FIC: "The Message," Root/Shaw, Person of Interest
I committed fic again! Because when a show gets THIS CLOSE to canon, fic must be paid.
Title: The Message
Author: geonncannon
Fandom: Person of Interest
Pairing: Root/Shaw
Word Count: 1,517
Category: Missing scene, epilogue
Spoilers: Prophets
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me!
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Some blood, but nothing gory
Summary: Hospitals require all gunshot wounds be reported. That’s not the only reason she’s here.
AO3 link
"If the worse comes to pass... if you could give Shaw a message...?"
"I think she already knows."
- Root and Finch, 4x08 Prophets
There’s an elegance to not knowing what she’s going to say until she’s saying it. When the Machine first began speaking to her, when it first gave her information as she needed it and sometimes seconds before she needed it, there was a thrill of Not Knowing. It was a constant trust fall: arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed, falling back into infinity with the knowledge She would catch her. Now there was silence and Root was still falling. She called out into the darkness for some assurance and all she got in return were whispers.
Root didn’t lie to Harold: she was completely prepared to die. When she put down her guns and ran from Martine, she was falling backward into infinity. She kept listening to the emptiness in her head as she ran, knowing the Machine wouldn’t tell her the odds even if they had been on speaking terms. She was bleeding from the shoulder and the stomach and she knew the odds weren’t good. She knew there was a chance Martine would get close enough to draw a bead and then... well, she wouldn’t even see it coming. So she ran. Being prepared to die and lying down to accept it were two very different things.
She ran because she wasn’t going to die sitting down. She was owed a good death, and there was nothing good about dying unarmed with your hands in the air. Her head was swimming and her entire core was pain. Her legs ached. She ran because stopping would be suicide. And she ran so long that she wasn’t even certain when she evaded her enemy. When she could run no further she slumped against the wall and looked back. The way was clear.
“Thank you.” She leaned her head back against the wall and laughed, one hand against her stomach. The blood trickled over her fingers. She looked down and grunted. “Thank...” Her eyes snapped into focus on a spot in the middle distance. “I can hear you...”
She followed Her directions, vaguely aware of where she was going. She followed the shadow map so she wouldn’t be spotted. Karen Iverson had to die, had to be abandoned in the gutter somewhere, and for that to work she couldn’t be seen limping away from the hotel. She certainly couldn’t be seen going into the apartment building of one Sameen Shaw, random makeup counter clerk, no matter how innocuous the meeting might seem to human eyes. Samaritan would know.
Root let herself in through the basement, took the stairs, used the key she’d had made. When she got inside she raided the first-aid kit for supplies.
By the time she heard the key in the lock, she had already managed to stop the bleeding. Shaw left the light off, but there was enough ambient glow through the windows to see. Root liked that about Shaw; leave the inside lights off, maintain the ability to see how. Every window across the way became a shooting gallery if need be. Shaw was like a cat, and she moved effortlessly through the dark. Even the presence of an unexpected visitor didn’t throw her off.
“You’re bleeding on my divan.”
“I’m bleeding on your towel,” Root said weakly.
“You know how much those things cost?” Shaw pulled an ottoman closer to the couch and sat down on it with her knees spread. She leaned forward and pushed Root’s gauze pads away so she could examine the damage. “Now that I’m on a fixed income, every penny counts. You owe me for the bandages, by the way. That’s not cheap, either.”
Root smiled, the effort causing her to grunt quietly. “Sorry. But hospitals...”
“Yeah. That’s why you came here. Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds, Samaritan would put the pieces together...”
“I could find a back-alley vet...” She started to stand.
Shaw said, “Sit down.” Root sank back with a moan. Shaw opened the kit, examined what was left, and went to work. Root watched Shaw work, amazed at how intricate the doctor side of her was. Of course it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Shaw was a focused, compartmentalized machine. Whether she was sizing up a target, lining up a shot, or sewing shut a wound, she did it with calm cool efficiency. She was the sort of person Root had always dreamt of, the kind of person she didn’t think could actually exist or function in the real world.
