Hi everyone!

So, with the ending of the last season I started thinking about the scenes between Shaw and the rest of Team Machine that I wanted to see after her great return and that didn't happen, so I came up with this, just a series of shots about Shaw and TM, but mostly Shaw and Root of course :) because I think they deserved a bit more after the long, long wait for their reunion (and also a possible happy ending after Samaritan's defeat). This would also be my first Person of Interest story.

Anyway, before I continue with another chapter I would like to know what you think about this one first :)

Usually I write in first person, but I'm trying a new style lately, one that I think suits maybe a little better when talking about Shaw's complex character and personality.

I apologize for eventual grammar errors (english is not my first language)

Enjoy

It is a noise, you realize, the one that slowly starts dragging you from a rare, dreamless, blissful slumber and towards conciousness and its unknown reality.

A string of barely mumbled words followed by a precise, constant, clicking like sound that flares with familiarity in your mind, suddenly cleaning the thick fogginess there and jolting you awake.

You ignore the protests of your body, the ache in your muscles that pierces deep into your bones and throbs all the way to your skull as you jerk upright, bracing yourself on the couch where you were resting and letting your unfocused vision adjust in the partial darkness.

The safe house.

The city lights shining against the black velvet of the night give a shape to the shadows surrounding you, and a first quick glance is more than enough for you to recognize the vast space.

"Hi there sleepyhead,"

And you are not alone.

But even in your startled awake state you already knew this, just like you knew who that person was even before they spoke from somewhere in the dark behind you.

The only presence is filling the room in a way that you can't quite describe.

And damn, if the sound of that voice isn't enough to make you lose the death grip you had on the cushions just a little, releasing it completely when that person finally comes into view, closing and setting gently her laptop aside on the coffee table.

"It's okay sweetie. It's just me..."

From the moment she crouches down beside you on the couch, you can't take your eyes off her.

The warmth in that light whisper is... Compelling. Calming even. But there is something in the way the moonlight traces the line of her soft smile and caresses her features, making her look like some kind of vision. It almost makes you want to reach out and touch her, just to make sure that she is real.

Almost.

Instead you force your hand on the back of your head and let your fingers search for that now too familiar spot behind your left ear.

You barely remember getting here. The exhaustion of the escape and of a week spent running across half of the globe while remaining invisible to the all seeing eye evidently had the better on you. Or maybe Samaritan finally got a little more creative with this whole simulation crap, you think, knowing that it could easily be the case, yet you find no sign of the chip in your skull.

No cuts or stitches.

No bandages.

Nothing.

You know the confusion must be showing on your face, bacause a moment later Root is pulling your searching hand away from your head and holding it in hers, gingerly, but not uncertainly as she reassures you.

"It's okay, Sameen. You are safe now."

The words are sincere, although she sounds like she can barely believe that herself.

You still don't allow yourself to either. But you can't fight the comfort that you find in the gentle touch that she is offering.

For probably the first time, the thought of pulling away from such contact doesn't even cross your mind.

"How long have we been here?"

Your voice sounds foreing to your own ears when it comes out. Deep and husky, filled with tiredness and a shade of apprehension, although you would never admit so, even if you know that she has probably already caught its edge on both your voice and look.

"Just a few hours," She answers then lightly. "I thought you could use some sleep."

She is not wrong. You feel like you have just woken up the day after the most destructive workout of your life, aching muscles and all, and it just occurs to you that this was probably the first time you have ever slept, honestly slept for something more than twenty miserable minutes hidden in some foreing place, after your escape, and that your body, after having been restrained to a bed for months doesn't feel like the strong, fast, ready to jump from a helicopter one that you remember. But you can ignore all of that for the moment, taking another look around in the dark, empty, silent living room instead.

"The others?"

She was probably expecting you to ask such question if the soft smile that tugs at her lips is anything to go by.

"Everyone's fine. Harry's in the subway, and the big lug is with Lionel at the precint. Apparently the boys had a fun night. Managed to turn the bullpen into a shooting range."

