st_aurafina (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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halfamoon2018-02-03 10:19 pm
st_aurafina) wrote in halfamoon2018-02-03 10:19 pm
Fic: Up (Person of Interest, Root/Shaw)
Title: Up
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: PG
Words: 575
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: None
Summary: Even when they're in danger, it's hard for Root to hold her tongue
Also at the Archive
Root prefers not to swear. On the whole, she's an optimist, despite the pending ASI apocalypse. Right now, though, trapped in a secondary node that Samaritan built into a defunct warehouse, a few choice words do come to mind.
The Machine warns her: armed men in the south corridor, armed men to the north.
"Well, those are the only exits, unless you've got another option," says Root, poised between two server stacks, her fingers moving fast and accurate on the keyboard.
"Up." The Machine, as always, thinks in extra dimensions. Root chances a quick look upwards while she's logging the final series of keystrokes that should set Samaritan back a month or two.
Above her is a false ceiling: foam tiles obscuring the vast number of cooling ducts and power cables that keep this place humming. Root thinks she can make it up there before the men break down either of the doors into the server room. Maybe. It's only six feet up. A bit of a jump, but she's used to taking leaps of faith by now. The Machine says that it's possible, therefore it must be.
She sets her latest weapon to execute, then clambers up the shelving like it's gym class. At the top, standing stretched on tiptoe, her fingers don't even brush the ceiling. She jumps, scrabbles at the textured foam, but can't find purchase to haul herself up. The northern door goes down, and she hears the tramp of feet. Then the southern one falls with a clatter, and she'll be surrounded in a matter of seconds. She crouches on top of the shelf. It's a poor hiding place; she knows they'll find her shamefully fast. The worst part of that realisation is knowing she let the Machine down. The second worst part will be losing Sameen.
A foam tile hits her on the top of the head, and she looks up. Sameen's face stares back at her from inside the false ceiling. "Are you coming or what?" she says, and holds out a hand.
Root is up there faster than a weasel with its tail on fire. She brings the ceiling tile with her, and Sameen pushes it carefully into position. Down below, it's as if Root has vanished into thin air. The men in suits flood the room, fill every row of shelving like ants.
Root wriggles herself into a more comfortable position and for a moment, it's all elbows and knees in the narrow space between the ceiling tiles and the gymnasium wall.
Sameen puts her mouth to Root's ear. "We can get out of here when they've moved on."
"Not that I'm not grateful," Root whispers back, grinning because Sameen's breath is tickling her skin. "But how did you…"
Sameen covers Root's mouth with a hand. "Keep it quiet!" she hisses. There are agents prowling below them with soft but audible footsteps.
Root idly runs her tongue over Sameen's palm, tasting salt while an agent beneath them talks into his radio. Then she thinks of another question and opens her mouth to speak. Sameen pulls her hand away and grabs the back of Root's head, pushing their faces together, kissing her hard, distracting her with a busy tongue. Root shifts so they're sitting face to face, legs wrapped around each other, and the men below keep searching, finding nothing. Above them, Root is smiling with her mouth open. Sameen knows the best ways to shut her up.
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: PG
Words: 575
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: None
Summary: Even when they're in danger, it's hard for Root to hold her tongue
Also at the Archive
Root prefers not to swear. On the whole, she's an optimist, despite the pending ASI apocalypse. Right now, though, trapped in a secondary node that Samaritan built into a defunct warehouse, a few choice words do come to mind.
The Machine warns her: armed men in the south corridor, armed men to the north.
"Well, those are the only exits, unless you've got another option," says Root, poised between two server stacks, her fingers moving fast and accurate on the keyboard.
"Up." The Machine, as always, thinks in extra dimensions. Root chances a quick look upwards while she's logging the final series of keystrokes that should set Samaritan back a month or two.
Above her is a false ceiling: foam tiles obscuring the vast number of cooling ducts and power cables that keep this place humming. Root thinks she can make it up there before the men break down either of the doors into the server room. Maybe. It's only six feet up. A bit of a jump, but she's used to taking leaps of faith by now. The Machine says that it's possible, therefore it must be.
She sets her latest weapon to execute, then clambers up the shelving like it's gym class. At the top, standing stretched on tiptoe, her fingers don't even brush the ceiling. She jumps, scrabbles at the textured foam, but can't find purchase to haul herself up. The northern door goes down, and she hears the tramp of feet. Then the southern one falls with a clatter, and she'll be surrounded in a matter of seconds. She crouches on top of the shelf. It's a poor hiding place; she knows they'll find her shamefully fast. The worst part of that realisation is knowing she let the Machine down. The second worst part will be losing Sameen.
A foam tile hits her on the top of the head, and she looks up. Sameen's face stares back at her from inside the false ceiling. "Are you coming or what?" she says, and holds out a hand.
Root is up there faster than a weasel with its tail on fire. She brings the ceiling tile with her, and Sameen pushes it carefully into position. Down below, it's as if Root has vanished into thin air. The men in suits flood the room, fill every row of shelving like ants.
Root wriggles herself into a more comfortable position and for a moment, it's all elbows and knees in the narrow space between the ceiling tiles and the gymnasium wall.
Sameen puts her mouth to Root's ear. "We can get out of here when they've moved on."
"Not that I'm not grateful," Root whispers back, grinning because Sameen's breath is tickling her skin. "But how did you…"
Sameen covers Root's mouth with a hand. "Keep it quiet!" she hisses. There are agents prowling below them with soft but audible footsteps.
Root idly runs her tongue over Sameen's palm, tasting salt while an agent beneath them talks into his radio. Then she thinks of another question and opens her mouth to speak. Sameen pulls her hand away and grabs the back of Root's head, pushing their faces together, kissing her hard, distracting her with a busy tongue. Root shifts so they're sitting face to face, legs wrapped around each other, and the men below keep searching, finding nothing. Above them, Root is smiling with her mouth open. Sameen knows the best ways to shut her up.