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Connections

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Shaw muttered all the way up to Root’s office. She told herself that she had come a long way in granting Root some freedom on her public displays of affection and her wild fantasies, but there was a limit. And she was convinced with every fiber of her being that Root had just crossed it.

“She’s in a…,” was all that Root’s admin assistant,  Jill, was able to get out before Shaw burst through the door.

“Seriously, Root?” Shaw barked and marched over to where Root was standing. “Look, I’m as up as the next girl for a little role playing and I appreciate that you took my suggestion to do one that didn’t require a major overhaul of our house to make it look like a jail or a fire station…” she began.

“Sweetie?” Root attempted to slow the locomotive mouth.

“And I wasn’t thinking when I suggested your latest thrill. I mean, I just threw that out there, because I thought it didn’t require uniforms,” Shaw spilled as she walked back and forth in front of Root’s desk. “But doing it at work? I mean, I honestly expected to see the Principal sign on your door. No, I’m glad you didn’t do that.”

“Sweetie, I’m not sure this is the time….” Root tried again, reaching out to touch Shaw, but she moved away.

“Oh, now’s not the time?” Shaw scoffed, her head swaying back and forth. “You had me summoned over the company loud speaker, for God’s sake. Root!” she pleaded. “There will be detention jokes for a month!” the injured party said, throwing her head back. “Everyone heard it!”

“Not everyone,” Root murmured because she was totally unaware and confused.

“This is something I just want to keep between us, okay?” Shaw begged and Root tried one more time to get her to stop.

“Then you might want to stop…,” Root warned her.

“We can go back to uniforms,” Shaw suggested because she was thinking out loud. Apparently, without them, Root could carry out her fantasy anywhere. “We’ll do something at home, okay?” Shaw proposed so that Root would understand. She was attempting to make up for squashing this idea.

“Okay, honey, that would be great,” Root smiled, really hoping that was the end of it.

But Root’s concern was conveyed in odd facial expressions that Sameen mistook for disappointment. She thought quickly to find an alternative. “Maybe…,” Shaw said, coming up with something as she moved around Root’s desk.

“Shaw,” Root said, but was quickly distracted when Sameen got the most seductive tone to her voice.

“I could put on that white dress you like,” Shaw started and Root immediately knew the one she was talking about. “The double-breasted one*, with long sleeves,” Shaw said close enough to touch Root’s arm as she slid her finger down it, “…and cut down to here,” Shaw reminded Root as she pulled on her white t-shirt to expose how far down the dress line went.

Root was totally on board and forgot not only where they were, but how to breathe. “Yeah?” Root said and now Sameen was standing really close.

“Yeah and you could be…,” Shaw hesitated because that was as far as she got, and scrambled to come up with something. ‘Uniform, think uniform,’ Sameen shouted to herself. “A TSA Agent!” she finally yelled out.

“TSA?” Root asked, unable to take her eyes off of Shaw’s hand that still tugged at her t-shirt.

“No one likes TSA Agents,” Sameen was certain Root said.

“Okay, traffic cop and you can pull me over for speeding,” Shaw said, trying to come up with something, but obviously a novice at this.

“That…,” Root uttered, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” Shaw agreed, taking pride in her imagination. “And you can do a full body search,” she cooed coming back into Root’s space.

“Much better!”

Shaw heard the words, but Root’s lips weren’t moving. “How did you…?” she asked.

“What?” Root said, pulling her eyes up to look at Sameen’s mouth. “What?”

“How did you do that without moving your lips?” Shaw asked slowly.

“Oh,” Root finally said, regret in her voice.

She leaned back and looked directly at the large computer monitor. Root tried to tell Sameen when she barged in that she was in the middle of a video conference call with the IT department. “Uhm, thanks guys,” Root said and thunderous applause broke out over the couples’ final decision.

“WHAT?” Shaw said, stunned that there had been an audience. She looked over and saw a group of ten to fifteen people waving back. “Hi, Sameen,” a couple called out.

