#shaw x the machine

[julesnichols]

Behold, my most evil creation yet! A post canon POI fic to fulfill the prompt "watching the recording of a tragic event".

Warning for canonical major character death.

[chick-with-wifi]

Meta: Shaw's loyalty to the Machine

Throughout season 2, Shaw demonstrates incredible loyalty to the ISA. She doesn't question their orders or the information Research gives them ("And the reason we don't ask where Research gets its numbers from is because Research is never wrong." 2x16). When she gets her revenge on Wilson, she does it in a way that doesn't compromise the program ("I may not be in the program anymore, but I still understand how important it is." 2x16).

In 2x21, she is still supporting their work even after what they did to her, in combination with her search for Root:

Reese: Well, Shaw, right now, I'm wondering just what the hell you're doing here.

Shaw: Protecting the program.

Reese: The program that tried to kill you? 

Shaw: I'm funny like that. [...] I think [Root] may have infiltrated the program back in DC, but she bugged out before I could catch her.

In 2x22, she learns that 'Research' is actually the Machine. 

Reese: The group you used to get your intel from. You called them Research. Your ex-boss called it Northern Lights. [...] They're just an "it" rather than a "them." A machine.

Shaw: You mean an AI?

During this mission, they stop to deal with an irrelevant number, which proves to Shaw that this really is the same entity she used to work for, who is never wrong and works to protect people. Her trust in the program then moves to the Machine, as shown by how quickly she adapts to following the instructions Reese relays while in God Mode, including driving off a bridge.

When Root kidnaps her in 3x06, it is only after Root proves she's getting her orders and information from the Machine that Shaw agrees to work with her.

Root: The Machine's given me a mission, and step one is to team up with you.

Shaw: I'll pass. Trust issues. Besides, the Machine gives missions to Harold and the government - relevant, irrelevant. Why would it be talking to you? 

Root: Because now, there's a third category. Things are evolving. And my relationship with the Machine is a little different. [...]

Shaw: This is the part where you give me one good reason why I should believe anything you say.

Root: October 2, 1988. You took a road trip with your father to watch the Houston Oilers play the Philadelphia Eagles. He bought you a sweatshirt -

Shaw: Don't talk about my father. It told you that? 

Root: The Machine trusts me, even if you don't. You spent years working for the Machine, and She was never wrong. If you don't help me, someone might destroy Her and innocent people will die. Forget how you feel about me. How would you feel about that?

Shaw: Okay. I'll forget how I feel about you. But when this is over, you better hope I don't remember.

Shaw then commits to the mission completely, because this is the same work she's always believed in. She listens to everything Root says, puts it to good use and confirms the mission is accomplished before knocking Root unconscious.

When Root is in the Faraday Cage, Shaw consistently advocates for Finch to let the Machine and Root help them.

Finch: Ms Shaw, I'm afraid I've lost contact with Mr Reese.

Shaw: Well, at the risk of stating the obvious, Finch, you could just ask the Machine for his location.

Finch: I don't speak to the Machine, and the Machine doesn't speak to me, Ms Shaw.

Shaw: Well, it speaks to her. (3x09)

Fusco: Ransone is the only one that can tell us where Reese is going.

Shaw: Not the only one.

Fusco: Who? 

Shaw: Harold knows who I'm talking about. We're running out of options. We need Root. (3x10)

Finch: I know this is our only option, Ms Shaw. I just wanna make sure we're prepared for what may happen.

Shaw: I'm in. Are you? (3x10)

This is because she trusts the Machine and, while she doesn't trust Root, understands her particular brand of loyalty because she saw it in action during 3x06. Root is capable of and willing to do terrible things, but she's chosen to dedicate herself to the Machine and will do exactly as she's told, just as Shaw chose to work for the ISA.

Finch allows Root to help them and Shaw once again follows the Machine's directions without complaint, including turning off the headlights while driving, but shows that she is still wary of Root herself by refusing to give her a weapon.

Root completes the mission as promised and voluntarily returns to the Faraday Cage to be with them for the larger fight ahead. This likely went a long way towards Root earning Shaw's trust by proving she's dedicated to the cause and the team, since Shaw shows concern for Root's welfare when she is captured after breaking out of the Faraday Cage to save them in 3x12. (As mentioned in 3x17, it was Shaw who gave Root the chance to escape and you can read my meta about this here).

In 3x20 when they are debating whether to kill the Congressman, Shaw says, "Six months ago, I would've already put a bullet in that guy's head. But ever since hanging around you guys, I've kind of gotten used to saving people. But we've only been able to do that by trusting the Machine. And if it's saying that this guy's gotta go, well, I think we should still trust it." Just like when she worked for the ISA, she trusts the Machine's ability to analyze the information and determine the best outcome.

