patted the side of hers; reluctantly,
Shaw opened her palm, and let Root take her hand.
“Thanks,” Root chirped.
“Just because you’re a pickpocket,” Shaw said. “I want to know where your hands are.”
“You only have to ask.”
Root the Magnificent 3
Root had a room in her home dedicated to new tricks and performances. There were decks of
cards, dice, hats, wands, and all manner of odd-looking machines Shaw didn’t even want to guess
at the purpose of.
There was also a corner dedicated to blindfolds, ropes and handcuffs which Root swore was for
escapology and related acts. Shaw didn’t believe her in the slightest.
As much as Shaw was far from thrilled by Root’s profession, she did like watching Root when
she sat in that room. Not that she’d admit it.
Root would wander around the walls, pick up a disparate set of tools, then sit down and
completely tune out the world. More often than not she came away with nothing, though at least
that was preferable to trying to show Shaw another trick.
“Thought any more about being my assistant?” Root said.
She was sat in the middle of the room. That time she’d picked up a presumably-gimmicked gun
from one rack.
“Answer’s still no,” Shaw said.
“There’s a good classic that needs two people to do,” Root said.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet,” Root said.
“Don’t care.”
“You don’t need to wear feathers or fishnets,” Root said. She paused. “Unless you want to. I
wouldn’t mind. Awful lot of nice outfits you could-”
“Not going to.”
“You’d get to shoot things.”
There was a pause. Shaw regarded Root for a few seconds, before shrugging.
“Ok,” Shaw said. “I’m listening.”
In the end, they made a deal. Shaw would help with one trick, and one trick only. She was only
serving as an extra pair of hands; no outfit, no dialogue, no real role.
She did like her one part.
Root finished off a simple card trick, pulling a card out of a lemon, before turning back to her little
stall. She had a good sense of the audience’s attitude; whenever the bystanders seemed bored of
card tricks, she liked to do something more stand-out.
She took a few seconds to relax from the heat, splashing her face with water and drying it off. As
she did, she slipped something into her mouth, hiding the motion behind her arm.
And that was when she pulled a gun out of the stall. She made a small show of brandishing it,
getting a few laughs along with the hasty backing-away.
“And now, I’ll need the help of my beautiful assistant,” Root announced.
Shaw rolled her eyes, half-stomping to where Root stood. She had a far less enthused look on her
face.
“No need to look so grumpy,” Root said.
“Don’t push your luck,” Shaw said.
There were a few more laughs; evidently the audience thought it was part of the act. Shaw
snorted.
For her part, she was just relieved she’d vetoed the various costumes Root had proposed. She just
wore her casual outfit: well, it suited what the audience no doubt thought of as her character.
Root handed the gun over to Shaw. Shaw took it gratefully.
“I might regret this,” Root said.
Another chuckle from the audience. Shaw smiled to herself, walking a slight distance away.
“Now,” Root said, her usual dishonest patter to the audience, “Everyone’s heard of knifethrowing. That’s a bit dated, don’t you think? Shaw here has a lot of practise with a gun, though.
Will the people to the right clear out the way slightly?”
She gestured, and the audience obeyed, clearing out a small space to Root’s right. Shaw stood at
the base of it, a gun in one hand, while Root walked to the cart.
She picked up a disc with a bullseye painted on it, taking care to show it to the audience:
unblemished, unmarked.
“I’m going to throw this,” Root said, “And my lovely, bad-tempered assistant-”
“Really hate you sometimes,” Shaw said.
“I know,” Root said, beaming. “Anyway, I’ll throw the disc over there, and Shaw will shoot right
through the middle. And if she doesn’t, I get to choose her costume for next time.”
Shaw turned to face Root, and fixed her with a glare.
“Eyes on the target sweetie,” Root said. She lifted the target, weighing it in her hands as if about
to throw.
“Do you really think it’s smart to annoy me right now?” Shaw said.
“Something wrong, sweetie?” Root said.
Shaw lifted her gun, pointing it directly at Root. There was a little uncomfortable fidgeting from
the audience, among those who couldn’t quite tell whether it was part of the act.
“Shaw,” Root said, suddenly uncertain. “You don’t have to-”
Shaw fired, and there was a sudden in-drawn breath. And then all eyes went to Root, who was
holding a fired bullet between her teeth, and the shock turned to applause.