Of course, Harold’s Machine had given purpose to all kinds of broken toys. They worked for the Machine because there was nothing else for them. There was no other job, no other circle in which they could function. Shaw looked up and met Root’s eyes, the city reflected in the darkness of her irises. At the moment Shaw contained the entire city and held Root’s life in her hands. That made Shaw the closest human analog to the Machine she would ever find.
“Sameen...”
“Quiet.” Shaw bent back to her work. “It’s hard enough doing this in the dark without you talking my ear off.”
Root leaned forward. Shaw grunted quietly at her work being disturbed, but Root put a hand on her shoulder. Shaw became still and met Root’s eye again. There was a moment, unbelievably brief, where the pain didn’t matter and Samaritan didn’t exist. It felt as if every pain that Root had felt in her life, every loss she’d suffered, was gone. When she looked into the city reflected in Sameen Shaw’s eyes she could see a different kind of life.
“I didn’t expect to survive tonight. I’m frankly a little surprised that I did.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “The Machine wasn’t there. Not that she would have given me much reassurance if she was. I had to go in alone without you or Reese to back me up. So I thought... this is it. This is where I fall. And I was okay with that. I wanted to die in a blaze of glory in the Machine’s war. I wanted to be Her martyr. But I wouldn’t have done it without regrets.”
“Root... stop.”
Root stared at her with a smile. “I told Harold to give you a message, but he told me you already knew. He was right, wasn’t he.”
Shaw looked away, into the dark of the apartment. The light of the city fled her eyes, and her face was in shadows. When she spoke, her words were measured. “If someone wanted more from me, I don’t think I could reciprocate that. It would be one-sided, all take and no give, and I wouldn’t be okay with that. So whatever message you wanted Harold to give me... whatever you want to tell me... you survived. Okay? Let it rest. We go on to fight another day, right?”
“Right. But next time I might not be so lucky. Or you might not.” She took Shaw’s hand, which was smeared with blood from the emergency work she’d been doing. “I had a very dear friend who died before I could tell her how much she meant to me. That’s partially what made me who I am today. I don’t like to repeat mistakes, Sameen.”
Shaw took a deep breath and finally looked at Root again. “If you had died, I would have scorched the earth to go after that blonde bitch from Samaritan. I would do the same for Harold or Reese, or... hell, the dog. But it would be different with you. If she had killed you, I would have never stopped.”
“I know.” Root leaned in, pinching one of her wounds and making her wince. “Ow.”
“Damn it,” Shaw said. She pushed Root down, hovering over her. “You have to keep still.”
Shaw was hovering over her, and Root gripped her wrist so she couldn’t back away. They looked into each other’s eyes.
“I wanted to tell you...”
“I know,” Shaw said.
Root smiled and slid her hand up Shaw’s arm. She curled her fingers under Shaw’s hair, applying just the slightest amount of pressure to pull her down. Shaw parted her lips and grunted, “Aw, hell...” just before their lips met. Root moaned softly, and Shaw’s tongue teased her mouth before retreating. Root whimpered and tried to seek it out with her own tongue, but Shaw pulled back and broke the kiss.
“You’re exhausted. You’re injured. You’ve lost a lot of blood. There’s no way this is going beyond a kiss. Not tonight.”
Root smiled. “But another night...”
Shaw rolled her eyes and rose from the couch. She walked into the kitchen to get some water so she could clean some of the blood from Root’s skin.
“Can I stay here tonight?” Root asked.
Shaw kept her back to the room. “I would like it a lot if you did.”
Root smiled and lay back down, hands gingerly cupping her stomach wound as she waited for Shaw to come back and finish tending to her wounds. She chuckled, then groaned as her stomach seized in pain from the laugh. Sometimes it was almost worth the bullet to have Shaw take care of her afterward. And now... now that the rubicon had been crossed, she might have to get shot more often.
