Hello and welcome to another installment of my Person of Interest fanfiction! I was aiming for something between fluff and angst…not sure if this quite made it there. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy!
Root thought she knew pain.
From the time she was young, pain had been a regular theme in her life. Her earliest memories were happy; probably the most fulfilling time in her life before the Machine gave her a purpose. Then one day, she caught a glimpse of her father's backside as he walked out of the house and pain walked through the open door and took his place.
The remaining years in Bishop were marred even more by her mother's illness…if the bitter shell of a woman that only just resembled the happy, vibrant vision of Samantha Groves' earliest memories could be called her mother. Then there was Hanna…Root still had trouble walking past a library without that involuntary chill creeping up her spine.
Root thought she knew what it was to suffer; had come to see pain as something of an old friend, but if there was one lesson she could take from the past two years it was that she was wrong. Pain had been nothing more than a familiar stranger.
God had given her a purpose and then gone on the lamb away from Samaritan's encroaching gaze, only to sacrifice herself for her human assets. But the biggest wound was and forever would be the Stock Exchange. There wasn't a time when Root closed her eyes that that last blood-stained image of Shaw through the grate of the elevator didn't flash to the front of her mind. It was an image she was sure would stay with her until she drew her last breath.
The thing about Shaw though, is that she has a way of doing the unexpected.
When they lost her six floors below New York City in a hail of bullets and gunsmoke as the elevator faded from view, it didn't cross anyone's mind that she would reappear exactly the same way one year later.
With the Machine still crippled, Root and John had gone against Harold's wishes and employed a more investigative approach to tracking and defeating Samaritan. They managed to fight their way into a new base of operations and breach the higher floors. The elevator doors opened to a room with air that was thick with gun smoke and decorated with bullet holes, and in the middle of the disorder stood a very disheveled Shaw.
She was messy, she was bloody, and she was angry, but she was here. Root couldn't be sure how, but suddenly she was out of the elevator and everything that was Shaw surrounded her. She was grabbing at the other woman like a lifeline, determined to keep her from slipping away again, and in turn Shaw was crushing her in the tightest hug she'd ever received. Both of them were sticky with blood and sweat and coated with dust from plaster, but it didn't matter.
Root felt Shaw sag against her after several long moments. She assumed the exhaustion of a long year was finally catching up. Shaw kept an arm around Root's neck and half-leaned on her for support to keep from collapsing to the ground and her head began to loll to the side slightly sending bursts of air into Root's hair with each exhale. Root gently shook her out of curiosity but received only a snore in response.
She shrugged, not even attempting to reign in the surge of euphoria or the blissfully tired smile creeping across her face as her bloody fingers stroked the sleeping Persian's back. The moment was broken after a while when John lightly reminded Root that they had to keep moving. He took one of Shaw's arms and they turned back to the elevator with the same thought….No body would be left behind today.
Root thought she knew pain, but she'd always known hope.
That's it! It's just a short little drabble, I know, but thanks regardless! Until next time...