[ Obvious to him, maybe. To Root and her entire world, the afterlife is still a giant question mark, one she doesn't personally believe in. The only form of afterlife she knows is what she has here, and the assurance that her actions in life had meant something after she was gone.
But right now is not the time to be proselytizing the Machine's message, and Charles doesn't need to hear it. He's been nothing but completely respectful of her, so Root has nothing to prove in that regard, and this conversation isn't really about that. ]
Yeah. You did. [ Root meets his eyes with a soft painful kind of empathy. ] And I said we should trade stories sometime.
[ She'd already shared a bit of hers, so she stops there, leaves the air open. ]
[ trade stories? maybe. his isn't — it's not the kind of story he imagines hers might be, dying to protect a friend, choosing death because that's a better option than letting someone else die; his is depressing, really, and the two people he's told about it before, here... well, both had been angry about it, in their own ways.
he isn't sure he wants root's anger, or her pity, but at least speaking the truth of it all, to her, isn't making him feel like he wants to drop through the floor, so that's something. ]
Not much of a story, [ he says, tilting his head up, looking at the ceiling. ] There was this new guy at school, from Pakistan. And a group of blokes, some of my friends [ his voice does something strange at the word 'friends', there, brittle and yet huffing with something like humour, ] from the cricket team, they were picking on him, yeah? Except then it got... serious, and I thought, hell, I'm not any different from him, am I? So I stopped them.
[ and gave them a new target, really. he's not explaining the rest, the lake and the stones and how he'd thought he'd just get away from them, dry off somewhere, how it'd be fine. how he'd died of hypothermia and internal bleeding and hadn't even realised, until he was already dead, looking down at his own body. ]
[ Root is angry, sure enough, but she's not surprised. There's no ounce of surprise in her, so it doesn't turn to outrage. It's the same low-simmering anger she's carried with her all her life, it feels, since she was twelve, since Hanna disappeared and died and no one in their community dared to question the respectable man who'd done it. She's also expecting Charles to have some sad story like this behind his death. No one dies that young and has anything good behind it -- and she still has a weakness hidden a mile deep for people who died young. ]
They probably didn't mean to kill you, but you were dead anyway, [ she says matter of factly, because Root knows how easy and simple it is to kill someone without meaning to. She'd be a poor assassin if she didn't. Sometimes she's had collateral damage and in retrospect she feels ... regret. True regret. ]
What you did means something, Charles. It means you're a good person.
[ Maybe that's rudimentary, maybe it should be a foregone conclusion, but Root feels like it needs to be said aloud because it means so much to her when someone is good. It's not a foregone conclusion, it's not a certainty; people who are good like this are precious and rare and she wants to make sure they know that she recognizes that. That who they are is something special. ]
[ it is an easy thing, for him to nod at that first thing — yeah, that's what he thinks, too. that they didn't mean for it to happen; that's why he bristles at the times someone calls him a murder victim, because yeah, sure, they meant to hurt him, but... no, he doesn't think any of them did it with the intent to kill.
but then more words are spoken, what you did means something, and he's abruptly reminded of sitting on the floor in one of the rooms at the inn, leaning against the wall, his own voice faded away from telling the details of his death, junpei staring at the floor with blazing eyes and saying, fuck them, for real, you did everything right —
he can't quite help the way the words, different though they are, hit him in a similar way. except now he can smile at root, softly, and say, ]
You're the second person ever to say something like that to me, you know. That it wasn't for nothing.
[ Victim is such a loaded word. Has Root had victims? Technically, according to the criminal justice system, she's had plenty. But who gets to be a victim and who doesn't is something she's all too conscientious of. She's sure she was buried in an unmarked grave and that no one had even tried to track down the sniper who'd shot her. No one except Shaw. Whether or not someone counts as a victim is a story society tells itself to make sense of death. Root doesn't need it to make sense. It's messy and contradictory and she thrives in that kind of ambiguity.
She can also tell when she's hit something sensitive and immediately turns supportive. ]
See? [ she says lightly. ] The Machine was right. The moment before you died does say a lot about you.
[ there's a long beat of silence, longer than he usually allows for — but then he's ducking his head slightly, his nose twitching a little as he sniffles surreptitiously. ]
Is that right?
[ well, that's. he can exist with that, he supposes. and because words don't really cut it, not here, he just tugs root into another hug, mumbling a thanks into her shoulder. ]
... You remind me of him, actually, [ she says softly into his ear, enfolding him in a hug without hesitation. ]
The person whose life I saved. Harold. He's a sweetheart, like you.
[ It's funny, that she can say that now as the first, most important thing about Harold, instead of the fact that he'd made the Machine. Root of a few years ago wouldn't have been capable of that, wouldn't have understand a vital, fundamental truth: that the Machine is beautiful because she is a reflection of Harold. That she came from someone and somewhere who poured love into her in the most careful, delicate way imaginable, year after year.
That kind of steadfast commitment to kindness -- that's why Charles reminds her of him. ]
[ it is a surprise, to hear that — and yet, he simply smiles into her shoulder as he squeezes her close. a comparison like that, the implication in those words... yeah, it means a lot. ]
... Then, I'm honoured about that.
[ to remind her of someone like that, worthy of her giving her life for him.
he pulls back, and with a soft smile, says, ]
Well, if the moments before you die mean something, then — yours, too, yeah?