You pull yourself up a bit more on the couch, and despite the stiffness of your body for the movement, a small, still slightly sleepy smirk tugs at your lips after hearing this.

"It seems like I have missed a lot of fun around here during these months, huh?"

She doesn't answer to this. Just flashes you the tiniest smile, one that doesn't reach her soft brown eyes, before tilting her head down and look at your still joined hands, feeling the weight of her absent gaze added to the gentle one of her hold.

You don't like that look.

It's foreing seeing it on her features, and even if you don't know what it means, it tightens your chest so very uncomfortably.

Yet, at same time, there is something strangely reassuring in her hold, in the feeling of her thumb tracing the lenght of the still fresh, still sensitive pink scar that crosses your palm.

You have done it yourself before. More than once when you've learned that you have gotten it for real and not just during another simulation. It has been some kind of concrete link to reality; looking at it as if there in your palm, between all those meaningless intricate lines, was engraved the map that would have kept you sane and led you back home.

Home.

You watch as Root shakes her head in thought right before she answers you, softly, filling the silence in the room and the distant, muffled sound of traffic running on the streets below with just a whisper of voice.

"All that matters to me is that you are back, Sameen. And safe." Whatever you see appearing in her eyes, is gone before you can understand what it was, light a lightining, and for the next minutes you are unable to get rid of the sensation that makes you feel like you have just lost a critical segment of something very, very important. But not exactly unfamiliar.

You curse a little in your own head for having missed it. But then, just as quickly, that look is replaced by a smirk that you know all too well, although it isn't in full force like the ones you remember as, with her unmistakable perky and cheerful tone she says "Don't worry though, the fun never ends around here. You know trouble has a way to stick with us."

A lame, awkward attempt to normalcy that, for how much she tries, has the exact opposite effect.

You would have probably dismissed it in any other day before, but definitely not now.

"Root."

Pretending is pointless.

She knows you are not biting this.

So she just tilts her head down and nods, like a child that has been caught doing something that wasn't suppoused to and knows she can't deny the evidence.

The silence stretches into minutes, thick, but strangely enough, not as tense as you would have expected. And for all the time you never take your eyes off her, even if all you can see is a curtain of soft brown locks shielding her face.

A few more moments pass. And when she finally tilts her head up to meet your gaze again, the first thing that you notice is the glassy look in her eyes, the way they glisten and shine even in the dark.

You wonder if the ones swimming in there are the same tears that have welled up just a few hours previous during your encounter in the park, when she has seen you for the first time after months.

You remember feeling her wrap her arms around you, craddling your head and holding you securely, close against her, as if you could turn into a puff of smoke and vaporize in the air at any moment. You have felt her tremble against you, and you have just remained there, unblinking, unmoving, as if trying to catch up with reality, not knowing if you should trust it, but eventually, your eyes have fluttered shut, and just for a moment, just for the briefest second, you have allowed yourself to believe in it. Right before you pulled away, without sparing her a second glance as you started to walk away.

It isn't lost to you the need to feel the exact opposite right now. And it just occurs to you that maybe, the moment that Root is taking, is to process a reality that even she is still having a hard time believing in. Trying not to be too emotional over this. Because that would probably make you feel uncomfortable, and she doesn't want that, the fool. Who has considered your comfort above the one of anyone else in certain situations. Especially above her own. Especially when it involved the whole unknown territory of the feelings-stuff department.

The knowledge hunts you.

And when she speaks, you can practically feel the weight of the effort that she is putting to keep her voice light and steady. For you.

"Did you get my message?"

You know of what message she is talking about. You probably already suspected that this was what she was going to ask even before she asked it. Because you know that it's the one and only reason you are now here, alive, breathing, and able to have this conversation with her in the first place. Because of a crackling morse code.

And you understand that, just like she managed to do with you in that moment, now it's up to you to get her back from the dark spiral she is stuck into.

"It's very hard to ignore that kind of alarm." You tell her, chosing your words carefully and sounding more light than you never thought you were able to. "And... I'm here now, right?"

