Fire Away, Fire Away

Fire Away, Fire Away

Fandom – Person of Interest

Pairing – Root x Shaw

Rating – T

Summary –  Shaw reflects (based at the end of 5x11). She didn’t know how to grieve. Usually the volume just turned down lower than ever and she shut it out. Occasionally the volume got cranked up. One Shot.

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When John had asked her if she wanted to meet up with the ex number she had declined. Strongly. It wasn’t that she lacked interest in any other operatives the machine may have up it’s sleeve. If they helped blow Samaritan into smithereens then great. Fantastic. Awesome. She just wasn’t up for a meet and greet. John and Fusco could catch her up later.

So she had found the nearest gym, stole some wraps, and turned her focus on the heaviest punch bag she could find. It was around the corner from the rest of the gym giving her some modicum of privacy. There was a speaker just above the punch bag so whatever music they were playing in the gym was significantly louder in her little corner. That was good though. It drowned out the noise of the other machines and the few people that were there.

Really she should be out looking for Finch but she had needed some time to herself. Jumping into danger and shooting people had been mildly cathartic but the adrenaline had long since stopped pumping. Now she was back at the stage she had started from that morning. Utterly numb.

So she punched and she punched. Throwing long strings of movements together and trying to focus on making each single move perfect. Left jab, right cross, left hook, right jab, left cross, right hook, left uppercut and back to the beginning. It was meant to make her focus. It was meant to distract her. The truth was that nothing had distracted her from Root.

Root who had annoyed her senseless at first. Root who had flirted relentlessly with her. Root who had worked her way in until she cared. Root who had been desperate to keep her safe when Samaritan was after her. Root who she had kissed goodbye when she sacrificed herself at the stock exchange. Root whose screams had rung in her ears as she lay bleeding out on the floor waiting for Martine to finish the job. Root who had become her safe place in over 7000 simulations. Root who had sent her a message that gave her hope. Root who had hugged her and made her believe she was finally free. Root who she had allowed to hold her hand and touch her face. Root who had flirted at the most inappropriate times. Root who had loved her. Root who was dead.

Root was dead. Root was dead and she didn’t know how to grieve. Usually the volume just got turned down lower than ever and she shut it out. That’s how she dealt with death. This wasn’t a normal death though. This was a person who meant something to her. Root had pierced through the hard exterior and touched something inside. She hadn’t really understood how deep the other woman had penetrated until Samaritan had captured her. All those simulations had given her plenty of processing time. In her own way she loved Root. Had loved Root. Still loved Root. Now she was left with this sadness at the pit of her stomach and a lot of regret.

So yes, in the couple of days that had passed she had turned the volume down to zero and focused on saving the President and raging at Samaritan. There were moments though when the volume got cranked up to an uncomfortable and previously uncharted level.

She’d felt that way during the burial that John and Fusco had attended at a distance. She’d thought about going too out of respect for Root but couldn’t bare the idea of seeing her buried in grave with a number on not her name. When this was all over, if she survived, the first thing she was going to do was buy a proper headstone.

So she had retreated to her other safe place and spent an hour just going round and round on the park roundabout. Not that it had felt very safe. Instead she had run through everything that had happened since her escape in South Africa, desperately looking for clues that this was all just a simulation too. It seemed too cruel not to be. She had spent months holding out against Samaritan’s mental torture because of Root. She had killed herself again and again to keep her safe. It was a cruel world if she had finally escaped only for Root to die alone a day after them being reunited. But it was a cruel world. Everything suggested that this was real.

She’d jammed the volume down low again during the mission but despite her best efforts it was raising again now. The music was blaring in the background. She had paid no attention to it before but then she heard the chorus of a song she recognised and it made that heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach even worse.

“I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose

Fire away, fire away

Ricochet, you take your aim

Fire away, fire away

You shoot me down but I won't fall

I am titanium

You shoot me down but I won't fall

I am titanium”

She didn’t even know who sang the goddamn song but she had heard it plenty of times before. The words painfully resounded with her for some reason. It was twofold. She felt like she had to be titanium. Root would want her to pick herself up and blow a hole in Samaritan and Greer. Root would want her to be titanium. Part of her also wondered if Root had thought herself bulletproof. She knew it was irrational because they all threw themselves into danger regularly but she was angry with the hacker. She was angry that Root let herself get killed. She was angry that she would never get to curl up in bed with her like she had in the simulations. She was angry that there was no future after Samaritan. She was angry that it wasn’t a simulation and she couldn’t just reboot, restart and try again for a different outcome.

Instead of the regimented routine of punches she had begun with it had become a flurry of hits, uncontrolled and unplanned. She was just trying to hit the pain away. She wasn’t as fit as she had been pre-capture and the sweat was beginning to roll down her temples. Her clothing was sticky and uncomfortable but still she drove on. The song continued to ring out, causing her to throw harder punches when she heard the chorus again and again.

Eventually she had to stop and she flopped forward against the bag, resting her forehead against the leather. Deep breaths. She needed to take deep breaths to ease her burning lungs. She needed to take deep breaths to try and dial the volume back down again.

As she opened her mouth to take in yet another breath she tasted salt. Considering how much she had pounded the punch bag she wasn’t surprised that sweat was pouring down her face. She reached up to brush the trail of sweat away only to discover its origins wasn’t her temple but her eyes. It was a tear. There were tears.

She hadn’t been aware of crying and she had no idea when it had started. She wasn’t even aware of the last time she had cried. It wasn’t exactly a common thing for someone with her personality disorder to do. The very idea of it would normally disgust her but it was oddly pleasing. She had been angry that she had lost Root yes, but she had also been angry that she couldn’t grieve her like she deserved. Apparently, in her own way, she could. Even if it was just in moments.

The best way she could honour Root though was to shake herself up and go find Finch. Without him they had no chance of taking down Samaritan. So she picked up her hoodie and wiped the tears away with its sleeve. The volume had been turned down again for now. It was time to be titanium again.