Shaw reluctantly lowered the gun. Unfortunately it was a fake; not even capable of firing blanks.
It just made an impressive bang, enough to distract and make people jump.
Add that to the fired bullet Root had snuck into her mouth before the trick even started, and you
had a pretty convincing illusion.
And Root definitely didn’t catch Shaw smiling to herself when she went to put the gun away.
Oh
Shaw sat down in the seat, spreading her legs out slightly. Sure, there was someone either side of
her, but she was going to be sitting there a couple of hours, she wanted to be comfortable.
It was a play that had looked vaguely interesting. Well, she had to do something.
She sat through it, vaguely paying attention. It wasn’t terrible, even if she didn’t really find it
enthralling.
Then another actress came out onto the stage.
“Is it to quarrel with me that you have wished to bring me home?” she enunciated clearly.
There was a momentary pause, in which Shaw became uncomfortably aware that she was sitting
in a crowded theatre. It was dark, and in those spaces between lines, so very silent.
She felt suddenly hyperaware of everything for the next second or so, not expecting to hear those
words.
“Oh. Fuck,” she said. It was a few seconds before she realized she’d spoken aloud, and a few
more before she realized just how loudly she’d spoken.
The silence dragged on for a few seconds more, the occasional titter coming from elsewhere in the
audience, before the actors on stage hastily continued. Shaw noted that the actress who’d spoken
looked almost shell-shocked.
When the interval came, Shaw hurriedly flicked through her programme. It was a few seconds
before she found a familiar face in it, and a name. Root as Celimene.
So, her soulmate had a name.
Shaw managed to make it through the second act without any loud swearing. She did occasionally
catch Root distractedly looking at the audience, though.
She was slightly surprised she hadn’t been kicked out of the theatre.
When the play came to an end, Shaw couldn’t remember much of it. It was hard to do much
beyond overanalyse and debate what it was she should do next.
She had a soulmate, and she knew how to meet that soulmate.
So, should she? She’d never made it secret that she wasn’t interested, but it still felt too easy to just
walk away. And, well, her soulmate was kind of cute. It just depended how much of what she’d
seen was the character, and how much was her.
Somehow Shaw found herself around the stage door. There was a small crowd there already;
Shaw didn’t try to push to the front. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to talk to anyone.
Some of the cast trekked out, some stayed inside. Most of the leads seemed content to hide
themselves away, talking through windows, until more of the crowd had dispersed.
Shaw was just about to give up and walk away when she heard Root’s chiming voice. She looked
up, and saw Root’s face leaning out the window.
“Which one of you’s got the potty mouth?” Root said playfully.
There were a few murmurs. Shaw hesitated.
“Come on, don’t be shy,” Root said.
Shaw groaned rather than spoke, but apparently that was enough. Some of the thinning crowd
looked at her, while Root’s attention was quickly drawn.
“Hey,” Shaw said, monotone.
“It was you?” Root said. She appraised Shaw. “Any reason you needed to interrupt?”
“You know exactly why,” Shaw said. “You don’t need to play games.”
Root grinned. She waved down to the stage door.
“Hey guys, you can let her in,” she looked back to Shaw. “Anything you want signed?”
“No.”
“Sure?” Root said. “I’ve heard a few people can get imaginative with that.”
“I’m leaving,” Shaw said.
She stood still for a few seconds. Root smirked.
“I’ll tone it down,” Root said. “I’m an actress, I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
“You’re just a pain.”
“That too.”
Any Last Words 2
Root hid out in a nearby house, climbing in through a damaged window and hiding until the
guards had gone by. She fled as soon as the normal homeowners entered the room.
It wasn’t too hard to get started again. She had quite a stash of stolen prizes kept in a small shelter
that evidently hadn’t been found.
The smart thing to do would have been to move on, of course. They knew her face here, so she
shouldn’t stay. Another town, another place, and she could start anew. She’d miss Hanna, sure,
but she probably wouldn’t get much chance to see her now.
Root’s mind always went to the woman who should have been her executioner, though. Just her
luck to meet her soulmate at the scaffold.
There was no point in running. She spent a few days doing a little research, soon finding out
where Shaw called home. It was only a matter of turning up.