The chocked laugh of relief and unequivocal happiness that she breathes out, in its spontaneity, is probably the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. Even if when she answers through a bright, teary smile, for how much she tries not to, her voice cracks a little.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

You don't want to give in to your heavy eyelids, but with Root's hushed encouragements you can't fight the sleep that eventually claims you back in its embrace after a short while.

The warmth slipping from your hand leaves you cold and the sensation hunts you in your dreams, where even there you can't understand how the loss of such a simple contact, such a small gesture is making you feel so uneasily vulnerable and exposed, as if it was the only thing that kept you anchored and shielded from the nightmares that take form in your head.

Fighting against those violent figures becomes exhausting. You feel hot and bothered, but luckily, the sensation doesn't last for long.

After a while everything turns quiet.

Over the disorienting veil of the dreamlike world you catch a shift and dip on your sleeping surface. You couldn't question it even if you had the strength and awareness to, but all you know, is that from that moment, you sleep peacefully and deeply for what you think must be the rest of the night.

When you wake up several hours later, the first thing you register, even before the first weak morning lights coming though the large windows that makes you squint your eyes a little, is the warm body pressed against your front. And the unmistakable scent of leather, green apple and delicate bourbon vanilla filling your nostrils.

Root is here with you.

Sound asleep.

With your arm wrapped protectively around her waist and her silky wavy brown hair thickling your nose.

She feels so soft and warm and Root and real. But again, the softness and heat of her body against yours from all the simulations have felt no less real.

You don't get scared. You never did. But you can recognize fear, and sure as hell, you know that right now, it may be the closest you got to feel such thing.

The urge to reach for the chip is almost overwhelming in the need to know if you can trust all of this.

Because it feels so comforting and it's the first thing that feels truly familiar in all the right ways after months. And safe, the back of your mind add quietly in between a thousand of contrasting thoughts.

A great part of you wants to get up and run as far away from here - from Root - as possible. Because simulation or not, for probably the first time in your life, you are also damn unsure of yourself.

But then, just like a sign to give you a reason to stay, Root shivers a little against you in her sleep. A shudder that crawls up for all the length of her spine. You hear her whimper oh so softly and see her eyebrows knit together for a fraction of second, but she doesn't stirr. She doesn't wake up.

She remains there peacefully asleep, even if cold, and you feel something pulling from somewhere deep down in you; a core that somehow has managed to remain unreachablefrom Samaritan's poisoned clutches.

You consider taking a moment to think properly, to try and find an order between the pieces of your scrambled mind, try to separate simulation from dream and from reality. But honestly, you know you are nowhere close to be able to do that right now. You probably don't even want to.

So when you feel Root shiver a second time, you just pull her closer against you. And then you close your eyes, hearing her sigh softly and contently in her sleep.

And probably that was all you needed.

This time, you decide, you'll stay.

. . .

The first time Bear sees you is almost a week later in the subway, and he is not ashamed of showing how much he has missed you, practically charging you like a bull and almost succeeding in knocking you on the floor as he greets you enthusiastically, tail wagging excitedly like you've never seen him do before.

"I've missed you too buddy." You laugh as you pet him turning your face from side to side in an attempt to escape from his sloppy kisses. Then, all of a sudden he pulls away from your face to do something very unusual, like stuck his long nose in your business and showing lots of interest.

"Oh, come on Bear! What are you doing you perv..." You would try to push him away with more conviction if you weren't distracted by the content hum of agreement that makes you look up at an amused Root. Head tilted to the side and that mischievous - kind of dreamy-creepy - smile on her face that you have pretended to find impossibly infuriating and annoying for so long.

"What?" Only this time you are far from annoyed, and don't even bother to try to cover the heavy note of amusement that seeps into your voice.

Root simply looks at you. Her smile turning into a grin that widens till her molars. Oh, if she isn't enjoying this... "He certainly knows where to find the most interesting things."

