Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She wakes up in a hospital bed, cold, pain radiating from her abdomen to every other nerve in her body, and already regretting the whole thing.

She asks about Shaw immediately and gets no further answer than a detached “Asset Sameen Shaw is unharmed” and even though no details about the others was part of the deal, it doesn't help her mood.

She agreed – insisted, in fact – on not knowing the details of the Machine's plan in advance so she wouldn't give it away, but now she can't ignore the traces of white foundation make up on her neck and elbows, or the black body bag – that she suspects is only here to satisfy her postmortem curiosity – and Fusco's signature on the corpse identification certificate attached to it.

The doctor and nurse that take care of her when she can't yet leave the bed thankfully don't say much, other than to inform her that she's been out for two days – not too bad to get over a stomach GSW and probable Aconitine poisoning, she thinks grimly – and seems to be recovering as smoothly as possible from her injuries.

On the fifth morning she finds her legs a lot less wobbly and a brand new ID in the bedside table, and even though they see her, no one asks any questions as she leaves the building.

.

She watches from afar as the other team save hers, and it's like looking at your favorite movie with different actors.

They're good, she has to give them that, and she tries to ignore the pang of jealousy she feels at the idea that the Machine has other like them around the country. Not that she didn't suspect it, but it's another thing to see it with her own eyes.

Root comforts herself with the idea that at least, there's only one Analogue Interface. Though she doesn't dare to ask confirmation about that.

.

She doesn't talk to the Machine much, the pain of every move she makes, no matter how small, reminding her of how close to death she actually came. Making her wonder if this was really worth it.

If her God doesn't question this sudden lack of faith in Her, Root sometimes does. After all, she spent a long time believing in nothing but the Machine's abilities, and very rarely doubted Her. But when She starts giving daily reports on the team, always mentioning Shaw first and washing away the worry Root finally acknowledges for what it is, the hacker is mostly impressed – if a little embarrassed – by how the AI seems to know and understand her better than she does herself.

Soon enough the updates aren't enough anymore, and the only conversation they have is about Root wanting, needing to get out there and help the others fight somehow. And every time they have it, the Machine reminds her of her odds of survival if she were to engage in any kind of combat in her still fragile state – and a part of Root can't help but wonder if those odds aren't a little bit too low to be true – and of how much she'll be needed after Samaritan and Herself aren't here anymore.

Root doesn't ask Her what She means by that – she knows about Harold's little side project by now – and that's how the Machine always wins the argument.

.

Finally, the Machine allows her to intervene. And though Root is relieved that she finally gets to go out there, do something and save, as it turns out, Reese and Fusco's lives, she dreads what it means that She needed her help so abruptly.

Hours after She had to stop their communication – fighting the virus and looking after the team already taking all of Her last capabilities – Root watches from a security firm's monitors as the big lug sacrifices himself. She surprises herself when she can't stop a loud “no!” to leave her lips as John reveals his own deal with the Machine, and even more when she feels tears rolling down her face as he takes the first bullet.

She doesn't turn her look away from Reese's tall silhouette until the building gets hit by the missile. It's stupid to inflict that onto herself, and a cruel reminder of another time when another team member sacrificed her life in front of a helpless Root, but she justifies it with an even more stupid reason: someone has to watch him do this.

What would be the point of him dying this annoyingly heroic way, if there was no one there to see it, to remember it, to tell the story later on?

Harold will be long gone after this day, of that Root is sure – it's the whole point of the Machine making a deal with her after all. And the Machine Herself… She's dead, and there's no telling if whatever will come back from the satellite She's exported Herself onto will recall any of this, or be able to understand it right away when It sees it.

So Root keeps on watching, until the explosion turns the image on the screen into fire and smoke and there's nothing to watch anymore.

And then, despite her will to go out there and make sure other members of the team – and one in particular – are truly okay, she waits in the dark.

With a heavy heart and a heavier silence in her cochlear implant, Root waits for her God to come back, in any form She will.

Chapter Text

Shaw hangs up the phone after getting not a number, but an address. Intrigued by the return of the Machine's random vocal pattern instead of Root's voice, she heads there cautiously, gun ready in the pocket of her sweater, Bear on full alert.

Uncharacteristically lost in her thoughts about what the new AI sounds like and not sure how she should feel about it, it takes her too long to recognize the street. When she does, the full stop she makes has someone running straight into her and Bear looking up in worry.

It's the subway's address.

Gun drawn and senses as on edge as they could possibly be, the familiar pre-action feelings of dread and excitement burning through her veins, Shaw quickly and quietly approaches what used to be their safe house.