She opted to knock smartly on the door, rather than sneaking in. It certainly wasn’t the safest of
options, but neither was sticking around.
“You were meant to leave,” Shaw said flatly, the moment she opened the door.
“Just wanted to check on my soulmate,” Root said. “Can I come in? Probably much safer inside.”
“I’m not inviting a thief into my house,” Shaw said.
“I’m not just a thief.”
“Really not helping your case.”
Root pouted. After a few seconds, Shaw rolled her eyes, and glanced back behind Root to ensure
no one untoward was watching them. Then, she stepped back, and Root walked inside.
“Didn’t get into too much trouble, I hope?” Root said.
“Remains to be seen,” Shaw said. “But didn’t get into any for botching your hanging. They
blamed the rope.”
“That’s good,” Root said. “Glad my soulmate’s safe.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why?” Root said. “You saved me. You have to think-”
“I don’t care about a tattoo,” Shaw said. “You were fun. Didn’t seem worth it to let you die. So
didn’t let you die. That’s it.”
“So you just think I’m fun?” Root said. Her eyes lit up. “I can work with that.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” Shaw said.
“No promises.”
Root smirked, as Shaw turned her head to walk away. It was just a few seconds before she
stopped, and turned back to face and watch Root.
“Actually, not taking my eyes off you,” Shaw said. “Whatever else you’ve done, you’re a thief.
I’m watching you.”
“I hear you,” Root said. She paused. “What if I need to get changed?”
“What?”
“You said you weren’t going to stop watching me,” Root said. “Is that still true if I need to change
clothes? Not complaining, just wondering how far you’re going.”
“Root,” Shaw said.
“What?” Root said. “It’s a valid question.”
“And it’s not exactly smart to antagonise the person you’re relying on for shelter,” Shaw said. “I
could walk outside right now and get you back on track for an execution.”
“But you won’t,” Root said, beaming. “You said you liked how fun I was.”
“This isn’t fun.”
“I don’t know about that,” Root said. “You’re the one that wanted to watch me strip.”
“I never said-”
“Kinda did,” Root said. Then, she frowned. “Or are you saying that wouldn’t be fun? I’m hurt.”
Shaw stared at her for a few seconds. She might have been regretting her choice at the gallows.
“Ok,” Shaw said, eventually. “House rules. If I’m going to be sheltering a fugitive, you’re going
to have to listen. No stealing from me, no being a pain-”
“What about stealing in general?” Root said. “Thought you liked my list of crimes.”
“Only said from me,” Shaw said. “There are a few people out there who deserve to be knocked
down a peg or two, go after them all you want. Just don’t bring the stuff back here.”
“Got it,” Root said.
“And don’t make me regret saving your life,” Shaw said. “I did it because you seemed fun. Don’t
be a pain, and we won’t have a problem.”
“Oh, I can definitely promise you fun.”
Nice Phone
Chapter Notes
Based on a true story.
Shaw was less than enthused by her soulmate. What was it about her, that the universe had looked
at her and apparently decided ‘gadget and tech geek’ was her perfect match?
Root had peered over her shoulder at the café to compliment her phone, apropos of nothing, and
Shaw had nearly thrown her drink at her. As it was, she’d just spilt it.
Root went home to change her top, and she’d invited Shaw to go along. For a reason Shaw
couldn’t quite recall, she’d agreed. If she was stuck with a soulmate, may as well see what she
was like.
They got about a step into her house before the lights flickered on, despite the fact Root hadn’t hit
a switch. Shaw hesitated, briefly.
It was starting to get dark outside, so the lights were welcome. Still, Root hadn’t mentioned
someone else living with her.
“Relax,” Root said, seeing her expression. “It’s automated.”
“What?” Shaw said, flatly. “Please tell me you don’t have a motion detector.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Root said. “It detects my phone, knows it’s late, so turns the lights on.
Can get an app for anything these days.”
“That’s slightly worse,” Shaw said.
“Pretty handy, I think,” Root said. “Changes thermostat when it knows I’m out, no wastage, turns
lights off automatically so there’s no way I can forget one…”
“So, basically, your home is a supervillain’s hideout,” Shaw said.
“Close enough,” Root said.
She didn’t seem to notice the mocking. Instead, she happily went inside, plugging her phone in
and gesturing for Shaw to come in further.
