Shaw's been holding her breath for so long it's unreal. Lightheaded, heart hammering, clutching Root and trying to grasp if she even heard her correctly.

But she did, through the thundering in her ears, through the vibrations of the words formed in Root's throat and expelled in the small distance between their lips.

Ruin me.

Ruin Root. Only, Shaw seems to think she herself is the one crumbling. Her ever resilient foundation trembling with the last bit of after shock of words spoken like a dare, ever tempting with eroding qualities. The wall painstakingly built ever since this woman came around, Shaw feels it faltering, feels the rubble falling at her feet.

The damage is irreparable. Shaw sees that now.

When the dust settles, it's just her and Root, standing among this broken and collapsed barrier, surrounded by all these reasons safely chosen to be ignored. In the true light of day, by Shaw's will or otherwise, they're unavoidable, inadmissible.

They're there, occupying the space suddenly free. Wrapped together in this small cabin becoming so stiflingly damn hot, when Shaw finally does breathe, she takes a part of Root with her.

The hand that carefully laid each brick, the one around Root's throat, it goes slack almost in the way her speechless jaw does. But it still reaches, searches in those last few moments for retreating sounds. To call this whole thing off before it begins.

Whatever it, this, is.

The words are lost, missing and Shaw's last dangling hope calls off the search. Finally faces this reality parallel to Root's.

Shaw ghosts her lips in the same way she's always ghosted this woman. Close but never touching, loving and dreading the tight knots twisting in the center of it all. The warning signs telling her to leave and in the same turn screaming for her to stay. The moment that Shaw's fathomed a million times but never accepted, it's here. The kind of moment she felt would kill her or slay her with regret later. Something that the Shaw of long ago would regard as so utterly reckless and stupid for even her to accomplish. But the Shaw, the one right here and now so weathered by the what ifs, that Shaw can't bring herself to care for the consequences of the future.

Pressed to Root, pressed to the door, Shaw finally runs out of excuses. Sprints towards the thing she's always ran away from.

If it isn't the most glorious collision when their lips collide. A crash, a sudden impact and a release of energy that's been collecting and laying dormant for too long. A release that never felt so fucking good as Root's lips.

For someone who always knows what's coming next, Root surprisingly fails to see Shaw. Dumbstruck for only a fraction before she's meeting Shaw head on, returning the lightening kiss with the same, and if not, even more vigor. Feeling her own kind of release when she slips her tongue past melted lips, Root moans something so pleasant. The second explosion to incinerate what's left of Shaw's torn wreckage. There's a booming in Shaw's ears, a blasting heat radiating the parts of her body connected to the one desired but never obtained.

It's wild and maybe all the things Shaw thought it would be. Maybe more. The way Root's kissing her, with a desperate kind of intensity, like she thinks this is the one and only time Shaw's ever going to let her have this.

She can feel a kind of greed coming over Root. How she tears and pulls at Shaw's shirt, like she's trying to claw through the cotton and bring them closer. As if they weren't already. Shaw thinks she might break apart midst the mess of frantic hands grabbing hold of anything and everything they can. Oddly, the grappling scene makes Shaw feel like a teenager again. The furious pulling of clothes in such a haphazard sense, with no real intent other than just to be foolhardy.

Shaw comes up for air, draws in a partial breath before diving back in again. Like she would rather suffocate it seems, like Root and her lips are more important for survival than oxygen will ever be. Root has to feel the same way, share this overwhelming need for connection after what seems like an eternity of frustration. Adding to the mixture these ever lingering thoughts, that this is a really bad idea, the outcome is a combustible component. A white hot friction that could easily burst the last barrier of clothing between them into flames.

Holding fast, Shaw to Root to the door. Maybe the wood splintering under all the pressure would make for good kindling, Shaw thinks. If she fucked Root against it.

