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st_aurafinaTitle: Thunderstruck
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: PG
Words: 629
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: Fighting in the rain, kissing in the rain
Notes: For![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
halfamoon 2018
Summary: Shaw never stops fighting.
Also at the Archive
Shaw is losing ground. This is a dirty fight, and not just because the pelting rain is making mud, and mud is making her hands slippery. Water streams down her neck; plasters her hair flat to her face as she exchanges blows. She's on the ridge of a hill somewhere deep in the forest while Root is carrying out a mission at a Samaritan installation. It's night, which is good for Shaw because she's small and fast and can see well in the dark. It's the middle of a blustering gale, which is bad because Shaw is small and the wind keeps shoving her backwards in the ankle-deep mud that slows her down. It makes the knife-edge chess game she's playing with a man a hundred pounds heavier than her all the more difficult. She keeps fighting, though, because Root needs time. She swipes a sleeve across her face to clear her eyes, and sees headlights bearing down on her through the trees. Twin cones of light are cutting through the rain in the distance: a fleet of black SUVs filing up the narrow track, slewing fans of muddy water from each wheel. The lightning flashes once, nicely illuminating the ridge Shaw stands on. She hopes Root is impressed with the theatrics. She asked for a distraction; Shaw is giving her a fight with special effects.
This agent she's grappling with knows what he's doing, knows how to make his size and weight count. He doesn't have the slick corporate hesitation she's seen before from Greer's men. Obviously military, he is unafraid to use his size and weight against her in the uncertain footing. He shoulders into her, forcing air from her lungs in a gasp while her feet slide in the mire. She counters, gets him to one knee with a swift kick, but already she can tell there's something wrong with her ribs. She can't get a full breath in anymore. It's not the pain – she can work through pain just fine – it's that the muscles won't pull in the right direction. She follows through on the kick, tries to lock her arm around the man's throat, wheezing short breaths and trying to keep herself oxygenated. It's not enough. He throws her easily and she splashes down on her back. She's struggling to draw the humid, stormy air in, and even while she's bring her legs up to kick his gun away, she realises that she's too slow. She doesn't stop – Shaw never stops – but it doesn't seem likely that she's walking away from this one.
The lightning pulses out a series of silent flashes that show every detail of the man above her. In a strange and jerky animation, his eyes roll back in his head and he falls sideways. This unexpected respite gives Shaw time to get vertical again, one hand propping her rib cage and the other on her gun, searching for this new danger. The lightning has left her briefly dazzled in the darkness, and she wheels with her gun drawn, listening for movement. She collides with a body, willowy and lean, with long arms that block her raising the gun. It's Root, of course; even in the dark Shaw knows her body well, recognises her shape, smells the way gunpowder interacts with her skin. There's one second where she simply grabs Root's forearms tight, then the thunder rumbles through the two of them and Shaw slams their bodies together, plasters herself to Root the way the rain is plastering her clothes to her skin. The rain is getting heavier, the SUVs are still coming, and Shaw just gave her broken ribs a vigorous thump she'll live to regret, but she's not going to stop kissing Root, not while the thunder is rolling.
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: PG
Words: 629
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: Fighting in the rain, kissing in the rain
Notes: For
halfamoon 2018Summary: Shaw never stops fighting.
Also at the Archive
Shaw is losing ground. This is a dirty fight, and not just because the pelting rain is making mud, and mud is making her hands slippery. Water streams down her neck; plasters her hair flat to her face as she exchanges blows. She's on the ridge of a hill somewhere deep in the forest while Root is carrying out a mission at a Samaritan installation. It's night, which is good for Shaw because she's small and fast and can see well in the dark. It's the middle of a blustering gale, which is bad because Shaw is small and the wind keeps shoving her backwards in the ankle-deep mud that slows her down. It makes the knife-edge chess game she's playing with a man a hundred pounds heavier than her all the more difficult. She keeps fighting, though, because Root needs time. She swipes a sleeve across her face to clear her eyes, and sees headlights bearing down on her through the trees. Twin cones of light are cutting through the rain in the distance: a fleet of black SUVs filing up the narrow track, slewing fans of muddy water from each wheel. The lightning flashes once, nicely illuminating the ridge Shaw stands on. She hopes Root is impressed with the theatrics. She asked for a distraction; Shaw is giving her a fight with special effects.
This agent she's grappling with knows what he's doing, knows how to make his size and weight count. He doesn't have the slick corporate hesitation she's seen before from Greer's men. Obviously military, he is unafraid to use his size and weight against her in the uncertain footing. He shoulders into her, forcing air from her lungs in a gasp while her feet slide in the mire. She counters, gets him to one knee with a swift kick, but already she can tell there's something wrong with her ribs. She can't get a full breath in anymore. It's not the pain – she can work through pain just fine – it's that the muscles won't pull in the right direction. She follows through on the kick, tries to lock her arm around the man's throat, wheezing short breaths and trying to keep herself oxygenated. It's not enough. He throws her easily and she splashes down on her back. She's struggling to draw the humid, stormy air in, and even while she's bring her legs up to kick his gun away, she realises that she's too slow. She doesn't stop – Shaw never stops – but it doesn't seem likely that she's walking away from this one.
The lightning pulses out a series of silent flashes that show every detail of the man above her. In a strange and jerky animation, his eyes roll back in his head and he falls sideways. This unexpected respite gives Shaw time to get vertical again, one hand propping her rib cage and the other on her gun, searching for this new danger. The lightning has left her briefly dazzled in the darkness, and she wheels with her gun drawn, listening for movement. She collides with a body, willowy and lean, with long arms that block her raising the gun. It's Root, of course; even in the dark Shaw knows her body well, recognises her shape, smells the way gunpowder interacts with her skin. There's one second where she simply grabs Root's forearms tight, then the thunder rumbles through the two of them and Shaw slams their bodies together, plasters herself to Root the way the rain is plastering her clothes to her skin. The rain is getting heavier, the SUVs are still coming, and Shaw just gave her broken ribs a vigorous thump she'll live to regret, but she's not going to stop kissing Root, not while the thunder is rolling.