Bears keeps sniffing with interest in your crotch and any attempt to wrestle him away is only met with even more resistance.

Stubborn pervert dog.

You are almost proud actually. Although you are starting to suspect this is some kind of trick that Root has somehow managed to teach him during your absence.

"Jealous?" You tease her at last through an arched eyebrow and a smirk pulling at your lips.

She shakes her head in negative. "Hmm. He can sniff all he wants, and right now he is just sniffing for something for me to find down there, isn't that right boy?"

The most dangerous growl is already bubbling in your chest at her obvious implication, but much to your horror Bear barks happily in agreement with Root in her direction before dismissing you completely and trotting at her side.

You are pretty sure you must have just dislocated your jaw after witnessing this.

Because it wasn't already enough that she talked all day long with the Machine through a direct line installed in her skull. Nine months of your absence and now she can speak to the dog too, of course, and apparently has also a deep understanding with the one who happened to be your favourite and most bearable member of the team.

Ugh.

You hate yourself a little for coming up with that one.

You still glare down at him though, watching as he tilts his head at you and whines in confusion from his obediently sat position next to Root.

Traitor.

You know that in order to catch up you'll have to buy him some very good, very yummy treats and probably consume your rotator cuff from playing fetch with him too.

Root, on her part, beams, looking so incredibly pleased with herself for putting that look on your face. And of course, before you can come up with anything to say, she tilts her head to the side and adopts that listening expression that you haven't forgotten. The one that covers her face whenever She is speaking to her.

"I have to go. She needs me somewhere." She announces as you expected just a moment later giving you another bright smile. "Don't worry though sweetie, John is on his way here with something for you." You really hope he's bringing lunch. After dealing with Root and what you still stubbornly somehow pretend to call the annoyance caused by her, you need to sink your teeth angrily into something juicy and extremely spicy.

You watch her silently as she gathers a few things from one of the desks before walking towards you, all smiles and cheerfulness that only fuels said annoyance, yet you don't pull away when she leans in and whispers hotly in your ear "I wonder if you'll try to fight me just as hard when it will be my head buried between your legs, Sameen."

You want to tell her that you could easily choke her with just your thighs in case she tried, but you know that the threat would probably appeal her even more. Damn, the idea actually turns you on more than what you'll never admit. But you decide to just growl at her instead, trying to ignore the fact that it actually sounded much more like the groan of appreciation at the thought that you where desperately trying to suppress along with the all too familiar shiver caused by her warm breath and that has made its way down your spine to settle with a persistent throb in your lower belly.

"I'll see you later sweetie." With that and another unsuccesful attempt to "wink" she leaves, boots clicking that unique symphony on the floor as she strides towards the stairs, hips swaying almost hypnotically.

You are startled by the sound of your own groan that escapes at that sight.

True to Root's words, John arrives not even a minute later. A large paper bag in his hand and a knowing smirk on his face that says that he has obviously met Root on his way down here, and has obviously already made the connection between her recent presence and your pretended scowl.

"How is it going, Shaw?" He can't resist but tease you and pretend to make it look innocent. The bastard.

He is lucky that your stomach is rumbling louder than your trigger finger is itching.

"Shut up." Without another word you snatch the paper bag from his hand and shoot him the most intimidating glare you can manage which he only answers with an even wider, more amused, infuriating smirk before greeting a much more friendly and excited Bear who then follows him happily towards his weapon locker.

You are actually glad that Reese is here, but you can't deal with him and his teasing right now, especially not on an empty stomach.

So you sit down on the bench and sink your teeth into what you are pleased to see is your favourite sandwich, groaning obscenely at the mouth watering taste that improves esponentially your mood with every bite. Although this time, as you finish it and lick a drop of mustard from your thumb, it doesn't leave you as satisfied as usual, and you suspect, if the way you kept squirming on your seat for all this time is anything to go by, that the last thing that Root has said to you before leaving has triggered a whole other kind of appetite in you.

Just a little hurt, a little humor and a little Bear for now :)