The last bit of trepidation is dislodged, comes undone with another moan that travels from Root and down to Shaw's core. If Shaw didn't feel it before, she feels it now. This sense of urgency pulsing through every nerve ending, Shaw fingers excitedly twitch with a curiosity, not wanting to go another minute without knowing what the rest of Root feels like.

Shaw absolutely despises the dress Root's wearing. Hated it on herself last night, hates it even more because it's in the way. She bunches and wrinkles the ends, pulls them upward until her eager fingertips fall upon warm skin instead of smooth silk. Heavily, Shaw sighs when she realizes Root wasn't lying earlier, that the confession made in the dining car was completely truthful. What a shame, Shaw thinks, for wanting to rip off the underwear that Root isn't even wearing.

She feels the soft skin of Root's hips and feels something else. The sly smirk forming against her mouth, turning smugly at the edges as if delighted by Shaw's discovery. Shaw just takes the arrogance between her teeth, bites down hard enough until she tastes copper, until that amusing laugh generating within Root becomes a pained hiss instead.

That shudder, that sudden jolt that makes Root arch her hips and grasp Shaw tighter, it's everything and Shaw's mind instantly reels with even greater possibilities. Breaking the skin and drawing another reaction like that, something inside Shaw aches with a dangerous desire. To bury her nails so deeply that they leave behind red crescents, to make ladder like impressions with her teeth starting from Root's neck and ending on her thighs. If Root will moan so wantonly when she hurts her. Secretly, Shaw wants to find out.

She thinks of long lasting marks, red and blue, and thinks of promises to be fulfilled.

But Shaw is swayed from that mindset temporarily, when she finds the pure liquid heat waiting between Root's legs. She grunts something incoherent into the crook of the neck she was once sucking as her fingers slip through the wetness. Root adds to the nonsense, swearing nothings into Shaw's ear when a certain budding spot is touched for the first time. Eventually lolling her head back to slam loudly against the door when Shaw tests a single finger inside.

And God, Root is so wet. Shaw could easily drown in her, in this moment dreamt of so many times it's reduced her brain to liquid. Pulling out slightly, Root's muscles direly clench at the potential loss and Shaw just revels. In Root; in the way her lips part for Shaw's name to be released between needy moans, in the way her body beckons with it's own kind of language.

Shaw poises another digit, ready to fuck Root into powerful orgasms like she's imagined since the beginning of their strange relationship. But she's stopped abruptly as Root's hand acts on it's own volition, catching Shaw by the wrist and holding tightly.

Quickly, she looks to Root, who's lustful eyes beam directly back. Whiskey colored irises swallowed in darkness, deadly and dilated with arousal. Root bites at her broken lip, crooked with a wry smile, and Shaw tenses.

"What happened to foreplay?" Root teases, her other hand disappearing to tease somewhere else underneath Shaw's shirt.

Shaw is lost again, in the kiss Root pulls her into. Unaware until she feels her heavy chest suddenly unrestricted, as her bra is expertly unsnapped by meticulous fingers. The padding is soon replaced with Root's palm, teasing even more with gentle fondness.

"Where's the rush Shaw?" Root whispers against her lips, bringing Shaw back to where she wants her, to her clit heatedly throbbing between her legs. Shaw sighs and strokes, and maybe examines the question too much in depth when she kisses Root again.

Where is the rush?

Is it in her brain? In the synapses firing lust wildly between neurons, overloaded and short circuiting with every touch. Is it in the air she breathes? Root invading her lungs with each inhale, Root absorbed into her bloodstream and pumped throughout her body by a heart that beats at an unholy speed. Is it in her nerves, the endings hard wired and rerouted, connected to her own aching need and her fingertips ready too find Root's. Yes and no, Shaw thinks.

The rush is everywhere.

Shaw presses harder, deepens the kiss until Root breaks off for air, stills Shaw's hand growing with tension.

"Don't you want to enjoy this?" She hears Root say, almost chastising, cupping the swell of Shaw's breast

Whoever said Shaw wasn't enjoying herself? Yes, this is a bit slower than she cared for... more intimate.

