"I will murder you."
"Sam." Root merely raised an eyebrow at the click of Shaw's gun safety.
"Say my name one more time."
"You have to wake up. Just for a minute, then you can go back to sleep," Root sympathized. "Just tell me what day it is."
Shaw's bruised eyes glared at her from the cocoon of the comforter, but she did shove her handgun back behind the mattress.
"I've had a concussion before, Root. I'm not going to fall into a coma because John was too slow to stop Stacey the soccer mom from braining me with a pipe."
"Her name was Brianne."
"Okay, Brianne the soccer mom." Shaw groaned. "Can I go back to sleep now?"
"Of course," she promised. "Right after you tell me what day it is."
Shaw growled in anger and frustration.
"It's," she cast a cursory glance at her phone, "two AM in the fucking morning, which makes it Wednesday. Let me sleep." She turned over, pulling most of the blankets with her.
"See you in two hours."
A single eye emerged from Shaw's nest of blankets to warn Root off.
"Don't you dare."
Root grinned into the dark, tugged the covers back as best she could, and closed her eyes. The Machine would wake her when it was time.