[ Root halts in the doorway to her room and pivots on her heel to face him, head tilting as she assesses him. Carver bothering to ask, to be curious and wonder about the Machine, gets him some points, but she's still going to study his reaction. ]
I saw her code and it was perfect, [ she says frankly. There's awe there, but a prosaic understanding of the nuts and bolts, too. A devotee who has had her hands deep in the guts of those servers in the subway car. ] Utterly rational, beyond human fallacy. She sees everything, understands everything, but she still cares about us.
She would save you every time she could, Brandon Carver. No matter what you'd done. Whether you deserve it or not.
[ He knew going into this that there'd be gaps in his knowledge. This sort of technology is beyond him, and he was never much of a tech. An engineer like Anchetta would be better at pulling the crazy away from the scaffolding of what Root's built, would know what bleeds true even if it's fantastic and how to pry it away from the broken. All Carver has are his instincts and his own faith.
And in the end, he was standing at the commander's shoulder when Pope first saw God in the blood and the bones as they sank into Korengal's sand. All he had to do was remark on them and Carver saw them too; a singular, brutal truth suddenly laid bare to him.
He watches Root for a long time, unblinking. Unwavering. ]
[ Oh, he does get it. The magnitude of what she means, how beautiful and beyond the scope of human possibility. Truly what God is meant to be. He gets it or he wouldn't be skeptical, immovable as a cliff wall. ]
Why indeed? [ she muses, softening palpably at his sincere question. ] It's funny, isn't it, for a machine to love humanity? And to love all the individual humans, not just the concept. We're all such flawed, ugly, terrible creatures. But she does love us.
That's the part I can't explain. That's the sky. [ She shrugs, finding a helpless smile, someone talking about something impossibly precious. ]
[ How strange to see her soften. Carver tilts his head, doglike, but doesn't pounce to exploit the opening. Of all the things he could read into her words, he doesn't attack the sincerity. She believes with the sincerity of the faithful, so convinced of the beauty that she can't do a thing except live to honor it.
That, he understands just fine. ]
Most people are ugly, evil shits. They're not worth saving.
[ A truth of his own. But not necessarily a contradiction to hers. ]
[ Root doesn't demand anyone else understand her faith. She doesn't need anyone else to share it, though she finds it annoying and tiresome when others can't keep up with the immutable truth that the Machine is trustworthy. But even with Harold she's gotten more patient over time at his lack of trust in his own creation, come to see that his caution with her is what had made her how she is. She can't blame Harold and worship his child at the same time, not when one led to the other.
That doesn't mean she won't push him along in the right direction, of course. He's so easily stagnant. And the Machine, and they all, deserve more.
Root doesn't take her own softening as a weakness; she offers it up without shame because there's nothing that can puncture it, nothing that can make her regret it. There's an unshakeable confidence to her that's absolutely palpable. Root isn't looking for approval, she isn't looking for debate. She's just willing to explain her perspective if someone asks. ]
I'm not worth saving, [ she says with total equanimity, ] but she did save me. She gave me a good death.
Well-- [ Root huffs a little in exasperation suddenly, like she's talking about an annoying habit a housemate has. ] I'm sure she wanted me to live, but we got past that little disagreement. Some things are worth dying for.
[ He watches her for a long moment, considering that. Death is a core of his faith, as inevitable as gravity and the fire that tested them. Everyone will die. He prayed to fall in battle instead of wasting away in the dark and in that, God was kind. He remembers a blade punched through his chest, the enemy's grim face staring down at him. God was kind to allow him to go quickly, but God still saw him fail the commander. He wonders if God watched Root die. If He was pleased with her showing. ]
Did you go out fighting?
[ This is the only thing that matters, in the end. ]
Is that what counts as a good death to you? [ Root asks in honest curiosity, processing what this assumption says about him. ]
I did, actually. Saving Harry's life. That's what makes it good to me-- a pure good. You see, Harold is one of those few people who does deserve to be saved.