Maybe so.

Nose to nose, Shaw can see Root's cheeks lifting like she's smiling again. Teasing one of Shaw's nipples with a thumb, Root hums so affectionately into her space. But Shaw would rather hear other sounds from Root. Would rather Root gasp for air and tax her lungs, speed her heart. She'd rather their bodies be a disastrous and tangled blur than resemble anything close to this stillness threatening to stagnate.

Her muscles stiffen and tense. They plead for action, for a speed that burns them into soreness. This slowness, it's not what she wants, and judging by this look on Root's face it's definitely not what she wants either. Root's riding on the brakes, for what reason, Shaw has a theory but chooses to ignore.

She winds, readies like a spring before Root and her meager grip, adamantly for a connection that wills Shaw by name.

The sudden sharp pain originating from her nipple makes Shaw freeze. Hers half lidded eyes snap open only to find Root sporting a malicious smirk.

"Now, now Shaw," Root tuts while her fingers remain like a vice around Shaw's sensitivity. And Shaw now realizes her own theory, the one where Root's still fucking with her.

Forty-three muscles to seventeen; a frown combats a smile.

A hand instinctively goes to the source of pain, when Root's grip takes a turn for the more volatile. She squeezes harder, holding fast and Shaw actually believes Root's trying to twist her nipple right the hell off.

"Root!" Shaw growls through the displeasure.

"Do you need a safe word sweetie," Root teases to the whites of Shaw's teeth showing a grimace, gritting with fury under the acute pressure.

Pain, Shaw can do, better than most. It's not the pain unraveling her stoicism at the moment. It's Root and this smug look plastered to her face. It's Root and her incessant need to manipulate everything. It's Root and it always will be. And just like Shaw had warned earlier, she's fucking sick of it.

But there's one thing Root will never have the upper hand with; speed and strength. Shaw's too fast. A few well placed maneuvers and Root finds herself eating the door with an arm pinned behind her back.

"How's this for foreplay," Shaw lowly says into the ear than can actually hear her taunt and gives Root another good shove.

Root's head is turned enough to the side to peripherally see. Silent at first, perhaps she's mulling over a few things. Shaw thinks maybe Root will realize the world of hurt she's about to be in and finally grasp that Shaw isn't a play thing. But go figure, Root just smiles. "It's a cute start," she says and Shaw just twists her arm from mild discomfort to agony.

"How cute will it be when I break your arm?" Shaw threatens with another short turn and Root hisses.

Out of pain, Root slams her free hand against the wall and clutches the threshold. Fighting back a grimace, she says, "It's okay," and showingly drums her fingers on the wooden surface. "I've got another."

Shaw will break that one too if she has to.

"But you don't wanna to do that, do you Shaw?"

It's still under consideration.

"Because, you know," Root leads on, slowly dragging her polished black nails against the surface. Shaw watches them like she's transfixed by the sight and sound. "I can do so.. much.. more..with both," Root whispers, punctuates her scratching. Shaw looks to the deep lines revealed in the wood and barely manages to swallow.

"This is all just amusing to you isn't it," Shaw shakes her head, tries to shake away distracting thoughts. "Using me for your fucked up little games?"

Root doesn't answer at first. She looks up to the place where her hand lies among the marks in the door, then down at nothing. Shaw swears she could hear her name at the beginning of a sentence that Root never finishes. Her name sounding like an apology quickly taken back, exchanged for a smile as half hearted as the remorse would have been.

Root just says, "Pick a number between one and ten."

"What?" Is all that Shaw can manage. Confused and thrown off course. Shouldn't she know better by now?

"Might as well make it one," Root says, "A game. Since that's what you think this is."

And to be honest, Shaw has no idea what this is, if it's real or a ruse. With Root, it's a toss of a coin, sometimes interchanged for a double sided one at that. Shaw searches for the sleight of hand and comes up short. She thinks of the number five and releases Root altogether, cursing herself while taking an appropriate amount of steps backwards. Still, Shaw's deciding whether or not she wants to play along.