Shaw looked side to side for a moment, a little uncertainly, before doing so. It was somewhat
unnerving to go into a house that seemed to have far too much set up to work of its own accord.
“Want a drink?” Root said.
“Got a robot that makes the tea?”
“Not yet,” Root said.
She just went for a beer. Root retrieved a bottle, before sitting down near Shaw. After a few
seconds, Root grabbed her phone, unlocking it and playing with something for a few seconds.
The lights dimmed.
Shaw raised her eyebrows.
“What?” Root said. “Mood lighting, without needing to leave my seat. You’ve got to admit, that
can be pretty handy.”
“Pretty annoying.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“What’s next on the list of clichés?” Shaw said, “Turn up the heat so I take off my top?”
“Not a bad thought,” Root said, contemplatively.
Shaw glared; Root chuckled.
“Fine,” Root said, “Relax, I’ll manage that with just charm then.”
“Might be a struggle for you.”
Root just smirked. Shaw didn’t quite know what to feel; ok, her soulmate was attractive, that was
a plus, but there was only so much annoying she could take.
Her gaze kept going to the phone as well. Her soulmate did seem to like her machines; seemed
strange that so much could be controlled with that.
“Hey Siri,” Shaw tried.
The phone didn’t respond.
“Voice recognition,” Root said, “Only meant to recognize my voice when doing that, so only I
can use the voice control.”
Shaw paused.
“Hey Siri,” she said, again, changing pitch slightly.
There was a beep as the phone evidently took that as a close enough approximation of Root’s
voice. Root blinked; Shaw chuckled. She wasn’t as into gadgetry as Root evidently was, but she
knew the voice recognition could be a little shoddy.
“Turn off the lights,” Shaw said.
It took about a second before they were sitting in the dark.
“Happy?” Root said.
“Are you?” Shaw said. “It’s your system.”
“It works most of the time.”
Shaw paused.
“Hey Siri,” Shaw said. There was a beep. “Turn the lights on.”
The lights came on again; not just the ones in their room, but all around the house, in the hallway
and down in the kitchen.
Shaw snorted as Root hurriedly grabbed her phone, trying to find the controls.
Ok, maybe she could get used to staying here.
[blank] 2
What you doing?
That was the disadvantage to a long-range not-soulmate. They never saw each other, but Root still
wanted to feel as though they were spending time together.
Which seemed to translate to getting an obscene number of text messages. Shaw rolled her eyes,
ignoring it.
Hey there! *waves*
And another came through after just a few seconds.
Stop ignoring me.
It’s meant to be like we’re together. Imagine I’m hanging around behind you.
Eventually, Shaw gave up. She sighed, starting to type in a reply: if you were here, I’d be ignoring
you too.
It shut Root up, though not for nearly long enough.
She’d admit she did like talking to Root, most of the time at least. She could be entertaining, she
could be interesting; there was enough there to enjoy.
Ever since moving past their strictly professional relationship, though, Root had started contacting
her a lot more.
She sent off a text saying she was driving, before walking home. She occasionally glanced at her
phone, seeing that at least Root was sending her fewer messages now.
Shaw could just imagine Root laughing away to herself. It had been Root’s idea, after all; the
messages were meant to make it like they were together, side-by-side. From what she’d seen of
Root’s personality, she fully expected Root would be just as much of a pain in person.
When Shaw got home, she eventually wandered over to her computer. She preferred talking via
that anyway.
Shaw: You there?
Root: No.
Shaw snorted. Now her presence had been confirmed, anyway, so she could wait for whatever
Root wanted to say. Shaw had never been much of a conversationalist. Eventually though, she
sighed.
The one time she actually wanted to talk to Root, Root stayed silent.
Shaw: Do you need to text that much?
Root: Absolutely.
Shaw waited for a few seconds. No elaboration. Ok. She rolled her eyes, turning her attention to
something else, when-
Root: I wanted to be with you, that’s all. Talk to you as much as I could if I was next to you.
Shaw: You talk that much?
Root: Something wrong?
Shaw: Probably a good thing we haven’t met in person. It’ll probably end in murder.
Root: Could be worth it.
Shaw chuckled to herself. Root could be a bit of a pretentious romantic, she knew that well
enough. At least online she could picture Root’s expression for herself; imagine her quipping
rather than being serious. Root did strike her as someone who liked her quips.
