A/N

A huge and warmhearted thank you, ClaudiaRain, for everything!

*** Remember: this is a rare pairing story (Reese/Root). Don't like, don't read!

Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from Person of Interest.

Whenever I refer to the Machine as she and her it is printed in italics.

Quotes at the beginning are taken from scenes with Reese and Root. (S03E21 and S03E22)

MEETING

"John...when that traffic light switches we're screwed. We can't worry about the irrelevant numbers now."

"What is 'she' thinking? Telling us to lay our heads low and...then handling us a new number?"

"There's no time."

"This is a life. - And Finch would tell us to save it. - So you tell your complicated Boss, if 'she' wants me to step out of danger then I need more than just numbers. - I want a name."

Root's head flung back to the traffic light, then she answered: "Fine. 'She' is giving it to me."

There was one moment they shared eye-contact, his eyes on hers, this time only filled with care and sorrow, no anger, no hatred for her, maybe nearly begging for her to understand his calling and his loyalty to Harold.

And she understood, having herself this moment of calling and being surprised for the first time to find herself not only worrying about but also needing help from John, who had never before asked her for anything but help saving lives.

It was Monday, the start of a new week, and John was on his way to his shift as a security guard for a big tech company in Jersey with a direct view to Manhattan on the other side of the Hudson. Although he didn't like at first what the Machine had chosen for him, he was gradually accepting his new job.

Living a life as an "irrelevant" still seemed strange to him: having a normal daily routine and regular working hours although from his former job as a CIA-operative, he was used to adapting easily to a new role. He missed them all: Harold and Bear. And somehow Shaw and Root, too.

In those final moments before Samaritan went online, they had worked truly as a team.

Not knowing when they would be together again was something he was struggling with every day.

But he recognized the advantages of this new life: most of his free time for himself, which meant normally when an irrelevant name from the Machine reached him through a cellphone – because she had obviously not stopped seeing him as her "contingency" - it was more difficult to leave his things and check on the situation very carefully because he was not armed anymore and was without Harold's personal help and computer assistance.

It had cost him (besides sleep deprivation and constant exhaustion) a lot of his patience and the knowledge that – being often alone - he would not always succeed, too.

If Fusco hadn't helped him from time to time, he would be dead.

He couldn't find it in him to care. He just put his life in the hands of the Machine. Without the others there was no point in surviving anyway.

"Who changed me into the nightshift?" he asked his companions, while studying the plan for the weekend. Normally he had only one day and the early shift since lots of them preferred the quiet nightshift on Saturday and Sunday, spending time with their families over the day.

"I don't know," Greg, the supervisor told him, coming along.

"New plan came in this morning from the HR department." He shrugged and grinned.

"I guess Bob finally resigned."

John only nodded, knowing that Bob – who worked most of the night shifts – was constantly complaining about the work conditions and talking about a change of the job.

Arriving on Saturday evening, John was made familiar with a recurring problem.

There was sometimes a thief at work for some months now, but only at night. The funny thing was that nothing really important was missing: some hard drives. Some cables. A rack. Some USB-hubs.

Since the thief got never caught and had been only a dark figure on the surveillance cameras, not really recognizable, the rumor of a "ghost" started to spread and remained. The security guards believed no immediate danger, because an alarm was never triggered. Instead there was another murmur that someone who worked inside the company seemed to lose things permanently.

There were only two watchmen at night for the big building, one doing the patrolling in each wing while the other one stayed in the observation room near the entrance of the building. They were connected with walkie-talkies, since each checked his own area.

The IT-section was east, the administration west, connected through the wide, big entrance-hall.

At 10 pm only workers with special access were allowed to enter the building, and mostly they were from the IT-section on the upper floors. The main server rooms with restricted access were in the lower basement, away from the daily life of the company employees.

After doing patrol number five, one in each hour – very predictable, John thought - it started to get boring. John was tired as well, but tried to stay on alert. His coworker had been gone to the men's room.

That's why John didn't miss the sudden dark figure on the edge on the CCTVs.

He went straight for the IT-section, being silent and very careful. Because he had seen which direction the dark figure took, he was sure he would catch the thief.

Following the dark figure – who seemed to know exactly where to go, how to open doors and get at last through the locked veil to the main server room – he realized something familiar about it. Could it be...?

When the figure grabbed some hardware from one of the stacks, he grabbed the figure, too, instantly pulling the hood off – and looked directly into Root's face.

She was a little bit shocked, he could see that she had felt safe - no wonder with the Machine in her head – and was somehow surprised that he actually caught her.

Knowing the position of the cameras, he dragged them both while shielding her around the next stacks in the direction of the exit. He knew the room under the stairs was safe from the surveillance, that's where they could talk – because he definitely had a lot of questions.

"What were you thinking? Stealing this equipment? And what for?" He demanded to know, once they were there.

It was plain to see he was really upset.

"I need it." Root brushed him off. "The rest is none of your business."

"None of my business?" John grumbled.

"Would you say the exact same thing if some other watchman had caught you?"

Smiling, Root looked him in the eyes.

"Nobody but you would have caught me anyway." She said in that mocking, self-conscious voice of hers.

John glanced angrily at her.

"You should be more careful. And answer my questions before I detain you after all."

"And then, John?" She teased him, obviously not taking him seriously. "What would you do to me?"

He flashed into action and pinned her against the wall.

"You always go until there's no way back, right?" He mentioned so quiet that Root was for a second really not sure what he would do to her.

"There's nothing you can do that wasn't already done." She answered defiantly.

John looked her straight in the eyes, knowing what she spoke of and stepped back.

"You know what? I am tired of your games. Get out of here."

Then he turned around and left her.

He could have asked her about Harold. He could have asked her how long it would take to stay in this cover identity. And more.

She always got him so furious, taking nothing really seriously and caring for nothing – except the Machine.

He could have used her help so badly with the irrelevant names. But why was he kidding himself that she'd ever help him?