[ That's not the way the exchange is supposed to go. Can you hear me? -- Absolutely, and now it's reversed, now it's Root hearing her in her own voice and feeling the impact somewhere deep, a reverberating chime, the outward ripples of sound echoing into her and resonating. ]

Oh. [ There's nothing else in her for a long stretch, just that resonating tone thrumming through her in confirmation. She'd done something, who she was mattered, the Machine cared for her--

Root laughs finally, just faintly, reaching up with her spare hand to scrub away the moisture from her eyes. ] I hope you gave everyone a jump scare. My voice back from the dead to tell them what to do. [ And then she abruptly switches tracks, tone tender and loving: ] You talked to them, huh? Not just to me?

[ A beat of silence.

Softly: ] You were gone. So I had to.

[ But that makes Root smile, not at all tremulous with grief. She's firm and confident. ] Good. If you could move past needing me to speak for you -- that's what I want. Everyone should hear you. [ Everyone, everyone... and in her voice. It fills her up and overflows like a tap that can't be turned off. Talking to the Machine is both something she does every day without thinking and something too precious and jagged to take for granted.

Root turns to Shaw and says, ] I asked but you didn't really answer. Did you make friends? Sometimes she needs to be told to get it together, too, you know. She's going to need you.

[ Take care of the Machine for her, please, as much as she wants the Machine to take care of Shaw. ]