In 3x23, when Shaw learns Root is alone at the Decima fortress, she asks, "But the Machine has your back, right? Right?". Like Root, Shaw knows that the Machine cares about and protects Her assets.

In the debate about AI in 4x10, Shaw, like Root, argues in favor of the Machine's good judgment and benevolence.

Shaw: Your Machine seems pretty warm and fuzzy to me.

Finch: Have you forgotten that it asked us to kill a Congressman? 

Shaw: But that was to stop Samaritan from going online. [...]

Finch: But it doesn't exactly sound like it has our best interests at heart.

Root: Your Machine would never do that.

Due to her frequent contact with the Machine, Root has faith in Her as a benevolent God, an individual, a friend. Shaw, on the other hand, has been following the Machine's orders for years and knows She has never steered her wrong, so trusts Her information, Her priorities, Her decision making, Her moral code.

[laufire]

Share a scent in a sweet summer breeze A laugh or a squeeze How can you teach me these things? Me, the machine Can dream for @missbrunettebarbie [Caption: static images from Person of Interest with gif layers of a camera screen recording and static. The set includes Root showing her phone to Control while she praises The Machine; Shaw lying on the floor, looking up at a gun pointing at her; Root playing chicken on a rooftop with The Machine, hoping to gain information on Shaw; and Shaw holding a bullet in front of Root's killer, talking with The Machine and getting her and Root confused for a moment. The set is accompanied by lyrics from Imogen Heap's Me, The Machine: "A blip in the algorithm, a break in the clouds, soft circuits jumping / The pincode to happiness, access denied, I'm switching to manual / An acquaintance with benefits, a work in progress, downloading romance / Relationship asterisk, this footnote's in plain text, I'm marking your words."]

[existennialmemes]

We say "Magneto is right" a lot, which is true and we should say it, but I also want us to say more about how excruciatingly wrong Xavier is.

Because wow, what a remarkable Paragon of arrogance and willingness to sacrifice your own people for a shred of acknowledgement from the people who only tolerate your existence if they perceive you as a tool for them to use.

[truemoondust]

Person of Interest (2011-2016) || 5x13 - return 0

[superjinkyo]

From The Air | Person Of Interest Fanvid

VidUKon 2024 Premiere

SPOILERS for Season 4 Episode 11.

 AO3

YOUTUBE

[stripesysheaven]

root has 2 hands, she has enough room in her life for both sameen and the machine <3

[nothreeyearsonemonthandfivedays]

Thanks roomie

[dearopheliaimsorry]

Finch and Reese and Shaw 3x20

"Look, I've never entirely trusted your machine but you built it and I trust you."

The feeling that Caviezel put in Reese's voice. The writing choice. The moral argument afterwords between Finch and Reese and Shaw.

Good Lord the reference to Joss.

Finch's "John" so freaking sad and desperate.

Them running. Shaw hurting and Finch trying to help with such intensity. John drives. Checking the rear view.

Shaw limping.

Finch watching and then he's gone.

And now Decima is looking for him.

Y'all the pain this episode put me through. The epic highs of Root and Shaw's undying chemistry (I ship it bc duh) paired with the unique intimacy of Reese and Finch (yes I ship it too) with a side of the usual goofy plot choices. And then that ending. Ahhhhhh.

Okay, enough melodrama. I have to watch the next episode.

[utsukushiatsushisushi]

Okay I finally finished my 3rd every 3 year rewatch of Person of Interest.

I just love this show so fucking much! I have watched many many many amazing tv shows and NONE of them are as amazing as POI. I tried watching it with a bit of a critical lens and found a miniscule amount of flaws. It's just PERFECT.

Please bring this show back. I NEED IT!!!!!!!

#Root is ALIVE 2k23

#SHOOT is ALIVE 2k23

#The Machine is ALIVE 2k23

#POI is ALIVE 2k23

[julesnichols]

I'm writing for POI again, I guess

The Machine/Shaw with past Root/Shaw and implied past Root/The Machine, kind of The Machine/Root/Shaw

[chick-with-wifi]

The Machine: Interesting fact. Root: Oh? The Machine: The name 'Sameen' means 'precious'. Root: *delighted gasp* A few hours later Root: Your name is Sameen because you're precious! Shaw: Your name is Root because you're the root of all my problems.