Even with the new freedom, Root doesn't turn around, doesn't look at Shaw. She stands there facing the door and rolls her hurt shoulder gently a few times. "You got it?" Root eventually asks, shrugging off the jacket and perhaps the only piece of clothing keeping her modest. That damned dress, disheveled and pulled up over her hips, revealing all of Root's perfect ass for Shaw to see.

The sound of Shaw's coat tossed to the floor suffices as an answer and Root begins to undo the zipper at her side.

"Good. Now Sameen," Root begins, begins to slowly pull the shoulder straps aside. "That number you thought of..."

Shaw repeats it over and over in her head like it could be easily forgotten, distracted more by the gradual descent of Root's dress. Caring less of Root's intentions with every inch of black silk that slips away.

"I want to see..." The garment pools to the floor leaving Root's backside completely bare. Exposed, her pale skin reminds Shaw of winter. Light and cool, even though Shaw feels as if her own flesh were burning underneath her clothes.

Root turns her head slightly. Her profile is seen past the dark waves of her hair, a gaze fixed to the door and the hand tracing the shell of it's lock. Root absently toys with the lever as if still wondering before her fingers pause.

The effect of the words finally reached, it's a dropping sensation in Shaw's chest. Her stone heart skipping radically against the surface before plunging.

"..If you can make me come that many times in a row before I pass out."

The lock sharply turned and slammed into place, it makes Shaw twist.

"This is our first time," Root says, baring her body and a devilish grin to Shaw, who's trying her best to suppress this involuntary gulp. "Make it count."

The idea of distance is soon forgotten, by Shaw or Root, neither are sure. They come together in a mess of tangled limbs and lips, mauling tongues and self deprecating sounds slipping away from their mouths.

Shaw's sure she doesn't have clothes on anymore, when her once heated skin suddenly feels so searing pressed to Root. Root, who feels all too pleased with her accomplishments. Shaw just angrily pushes her down on the small bed in the far corner and Root grins as she hits the mattress. Her long legs dangle over the edge, spread invitingly for Shaw to stand between them.

When it comes to Shaw, it's always been difficult for Root to keep her hands to herself, but Shaw lets her this time. Lets Root run her palms along the area of her thighs, over the bumps of her hip bones to her taut stomach. Everywhere but the place in Shaw that's gone untouched this entire time. Now it aches with a need impossible to ignore.

Root soaks in every inch, licking her lips with an insatiable hunger like she wants to absolutely devour everything Shaw is.

Shaw wonders why Root hasn't done so yet.

Fingers weave through the long tendrils of Root's hair before they form a fist, before they pull, and Root's impish grin becomes buried between Shaw's legs. Root kisses her sweetly and hums something satisfactory as she slips her tongue within the folds. Under Root's heated mouth, Shaw flutters, lets out this unbridled sigh and wonders.

Wonders why in the world she never let her before.

Root is relentless. Licking and sucking, and Shaw's acutely aware of every one of those velvety hot strokes and how it drives her further into madness. They pull at each other. Shaw's fist in Root's hair, and Root's hands wrapped tightly around Shaw as her legs begin to tremble.

The first sign of Shaw's release nearing and Root sees it in the distance. She grips Shaw's backside, draws her closer and builds with more adamant flicks of her tongue. For a moment, Shaw thinks about letting go. She arches her hips and muses how good it would feel, how fucking hot it would be to come in Root's mouth.

But something else takes her focus away. A sudden pinch of pain, Root's hand massaging the still tender tissue of one her ass cheeks. The residual nostalgic sting reminds Shaw of everything.

The station, the gun shot wound, and Dr. Fucking Root.

Shaw pulls away just before tumbling over the edge, growling with the harsh disconnect along with Root. Root, who exasperatedly looks to Shaw, searching for some sort of explanation. An answer is given by way of muted lips. Shaw kisses her heatedly but briefly, tasting herself on Root for only an instant before parting ways.

