Title: But I'm Looking at You Now (And I Can't Believe We're Here)
Pairing: Root/Shaw
Warning: Major Character Death, Suicide
Summary: "And I couldn't believe my eyes/I couldn't believe my ears/I couldn't believe my luck/I couldn't believe you're here/And I couldn't believe my eyes/I couldn't believe my ears/But I'm looking at you now/And I can't believe we're here" – Broods, Couldn't Believe
…
The Machine had calculated your odds of survival at a measly 8%. John's and Fusco's were a little better at 13% and 11% respectively, but Shaw and Finch were both at only a 5% chance of surviving. Not that those odds had stopped the five of you from going out – there were numbers to save and a war to win, after all.
But something had gone wrong, and Samaritan had sent an entire army after you, using breaking news bulletins to convince the public you were armed and dangerous, even going so far as to blow up a building in Midtown to achieve their goal.
And now Shaw's dying.
She's coherent enough to know what's happening – though that isn't saying much; you're pretty sure Shaw would know exactly what processes her body is going through even as it was literally shutting down. Which it is.
She's lost a lot of blood, more than you've stuck around to see come out of any one person at any one time. More even then you've lost in your entire life, you're pretty sure. And that's saying a lot because you've lost an extraordinary amount of blood throughout your lifetime.
Anyway. Shaw's dying. She's dying and nothing you can do is going to stop that. There's a bullethole less than an inch from her heart, another down by her kidney, and another in her right shoulder.
(She's survived so much. If she could just pull through this, you might start to believe in God.)
Her skin feels clammy. She's too hot and she's too cold, and little beads of sweat are forming on her forehead and rolling down her skin into her hair, and she gasps for air around the blood that fills her mouth.
(You're cradling her head on your lap and you swear you can feel every drop that hits your jeans; it sears through your pants, burning your leg. She's dying, she's dying, she's dying.)
You might be crying. You aren't too sure though. It's about 100°F out today and you've been running from Samaritan operatives for hours now, carrying a big-ass gun with you.
It will take them a long time to get to you here, though, on this rooftop with the barricaded door. You managed to get Sam up here and barricade the door before they could follow you, but you'd lost John and Lionel and Harry in the fray and you know they don't have a chance now. There's too many operatives and not enough bullets.
You think if they're lucky they'll have a chance to take themselves out before Samaritan gets to them. That's your plan anyway. When Shaw dies, you'll go too; you can't live without her.
You told her that in the park a week after she escaped from Samaritan. She was holding a gun to her head and you held your gun to your head and told her you couldn't live without her. It's still true, maybe even more so now than it was that night. You feel your love for her like a brick sitting on your heart, and you know she feels something too. It's obvious, even if she can't really pinpoint it.
Looking back, there's not a lot you regret, really. You wanted a chance to tell Sam how you feel, how you really feel. You wanted a chance to tell her and show her just how much you love her. You wanted to marry her, even though you're pretty sure she never would've said yes. The thought of Sameen Shaw in a wedding gown is something that kept you going when Samaritan had her for all those months.
"Is this our happy ending, Sam?" you ask her. "Is this as good as it gets for us?"
Her body's much more still than it was a minute ago, her breathing too shallow. She's in the final stages now. She tightens her grip on your hand, staring up at you with something in her eyes. Something like love, like home, like belonging.
"People like us," she says, around a mouthful of blood and gasping breaths, "don't get happy endings. But maybe...in another life."
You nod, biting hard on your lower lip. You don't have any witty quips this time, no thinly-veiled innuendos, nothing to distract you both from the inevitable end here in front of you. "Yeah," you say, "in another life."
You use your free hand to brush her hair back off her face and lean down to kiss her lips one last time.
You feel her heart stop as the Samaritan operatives break through the door. You can't hear their yelling over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. You know they're coming for you, that these are the last few seconds you'll have in this life. You're glad you get to spend them with Sam, even if she's already gone.
You pick up your gun, press the muzzle to your head, and pull the trigger.
When you open your eyes again, you're in the subway. Only it isn't the subway, it's the safe house. And it's the library. And it's that spot in the park where you and Sam were reunited. It's everywhere you've felt safe all at once.
John and Harry are there. Harry's sitting at the desk across the room from you, typing away. John's situated on the couch, a glass of whisky in his hand. You look around, but Lionel isn't there, and for that you're glad.
Sam's there too, leaning against the wall at the top of the staircase to your left. She's just standing there, eyebrow quirked and smirk firmly in place, not an injury in sight, like she's waiting for you.
You climb the stairs and the lower floor fades from view and you're suddenly in a bedroom. Sam's standing directly in front of you now, still smirking of course.
"Where are we?" you ask, looking around the room. It doesn't look familiar, but you feel in your heart that it's somewhere important.
Sam shrugs. "Our place, I guess."
You quirk your eyebrow, a teasing smile playing at your lips. "Our place, sweetie? I thought people like us didn't get happy endings."
Sam huffs, rolling her eyes. She reaches up and places her hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss.
Maybe you get your happy ending after all.
.
The end