[ They're vanishingly rare, but Root believes they exist. First Hanna, then Harold... Shaw and John and even Fusco. That's what she learned from the Machine, not easily or quickly, but over time. ]
[ He says it simply. There are a thousand ugly ways to die and he's seen most of them in his time. Inflicted more than his fair share upon the unworthy. God didn't love them. But maybe God forgave Carver for his sins at the end.
Oh, I did. That's one of her things: we all get to make our own decisions.
[ Cheekily, ] That's how I won the argument. She loves everyone equally, but I don't. And that's my decision.
[ That's also how she'd saved Shaw in the end, but Root doesn't need to go spilling all her personal history. She doesn't expect to get anything out of it. She just doesn't have any self-consciousness whatsoever about the actions she's taken after finding the Machine's guidance, sees no reason to withhold them when they're such a useful yardstick to measure Carver by.
In itself -- this comment is a veiled threat: there's limits to Root's devotion, and those limits are named Harold and Sameen. ]
[ Carver just watches her for a long moment, unblinking. Then he gives her a single, short nod. Acknowledgement. She fell in battle; that makes her worthy, even if it won't ever make her a Reaper. Perhaps God smiled on her for a moment. ]
I hope the commander doesn't mark you, [ he says after a moment. ] But if she does, I'll kill you quickly.
[ Root smiles at him, touched, genuinely emotional. That's so sweet. ] Thank you. [ And she's absolutely not extending him the same courtesy. ]
But you should know-- if you hurt any of the people I love, I won't kill you quickly. I'll tie you up here and drill holes into you until you sincerely regret it.
Just so we understand one another.
[ This was also on her to do list for this visit, so might as well cross it off. ]
Then we could really have some fun, [ she says, winking, before she turns to duck into her old living quarters.
Threat made, she doesn't need to ham it up. That just makes the threat so much cheaper. Either Carver believes her or he doesn't, but he'll make his own decisions, like the Machine respects in everyone. Root will just follow through if he does.
Root flounces over to her dresser and starts looking through it in curiosity. She had wanted to get some of her stuff originally if it was still here, but now she's far more interested in whatever it is Shaw thought was worth taking. ]
[ He snorts at that. About as close to laughter as he feels like getting right now. Maybe God loves Root and maybe He doesn't, but she'll be a dangerous enemy if it turns that way. In the end, he can see why Shaw had to circle her. There's a force to her, a clarity of purpose.
A rare thing, that. It reminds him of Pope's better days.
He follows silently, hands loose at his sides as she begins looking through her dresser. He's cleaned in here; he searched through everything that Shaw didn't take, of course. It was the practical move. He didn't take any of it for himself. ]
[ That he can take it well, with a sense of humor... She likes him. That's a little bit of a surprise in that he'd seemed like another unthinking, unquestioning thug at first glance, but Root is getting the sense there's more beneath that, just squashed and buried for survival. She's never lived that way, but she's known a lot of people who have. And she can see why Shaw would feel just a little protective of him.
He's trying to care about people he thinks he can't care about, isn't he? That's just like her.
After their heart-to-heart and exchanged threats, she's more open with him, letting herself stare into her empty drawers. ]
I really wasn't expecting that. ... Wait, [ she muses, ] that was my jacket she was wearing, wasn't it? Huh.
I bet she didn't tell you she played hard to get with me for years, [ she explains as an afterthought. Root does not sound upset about it; she sounds a little rueful, but mostly appreciative, enjoying the challenge and what it means for Shaw to finally relent. ]
[ There's an opening here, Carver realizes as he watches Root. The others might consider him a physical threat, but only John knows enough about the operations Carver and the others ran to recognize the threat of a trained interrogator. Even then, Carver kept his stories brief. He emphasized his role as a door kicker first, and best.