"Turn around and lie down," Shaw orders, her face expressionless, but Root still smirks.

"Whatever you say," she replies like she can hardly contain, heading the command without further hesitation and slinking the length of her body across the bed. Shaw climbs over Root's lithe form, flushes herself against Root's back, and tries so hard not to sink so easily into the warmth writhing underneath.

"This doesn't mean anything Root," Shaw tells her, tells herself.

"Okay sweetie," Root sighs as Shaw sucks her earlobe. "If that makes you feel better," she adds and hisses immediately when Shaw bites.

"I don't like you," Shaw warns, drags her teeth along the crook of Root's neck and down to her shoulder. She feels Root's spine shiver against her chest, when she sincerely bites in between soft kisses.

"Not even a little?" Root half asks. Half already knows the answer. Obviously Shaw likes her to a degree, or else she wouldn't be here right now, working her mouth down Root's bare back.

"No," Shaw lies, and it's like Root can feel the dishonesty whispered to the small of her back.

"Well I like you Shaw," she says anyway. "Ever since-"

By a particularly harsh bite to the back of her thigh, Root's speech is cut short, cut off by Shaw's teeth and smoothed over with her tongue. Shaw already knows what Root's going to say. Ever since the Suffolk Hotel and the iron incident.

If Shaw were to be perfectly honest with herself, which is sometimes difficult, she often thinks about all the unfinished business left lingering that day. What could have happened. Hell, Shaw can't even press her clothes anymore without getting hot and bothered.

"I wanted to kill you then," Shaw admits truthfully. She settles herself to kneel between Root's legs spread open and vulnerable.

"I know," Root quietly says back and Shaw looks up. Her eyes trail a path along the perfect curves of Root's body propped on elbows, to soft hair draping over her shoulders. And for once, Shaw wishes she could see her face.

But instead, the first memory of Root flashes in her mind again and the day this unhealthy obsession began to blossom. Now it tangles like overgrown weeds.

"I still do sometimes," Shaw says, brings her hands to knead the soft flesh of Root's ass. She leans in then, places a kiss to one cheek and whispers against the skin. "Mostly, I just wanna hurt you." And Shaw feels like she's asking for some sort of permission. She stays there for a moment and waits, until she feels Root shifting above. Shaw looks up again and finds Root staring back with an all serious in her eyes.

"Then hurt me Shaw," she says. "Please," and Root rolls her hips backwards into to press on. "I want you to."

Shaw nips the inside of a thigh closest to this woman's burning heat, and Root bucks a little from the near contact. She can smell her, this heady scent that makes Shaw's mouth water terribly. Even more so when she fully takes in the sight of Root at this angle splayed so vulnerably. Shaw simply cannot help herself anymore. Can't help but drag her tongue up the slit of Root's cunt and finally taste the woman that's riddled her thoughts for so long.

Root tastes... too good. Better than anything Shaw's ever had, and she hates how easily she could be addicted to this.

This thing, Shaw still doesn't even know what it is. But she knows damn well how it all started, the person who drove her into madness and wildfires.

Root.

Shaw takes her insanity out on one of Root's pristine cheeks, pulling the soft flesh between her teeth and sinking in. It's the most narcotic whine that floods this small room, but Shaw doesn't stop until she's sure that skin is broken and blood is drawn.

Leaning back, Shaw takes a moment to admire the new mark, the first one probably among many. She rubs the sore spot, squeezes it, and Root gasps, lets out a muffled moan through her palms. Even still, she pushes back into this surely painful touch and it makes Shaw wonder. If she's finally found someone who enjoys this just as much as she does.

The slap she gives to Root's other cheek, isn't light or comical. It's hard. As hard as the one Root had given her weeks ago, but devoid of anything remotely playful. The loud crack breaks the sound barrier, bounces back from every wall and echoes exquisitely in Shaw's ears. But Root, she doesn't so much as make a sound.

