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What a Lovely Way to Burn

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Root wanders a New York dreamscape with leaden legs, chased by red-eyed monsters. When she wakes, her throat is dry and she's in Shaw's bed, with an IV hanging next to the Order of Lenin, and a dog across her feet.

Shaw sits beside her, sharpening a knife.

"Is that for emergency surgery?" Root rasps.

Shaw's eyes are angry. "That's for the next time you let a bullet wound go septic." Still, she hands her a bottle of water, presses a steady hand to Root's forehead.

Root sips gratefully; the water is cool and wonderful. "I love you too, sweetie."