As soon as they get inside, Bear's demeanor relaxes. Since the homey scent he's smelling now is probably just remnants of a quiet – well, quieter – time in the team's life, she pushes him behind her, not trusting this place anymore.

Then her eyes land on the part of the hall where Harold's computers used to sit – and still are – and on the tall silhouette standing there in front of the screens. The thin figure turns to face her after casually putting two guns away in a black bag on the desk.

“Hey, sweetie. Just stopped by to collect a few things and let you know we need a new place to settle in, and this is what I'm greeted with… Care to explain the mess, or should I blame it on the apocalyptic showdown I hear took place here?”

Root.

Shaw's heart misses a beat, and she isn't sure she actually pronounces the name. It's more of a shocked exhale, that feels alien to her own throat.

Root is standing right in front of her, Root is talking to her, Root is asking stupid questions in that irritatingly teasing – and not charming at all – tone of hers.

Except she can't. Because Root is dead.

The blood rushes back into her brain at the next pulse, and she's almost used to the painful conflict it causes her to raise a gun to that beautiful face for the seven thousand and forty-fifth time in less than a year.

“What the fuck?” She growls. “This is another trick of that damn AI, isn't it? What, you figured I was okay with you using her voice, so the next level is to project some hologram of her? Why the hell would you do that?”

It makes no sense to threaten to shoot some digital apparition, of course. Shaw's not stupid, she's aiming for the computers behind “it”.

Although she immediately loses the amused look, Root's apparition quickly covers the few feet separating them, nonchalantly swatting at Shaw's armed wrist, and pauses before planting a firm and short kiss to her lips.

A kiss that feels as real as the last one they shared, the morning before they left for their last mission together.

“I'm sorry,” Root whispers, brushing her fingers on Shaw's leather-covered shoulders, frowning a little as she probably wonders if the jacket isn't one of hers.

Her smell has that unique freshness to it, as well as the fruity touch that used to irritate Shaw more than anything – she'd never understand Root's use of overly scented “for women” body soaps – an odd mix the Samaritan simulations could never get perfectly right.

“It's me, Sameen,” she whispers. “It's really me.”

Before a mostly petrified Shaw has the time to come back to herself and shove her off, Root quickly backs away and takes a seat back in front of one of computers. She drags another chair close to her own and tilts her head that way to invite the other woman to sit.

Shaw doesn't even bother to look that way, still trying to understand what the hell is happening. She stares incredulously at Root's face, that she thought she'd never see again and yet looks exactly as she remembers it.

The hand that's holding her firearm balances with uncertainty in front of her, and Bear's whimpers are the only thing keeping her grounded.

Root sighs, though it seems more in anticipation of what she has to say than in reaction to Shaw's behavior, and answers the obvious question.

“I made a deal with the Machine,” she starts, and Shaw puts her gun away.

It's only a 0,04% difference, and she hasn't been able to hear it the week before – hell, she still couldn't a few minutes ago.

But right now, with all the other clues in mind, she can hear it. She swears she'd be able to tell the Machine's imitation, and Root's oh-so familiar voice, apart right away.
Or maybe it's the simple fact of knowing that Root is truly here, tangible, touchable. Alive.

Either way, she can't ignore the bit of relief she feels growing inside, in the midst of all the anger and confusion that still dominate.

“What kind of a deal?” she asks, crossing her arms and losing her grasp on Bear's leech in the process.

The military dog sees an opportunity there and runs to Root's feet, and Shaw honestly can't tell if she's more annoyed at the betrayal or disgusted by the baby talk it gets out of the hacker.
She doesn't sound that ridiculous when she speaks to Bear, and even she did? He's her dog.

“She needed me to be alive for round two,” Root answers, her grin fading a little though she's still looking at Bear. “That's why She staged my death. Though for a hot second there, it was close to not being so staged.”

The playful glance she throws the former ISA Agent is met with the hardest glare she's ever received from her, and Root looks down in something that would almost resemble shame.

“So what, you agreed to do that? To stay away while the rest of us were fighting?”

Shaw knows that's probably not the case: even for her precious Machine, Root was never one to turn down any kind of action – especially not in such critical times.

But the muffled sounds in her mind had their volume turned way up in the last minutes, and it's too much of a mess to sort it out immediately. So, since she's always been best at anger…

“Of course I didn't,” the taller woman says, shaking her head with force. “I wanted to fight, I wanted to be a part of this. And I really didn't want you to think you'd lost me… not so soon after I got you back.”

Shaw pretends to roll her eyes at that, but their sudden glassiness must be obvious because Root has to visibly stop herself from standing up before changing her mind. Instead she keeps on talking, while getting a treat for Bear out of the bag she's packed.