[melencolia-maniac]

(❗️Spoiler❗️)

Hello fellow fangirlz, should I continue watching POI after Season 3? I’m in the middle of S3 now, but I’m not enjoying the show as much after Detective Carter’s death…it just puts a real bad taste in my mouth. Besides, the plot point is getting predictable at this point, the only thing that keeps me going is the ships…which isn’t gonna last long anyways cuz I heard what the ending’s gonna be like…Nope nope nope, just nope. I’m seriously having SPN flashbacks rn. What happened to just fun and funky plot points? Why does everything have to be so broody and dark, not to mention so unsatisfying? So can anyone tell me which episode did Shaw and Root kiss💗

[callme-l-d]

mmm the precision🤌🏻🤌🏻

the machine summing up their relationship in less than a minute ✨

[truemoondust]

Person of Interest (2011-2016) || 5x13 - return 0

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 1)

Summary: The reader receives an anonymous text from a new client needing an off the books patch job. However he's annoyingly good looking and the last thing you need is some ex-special ops guy hanging around. Unfortunately for you, Russell Shaw isn't the kind of guy to walk away when he knows something's wrong...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury

A/N: Contains minor spoilers for Tracker 1x12. Please enjoy the start of this new series! I'm not sure how long it will go but thanks for coming on this ride with me!

__________

Your ears perked up on Saturday morning when your phone buzzed on the coffee table before you. Not your everyday one but your one for work. You swiped it open, pursing your lips when you saw it was from an unknown number.

Need a patch job on a quilt. Doug recommended you as a good seamstress in the area.

Alright, well at least this guy knew one of your clients. Doug wasn’t a regular but you’d seen him once or twice over the years which meant the person on the other end wasn’t a cop most likely.

I can fit you in. More complicated the patch, the more it’ll cost.

Not an issue.

You hummed and stood up, grabbing your coffee mug along the way.

129 Edwards Ave in twenty minutes. Use the red back door.

You took a long sip and went over to the kitchen, tossing the rest down the sink, leaving the mug to be cleaned later. 

You just hoped this job wasn’t as bad as the last one.

Eighteen minutes later you heard the back door open and then silence, a moment’s hesitation as your new client entered what looked like a storage area. You flipped a light switch, illuminating the small enter sign over the doorway to the room you were prepping in. A few moments later there were heavy boots against the cement ground as he entered, turning to tile, your head lifting. 

A man in his forties, a quite handsome one at that, gave the small operating room a cursory glance before settling on you, determining you were the only one there. Meanwhile your gaze shot to his injured left arm, a gunshot from the looks of it. You only spotted one bloody bullet hole and figured that was the worst of it from the way he cradled his forearm.

“You the seamstress?” he asked quietly, scanning the counter full of medical equipment and metal table in the center of the room. 

“Take a seat,” you said, patting the table. You went to a sink and washed up, making sure to keep him in view at all times. He winced and struggled to get the coat off, finally managing and revealing a quick patch job had been done. After drying your hands, you snapped on some gloves, the man’s coat and overshirt now on the table behind him.

“Russell Shaw by the way,” he said.

“Y/N,” you said, carefully taking his forearm in one hand, the top of his muscular bicep in the other. You turned his arm slightly, Russell wincing again. “Looks like a through and through. We’ll do a quick x-ray to make sure there’s no shrapnel and then we’ll get you stitched up and I’ll send you home with some supplies and instructions to care for it. This your only injury?”

“Yeah. Doug said you were good.”

“I am,” you said, offering him a brief smile, he returned. “Do you have any PTSD? Going to come at me if I I need to use a scalpel?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m good with all that.”

You hummed, guiding him to lay back. Three minutes later you were pushing your x-ray machine aside and taking the lead vest away, Russell sitting upright. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

“You can ask, don’t mean I’ll answer, sweetie,” you said back, hanging up the vest and going to your laptop on the counter.

“How does one get into this line of work?” he asked.

“Asks the man that’s ex-special ops and does private contract gigs, not to mention killed probably three people minimum tonight.” You glanced over to him, Russell tilting his head. “I know who Doug is and what he does. Makes sense you do it too. You have blood under your fingernails and given the splatter patterns on your jeans, you had multiple different angled shots so multiple bodies you hit.”

“...And you don’t report that sort of thing?” he asked cautiously. You determined his x-ray looked good and washed up again, putting on more new gloves. By the time you were standing before him again, he looked nervous.

“On occasion. But only the monsters. You, you don’t strike me as a monster, Russell,” you said, wiping some antiseptic over his entry and exit wounds. He flinched but only slightly at the quick burn. A moment later you were giving him something to numb the area.

“Someone took Doug. Someone bad. They would have come back if I hadn’t done what needed to be done.” You wiped sterile gauze over his wound and then flushed it, Russell watching your graceful movements with interest.

“Like I said, not a monster.” You hummed as you worked, Russell fixated on you carefully cleaning and then pulling the skin back together, tying it up neatly. You wiped away the evidence of his blood and wrapped his bicep in thick gauze, taping it down so he could still get movement without worrying about it coming off.

You chucked your gloves in the trash and nodded back to the door behind you.

“There’s a shower in there and some brushes. Turn it on low, scrub yourself clean, under your nails too. Use the blue soap. When you’re done, throw everything away in the bin, including your bloody clothes. You leave your boots, anything you want to keep out here with me. There’s men’s sweats and some shirts on the shelf. By the time you’re done, your boots and other items will have no trace of wherever you’ve been. Got it?”

