[ 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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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... 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. ]