GASOLINE | poi

3 | let the brokenness be felt till you reach the other side

summary:
in the depths of sleep and silence, they rebuild.

rating:
t — canon typical violence, ptsd

pairing:
root x shaw

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At six years old, you told your father you didn't care for the dark. You weren't scared, you insisted, it was simply distasteful.

"I like hiding," you admitted, "but I don't like sleeping."

He tucked you in with a wry smile. "One day, Sameen," he whispered, like it was the key to the universe, "you will appreciate it."

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The only one who tries to keep up with your sleeping schedule now is the Machine. In the month you've been home, you can count on one hand (it's literally only been twice) the nights you've slept more than four consecutive hours. She worries, which, in turn, worries Root.

She's been watching you too, almost obsessively, since your return. She watches you with wide, haunted eyes, as if she fears you'll evaporate if her attention fades. You can't blame her. Sometimes, you lose yourself in your head for so long that you doubt your own reality. She grounds you then.

It's become almost a game, albeit not a fun one, nor one you think you can win. What is real versus what is not. Whether your memories actually happened or are leftover simulations, and the things that have been manipulated out of recollection. You let Root help. She never pushes to be let in, but you see the strain in her face, the way she flinches when you reach to rub the spot behind your left ear.

Root walks with you throughout the city. Sometimes you bring Bear, but sometimes you go with a mission to remember. On these days, your left hand never leaves your neck, and the other hangs secured in Root's.

The Machine helps with your charade. She gives Root coordinates, and the two of you track them down. Most places you remember. It still surprises you how many of them you don't.

A statue. A bench. Root smirks and says, "You threatened me here once."

"It's probably easier to list places I haven't threatened you."

"Touché." She tilts her head; the Machine's speaking. "The next time you see this statue, think..."

"Impact," you respond, and Root grins. Your expression softens as your brain supplies you with memories of a CIA safe house, a spaghetti torch, and a late night firefight.

The next day finds the two of you on another bench in the empty hallway of a building. You know where you are, but not why. Root slips on glasses, as if to remind you of something, someone.

"Eeyore?" she prompts.

You shake your head and frown. You feel as though you may have killed someone here, but Root hasn't taken you to very many places like that. This place has ceased to exist. You scratch at the rawing skin and huff angrily when Root removes your hand.

"It's okay, sweetie. We'll go somewhere else tomorrow."

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