She’d seen Root’s face. They’d exchanged photos a few times, images of various kinds, so at least
Shaw knew who she was talking to.
It could be fun to imagine Root.
Root: I don’t want to meet. Reminder.
Shaw: I know, you still want us to somehow be soulmates.
Root: Not meeting’s the easiest way.
Shaw: I get it. I’ll happily use any excuse to not have to put up with you.
Root: We can’t have first words to each other. It’s this or I could hold up signs outside your
window.
Shaw: No rom-com moments
Root: Spoilsport.
Shaw rolled her eyes.
Root: Besides, the moment we meet you’re just going to shout something aren’t you? That way
you don’t have to think we’re soulmates.
Shaw: Maybe.
Root: But this way we are. Don’t you want us to be?
Shaw hesitated for a few seconds. She had priorities beyond soulmates, and had never had a huge
desire for such a match.
And Root was a pain, overly romantic, irritating, and just a general pest. The answer should be
easy.
Shaw: Maybe.
Not My Car
Chapter Notes
Another request!
Root turned onto a slightly less busy road, thankful for the chance to get up speed. She wasn’t in a
huge hurry, she just didn’t like the amount of time that always seemed to be wasted in travel.
She had things to do at home, and things to do at her destination, but everything in between may
as well have been pointless.
She tuned out the hum of the engine, the rush of the wind, and the sound of tyres against the road.
If she could, she’d have fallen asleep.
Dimly though, Root noticed another car in the mirror. It was speeding notably faster than her;
another impatient driver apparently.
Root did her best to ignore them, only taking notice when the other car got awfully close to them,
just as the number of lanes shrank. She glanced in her mirror every few seconds, seeing the car get
uncomfortably close.
The driver was perfectly visible: a dark haired, focused woman who’d probably be tapping her
foot if she wasn’t driving.
As the road widened again, Root felt slightly relieved. She tried to change lanes, only for the car
behind her to try to do the exact same, suddenly speeding into her. Root felt her car jerk.
She then heard, even through the window of her car, an impressive string of curses.
Root jerked on the wheel suddenly, out of shock. Of all the times to hear those words… Root had
always been amused by her soulmate’s imaginative cursing.
Root glanced back, glad to see the other driver was pulling over. As much road rage as they
seemed to get, at least they’d pay for the damage. Root pulled over too, putting on the handbrake
before getting out of her car.
She tapped on the other driver’s window, and watched as she rolled it down.
“Can I have your number?” Root said, beaming.
The woman stared.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Root said.
The woman paused, before reaching down and pulling up a scrap of paper. She wrote out details
on it; everything Root needed to talk to her insurance company.
Silently, the woman stuck her arm out the window, holding the paper. Root took it, and paused for
a moment. Her name was Shaw, apparently.
It took her a few seconds to realize why the woman wasn’t talking.
“It’s safe to speak you know,” Root said. “Already heard your little tirade when you bumped me.
I know we’re soulmates.”
The woman stared for much longer.
“You’re still paying for repairs,” Root said.
“Well screw you too,” Shaw said.
“Charming,” Root said, still beaming. “It’s your fault, technically. That was bad driving.”
“It was good driving,” Shaw said, “Just fast. You got in the way.”
“Only got in the way because you were out of control.”
“I was in control,” Shaw said. “If you’d stayed in your lane we wouldn’t be having this problem,
and we’d get a nice normal life without needing to worry about soulmates.”
“What bothers you more, that I dented your car, or that we’re soulmates?”
Shaw stuck her head out the window, peering to the front of her car to try and spot any damage.
“You dented my-” Shaw began.
Root started chuckling, unable to help herself.
“That answers that,” Root said.
“A car’s actually useful,” Shaw said.
“I can be useful,” Root pouted, “Promise.”
There was a brief pause. Shaw glanced at Root’s hands, fingers just over the base of the window.
She seemed to be seriously considering rolling the window up on her.
“I’m probably going to run you over if you don’t move away soon,” Shaw said.
“Temper, temper,” Root said.
Shaw’s engine revved. Root took a hasty step back.
“I’ve still got your number,” Root said, calling after her as Shaw started speeding off again.
She was fairly sure she caught sight of a middle finger out of Shaw’s window.
