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. ]
[ Swings on a dime, doesn't she? Carver tilts his head, considering the distance between them idly. He has a feeling that Root's fast. That she thinks about how to position herself before striking. Up close, he'll have the height and weight advantage, but she'll have tricks. Women like her always do, survivors to the bitter end. ]
Pope was our first commander, [ he says after a moment, tone flat. The grief is still raw. ] He led us through the Valley of Death.
[ This is not a metaphor, but a very real place on the map. He has dreams, even now, about Korengal's dust and the dead they carried off the killing fields. ]
[ Root doesn't try to play fair in the slightest. The bad guys never will, so why should she? That cynicism is born from deep skepticism in even the supposed good guys, like the U.S. military. She's from the right time period and done more than enough illegal snooping to know what the Valley of Death refers to. It helps that she knows Carver's one of Reese and Shaw's military buddies, one of the few personal facts they did pass along.
She doesn't bat an eyelash at news that he'd gone through that or that his first commander died. There's no trace of sympathy in Root for that. She respects his depth of emotion, but it doesn't touch her. ]
Okay. What's she like? [ Root asks patiently. ] Fair's fair. I told you mine.
[ He's quiet for a long moment, just watching Root. Waiting for any hint of mockery or disrespect to the dead, or his sister. The wounds are still raw, perhaps always will be. He feels their loss in him like a phantom limb, twisting through his soul.
Then: ]
She's kind. Brutal when she needs to be. Stone cold in the field. [ He nods just once, firm. ] She taught me how to survive when I was nothing but a green idiot. But she still shows mercy, sometimes. It always costs her.
[ Right now she's on a mission of discovery, which means Root doesn't want to alienate Carver. She wants to poke and prod him and see how he reacts, but she knows where the real lines are that would cross over into true offense. That wouldn't be productive right now. ]
Mercy would be cheap if it didn't, [ she agrees, something more complex behind her easy words. ]
And who're you in this arrangement? What role do you play?
[ He nods slowly. Mercy’s a mistake more often than it’s not, but he doesn’t begrudge Leah for how she’s reached for it. She couldn’t have raised Matthew otherwise. ]
She’s the commander now. And I’m her second. Whatever she orders, I make it work. Just like she did for Pope.
[ Mercy isn't something Root is inclined to, but the Machine absolutely is. Every time. Despite herself she's come to see the value in that the more she exercises it on the Machine's behalf. If nothing else, it contributes to a certain lightness of soul that she never believed was possible before finding her and Harold. ]
Second in command, [ she repeats, imagining it and guessing at how large his whole group must be. ] So you're not just a pretty face. [ He can't be just a simple-minded thug if he's that trusted, which follows with the impression she was getting earlier. ]
We're not nearly so organized. That must be an adjustment for you.
[ That gets a very thin smile and a deliberate flick of his hands. The human's eyes attracted to motion beyond the conscious level; unless they're trained not to, people tend to focus on movement and if they're watching Carver's hands, by God, they're not watching the rest of him. Leah taught him that, too.
Sometimes it's useful playing the grunt. Sometimes it solves a whole lot of problems. ]
You're a smaller group. More nimble.
[ Sometimes that's an advantage. Not always, though. ]
And, [ he adds ] you didn't have to think about where your next meal was coming from.
True. Though I wouldn't say we got past safety on Maslow's hierarchy very often, [ Root responds dryly.
She's not ashamed of them being better off than the veritable hellscape Carver had come from, but she's not going to pretend they were living large, either. Root found it bearable in living conditions but constantly terrifying in possible consequences.
Root isn't too surprised he didn't respond to her obvious fishing, but since he didn't, her curiosity remains. ]
It's an adjustment being here for me, too. [ Maybe her frankness will lure out some honesty in return. ] I keep thinking there will be enemy agents around every corner. Even the missions don't sound that exciting.
[ Talk about pessimism. Root isn't exactly an optimist but she does like to think she ascribes to staunch realism. Sometimes things do go well, even though the universe is a shithole that inevitably tends toward entropy. True randomness includes repeats, includes positives -- it can't all be bad all the time, relentlessly, always.
But that probably isn't a productive conversation to get into at the moment. ]
You worried about me? [ she teases instead with open amusement. ] Gonna be the one to watch my back -- or Shaw's back?
[ Root seems all kinds of capable. She’ll be a rough enemy to face if it swings that way. But Carver’s practical, in the end. He knows his role in this game. ]
But I’ll watch your back, and hers, [ he adds. ] Like I agreed.
[ Root's confident and capable, sure, but she's not an idiot. And she's already died once. ]
Everyone needs someone to watch their back, [ she informs him with a smile, like being comfortable with that hadn't taken her years of slow warm acceptance among the team. But by now she thoroughly understands loyalty. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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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Pope was our first commander, [ he says after a moment, tone flat. The grief is still raw. ] He led us through the Valley of Death.
[ This is not a metaphor, but a very real place on the map. He has dreams, even now, about Korengal's dust and the dead they carried off the killing fields. ]
He was killed. My sister took his place.
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She doesn't bat an eyelash at news that he'd gone through that or that his first commander died. There's no trace of sympathy in Root for that. She respects his depth of emotion, but it doesn't touch her. ]
Okay. What's she like? [ Root asks patiently. ] Fair's fair. I told you mine.
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Then: ]
She's kind. Brutal when she needs to be. Stone cold in the field. [ He nods just once, firm. ] She taught me how to survive when I was nothing but a green idiot. But she still shows mercy, sometimes. It always costs her.
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Mercy would be cheap if it didn't, [ she agrees, something more complex behind her easy words. ]
And who're you in this arrangement? What role do you play?
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She’s the commander now. And I’m her second. Whatever she orders, I make it work. Just like she did for Pope.
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Second in command, [ she repeats, imagining it and guessing at how large his whole group must be. ] So you're not just a pretty face. [ He can't be just a simple-minded thug if he's that trusted, which follows with the impression she was getting earlier. ]
We're not nearly so organized. That must be an adjustment for you.
no subject
Sometimes it's useful playing the grunt. Sometimes it solves a whole lot of problems. ]
You're a smaller group. More nimble.
[ Sometimes that's an advantage. Not always, though. ]
And, [ he adds ] you didn't have to think about where your next meal was coming from.
no subject
She's not ashamed of them being better off than the veritable hellscape Carver had come from, but she's not going to pretend they were living large, either. Root found it bearable in living conditions but constantly terrifying in possible consequences.
Root isn't too surprised he didn't respond to her obvious fishing, but since he didn't, her curiosity remains. ]
It's an adjustment being here for me, too. [ Maybe her frankness will lure out some honesty in return. ] I keep thinking there will be enemy agents around every corner. Even the missions don't sound that exciting.
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It'll go wrong. [ It always does. ] There are things worse than dead if you let your guard down.
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But that probably isn't a productive conversation to get into at the moment. ]
You worried about me? [ she teases instead with open amusement. ] Gonna be the one to watch my back -- or Shaw's back?
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[ Root seems all kinds of capable. She’ll be a rough enemy to face if it swings that way. But Carver’s practical, in the end. He knows his role in this game. ]
But I’ll watch your back, and hers, [ he adds. ] Like I agreed.
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Everyone needs someone to watch their back, [ she informs him with a smile, like being comfortable with that hadn't taken her years of slow warm acceptance among the team. But by now she thoroughly understands loyalty. ]
As long as you're with us, I'll watch yours.