Fic: the one and only answer
Title: the one and only answer
Fandom: Person of Interest. SPOILERS for episode 2x02, Bad Code.
Rating: R
Summary: He kills her in her dreams.
Notes: Vine and Root's idea of therapy. I'm starting to think I need an icon for them.
Beta: Kelly the Amazing and Awesome.
Trigger Warning: Mentions of child sexual abuse, and lots of violence.
"Shh, shh." Root holds her, rocks her gently, strokes her hair. "Shh, shh. I'm here. It's all right, Vine, he's dead. Shh, shh."
--
The kick of the gun in her hand and the wet punch of the bullets as they rip through his chest. It felt so good, blood on his shirt and blood on the pavement and he clutched at himself, choking wet. She kills him over and over. It never stops him for long.
--
Vine is twenty, Root seventeen. It's been four years since she killed him.
--
He kills her in her dreams, time and time and time again, kicks her legs apart and strangles her. There's blood on her legs and blood in her mouth and she can't breathe.
In a way she's grateful for that. If she can't breathe, she can't feel.
--
"I found someone," Root tells her, and she leans over her shoulder, looks at the picture. Dark-haired, sharp-eyed, and that nasty little smile, smug and certain. "He was dismissed from his last position under charges of molesting his students. And now..." Root's mouth twists. "Now he has a new position."
A hand ghosts around her neck. Vine wipes the touch away. "Not for long."
--
It took two years before she was ready, two years of shooting ranges and gun stores and practicing, over and over until the heels of her hands bruised from the recoil. Two years until she could put a bullet anywhere she wanted: head, chest, groin. She needed to be accurate. She needed to be slow.
--
"I'm your daughter," Root tells her, as they move into the new house.
Vine snorts. "You really think they'll believe that?"
Root smiles at her, angelic over a cardboard box, her hair in braids and her skirt a schoolgirl plaid. "You can be young," she says. "I can be younger. Fourteen, Vine, that's only three years."
It's also how old Hanna was when she died. Vine's throat is tight again. "All right," she says, "and I was a teenage mother?"
Root smiles. She has such a lovely smile. "Sixteen, I think," she says. "You can pass for ten years older with the right makeup. It'll be easy, don't you see?" She puts down the box and comes over to Vine, cups her face with both hands. "I'll be the bait. I'll bring him to you. And then..."
And then.
Vine smiles.
--
Twice in the kneecaps, to bring him down. Five times in the chest, to punish him. Three in the stomach. Five in the groin.
She made sure he saw her face, before she emptied her clip into his head.
--
He works fast. Three weeks into the school year and Root comes home smug. "He told me I needed special tutoring," she tells Vine, over dinner. "I told him I didn't want my mother to know, and that she'd be away this weekend. He'll be here then."
And this is how Root loves her, that she will fake records, that she will move them both and fake their records and put herself in stomach-twisting situations just so Vine won't have nightmares anymore.
Root's hair is thick and soft in Vine's fingers, her mouth warm and pliant, and Vine will never, ever love anyone else the way she loves Root.
--
Root took her away, after, got her into the car and drove back to their motel. There was blood on her hands and the knees of her pants; she rubbed her eyes like a tired child and smeared it over her cheeks and forehead. Root took her straight into the shower, stripped her there and washed her clean, then put her to bed and held her until she stopped shivering, stroking her hair, murmuring.
"Shh, shh. He's dead now. It's all right. I'm here, and he's dead. Shh, shh."
--
Vine takes him almost before he's set foot over the threshold. A taser to the back of his neck and he goes down hard. There's a room in the basement that she soundproofed, just for him, and she takes him down there, binds him hand and foot the way Hanna was bound, spread open on a dirty mattress and begging for her life.
She waits until he's awake before she begins.
--
She slept easy, the night after she killed him, for the first time since Hanna died.
--
Vine is thirty-five and Root is thirty-three. It's been nineteen years since she killed him, and he's killing her in her dreams.
Root brushes a hand through her hair, kisses her soft and sweet. "I've found you someone," she says, low, almost seductive, leaning down, her breath hot against her ear.
Another one.
Vine smiles.
This entry is crossposted at http://bookblather.dreamwidth.org/208252.html. Please comment over there if possible.
