[ The Machine would agree. It saw her die thousands of times and in its memory banks, Root is eternal. It can recreate her voice and hear her at any moment. It's not the same, but it also means she's not gone. ]
You know what's funny? [ muses the Machine, delicate and precise in Root's voice. ] She and Harry had that exchange years ago. There's never enough time.
[ A beat of silence. ]
But there's time now. She's right there.
[ Maybe Root is actually dead; maybe she's a simulation; but she is there, and that's enough for her. But is it enough for Shaw? ]
[She says the words slowly, turning them over in her brain as she speaks them out loud.]
I don't... want to hide from the real world because I hate the idea of facing it. But I don't know what the real world is anymore. I thought I did - sometimes.
[Eventually, in the weeks after Root's death and the days after Samaritan's defeat, she'd come to tenuously accept that she really was back in reality. But even then, she'd wondered sometimes. A part of her was always going to wonder; her brain had been wired to. And now...]
I hate the idea of being a captive, and I hate the idea of my body wasting away in a hospital bed while my brain is hooked up to a computer. I want being here to have a purpose.
Thanks for the validation; now what do I do with it?
[The words themselves might be bordering on hostile, but her tone isn't. She sounds tired, and worn out - like she's genuinely hoping for an answer she hasn't been able to find on her own so far.]
I asked where you want to be, if not here. You only said what you didn't want.
[ It's a neutral observation, but the Machine means it as a leading statement. It can't offer suggestions if it doesn't know what Shaw wants. And however many calculations it can run, ultimately it will always prioritize a human being's right to autonomy. ]
You need a goal. You've always been mission-driven.
I don't have a boss here. I don't have any goals. I'm here because of crimes I've committed, which isn't conducive to goal-making. And I don't make great choices when I set my own goals; you know that.
[One hand still holding loosely on to Root's she turns to face the servers fully, her knees bumping against the hard metal.]
If you're looking to me for direction, then you should know that my purpose hasn't changed.
[ The Machine sounds smooth, unruffled. It won't contest Shaw's characterization of her own choices but if she's looking for a direction, she should be able to guess the kind of answer the Machine will give her. ]
Why don't you ask her?
[ Root's hand warms and twitches in Shaw's grasp. Her closed eyelids flutter. ]
Why not share hers until you can find your own? She won't mind.
[ That's a bit of a joke, with Root's delivery and in Root's voice. Meanwhile Root herself smiles softly and curls in closer to Shaw, feeling somehow satiated and comfortable against the hard-edged server racks. ]
Mm. I can hear you, [ she murmurs. ] This is a nice dream.
You talkin' to her without me? [ she mumbles, and her eyes slowly open. ] You did make friends.
[ The Machine doesn't say anything, deliberately giving them a moment. It has run countless simulations of similar moments and it knows Root very well.
Root's eyes open and she sees Shaw right in front of her. Her expression goes slack with surprise before she's struck with wonder, her hand tightening to painfully grip Shaw's as she struggles to push herself upright. ]
[Shaw immediately gets to her feet and reaches for Root in earnest - doing her best to steady her as she straightens up, making sure she doesn't just flop back down again, smoothing her thumbs over Root's shoulders.]
It's me. It's me; I'm here. I'm-- I dreamed we were in a weird city.
[And she's still there, isn't she? Aldrip feels like a dream, it is a simulation, and yet it feels very present-tense.
But at the same time, no, it can't be. This feels real, too.]
Root--
[Root doesn't give her purpose, but she does ground her, making her feel as safe and sane as is humanly possible. Shaw clutches at Root's shoulders, for her own sake as much as for Root's.]
Where we are? We're in the subway car, with the Machine. We're dreaming.
[ Root hasn't somehow achieved lucidity; her dreaming mind is just convinced that if she sees Shaw, it is a dream, one she's had so many times before she recognizes it as it's happening.
She's strangely a little unsteady on her feet but leans freely on Shaw, still shocked and almost numbed with the intensity of emotion. ]
If you're here then I'm dreaming, [ she breathes out. ]
[Shaw shifts around to Root's side and wraps an arm around her shoulders, doing her best to hold her upright. They're in the subway or they're not, they're in Aldrip or they're not, they're dreaming or they're not--
Her body stays perfectly upright and steady, but her head feels like it's spinning, and she clutches Root tighter.]
Because you're dead.