“We’ll pick this up later,” Root smiled and disconnected the call. “I tried to tell you,” she explained.

“They heard all of that? ROOT?” Shaw whined, falling back into the chair.

Root was sorry she got so distracted, but Sameen had no one to blame but herself for being so damn sexy. “Don’t worry, sweetie, they understand that we’re young and in love. And that you’re incredibly hot,” Root said.

“Well, if you hadn’t called me to the Principal’s Office over the intercom, Root, none of this would have happened!?” Shaw complained.

“I didn’t do that,” Root replied.

“What do you mean; you didn’t do it? Who did it then?” Shaw asked.

“Wait,” Root said, returning to her keyboard and checking a few things. “Oh, I see what happened.”

“What? You posted Root’s favorite role playing on Twitter?” Shaw bellowed.

“I was researching top fantasies at the same time that I was working with the machine and I guess she took it upon herself to carry out something to help,” Root surmised. She almost sounded pleased.

“You told the machine…about our fantasies?” Shaw practically croaked.

“I converse with her… about a lot of things,” Root said truthfully.

“What is she; Siri on steroids? Tell her to stop helping! She’s not helping,” Shaw barked.

Root didn’t want to admit it, but she was fascinated that the machine had the cognitive process to put things together and act on them. “I will. It will be okay,” Root said soothingly.

Shaw raised her head, hoping to take in some of Root’s sympathy and assurance, but noticed she was busy typing on the keyboard. “Hello?” she said, annoyed Root could think of work at a time like this.

“Just…one minute,” Root said, her fingers flying across the console. “There!”

“Could you tell me what was so important that it couldn’t wait?” Shaw asked annoyed.

Root smiled sheepishly and came around to sit next to Sameen. “I had to order a uniform,” Root explained. “You didn’t expect me to ask Lionel, did you?”

“Not! Funny!” Shaw said, pointing at her partner.

Root leaned over to kiss the pouting lower lip. “Let’s go to lunch,” she offered to soothe Sameen’s nerves.

“Fine! But I get to shoot anyone who makes a joke about being sent to detention,” Shaw declared.

“Okay, you can,” Root said as she walked her upset fiancée to the elevator.


The usual lunch of the Parks Deli sandwich, along with the fact that no one commented on Shaw’s faux pas, was enough to make her calm again.

Until, of course, Lionel showed up.

“So this is where you’re being detained,” he said because that was actually a cop phrase.

“What? What did you say?” Shaw said, staring at him hard.

“I was looking all over for you,” Fusco said, grabbing the scraps of sandwich that were still on the paper that her sandwich came in. She slapped his hand, but he pulled away. “I wanted to give you guys the latest,” he said and ordered a cottage cheese salad when the waiter came over.

“I’m not sitting with you if you’re eating cottage cheese,” Shaw complained.

Root put her hand on Sameen’s so Lionel could talk. “Well, because there was someone actually killed at the scene, there’s a full investigation,” he explained.

“Finally, you’ll actually be working for the NYPD,” Shaw quipped and pulled the paper with her sandwich in it, away from him.

“Will that present a problem for you, Detective?” Root asked pointedly. She understood that Lionel was a stand-up guy.

“Naw, I didn’t see anything, so I can partake in the investigation,” Lionel explained, grabbing a clump of pastrami and placing it over his mouth to devour it.

“If you don’t stop eating my food, there’ll be another murder to investigate,” Sameen warned, but he scoffed at her threats.

The waiter placed the large plate of white curded cheese surrounded by fruit in front of him.

“Now, that’s just wrong,” Shaw assessed.

“Hey, I’m losing weight,” Lionel said, patting his stomach. “Six pounds.”

“That’s how much sweat I lose when I work out,” Shaw taunted him.

“Anyway,” he said, ignoring her, “… because we don’t know much about this company, they’re calling in some expert from Brooklyn.”

“Great. Do we have to sit here and watch this?” Shaw asked because odd foods made her queasy.

“Detective Jackson,” Lionel said as he took a big forkful of his diet lunch.