Just for You

Shaw doesn't know why but the minute Finch says 'at any cost' she knows what to do, where to go. She is eighty percent sure – maybe, seventy percent, seventy-five – if Root is still alive then Shaw knows where she would go. Shaw cannot explain it, she is not going to try to, because in the end her instincts have always been her guiding force and they are nearly always right. There is no need to over think it because her instincts tell her: Go. Home.

It is not really home; it is just an apartment. It is an apartment the Machine picked out for her. In fairness, the Machine did allow a bit Shaw's minimalistic tendencies in the furniture and decorating scheme. However, to keep with the precious cover, it looks more like a real apartment than anywhere Shaw has ever lived – dishes in the kitchen and couch in the living room – though the wi-fi is uncharacteristically bad for New York. It seems to fail at the oddest times and without any reason the super has been able to explain, despite repeated complaints from tenants and calls to Comcast. Imagine that.

Shaw unlocks her door with the least grace she has shown in a while and shuts it behind her with less silence than usual. She stalks down the hall and her eyes sweep the living room as soon as she enters: corner – clear, couch – clear, kitchen doorway – clear, far corner – clear. Then she sees the drops of blood on the floor in the kitchen beyond. She just sees the edge of a cabinet around the wall open. Shaw turns left, back toward the one wall, and walks down the hall toward the bedroom. She pauses at the bathroom: clear – and sees traces of water in the sink, the bathmat on the floor shifted two inches. Shaw keeps walking and then into the bedroom: corner – clear, window – clear, bed –

"Root!"

Shaw hurries over to where Root lies on the bed. She opens her eyes as Shaw stops beside her and smiles in a sleepily way.

"Hey there, Tigger." She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply then opens then again. "Sorry, gave myself a sedative earlier. Probably should be wearing off my now."

Shaw reaches out and touches the bandages on Root's arm. "Did you do this yourself?"

"Not the shooting part."

Shaw grits her teeth, checking the wrappings. "Bullets go through?"

"The one was more of a graze." Root waves a lazy hand across the bed to the night stand tucked into the corner on the opposite side of the bed. "Got one bullet over there if you're looking for a souvenir."

"You did not –" Shaw looks over at the table.

Root chuckles. "I was kidding, it went through. No bullets left to speak of."

"Good. Did you use my kit?" Shaw asks, looking back at Root. "You had to have needed stiches." She starts to peel back one of the tapped edges. "I can probably –"

Root puts her hands over Shaw's. "I knew you'd have what I needed. I think I did a passable job. Leave it for now."

"You disinfected?"

"Not my first battle field injury."

"Fine." Shaw pushes Root's arm a little so she can look at the underside, same good bandage and no signs of blood at the moment. "These fresh at least?"

"As the morning breeze."

Shaw gives her a look. "Care to give me a time table on that breeze of yours?"

Root chuckles and shifts herself up a little against the pillows. "Don't worry, Shaw, I'm fresh and clean and not bleeding through anything at the moment."

"I'm checking them later."

Root nods. "Okay."

Shaw finally drops her hands from the bandages and sits down on the edge of the bed beside Root. Then she frowns. "Did you call me Tigger?"