Where Are You?
Chapter Notes
Obligatory rock star AU.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Root was glad she’d gotten tickets. She’d wanted to see the band live for years now, and
especially wanted to see lead singer Sameen Shaw. She had garnered a fair fan-base.
The moment the music began, Root had shivers. She’d wanted to hear them for so long, and she
wasn’t disappointed.
Root cheered, hands in the air at the sound. The band played, and Shaw stood at the front of the
stage, hand on the microphone awaiting her cue. Then, in one fluid movement she grabbed it and
started to sing.
“Midnight, getting uptight, where are you? You said you’d meet me, now it’s quarter to two.”
It was loud, and exciting, and it sent a thrum through every nerve in her body. And over the
guitars, the drums, Shaw’s voice was perfectly distinct, as much part of the music as any of the
instruments.
And just as intense was the music, was the fact Root knew those words. She’d been interested in
the song ever since she’d read the lyrics tattooed on her chest; she hadn’t expected it to be how
Shaw would open the concert.
So, her soulmate was the lead singer of her favourite band. She wouldn’t say no.
If anything, Root just ended up cheering louder.
Root made it through the concert, each new note sending a thrill through her not unlike the
moment she heard her soulmate speak. She clapped and clapped and shrieked along with the rest
of the audience.
When it was over, she was one of the first to rush to try and get access to backstage. She was far
from the only one.
Root faltered, then. She’d planned out how she wanted the meeting to go, over the interval; she
liked the idea of having the same tattoo as Shaw. She imagined walking into the dressing room,
covering maybe the first verse of the song, and then, well, she’d see.
Dressing room probably wasn’t going to happen by the look of this, and first words didn’t mean
much if Shaw never even heard her.
The moment she saw Shaw, Root started waving. Somehow she’d made it near the front of the
crowd, not quite allowed to get backstage.
“Hey!” Root said. “Want me to sing for-”
Root caught herself. She noticed Shaw stiffen, turning around carefully. Root waved; Shaw stared
at her for a few seconds.
Then she slumped, and gestured to one of the guards. Root breathed a sigh of relief as she was let
in.
“I’m a big fan,” Root said, hurriedly. “I really- uh, I wanted to get us matching tattoos. I messed
up.”
Shaw raised her eyebrows.
“You know,” Root said, “if I’d sung the same song that you sang first, my tattoo would be your
tattoo. Seemed like a nice idea. Then I got excited. So- Unless your tattoo’s just me cheering.
That’s a thought.”
“It wasn’t,” Shaw said, shortly.
Right, she’d have had it removed. Most people in the public eye did. Root inwardly cringed; so
going for matching tattoos would have been a waste of time anyway.
Shaw looked back over Root’s shoulder. She nodded to the gathered fans for a moment, before
focusing back on Root.
“Come with me,” Shaw said. “Really don’t want to have this conversation in earshot of bloggers.”
“Happy to,” Root said, beaming.
Sometime she’d stop babbling. It was hard to not be a little star-struck.
They went into Shaw’s dressing room, just as Root had imagined. It was markedly more messy
than she’d expected, though most of it was costumes and snacks rather than anything personal.
The only personal item seemed to be a photo of a dog.
“Glad you’re my soulmate,” Root said, beaming.
Shaw sat down. She seemed more baffled than anything.
“Isn’t that what everyone dreams of?” Root said. “Meet a celebrity they love, only to find out
they’re soulmates? It’s- I’ll need a moment.”
“I’m not going to be what you want,” Shaw said.
“What?”
“I’m not interested in the soulmate stuff,” Shaw said. “I’m not going to write a song for you, I’m
not going to do anything couple-y. I don’t know what you’re thinking of, but-”
“I could be a groupie,” Root said.
Shaw paused.
“A very lucky groupie,” Root said. “That work for you?”
“You’re taking this well,” Shaw said.
“Soulmates,” Root said. “Pretty much has to work out, right?” She paused. “Does this mean I get
free tickets?”
Shaw hesitated.
“I guess,” she said, eventually.
“Song dedication?”
“What?” Shaw said. “I told you, nothing-”
“I’m not asking you to write anything,” Root said. She beamed. “Just preface one with ‘and this is
for my lovely, darling soulmate-’”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Shaw said.