“But She insisted, every day before it happened, on how important this was. She said that Harold needed the motivation to do what was necessary. She said She was going to die anyway,” Root's voice falters a little at that, “and that She needed me to take care of Her core code when it came back here. And most importantly, She promised me you would be safe.”

Shaw's eyebrows shoot up.

“Yeah? I got shot.”

“Okay, not safe. Alive. You couldn't have died.”

“Then what about the rest of the team?” Shaw asks, and she's almost pissed that her own voice breaks enough for Bear to jump to his feet again and come back to her, the treat long gone anyway.

She still kneels to pet him, welcoming the distraction, and Root leans forward in her chair, dragging it imperceptibly closer to them.

“John made a deal with Her too, sweetie. He chose to die, because he wanted Harold to be okay. And I agreed to stay back… Well, one Thornhill Industries related job non standing, because I knew the same would go for you.”

Shaw swallows hard at that, and focuses on itching that spot behind his ears the way Bear loves it. There was a high chance at least one of them didn't make it, but it's another thing to know for sure that they lost Reese. And of course that idiot had to be a damn hero and sacrifice himself to save their pacifist billionaire.

“So Harold's fine, I take it,” she says finally.

Root nods, her secretive, God-just-said-something-in-my-head smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“He will be. He's going to need some time, obviously, but I think he's going to enjoy Florence.”

Shaw nods in agreement, smiling the tiniest bit at the idea. Then it hits her.

“Wait, why did the Machine try to protect you and not just Harold? The new AI is going to need him more than you, isn't it? I mean, he invented the whole thing in the first place.”

Root shoots her a slightly offended look, before standing up and tidying the yet almost empty desk, as if to hide her own emotions.

“Harold's dream was to accomplish the impossible, to build an AI smart and capable enough to do great things, to protect and save humanity,” she answers in the slightly obsessive tone she always uses whenever she refers to Harold's creation.

“He got to both help his country, and achieve something so amazing, so advanced that it was beyond most people's imagination. And then he found himself cut off from everything and everyone to fix a mistake he'd made, thinking he was doing the right thing at the time.”

Facing Root's back, Shaw has to stand and take a couple of steps forward to be able to hear her now lower voice.

“All this violence, all these deaths that he felt responsible for even when he knew they were for the greater good… It wasn't him. Harold was tired of this life, but unable to walk away all the same. She knew that.”

Root turns away and looks surprised to see the shorter woman standing so much closer to her, though she recovers quickly and continues without missing a beat.

“He created God, and then God had to die. So She decided his time was up, that he deserved a second chance at a normal life.”

It's both instinct, and the loud turmoil of confusing feelings rushing in again when she sees tears in Root's eyes as she mentions the Machine's end, that push the words out of Shaw's mouth and make her sound furious again.

“And you don't?”

Yes, she's mad at Root for agreeing with the Machine's plan. And yes, the hacker's going to have hell to pay for what she made her go through, even though Shaw is starting to understand her reasons.

But she's even more pissed at the Machine herself, that decided Harold was allowed some rest when Root apparently isn't. She might not have been in the business of helping people for long, and she can certainly deal with killing people a lot better than the AI's inventor ever would, but that doesn't mean Root doesn't deserve some peace too. And not the “rest in” kind.

The concern she can feel burning inside her chest for the other woman is unsettling to say the least, and though she blames it on thinking Root was dead for the past few weeks, she's afraid she might have showed too much of it just now.

But Root simply smiles again, looking down at Shaw's hand and almost reaching out to touch it with her own.

“I'm exactly where I belong, Sameen. I told you that.”

There's a silence neither of them dare to break as they both remember that conversation, until Root's surprised inhale when Shaw thinks “fuck it” and entwines their fingers – and it's audible enough to make the Persian woman smirk up at her.

“The difference between Harold and I is, I never actually had a plan,” Root starts again, looking a lot more relaxed now. “I was running away with no real idea what to do with myself. Now I have a purpose. Now I have this new God to bring up, to help do good, to help fight Samaritan should it ever come back.”

She takes a deep breath and her hold tightens on Shaw's hand.

“The last thing She said to me was that She knew how much I loved and understood Her, and that She couldn't see anyone better suited than me to raise Her little brother.”

Shaw tenses at the mention of the AI's last words, and though the worry in the taller woman's eyes is as familiar as it is unnerving, this time she fights the anger.

“She told me something too, on your behalf,” she says coldly, opting for distance instead and knowing it's probably not going to fool Root. “Something to do with your endless rant about shapes… that day.”

