The empty shot glass slams down on the bar and the bartender turns around to inquire whether another one is desired. "Hell yes, another one", mumbles Root. "Are you sure? That'll be your sixth one," states the bartender, a slightly worried look on his face. "You my daddy?" The bartender turns around and silently pours another one. He's seen that kind of drinker before, full of grief and anger and that kind of stuff doesn't often end well. He sighs and as he slams down the shot in front of Root, he mutters, "I'm cutting you off after this one."
Root smirks and salutes him as she downs that one. She's thankfully numb and she doesn't give a fuck. She slowly spins around on her barstool to survey the club. Her eyes study the crowd until they set on a lone female, nice build, dark brown hair. Passable. Root slides off the stool and approaches her.
Soon, both are dancing and grinding against each other. In the darkened club, it's easy for Root to escape into her imagination and lose herself in pleasure. Hands slide everywhere, lips meet, tongues mingle, desire rises. Soon, Root finds herself in a bathroom stall looking down at the complete stranger who's licking her down there. It feels good and Root moans as she feels the tongue make circles around her clit and suck gently. Her hips jerk as the orgasm ripples through her and she wonders why her orgasms are no longer as powerful as they were. Dontthinkdontthinkabouther she tells herself as she pushes the stranger away and stumbles out of the stall, leaving a "Hey!" trailing behind her.
Shaw sips at her coffee, surveying the crowd of tourists milling around on the plaza. She doesn't know why she decided to go to the café and sit outside, she doesn't know anyone and looking at all the strangers around her just makes her feel lonely and more out of place than ever. Her gaze settles on a couple walking hand in hand and she watches them as they stroll across the plaza until they are long out of sight. Shaw knows that she's not the hand holding type, fuck no, but she does miss having a person to lean on sometimes.
Fuck that sentimental shit. Shaw scowls because she's angry she can't keep Root out of her thoughts. Its been months since she was shot and captured by Samartian's agents. Months since she kissed Root good-bye. It was just a fucking goodbye kiss. Oh was it? You kissed her for a reason, another voice in her mind said. Shaking her head, Shaw stands up abruptly and tosses a lira note on the table for the coffee and stalks away.
Back in her rented room, Shaw sat sullenly in the dark, loosely tossing a knife from one hand to another. PTSD. What a joke. She couldn't believe that a couple of weeks of torture had thrown her so off-kilter. She remembered everything the psychiatrist had said about PTSD, especially that "Sometimes symptoms appear seemingly out of the blue. ... While everyone experiences PTSD differently, there are three main types of symptoms:
Re-experiencing the traumatic event.
Avoiding reminders of the trauma.
Increased anxiety and emotional arousal.
She knew the diagnosis of PTSD fit her to a T. She couldn't stop replaying the events that led up to her near death, capture and torture… especially not the part where she lost her mind, grabbed Root, and kissed her. It was that kiss that kept her from returning to the team, back in New York City. She couldn't face the team, much less Root. What the fuck would she say? She couldn't even get up the courage to tell them she was alive. But she knew that somehow the Machine knew she was alive. She remembered the day she saw a tourist innocently carrying his phone and she had seen it start up its video camera without the tourist's knowledge. She'd bet her ass it was Root or Finch… or even the Machine herself. She remembered mouthing the word "no" to the camera and it had snapped off instantly. Wasn't that something? The Machine listening to her?
As Shaw looked down at the knife she was playing with, she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew that once the team found out she was alive, they'd feel betrayed. Hell, she would if she were in their shoes. You just didn't do that to a team. You didn't do that to someone you were… friends, or whatever the fuck it was, with. Most of all, she didn't want to imagine Root's face when she realized Shaw was alive but not coming back. Fuck. Shaw angrily threw the knife at the wall and it stuck there, jutting out from the wall.
As the morning sunshine crept up on her, Root rose her head from the bed where she was slumped on. Her head was pounding and she knew she had overindulged once again last night. Shit. The bed creaked, and Root, alarmed, swung over to look at the other side of the bed. Holy hell. A head full of blonde blonde! so not my type! hair was lying on the pillow next to hers. Root groaned Great another woman to toss out of here.
"Get the fuck outta here." The blonde hair swiveled to give way to a sleepy face but as Root repeated her command, the face didn't look so sleepy anymore. The blonde scowled and got up in a huff. As the door slammed, Root wearily got up and headed for the shower.
As the hot water cascaded down around her, Root tried to remember the events of the night before. A vague recollection of her sitting at the bar and thinking that she might need to try different types of females other than the athletic, moody brunette type came to her and Root sighed. Her heart hurt, really hurt for Sameen and Root didn't know what to do other than continue on the downspiral path she was currently on. Alcohol and women couldn't make her forget, so now what? A tear, then two, then a river of them slid down her face along with the shower spray as she sat down in the shower and sobbed.
Shaw took a seat in the bar with a band that was playing some half-assed Italian music. She didn't want to listen to that music, but that bar was the only one that served halfway decent draft beer. She rolled her eyes at the dramatic way the lead singer was singing. Its not the fucking opera, okay?
As Shaw sat, studying her half-empty glass of beer, she heard "Bad day?" She looked up and over at the woman sitting two stools over, smiling at her. "No. Just that fucking music." The woman chuckled, "Its not that bad!" Shaw took another sip of her beer before saying "To each her own."
The woman tossed back her blonde hair and leaned forward. "So, you can tell me. What's got your panties twisted up in a bunch?" Shaw looked at her, thinking, this is the first person to actually talk to me in how long. "Home." The woman leaned back knowingly. "Ah… let me guess. You want to go home, but you don't want to deal with stuff back there." Shaw stared at her silently as the woman continued "Yeah. I went through the same shit awhile back. Turns out that however much I tried to run from it, I could never get away completely. I decided to just confront it and while it wasn't easy, and not everything worked out the way I wanted it to, I became myself again. And that was one of the best things I ever did for myself."
Shaw tries not to show how affected she is by the woman's words. She gulps down the remainder of her beer and manages a feeble "Yeah. I'll have to think about that." The woman smiled and gestured for the bartender to serve Shaw another beer. "My treat. Just remember that your roots are what make you stronger." With that, the woman slid off her seat and headed for the door saying, "I have to go. Enjoy the beer and I wish you the best of luck."
Shaw stared as the woman made her exit. Jesus. "Just remember that your roots are what make you stronger" was a fucking coincidence. Shaw sighed. Maybe it really was time to go home. She didn't know which would be worse, just the sight of Root or dealing with all the emo bullshit with everyone involved.