Root pouted. Shaw glared. After a good few minutes, Shaw relented.
“Fine,” she said. “But don’t expect it to be a sweet one.”
Chapter End Notes
Song credit to Joan Jett, because Shaw's a fan of hers and you can't tell me otherwise.
A Good Captain 2
Root had steered her Machine out a fair way to sea, yet every time she glanced back Captain
Shaw seemed to be continuing her pursuit. She was irritatingly good.
Well, what else would she expect from her soulmate?
Root looked through her telescope again. When she could take a few seconds to break, she
enjoyed the sight; Shaw with a rope in one hand, and her other on her cutlass, staring back at her
in grim anticipation.
They would pretty much have to meet again. It seemed as though Shaw looked forward to it as
much as Root.
Unfortunately, it did mean Root was alone on a still rather damaged ship, and up against a much
better crewed and looked-after vessel. The Machine was the better ship, but she still needed to be
handled well.
Root walked to the edge of the deck, peering over.
There was a trail of debris left in her wake; not much, just a few loose planks and specks from the
damage sustained in her last battle with Shaw, but it wasn’t good.
Root lifted her telescope again. She could almost imagine that Shaw could see her at this distance,
so intent was her gaze.
Well, playing fair wasn’t going to get her through this.
Root hurried to the back of the ship. She lifted her telescope again for one final scan of Shaw’s
ship; no one seemed to be surveying her. Well, they didn’t need to. She smiled, made sure her
cutlass was secure, and vaulted over the edge of her ship.
It was a strange feeling, leaving her Machine behind. Hopefully, though, it wouldn’t be for long.
The Machine was following one set course, and they were far from any rocks or obstacles.
She didn’t swim, floating as though she were just more debris. Shaw’s ship was following the
trail, planks and bits of wood scattering harmlessly against the prow of the ship.
Root floated similarly, occasionally giving a subtle kick, but otherwise not swimming at all. She
floated, and drifted, inconspicuous debris from the damaged Machine.
It wasn’t long at all before she reached Shaw’s vessel, and once there she unsheathed her cutlass,
cutting at the ship to ensure she kept with it. She reached up, pulling herself up through a cannonhole.
Two very surprised privateers looked at her. Unfortunately for them, Root already had her cutlass
in hand.
Shaw had been rushed out here. At the sight of Root fleeing, Shaw would have commandeered
the nearest vessel. That meant most of these people were unprepared, and it likely wasn’t even the
ship’s normal complement. Root had only spotted half a dozen through her telescope.
Root spent a few moments leaning on a cannon, catching her breath.
Then she got back into action, snatching a pistol from one of the fallen crew, and rushing out onto
deck.
Technically she had as much time as they had to react, but they had to get over the shock of seeing
someone they thought was on a completely different ship. That gave Root the advantage, and she
already had a cutlass and pistol raised.
She shot once, dropped the pistol, and brandished her blade at the closest privateer she could see.
The element of surprise won out yet again.
Shaw was the only one still out on deck. Root hurried up the stairs to her, yet held her cutlass in
an open palm, unthreatening.
“Ok,” Shaw said, after a moment. “You’re good, I get it.”
“Don’t worry sweetie,” Root said. “I’m not going to hurt my soulmate.”
Shaw snorted.
“How many others are on this ship?” Root said.
“Like I’d tell you.”
“Now that’s not very nice,” Root pouted. “I’m not threatening you.”
“You’re trying to take my ship.”
“It’s not your ship,” Root said. “Yours sank.”
“That’s my ship,” Shaw said, gesturing out to the Machine. “Took it from you, remember? This is
where I get it back.”
“I think we can reach a compromise,” Root said. “I can’t sail it alone, you know.”
“You want my help?” Shaw said flatly.
“Second pair of hands doesn’t hurt,” Root said. “At least until we reach a pirate-friendly port, then
I can get a new crew and you can do what you want.”
Root paused, glancing sideways. Another of this ship’s crew had emerged; they didn’t seem to
have identified the woman talking to their captain yet.
“One sec,” Root said, beaming.
She vaulted over the fence, landing on the main deck and lunging. The duel lasted seconds. Root
span back, and returned to Shaw.
Shaw was watching her, expression somewhere between bemusement and dislike. She had her
cutlass out though, like Root, she kept it lowered.