So Shaw hits her again, with more feeling that stings her hand. But Root, she just twitches and remains silent save for this small grunt that escapes. "Is that all you got?" Shaw hears her say while winding back for a third.

Switching tactics and switching hands, Shaw finds something like the anger she thinks she needs. Taking that energy, she draws her arm back as far as it will go and aims for the opposite side, where the red and bruising bite mark lies.

That hand is as fast as lightening when Shaw brings it down, hard enough to burn her palm and clap a thunderous sound. It's then that Shaw gets what she wants, when Root tenses before she lets out this long and unrestrained cry. It makes something inside Shaw buzz with pleasure.

Steadily, she slaps Root. Letting her hand linger on the welted skin long enough to hear another unadulterated moan erupt from Root's throat before striking again. She hits the same spot, over and over, with an equal and if not, an even greater force that further raises the angry redness. Only stopping when the belting palm she draws back is smeared with blood.

Root lies almost limp, panting for air. Shaw looks to her near mutilated ass and wonders for a moment if she got a little too carried away. But Root is indeed enjoying herself, Shaw finds out. Her arousal abundantly shows, it drips in streams down the sides of her thighs

Simultaneously, Shaw trades the motions of one hand to another. She thrusts two fingers into Root fast and hard, and it's a new sound that christens Shaw's ears. An oh, and a fuck, and her own name released in a roar and Root instantly comes hard.

"One," Shaw says to herself. Gripping the side of a hip, she pushes in again and builds for a 2nd. It takes only a minute, sixty seconds of Root grunting and fisting the sheets between every one of Shaw's unforgivable thrusts before she comes harder than the first time. Muscle walls tighten around her relentless fingers and Root shudders an earthquake beneath her.

But Shaw doesn't stop there. Root's barely rode out the second orgasm when Shaw adds another finger and slams all three into her.

God, Root is loud. Moaning a length of rowdy curses that the mattress does little to muffle. Shaw will have to gag her next time. Next time? Shaw wasn't even sure there would be a next time, that was, until Root arched her back and pushed her hips to sink Shaw's fingers in deeper than they already were. All while telling Shaw to fuck her harder.

Shaw grits her teeth from the soreness in her wrist, but determined as ever through the muscles straining and burning. In her entire arm, between her legs. Her body aches with it's own restless and rising demands. This last orgasm takes longer, takes everything, and it's totally worth it. Watching Root come with overwhelming force and crumple uselessly on the bed.

The third climax may have done the trick, Shaw thinks, but only for a millisecond.

"You're not done yet," Root groans almost inaudibly. When Shaw flips her over she sees that infamous grin of Root's coupled with bedroom eyes glossed with lust. And Shaw may or may not be impressed at this point, but she straddles Root's hips anyway and kisses her again, winds her up for that second wind.

It's something reminiscent of the hotel earlier, only Root's hands aren't bound and nothing is separating their bodies. Shaw could have taken what she'd wanted then, this something Root's been graciously offering ever since they met. In the back of her mind, Shaw feels like a fool for denying this inevitability for so long. Like speaking against the sun and fighting fate it seems.

Root is as restless as she was before, running her hands over the length of skin on Shaw's thighs with an eagerness. She pushes her hips upwards, grinding against the ache at the core of Shaw, who feels the beginnings of waves rolling within. The forgotten arousal suddenly reawakened.

Shaw puts all of her weight down in Root's lap, searching for a connection she won't know until she finds it. The throbbing need between her legs, it beckons wildly with ever increasing demand, wanting to feel more of Root, and maybe all of her.

It's an idea that flashes and flickers. Shaw slips a hand between them and parts Root while spreading herself wider. Eventually, Shaw finds what she was searching for and presses herself down as to never lose it.

Leaning back, Shaw watches as Root's eyes flutter and drift off into the back of head. And Shaw could easily do the same, with the sweetest of warmths connected in the best of ways. The friction alone may be the hottest thing Shaw's ever felt, grinding her clit against Roots. It's unreal.