Fandom: Person of Interest. SPOILERS for episode 2x02, Bad Code.
Rating: R
Summary: He kills her in her dreams.
Notes: Vine and Root's idea of therapy. I'm starting to think I need an icon for them.
Beta: Kelly the Amazing and Awesome.
Trigger Warning: Mentions of child sexual abuse, and lots of violence.
"Shh, shh." Root holds her, rocks her gently, strokes her hair. "Shh, shh. I'm here. It's all right, Vine, he's dead. Shh, shh."
--
The kick of the gun in her hand and the wet punch of the bullets as they rip through his chest. It felt so good, blood on his shirt and blood on the pavement and he clutched at himself, choking wet. She kills him over and over. It never stops him for long.
--
Vine is twenty, Root seventeen. It's been four years since she killed him.
--
He kills her in her dreams, time and time and time again, kicks her legs apart and strangles her. There's blood on her legs and blood in her mouth and she can't breathe.
In a way she's grateful for that. If she can't breathe, she can't feel.
--
"I found someone," Root tells her, and she leans over her shoulder, looks at the picture. Dark-haired, sharp-eyed, and that nasty little smile, smug and certain. "He was dismissed from his last position under charges of molesting his students. And now..." Root's mouth twists. "Now he has a new position."
A hand ghosts around her neck. Vine wipes the touch away. "Not for long."
--
It took two years before she was ready, two years of shooting ranges and gun stores and practicing, over and over until the heels of her hands bruised from the recoil. Two years until she could put a bullet anywhere she wanted: head, chest, groin. She needed to be accurate. She needed to be slow.
--
"I'm your daughter," Root tells her, as they move into the new house.
Vine snorts. "You really think they'll believe that?"
Root smiles at her, angelic over a cardboard box, her hair in braids and her skirt a schoolgirl plaid. "You can be young," she says. "I can be younger. Fourteen, Vine, that's only three years."
It's also how old Hanna was when she died. Vine's throat is tight again. "All right," she says, "and I was a teenage mother?"
Root smiles. She has such a lovely smile. "Sixteen, I think," she says. "You can pass for ten years older with the right makeup. It'll be easy, don't you see?" She puts down the box and comes over to Vine, cups her face with both hands. "I'll be the bait. I'll bring him to you. And then..."
And then.
Vine smiles.
--
Twice in the kneecaps, to bring him down. Five times in the chest, to punish him. Three in the stomach. Five in the groin.
She made sure he saw her face, before she emptied her clip into his head.
--
He works fast. Three weeks into the school year and Root comes home smug. "He told me I needed special tutoring," she tells Vine, over dinner. "I told him I didn't want my mother to know, and that she'd be away this weekend. He'll be here then."
And this is how Root loves her, that she will fake records, that she will move them both and fake their records and put herself in stomach-twisting situations just so Vine won't have nightmares anymore.
Root's hair is thick and soft in Vine's fingers, her mouth warm and pliant, and Vine will never, ever love anyone else the way she loves Root.
--
Root took her away, after, got her into the car and drove back to their motel. There was blood on her hands and the knees of her pants; she rubbed her eyes like a tired child and smeared it over her cheeks and forehead. Root took her straight into the shower, stripped her there and washed her clean, then put her to bed and held her until she stopped shivering, stroking her hair, murmuring.
"Shh, shh. He's dead now. It's all right. I'm here, and he's dead. Shh, shh."
--
Vine takes him almost before he's set foot over the threshold. A taser to the back of his neck and he goes down hard. There's a room in the basement that she soundproofed, just for him, and she takes him down there, binds him hand and foot the way Hanna was bound, spread open on a dirty mattress and begging for her life.
She waits until he's awake before she begins.
--
She slept easy, the night after she killed him, for the first time since Hanna died.
--
Vine is thirty-five and Root is thirty-three. It's been nineteen years since she killed him, and he's killing her in her dreams.
Root brushes a hand through her hair, kisses her soft and sweet. "I've found you someone," she says, low, almost seductive, leaning down, her breath hot against her ear.
Another one.
Vine smiles.
This entry is crossposted at http://bookblather.dreamwidth.org/208252.html. Please comment over there if possible.