“And why would I join you?” Shaw said. “I can see why you need me. The ship you stole from
me-”
“Stole back.”
“It’s falling apart,” Shaw said. “You might have set it up to be manned by fewer people, but
especially in that condition it needs more than one. But I’ve got crew enough here.”
“Less than you ought to,” Root said. “Especially now. Besides, would you rather have this
mediocre crew, or a spectacular soulmate?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Might need to salvage some of this ship,” Root said, looking around, unconcerned by Shaw’s
words. “Little extra wood for repairs.”
“Root.”
“Put it like this,” Root said. “You couldn’t have had a full crew when you set out, and you’ve just
lost most of them. Chances of you getting back to dry land safely is low. You’d need a ship that
can run with fewer people, like the Machine, and you’d need someone who knows her inside and
out. That’d be me. You’re not getting back to land without my help, sweetie.”
Shaw paused for a moment. She looked out at her ship, apparently mentally calculating how many
people she’d lost.
The answer didn’t seem to please her. She scowled at Root, then schooled her expression.
“And the rest of the crew?” Shaw said.
“Oh, please tell me you’re not loyal to the first idiots you could pick up,” Root said.
Shaw tilted her head, conceding that point.
“Offer’s only open to you,” Root said. “So, what do you say? Want to be stranded out here, or
want to sail the seas with your soulmate?”
“To the nearest port,” Shaw said, “Where I can get off.”
“If that’s what you want,” Root said. “We have a deal?”
Root beamed; Shaw continued to glare at her. Root’s smile lessened only slightly. Ok, this was
either going to end in murder, or really great sex.
“I guess you’ve got a deal,” Shaw said, and sheathed her cutlass. “Though don’t go expecting me
to be nice to you.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Root said.
Keep it Down 2
Martine hated her downstairs neighbours. They’d been bearable for months, and now…
It had started simply enough. One played loud music, but Martine didn’t mind that so much. It was
muffled easily enough, and a certain amount of background noise was expected.
Then they’d started shouting at each other through the wall. Something about music, and
soulmates, and names.
By the sound of it, they might have been soulmates. Nice for them. It didn’t give them an excuse
to shout constantly.
“Quiet!” Martine shouted, stomping, for what felt like the hundredth time.
Ever since the first conversation, they’d been shouting through the wall at each other more and
more often. Apparently they just couldn’t be bothered to walk the short distance out their door,
and down the hall to the very next one.
That, or they just liked being a pain. Martine was putting her money on the latter.
More voices. Martine stomped again. Eventually there was silence; she thought she heard a door
shut. Well, that was promising, hopefully they’d just talk like normal human beings now, in the
same room.
It was a good ten minutes or so before Martine heard any other noise. She paused, poised to shout
again, unsure if she’d imagined it. It hadn’t sounded like a work.
Then there was another sound. It was definitely coming from the two downstairs, butAnother sound, and Martine rolled her eyes, for a moment seriously considering shooting through
the floor. Trust them to do that loudly as well.
“Will you two shut up?” Martine shouted.
It worked for a few seconds, at least.
“Don’t be jealous,” came the muffled voice of the one Martine was fairly sure was called Root.
Martine ignored her, groaning again as they started to make yet another din. That time, when she
started shouting and stomping, they only got louder.
After a few minutes, wearily, she stood up, walked to her bed, and buried her head under her
pillow. She was either going to have to move, or kill them. She wasn’t entirely sure which.
The better part of an hour later, and it was quieter. Shaw lay back, looking up, idly wondering
whether it was her imagination, or if their upstairs neighbour had succeeded in knocking some of
the paint off her ceiling.
Root lay next to her. Shaw was stead-fastedly ignoring the fact Root seemed to be a cuddler.
“We are terrible neighbours,” Root said absently.
“Mm,” Shaw said. “Mostly you.”
“Mm,” Shaw said. “Mostly you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well you did start it,” Shaw said. “The shouting.”
“True,” Root said. Then, loudly enough to briefly deafen Shaw: “I’m sorry!”
It was very likely Root never said anything the slightest bit sincere. Their upstairs neighbour
shouted something indistinct and annoyed back.
“Are you always this much of a pain?” Shaw said.
“Probably,” Root said. “Didn’t seem to bother you.”
“Just want to know what to expect.”
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