Or... maybe not. Because for the first time in a very long time... maybe ever... Samantha Groves had something to live for.
Title: The Message
Author: geonncannon
Fandom: Person of Interest
Pairing: Root/Shaw
Word Count: 1,517
Category: Missing scene, epilogue
Spoilers: Prophets
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me!
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Some blood, but nothing gory
Summary: Hospitals require all gunshot wounds be reported. That’s not the only reason she’s here.
AO3 link
"If the worse comes to pass... if you could give Shaw a message...?"
"I think she already knows."
- Root and Finch, 4x08 Prophets
There’s an elegance to not knowing what she’s going to say until she’s saying it. When the Machine first began speaking to her, when it first gave her information as she needed it and sometimes seconds before she needed it, there was a thrill of Not Knowing. It was a constant trust fall: arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed, falling back into infinity with the knowledge She would catch her. Now there was silence and Root was still falling. She called out into the darkness for some assurance and all she got in return were whispers.
Root didn’t lie to Harold: she was completely prepared to die. When she put down her guns and ran from Martine, she was falling backward into infinity. She kept listening to the emptiness in her head as she ran, knowing the Machine wouldn’t tell her the odds even if they had been on speaking terms. She was bleeding from the shoulder and the stomach and she knew the odds weren’t good. She knew there was a chance Martine would get close enough to draw a bead and then... well, she wouldn’t even see it coming. So she ran. Being prepared to die and lying down to accept it were two very different things.
She ran because she wasn’t going to die sitting down. She was owed a good death, and there was nothing good about dying unarmed with your hands in the air. Her head was swimming and her entire core was pain. Her legs ached. She ran because stopping would be suicide. And she ran so long that she wasn’t even certain when she evaded her enemy. When she could run no further she slumped against the wall and looked back. The way was clear.
“Thank you.” She leaned her head back against the wall and laughed, one hand against her stomach. The blood trickled over her fingers. She looked down and grunted. “Thank...” Her eyes snapped into focus on a spot in the middle distance. “I can hear you...”
She followed Her directions, vaguely aware of where she was going. She followed the shadow map so she wouldn’t be spotted. Karen Iverson had to die, had to be abandoned in the gutter somewhere, and for that to work she couldn’t be seen limping away from the hotel. She certainly couldn’t be seen going into the apartment building of one Sameen Shaw, random makeup counter clerk, no matter how innocuous the meeting might seem to human eyes. Samaritan would know.
Root let herself in through the basement, took the stairs, used the key she’d had made. When she got inside she raided the first-aid kit for supplies.
By the time she heard the key in the lock, she had already managed to stop the bleeding. Shaw left the light off, but there was enough ambient glow through the windows to see. Root liked that about Shaw; leave the inside lights off, maintain the ability to see how. Every window across the way became a shooting gallery if need be. Shaw was like a cat, and she moved effortlessly through the dark. Even the presence of an unexpected visitor didn’t throw her off.
“You’re bleeding on my divan.”
“I’m bleeding on your towel,” Root said weakly.
“You know how much those things cost?” Shaw pulled an ottoman closer to the couch and sat down on it with her knees spread. She leaned forward and pushed Root’s gauze pads away so she could examine the damage. “Now that I’m on a fixed income, every penny counts. You owe me for the bandages, by the way. That’s not cheap, either.”
Root smiled, the effort causing her to grunt quietly. “Sorry. But hospitals...”
“Yeah. That’s why you came here. Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds, Samaritan would put the pieces together...”
“I could find a back-alley vet...” She started to stand.
Shaw said, “Sit down.” Root sank back with a moan. Shaw opened the kit, examined what was left, and went to work. Root watched Shaw work, amazed at how intricate the doctor side of her was. Of course it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Shaw was a focused, compartmentalized machine. Whether she was sizing up a target, lining up a shot, or sewing shut a wound, she did it with calm cool efficiency. She was the sort of person Root had always dreamt of, the kind of person she didn’t think could actually exist or function in the real world.