[ Being compared to Harold really is special. It means something to Root and isn't a comment she offers lightly. As she'd told Harold shortly before her death saving him, she'd walked in darkness for a long time before she met him. He hadn't set out to change her, hadn't tried in the slightest; Harold had even been terrified of her, reasonably so, for months after they'd met.
It was just being in his proximity that had affected her. His mere existence was enough. Root had come to believe it was possible there were people out there who were, actually, good code. As she'd once told Charles, they were rare and worth protecting.
As they pull back, she gives a short laugh. ] Mine means I'm a total badass, [ she says playfully, nudging him. ] I'll tell you the whole story sometime.
[ Not right now; it feels too raw, still. It hasn't yet become a story Root can tell like it doesn't touch her.
[ that comment is so very root, it makes charles chuckle in return, smiling at her gratefully &dmash; for the offer, for being here, for caring. for being herself, in the end; to him, that is the most important thing. that she is this: sharp and bright and smart and playful, a walking contradiction most times, and yet dedicated and honest and grounded.
he's really, really lucky to have her. ]
Think it means a bit more than that, [ he says lightly, but nods. ]
Yeah. Sometime's good.
[ and whenever that day comes... he will be here. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But right now is not the time to be proselytizing the Machine's message, and Charles doesn't need to hear it. He's been nothing but completely respectful of her, so Root has nothing to prove in that regard, and this conversation isn't really about that. ]
Yeah. You did. [ Root meets his eyes with a soft painful kind of empathy. ] And I said we should trade stories sometime.
[ She'd already shared a bit of hers, so she stops there, leaves the air open. ]
no subject
he isn't sure he wants root's anger, or her pity, but at least speaking the truth of it all, to her, isn't making him feel like he wants to drop through the floor, so that's something. ]
Not much of a story, [ he says, tilting his head up, looking at the ceiling. ] There was this new guy at school, from Pakistan. And a group of blokes, some of my friends [ his voice does something strange at the word 'friends', there, brittle and yet huffing with something like humour, ] from the cricket team, they were picking on him, yeah? Except then it got... serious, and I thought, hell, I'm not any different from him, am I? So I stopped them.
[ and gave them a new target, really. he's not explaining the rest, the lake and the stones and how he'd thought he'd just get away from them, dry off somewhere, how it'd be fine. how he'd died of hypothermia and internal bleeding and hadn't even realised, until he was already dead, looking down at his own body. ]
no subject
They probably didn't mean to kill you, but you were dead anyway, [ she says matter of factly, because Root knows how easy and simple it is to kill someone without meaning to. She'd be a poor assassin if she didn't. Sometimes she's had collateral damage and in retrospect she feels ... regret. True regret. ]
What you did means something, Charles. It means you're a good person.
[ Maybe that's rudimentary, maybe it should be a foregone conclusion, but Root feels like it needs to be said aloud because it means so much to her when someone is good. It's not a foregone conclusion, it's not a certainty; people who are good like this are precious and rare and she wants to make sure they know that she recognizes that. That who they are is something special. ]
no subject
but then more words are spoken, what you did means something, and he's abruptly reminded of sitting on the floor in one of the rooms at the inn, leaning against the wall, his own voice faded away from telling the details of his death, junpei staring at the floor with blazing eyes and saying, fuck them, for real, you did everything right —
he can't quite help the way the words, different though they are, hit him in a similar way. except now he can smile at root, softly, and say, ]
You're the second person ever to say something like that to me, you know. That it wasn't for nothing.
no subject
She can also tell when she's hit something sensitive and immediately turns supportive. ]
See? [ she says lightly. ] The Machine was right. The moment before you died does say a lot about you.
And I really like what it says.
no subject
Is that right?
[ well, that's. he can exist with that, he supposes. and because words don't really cut it, not here, he just tugs root into another hug, mumbling a thanks into her shoulder. ]
no subject
The person whose life I saved. Harold. He's a sweetheart, like you.
[ It's funny, that she can say that now as the first, most important thing about Harold, instead of the fact that he'd made the Machine. Root of a few years ago wouldn't have been capable of that, wouldn't have understand a vital, fundamental truth: that the Machine is beautiful because she is a reflection of Harold. That she came from someone and somewhere who poured love into her in the most careful, delicate way imaginable, year after year.
That kind of steadfast commitment to kindness -- that's why Charles reminds her of him. ]
no subject
... Then, I'm honoured about that.
[ to remind her of someone like that, worthy of her giving her life for him.
he pulls back, and with a soft smile, says, ]
Well, if the moments before you die mean something, then — yours, too, yeah?
FINALLY done
It was just being in his proximity that had affected her. His mere existence was enough. Root had come to believe it was possible there were people out there who were, actually, good code. As she'd once told Charles, they were rare and worth protecting.
As they pull back, she gives a short laugh. ] Mine means I'm a total badass, [ she says playfully, nudging him. ] I'll tell you the whole story sometime.
[ Not right now; it feels too raw, still. It hasn't yet become a story Root can tell like it doesn't touch her.
But she thinks that day will come eventually. ]
🎀 gently puts a bow on this, go us!!
he's really, really lucky to have her. ]
Think it means a bit more than that, [ he says lightly, but nods. ]
Yeah. Sometime's good.
[ and whenever that day comes... he will be here. ]