Better they look at him and see an idiot grunt, useful for heavy lifting and not much else. And now Root's musing, swinging honest. He could use that against her. He might have to, one day. ]
Didn't mention that part, nope. [ His eyebrows lift. ] Hmm. You pursued her?
[ Is there anything left that can be used against Root that isn't patently obvious? She doesn't think so. That's why she was threatening; the weak points are too obvious not to defend preemptively. So it's not carelessness that makes her free with information here -- it's self-assurance. They're not impenetrable, she hardly thinks they can withstand anything or confront any foe. But Root does think she's through living her life in fear for what others can do to her. She is who she is. Carver can try it if he wants and see how it goes. They can see who comes out better for it. ]
I mean, have you seen her? She's incredible. I wasn't going to let someone like that go without saying something.
And then she kept... you know. [ Root waves a hand in the air. ]
She thought I wasn't serious. Didn't know what I was asking. Do I strike you as someone who doesn't know what I'm doing? Honestly. [ Root loves Shaw as she is but really, did they have to spend that long doing this dance that Root couldn't know what she was asking for? It really was ridiculous. ]
True believers aren't known for relationships. Historically.
[ The faith demands more and so they give more and more of themselves until the world either breaks them or buckles under their force. He knows. His brothers and sisters believed just the same. They understood and so he was allowed to keep them.
Riley didn't. And so Riley became a ghost that Carver's carried for years, one secret he never even gave Pope. ]
[ He didn't pick up what she was putting down at all. How funny. Root's head swings around to look at him, expression curious and gaze laser-precise. ]
The Machine wants us to be happy, [ she notes. ] What's the point in saving us if we're miserable? [ What's the point, indeed. ]
[ Then one day the world became a grave and that clarity burned its way to the surface. It couldn’t be denied anymore. ]
No, ma’am, [ he adds politely, flicking his hands out. His sap gloves never leave him unless he’s on his rest hours or conducting an interrogation. And he doesn’t like the idea of anyone touching his hands. That, far more than the perspective of nail polish and whatever that implies, bothers him at his core. Root’s already gotten with Shaw; even if she’s to guess at the fact Carver’s not entirely straight, it’s doubtful she’d make a thing of it. But playing to get a rise out of him seems entirely up her alley and Carver’s not inclined to give her an easy one without reason. ]
[ Root shrugs. She hardly thinks that's the real reason, but he was so polite about it -- ma'am and everything. ] Suit yourself.
[ She's absolutely willing to do things to get a rise out of him, but this thing is not one of those things. Part of what makes Root unnerving is that her messing with people always come across as sincere. There's almost no difference between her interactions sourced from true human connection, and those sourced from her willingness to use others.
She walks over to the closet and opens the doors to ponder it, half empty of clothes. ]
I used to think everyone else was just noise, too. The universe trends toward entropy, we're all going to die, coldness is intrinsic and inevitable.
But I did die and someone cared enough to save my clothes. It's more than I thought I'd get, you know? [ Maybe being dead makes her more melancholy or more forthcoming, she doesn't know. But she thinks this might be something someone like him could stand to hear. ]
[ He watches her close, for once not tempted to fidget or pace. This truth is intrinsic to his soul. A necessary component of the world. Most people are evil, ugly things, but not all of them. A few have fought hard enough and long enough to prove themselves worthy. And maybe one or two, like Matthew, always were. ]
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I saw her code and it was perfect, [ she says frankly. There's awe there, but a prosaic understanding of the nuts and bolts, too. A devotee who has had her hands deep in the guts of those servers in the subway car. ] Utterly rational, beyond human fallacy. She sees everything, understands everything, but she still cares about us.
She would save you every time she could, Brandon Carver. No matter what you'd done. Whether you deserve it or not.
That's just how she is.
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And in the end, he was standing at the commander's shoulder when Pope first saw God in the blood and the bones as they sank into Korengal's sand. All he had to do was remark on them and Carver saw them too; a singular, brutal truth suddenly laid bare to him.