Of course, Harold’s Machine had given purpose to all kinds of broken toys. They worked for the Machine because there was nothing else for them. There was no other job, no other circle in which they could function. Shaw looked up and met Root’s eyes, the city reflected in the darkness of her irises. At the moment Shaw contained the entire city and held Root’s life in her hands. That made Shaw the closest human analog to the Machine she would ever find.
“Sameen...”
“Quiet.” Shaw bent back to her work. “It’s hard enough doing this in the dark without you talking my ear off.”
Root leaned forward. Shaw grunted quietly at her work being disturbed, but Root put a hand on her shoulder. Shaw became still and met Root’s eye again. There was a moment, unbelievably brief, where the pain didn’t matter and Samaritan didn’t exist. It felt as if every pain that Root had felt in her life, every loss she’d suffered, was gone. When she looked into the city reflected in Sameen Shaw’s eyes she could see a different kind of life.
“I didn’t expect to survive tonight. I’m frankly a little surprised that I did.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “The Machine wasn’t there. Not that she would have given me much reassurance if she was. I had to go in alone without you or Reese to back me up. So I thought... this is it. This is where I fall. And I was okay with that. I wanted to die in a blaze of glory in the Machine’s war. I wanted to be Her martyr. But I wouldn’t have done it without regrets.”
“Root... stop.”
Root stared at her with a smile. “I told Harold to give you a message, but he told me you already knew. He was right, wasn’t he.”
Shaw looked away, into the dark of the apartment. The light of the city fled her eyes, and her face was in shadows. When she spoke, her words were measured. “If someone wanted more from me, I don’t think I could reciprocate that. It would be one-sided, all take and no give, and I wouldn’t be okay with that. So whatever message you wanted Harold to give me... whatever you want to tell me... you survived. Okay? Let it rest. We go on to fight another day, right?”
“Right. But next time I might not be so lucky. Or you might not.” She took Shaw’s hand, which was smeared with blood from the emergency work she’d been doing. “I had a very dear friend who died before I could tell her how much she meant to me. That’s partially what made me who I am today. I don’t like to repeat mistakes, Sameen.”
Shaw took a deep breath and finally looked at Root again. “If you had died, I would have scorched the earth to go after that blonde bitch from Samaritan. I would do the same for Harold or Reese, or... hell, the dog. But it would be different with you. If she had killed you, I would have never stopped.”
“I know.” Root leaned in, pinching one of her wounds and making her wince. “Ow.”
“Damn it,” Shaw said. She pushed Root down, hovering over her. “You have to keep still.”
Shaw was hovering over her, and Root gripped her wrist so she couldn’t back away. They looked into each other’s eyes.
“I wanted to tell you...”
“I know,” Shaw said.
Root smiled and slid her hand up Shaw’s arm. She curled her fingers under Shaw’s hair, applying just the slightest amount of pressure to pull her down. Shaw parted her lips and grunted, “Aw, hell...” just before their lips met. Root moaned softly, and Shaw’s tongue teased her mouth before retreating. Root whimpered and tried to seek it out with her own tongue, but Shaw pulled back and broke the kiss.
“You’re exhausted. You’re injured. You’ve lost a lot of blood. There’s no way this is going beyond a kiss. Not tonight.”
Root smiled. “But another night...”
Shaw rolled her eyes and rose from the couch. She walked into the kitchen to get some water so she could clean some of the blood from Root’s skin.
“Can I stay here tonight?” Root asked.
Shaw kept her back to the room. “I would like it a lot if you did.”
Root smiled and lay back down, hands gingerly cupping her stomach wound as she waited for Shaw to come back and finish tending to her wounds. She chuckled, then groaned as her stomach seized in pain from the laugh. Sometimes it was almost worth the bullet to have Shaw take care of her afterward. And now... now that the rubicon had been crossed, she might have to get shot more often.
Or... maybe not. Because for the first time in a very long time... maybe ever... Samantha Groves had something to live for.