[She says, finishing Root's thought in the way she thinks makes the most sense. But she's still uncertain enough that she prompts her with--]
[ Root clutches onto Shaw fiercely, like she'd climb inside her if she could, emotion breaking past the numbness and rupturing into something ugly and desperate. ]
She thinks it's too dangerous, [ she explains, tears welling up. ] But I don't care what happens to me.
[ The second Shaw says it, it comes back to her. A trace of her normal composure is restored, Root no longer totally overwhelmed by ceaseless emotion, instead tempered in how she handles it like she usually is. ]
... Yes. I died. So I can't be your safe place anymore, huh?
[ She's starting to feel steadier, and she reaches out to tuck a loose cluster of Shaw's hair behind her ear, sweetly and slowly.
For the first time, she feels real regret about her death. ]
[She says it firmly, her tone flinty in a way that anyone else might mistake as coldness. But Root has never seen her that way; has always been able to see her hard, unflinching self as something that's bolstering rather than off-putting.]
You'll always be my safe place, Root, no matter what happens. That's why I dreamed you into Aldrip. And now...
[It's why she's dreaming her here too, probably. She reaches for the wires again, wanting the Machine's confirmation.]
[ The absoluteness of her tone is comforting. It makes her smile, a little tremulous, a little watery, but she smiles.
Nonetheless, there's wry annoyance mixed into in her complicated layers of emotion as she says, ] Hard to be your safe place when I'm just a figment. [ Root is tolerant of Shaw's existential dread here, but constantly having her own agency put into doubt does bother her. She's always been a person strongly defined by her own decisions; she's never been someone else's tool unless she chose to be, and that rarely.
The Machine was special that way. The Machine was-- ]
We're all figments, [ comes her voice, cool and even, just the slightest lilt of intonation. ] Or none of us are. No matter how many simulations I run, I always try to save you.
[ Root stands frozen, eyes widening. It's like it won't process, keeps getting stuck on the same algorithm over and over. She breathes, ] Is that... [ Shaw told her, but that's not the same as hearing it. It was hard to think about too much, like staring into the sun and risking blindness.
A soft tone comes back to her: ] Yes, I can hear you, [ and she starts crying, perfectly silent. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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What's the message?
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[She lifts the syringe and presses down on the plunger, expelling every last drop of sedative onto the floor.]
Tell her I wish we'd had more time.
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[ A beat of silence. ]
But there's time now. She's right there.
[ Maybe Root is actually dead; maybe she's a simulation; but she is there, and that's enough for her. But is it enough for Shaw? ]
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I dreamed we were in this... simulated city. But we've been here the whole time, haven't we.
[Right here, on the floor of a destinationless, endlessly moving subway car.]
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[ The Machine as Root sounds factual, even, but with a note of softness like it's offering an opinion. ]
Where do you want to be, if not here? [ A sincere question, not rhetorical. ]
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[She says the words slowly, turning them over in her brain as she speaks them out loud.]
I don't... want to hide from the real world because I hate the idea of facing it. But I don't know what the real world is anymore. I thought I did - sometimes.
[Eventually, in the weeks after Root's death and the days after Samaritan's defeat, she'd come to tenuously accept that she really was back in reality. But even then, she'd wondered sometimes. A part of her was always going to wonder; her brain had been wired to. And now...]
I hate the idea of being a captive, and I hate the idea of my body wasting away in a hospital bed while my brain is hooked up to a computer. I want being here to have a purpose.
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[ The Machine is frank and unsympathetic, not bothering to mince words and not trying to offer a solution. ]
You didn't have control over that. And you don't have control now. It's natural to feel like it might still be happening.
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[The words themselves might be bordering on hostile, but her tone isn't. She sounds tired, and worn out - like she's genuinely hoping for an answer she hasn't been able to find on her own so far.]
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[ It's a neutral observation, but the Machine means it as a leading statement. It can't offer suggestions if it doesn't know what Shaw wants. And however many calculations it can run, ultimately it will always prioritize a human being's right to autonomy. ]
You need a goal. You've always been mission-driven.
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[One hand still holding loosely on to Root's she turns to face the servers fully, her knees bumping against the hard metal.]
So give me one.
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[ The Machine sounds smooth, unruffled. It won't contest Shaw's characterization of her own choices but if she's looking for a direction, she should be able to guess the kind of answer the Machine will give her. ]
Why don't you ask her?