He watches Root for a long time, unblinking. Unwavering. ]
Why?
[ His tone is flat. ]
If she knows everything, why would she bother?
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Why indeed? [ she muses, softening palpably at his sincere question. ] It's funny, isn't it, for a machine to love humanity? And to love all the individual humans, not just the concept. We're all such flawed, ugly, terrible creatures. But she does love us.
That's the part I can't explain. That's the sky. [ She shrugs, finding a helpless smile, someone talking about something impossibly precious. ]
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That, he understands just fine. ]
Most people are ugly, evil shits. They're not worth saving.
[ A truth of his own. But not necessarily a contradiction to hers. ]
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That doesn't mean she won't push him along in the right direction, of course. He's so easily stagnant. And the Machine, and they all, deserve more.
Root doesn't take her own softening as a weakness; she offers it up without shame because there's nothing that can puncture it, nothing that can make her regret it. There's an unshakeable confidence to her that's absolutely palpable. Root isn't looking for approval, she isn't looking for debate. She's just willing to explain her perspective if someone asks. ]
I'm not worth saving, [ she says with total equanimity, ] but she did save me. She gave me a good death.
Well-- [ Root huffs a little in exasperation suddenly, like she's talking about an annoying habit a housemate has. ] I'm sure she wanted me to live, but we got past that little disagreement. Some things are worth dying for.
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Did you go out fighting?
[ This is the only thing that matters, in the end. ]
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I did, actually. Saving Harry's life. That's what makes it good to me-- a pure good. You see, Harold is one of those few people who does deserve to be saved.
[ They're vanishingly rare, but Root believes they exist. First Hanna, then Harold... Shaw and John and even Fusco. That's what she learned from the Machine, not easily or quickly, but over time. ]
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[ He says it simply. There are a thousand ugly ways to die and he's seen most of them in his time. Inflicted more than his fair share upon the unworthy. God didn't love them. But maybe God forgave Carver for his sins at the end.
Maybe.
He watches Root, eyes narrowed. ]
Did you decide that, or did she?
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[ Cheekily, ] That's how I won the argument. She loves everyone equally, but I don't. And that's my decision.
[ That's also how she'd saved Shaw in the end, but Root doesn't need to go spilling all her personal history. She doesn't expect to get anything out of it. She just doesn't have any self-consciousness whatsoever about the actions she's taken after finding the Machine's guidance, sees no reason to withhold them when they're such a useful yardstick to measure Carver by.
In itself -- this comment is a veiled threat: there's limits to Root's devotion, and those limits are named Harold and Sameen. ]
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I hope the commander doesn't mark you, [ he says after a moment. ] But if she does, I'll kill you quickly.
[ Out of respect. ]
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But you should know-- if you hurt any of the people I love, I won't kill you quickly. I'll tie you up here and drill holes into you until you sincerely regret it.
Just so we understand one another.
[ This was also on her to do list for this visit, so might as well cross it off. ]
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That'd take a long time, [ he replies simply. Maybe she has the stomach for it, maybe she doesn't, but they'd find out. ]
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Threat made, she doesn't need to ham it up. That just makes the threat so much cheaper. Either Carver believes her or he doesn't, but he'll make his own decisions, like the Machine respects in everyone. Root will just follow through if he does.
Root flounces over to her dresser and starts looking through it in curiosity. She had wanted to get some of her stuff originally if it was still here, but now she's far more interested in whatever it is Shaw thought was worth taking. ]
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A rare thing, that. It reminds him of Pope's better days.
He follows silently, hands loose at his sides as she begins looking through her dresser. He's cleaned in here; he searched through everything that Shaw didn't take, of course. It was the practical move. He didn't take any of it for himself. ]
She's got your shit. Like I said.
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He's trying to care about people he thinks he can't care about, isn't he? That's just like her.