“I do like a woman that takes charge.” He smirked, sliding off the table and dropping slowly to kneel to unlace his shoes, still looking up at you. “Full service deal you got going here.”

“Yes it is and here’s a friendly reminder for my new client. You come anywhere near me with your dick out, I’ll make you regret being alive. Understand, sweetie?” you said, patting his cheek. “Off you go.”

“God damn, I love you,” he muttered under his breath. You rolled your eyes but smirked when your back was to him. Ten minutes later the room was clean and Russell exited the bathroom with damp, slicked back hair wearing a plain white t-shirt, black hanes sweat pants and white socks. You nodded to where his shoes sat on the end of the counter, Russell taking a seat in the chair nearby as he slipped them on.

After he checked he had his phone, keys and wallet, he raised himself to his feet, pulling out his wallet. 

“What do I owe you?”

“A thousand.” To your surprise, he didn’t flinch at that number. But like most of your clients, he didn’t have the cash on him, at least not that much. Russell smirked as he glanced back in the bathroom.

“Smart woman. You keep the evidence as ransom until your clients pay up. You won’t destroy that until after I pay, will you.” 

“Not until we get to know each other better do I do that sort of thing without payment. Seeing as you’re new and a friend of Doug’s, I’ll give you to the end of next week to pull it together. I offer payment plan options and other alternative forms of care if shit ever really hit the fan for you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, putting down five hundred dollar bills. “I can bring the other half back here later today. Just need to run to an ATM.”

“Text me when you got the rest. I’ll send you a place to meet,” you said, nodding towards the door. He gave you a small salute and shook his head with a smile. 

Forty minutes later you were sitting at a table in the cafe three blocks over, happily sipping on your coffee while working your way through a cheese danish. You spotted Russell when he came in. He gave you a quick, adorably awkward wave and ordered himself a drink. A few minutes later he was sitting down across from you, a small cup and what appeared to be a banana muffin in hand.

“You’re a coffee snob aren’t you. This place is pricey,” he teased, his brow furrowing when he had a drink from his styrofoam cup. “Shit. That’s fucking good.”

“Beats whatever motel crap I’m sure you’re used to,” you said, his gaze hardening for a split second. “Sorry. I always tail my first time clients to make sure they aren’t…you know who. You know the Elkwood Lodge on route 8 is cleaner and cheaper than what you’re paying for now.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. You shrugged and simply grinned, taking another bite of danish. He licked his lips, pointing at the yet to be touched danish beside you. “Was that one for me?”

“God no. I fucking love danishes and these are incredible,” you said, finishing off the first and biting into the other.

“You are something else,” he said, smirking when he slid a white envelope across the table. You tucked it into your jacket pocket, Russell picking at his own muffin. “You ain’t going to check it’s all there?”

“You’re a smart man, Russell. I think you know not to screw me over.” He looked you up and down, earning a pointed response. “Keep that gutter mind to yourself.”

“If I’m in the gutter, you’re right there with me,” he said, absently rubbing his injured arm. “And uh, if it gets infected or I think it is, I should reach out?”

“Absolutely. That ain’t a normal injury you’re used to. Don’t play tough guy, tough guy.” He nodded, his body twisting ever so slightly towards a standing position. “Nope. Stay for at least five minutes, then you can go.”

“You really like telling me what to do, don’t you,” he grinned. 

“Russell.” Hss grin was wide before he took a long drag of coffee, humming as it went down. 

“What if I want to stay more than five minutes?” You paused mid-chew of your danish. “Come on, one conversation won’t kill you.”

“I don’t get involved with clients.”

“Alright. I respect that but this ain’t my end goal. I’m going to have a normal life someday. I make a pretty mean homebrew. Going to get some land, open up a brewery, have some food, make it a little family place everybody can enjoy. So that’s my goal. I sure as hell know working as a seamstress ain’t your end goal either. So again, what’s the harm in one conversation?”

You bit your bottom lip, Russell’s expression changing, ever so slightly. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered. “What-“

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your fucking face did. You don’t want to be a seamstress, do you? Can you not get out of your line of work?” You glanced out the window, even the wonderful flavors of the pastry doing nothing to help the unease in your gut. “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Sorry. I…I’m just crabby because I didn’t have my morning coffee until just now.”

“Nice try.” You glared at him, his green eyes remarkably gentle. “I don’t leave my friends behind. Now either you tell me what’s going on or I’m going to poke around myself and I guarantee that’s going to be a lot more dangerous and you’ll just have to patch me up even more. What do you say?”

You stared at him and stared at him and stared at him for what felt like forever. Then you took out the envelope and handed it back to him, along with the five hundred in your purse. 

“Go buy me two more cheese danishes and a large caramel frappe to go. Then take me to your motel room. This is a long fucking story.”

__________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!