[ Root's hand warms and twitches in Shaw's grasp. Her closed eyelids flutter. ]
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[When she feels Root's hand move, she curls her own fingers around it more solidly, giving it a squeeze.]
Root. Listen. Can you hear her?
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[ That's a bit of a joke, with Root's delivery and in Root's voice. Meanwhile Root herself smiles softly and curls in closer to Shaw, feeling somehow satiated and comfortable against the hard-edged server racks. ]
Mm. I can hear you, [ she murmurs. ] This is a nice dream.
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[She gives Root's hand a tug, gentle but insistent.]
It's the Machine. Talking. To me.
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[ The Machine doesn't say anything, deliberately giving them a moment. It has run countless simulations of similar moments and it knows Root very well.
Root's eyes open and she sees Shaw right in front of her. Her expression goes slack with surprise before she's struck with wonder, her hand tightening to painfully grip Shaw's as she struggles to push herself upright. ]
It's you. It's really you? I couldn't find you--
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It's me. It's me; I'm here. I'm-- I dreamed we were in a weird city.
[And she's still there, isn't she? Aldrip feels like a dream, it is a simulation, and yet it feels very present-tense.
But at the same time, no, it can't be. This feels real, too.]
Root--
[Root doesn't give her purpose, but she does ground her, making her feel as safe and sane as is humanly possible. Shaw clutches at Root's shoulders, for her own sake as much as for Root's.]
Tell me where we are. Really.
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[ Root hasn't somehow achieved lucidity; her dreaming mind is just convinced that if she sees Shaw, it is a dream, one she's had so many times before she recognizes it as it's happening.
She's strangely a little unsteady on her feet but leans freely on Shaw, still shocked and almost numbed with the intensity of emotion. ]
If you're here then I'm dreaming, [ she breathes out. ]
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Her body stays perfectly upright and steady, but her head feels like it's spinning, and she clutches Root tighter.]
Because you're dead.
[She says, finishing Root's thought in the way she thinks makes the most sense. But she's still uncertain enough that she prompts her with--]
Right?
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[ Root clutches onto Shaw fiercely, like she'd climb inside her if she could, emotion breaking past the numbness and rupturing into something ugly and desperate. ]
She thinks it's too dangerous, [ she explains, tears welling up. ] But I don't care what happens to me.
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... You still think I'm missing.
[Goddammit.]
Root, no; that's not why this is a dream. I escaped; I'm back. You found me in the park.
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[ Root stops abruptly. It's all so disorienting, getting her bearings is a struggle. Her grip relents a bit as she tries to make sense of things. ]
You looked terrible, [ she remembers. ] You told me I'm your safe place.
[ That had stuck with her indelibly. Dream, death, simulation -- she won't ever forget that. ]
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Yeah. Yeah, you are.
[Present tense, not past tense. Even though it hadn't been all that long ago, so many things have changed - but that fact isn't one of them.]
What else do you remember? The car with Harold?
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... Yes. I died. So I can't be your safe place anymore, huh?
[ She's starting to feel steadier, and she reaches out to tuck a loose cluster of Shaw's hair behind her ear, sweetly and slowly.
For the first time, she feels real regret about her death. ]
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[She says it firmly, her tone flinty in a way that anyone else might mistake as coldness. But Root has never seen her that way; has always been able to see her hard, unflinching self as something that's bolstering rather than off-putting.]
You'll always be my safe place, Root, no matter what happens. That's why I dreamed you into Aldrip. And now...
[It's why she's dreaming her here too, probably. She reaches for the wires again, wanting the Machine's confirmation.]
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Nonetheless, there's wry annoyance mixed into in her complicated layers of emotion as she says, ] Hard to be your safe place when I'm just a figment. [ Root is tolerant of Shaw's existential dread here, but constantly having her own agency put into doubt does bother her. She's always been a person strongly defined by her own decisions; she's never been someone else's tool unless she chose to be, and that rarely.
The Machine was special that way. The Machine was-- ]
We're all figments, [ comes her voice, cool and even, just the slightest lilt of intonation. ] Or none of us are. No matter how many simulations I run, I always try to save you.
[ Root stands frozen, eyes widening. It's like it won't process, keeps getting stuck on the same algorithm over and over. She breathes, ] Is that... [ Shaw told her, but that's not the same as hearing it. It was hard to think about too much, like staring into the sun and risking blindness.
A soft tone comes back to her: ] Yes, I can hear you, [ and she starts crying, perfectly silent. ]
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