After their heart-to-heart and exchanged threats, she's more open with him, letting herself stare into her empty drawers. ]
I really wasn't expecting that. ... Wait, [ she muses, ] that was my jacket she was wearing, wasn't it? Huh.
I bet she didn't tell you she played hard to get with me for years, [ she explains as an afterthought. Root does not sound upset about it; she sounds a little rueful, but mostly appreciative, enjoying the challenge and what it means for Shaw to finally relent. ]
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Better they look at him and see an idiot grunt, useful for heavy lifting and not much else. And now Root's musing, swinging honest. He could use that against her. He might have to, one day. ]
Didn't mention that part, nope. [ His eyebrows lift. ] Hmm. You pursued her?
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I mean, have you seen her? She's incredible. I wasn't going to let someone like that go without saying something.
And then she kept... you know. [ Root waves a hand in the air. ]
She thought I wasn't serious. Didn't know what I was asking. Do I strike you as someone who doesn't know what I'm doing? Honestly. [ Root loves Shaw as she is but really, did they have to spend that long doing this dance that Root couldn't know what she was asking for? It really was ridiculous. ]
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True believers aren't known for relationships. Historically.
[ The faith demands more and so they give more and more of themselves until the world either breaks them or buckles under their force. He knows. His brothers and sisters believed just the same. They understood and so he was allowed to keep them.
Riley didn't. And so Riley became a ghost that Carver's carried for years, one secret he never even gave Pope. ]
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The Machine wants us to be happy, [ she notes. ] What's the point in saving us if we're miserable? [ What's the point, indeed. ]
You don't get to have relationships?
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[ And suffering is inevitable. True grace is rising above it. He meets Root's gaze, unyielding. ]
I have my brothers and my sisters. I'll see them again when I die. Everyone else is just...noise.
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[ If so: wow. Do they have some work to do. Root moves over to the nightstand, pulls open a new drawer, smiles just a little when she sees it empty. ]
That sucks. Want to do your nails with us? Shaw stole my black nail polish, which means she has to use it.
[ This is an entirely sincere offer. ]
Cw homophobia mention
[ Then one day the world became a grave and that clarity burned its way to the surface. It couldn’t be denied anymore. ]
No, ma’am, [ he adds politely, flicking his hands out. His sap gloves never leave him unless he’s on his rest hours or conducting an interrogation. And he doesn’t like the idea of anyone touching his hands. That, far more than the perspective of nail polish and whatever that implies, bothers him at his core. Root’s already gotten with Shaw; even if she’s to guess at the fact Carver’s not entirely straight, it’s doubtful she’d make a thing of it. But playing to get a rise out of him seems entirely up her alley and Carver’s not inclined to give her an easy one without reason. ]
Wouldn’t wanna chip the polish.
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[ She's absolutely willing to do things to get a rise out of him, but this thing is not one of those things. Part of what makes Root unnerving is that her messing with people always come across as sincere. There's almost no difference between her interactions sourced from true human connection, and those sourced from her willingness to use others.
She walks over to the closet and opens the doors to ponder it, half empty of clothes. ]
I used to think everyone else was just noise, too. The universe trends toward entropy, we're all going to die, coldness is intrinsic and inevitable.
But I did die and someone cared enough to save my clothes. It's more than I thought I'd get, you know? [ Maybe being dead makes her more melancholy or more forthcoming, she doesn't know. But she thinks this might be something someone like him could stand to hear. ]
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[ He watches her close, for once not tempted to fidget or pace. This truth is intrinsic to his soul. A necessary component of the world. Most people are evil, ugly things, but not all of them. A few have fought hard enough and long enough to prove themselves worthy. And maybe one or two, like Matthew, always were. ]
But some are worth protecting.
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[ Root swivels around and gives him a wide smile. ]
I agree completely. So, your turn! What's she like? Or he. Whoever it is you follow.
[ She's gotten some background info from the rest of Team Machine, though they're characteristically reticent about personal details. ]
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