She can't bring herself to call it anything, because what else could she say, really? That day you got shot and died? That day forcing myself to feel nothing was a lot harder than ever before in my life? That day I haven't slept a full night since?

Her hesitation doesn't seem to register though, and Root's caught-in-headlights look, as well as the sudden acceleration of the thready pulse Shaw can feel beneath her fingers are oddly comforting. At least she's not the only one being overly emotional.

“Well, as I said, it was a close call after I got shot. I said some things… just in case.”

They both stare at each other in the quiet of the abandoned subway, Root's thumb tentatively and, when she's not met with another glare or a shake off, more assuredly rubbing Shaw's skin.

“But you were okay by then,” Shaw presses on. “Why would she tell me that, if she knew you were still around?”

“Honestly, Sameen? I don't know,” Root answers, frowning. “She said Her goodbyes to me early on, because She needed to focus on keeping Harold and you alive. Maybe She panicked, too, and decided to tell you just in case. Or maybe the virus messed with Her memories and She thought one of the options where I didn't make it was reality, or even –”

“Guess, we'll never know,” Shaw interrupts as she can see the hacker getting agitated, and Root smiles sadly in agreement. “So, now what? You're gonna stick around and work the numbers with this new… Hey, back up. Did you say brother?”

“I'm not like Harold, Sameen,” Root says with conviction, her free hand searching for something in her jacket. “I couldn't leave the child he gave me voiceless, nameless, stuck in His own mind alone and treated as nothing more than a tool. Picking a voice is one of the first things I asked Him to do, and apparently the Machine had foreseen His choice correctly.”

Shaw cautiously takes the earpiece she's handed, and only puts it on after Root gives her one last nod, followed by her trademark cryptic smile.

Good morning, Miss Shaw. I know it's full of surprises so far, but I hope you understand why I had refrained from addressing you this way until now.

Shaw's eyes shoot up to meet Root's again, and she would almost smile at that voice – that she really can't tell apart from her memory of Harold's.

“I would've thought he was dead,” she answers.

That's right. He isn't, though, as Miss Groves assured you.

“You don't need to die for a God to borrow your voice,” Root adds quietly, as if talking to herself.

“Of course not, silly me. You just need to be either faking your own death, or living it up in Europe, right?” Shaw's tone is brisk enough to make Root stiffen and let go of her hand, but the new Machine doesn't seem faded by it at all.

And okay, that might have been over the top. But as amazed as she is to find Root alive, Shaw's not exactly over the stunt the hacker and the other AI pulled on her and the rest of the team yet.

Well, it would be confusing to say the least, if I were to use the voice of one of my agents, wouldn't it? Besides I found, and Miss Groves agreed, that this would be an appropriate tribute to my creator.

If Shaw's being honest, Harold's always sounded a little robotic to her anyway. Still, this is going to take some using to.

“So yes, Sameen,” Root speaks again tentatively, “that means we probably won't ever see Harold again. But now we have Harry.”

Indeed you do, Miss Groves.

Root actually blushes at the almost purring, devoted tone, and Shaw makes a face. She never got this weird obsession of Root's with her God, so hearing this kind of… flirting between them – and with Harold's voice – is a whole new level of disturbing.

Shaw sighs and closes her eyes as she fingers the patch of scarred skin behind her ear, and when she opens them again, she can't suppress a laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.

“Damn it, Root. This is such a you thing to do, you know? Only you would make me wish I was back to thinking this is all just a simulation.”

Root stares at her, trying to guess if she's joking or having an actual meltdown. And even if Shaw wishes she would just relax already and smirk at her or something else more Root-like than this constant and almost unbearable intensity in her eyes, she shakes her head in reassurance.

“I'm sorry,” she offers again. “And this isn't a simulation, but it is the closest to a fairytale ending we're gonna get,” she retorts, now looking a little too pleased with herself.

She won't ask. She should have been careful what she wished for and this has got to be some lame romantic come on a la Root, nothing she actually needs to know, so Shaw is not. Going. To ask.

“How so?”

Well, fuck. Apparently, she's missed even that.

“You know how the stories go, don't you? 'Once upon a time, a sociopath met a reformed killer for hire… They got an AI and a dog, and lived happily ever after!'”

Root seriously needs to learn how to wink. And when not to.

“Now, come on,” she announces more loudly as she turns to grab and close the bag over what looks suspiciously like the lava lamp from her bedroom down here. “Let's go find ourselves a castle to move in, shall we?”

Shaw rolls her eyes again and only lets out a chuckle in Bear's direction when Root, instructions buzzing in her ear, is too far away to hear it. Then she mechanically checks her gun, and grabs the leech to follow after the hacker.

They've got work to do.