552. Chapter 552

It’s a wonder Alex Danvers’s number hasn’t come up already.

Plenty of people have wanted to kill her. Have planned to kill her.

Somehow, she always manages to handle herself.

This time, though? This time, her number comes through.

This time, Shaw and Reese get on a flight to National City.

“So aliens. Like, actual aliens from outer space, not some racist euphemism?”

The corners of Reese’s lips tilt upward. Slightly. Very slightly.

“Actual aliens gonna be a problem for you, Shaw?”

Shaw pffts and smirks, leaning back into her seat. “If they have kneecaps, they won’t be a problem. Finch able to get a hold of Root? We might need her if our number’s under threat from a little green guy.”

“Or if our number is the threat.”

Shaw hums in agreement.

“And no. Root’s under cover somewhere. Again.”

“Figures. Shame she’ll miss the action.”

But the Machine has other plans for Root.

Plans that land Root, somehow, in a storage closet in the DEO, glasses on, feet up, and chomping on a bag of chips when the door crashes open.

“Dammit, Sawyer, Thursday morning knife practice – “

“Can wait, Danvers. Unless you want me to stop?”

“God no.”

The redhead’s head tilts back as the shorter brunette shuts the door behind them, her hands slipping under the other woman’s black polo shirt.

“Maggie,” the woman against the back of the door breathes, and their kiss gets more tender, more gentle, more deep, somehow.

Root tilts her head, eyebrows raised. She crunches another chip.

The women immediately disentangle, Maggie pulling the silver gun out of the taller woman’s thigh holster, the other woman seamlessly pulling the gun out of the back of Maggie’s jeans. As one, they each train the other’s gun on Root.

“Who are you?” the taller woman demands, and Root arches an eyebrow.

“Alex Danvers, I presume,” she smirks, utterly unconcerned, and Maggie steps in front of Alex, calm aggression, protectiveness, taking over her entire being.

Root decides she likes her.

“How do you know my name?” Alex growls, and Root sighs, popping another chip into her mouth and wiping her fingers daintily on a napkin she’d brought.

“You’re in danger, Agent Danvers,” Root tells her steadily. “And I have a surprisingly useful big lug and a rather gorgeous former assassin on the way to help you.”