Root reaches out and takes a firm hold of Shaw's hips, grasps and arches into each steam roll, further adding to the tension. Shaw builds and builds to a faster pace letting her core muscles do all the work. She closes her eyes and begins to really lose herself.

"Sam."

Shaw hears the whimper and looks down to find Root on the edge of what seems like torture. She writhes underneath Shaw, bucking her hips with every movement as if she's dying for something more.

"I need you t-" But the end of that sentence is just a lecherous moan, when Shaw reaches around and uses Root's thighs as anchors. Presses herself even harder against the wetness between them.

"What do you need?" Shaw asks even though she too is having trouble forming words at this point. Root parts her lips to speak again and Shaw feels evil, purposefully amping the speed of her hips to render Root speechless.

In between the stimulating feelings, Shaw thinks it's pretty funny. The way Root seems to be going mad, clawing her nails in frustration from being stuck in this purgatory medium between foreplay and coming. Shaw thinks she might come just from riding Root to a breaking point.

Shaw knows what Root wants and thinks about being so cruel, thinks about making Root say please first but decides against it. From behind her back, she trails her a hand up Root's thigh, towards their sexes moving in unison. Taking only a moment to gather wetness before driving two fingers home.

A small regret resides in Shaw, wishing she could have watched Root's face while fucking her the first time. Though the angle is awkward, somehow Shaw manages. She pumps her fingers into Root, hard and steadily to the rhythm of her hips. Suppressing the fire that burns in her chest only to better hear these exquisite sounds Root releases as she comes closer. Saving herself until she feels Root tumbling over the edge. It's unlike the first three times, Shaw thinks as she tumbles too, giving one last good thrust before she's a shuddering mess atop of Root.

Shaw rests her head on Root's chest, listening to sounds of her speed heart fluttering underneath. The sudden slow rise and fall makes Shaw look up. Sure enough, Root's out like a light. Shaw smirks, thinking she'd never actually fuck Root senseless.

The train's whistles blows loudly as Shaw goes to rouse Root. That's when all the lights really do go out. They must be passing through a tunnel, Shaw thinks as the car rumbles roughly on the tracks.

In the darkness, something roughly rattles Shaw. She falls off the bed and onto the floor with the wind knocked out of her. Landing with an oof! and a heaviness on her chest, she feels icicles around her wrist and the familiar click click above her head makes her uneasy.

When the train reaches the end of the tunnel, the daylight shining through the window brings Root into view. Straddling Shaw's waist, she cleverly smiles while putting the final touches on the handcuffs shackling Shaw to the bed's leg. It's bolted to the floor, Shaw finds out.

"Just returning the hardware Shaw," Root says as she finishes.

More like returning the favor Shaw thinks, testing the cuffs for any sort of weakness and realizing there are none.

"Was four your number?" Root asks, cocking her head playfully to the side.

"No," Shaw huffs with annoyance.

"Darn," Root feigns a disappointment, bracketing her arms on either side of Shaw's head and leaning in. "Maybe next time then."

"You know I can get out of this right?" And Root just cups the side of Shaw's face, like she's something cute and adorable.

"Of course you can," Root says in a tone skirting the edges of patronizing. "But for the next three hours, let's pretend you can't."

Three hours? Shaw narrows her gaze at the daunting amount of time. She gives the cuffs another futile tug before she supposes, thinking that maybe she deserves the next one hundred and seventy-nine minutes of whatever Root has in store.

And Shaw also supposes she might actually like it.

"Root," Shaw sighs and rolls her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I want my knife back," Shaw says and Root's eyes light up just as they did all that time ago. She smiles from ear to ear as if she can hardly contain her excitement, reaching for something beyond and away from Shaw's line of view. Knowing perfectly well what that sharp snapping sound is above her head, Shaw swallows hard and Root smiles.

"I'm so glad you said that."