Root waited for the children to pass through the crosswalk, with a careful smile on her face that met the eyes of the attendant. She gently placed the gun on the bloody passenger seat and took a second to think before she wondered out loud to the Machine.

So many people wandering around her car and life, blind to the war that threatened to engulf them. Little children on their way to school, bouncing along with an ease she admired. She made her way on her own and never went to school the traditional way. It had to be this way though. Each one of them was a piece to this puzzle, a key to taking down Samaritan and Decima.

Reese and Finch were almost paradoxically different. A blunt object and fine tool, but each necessary for what needed to be done. Except for picking up the phone apparently.

"C'mon, guys, pick up."

Down she descended into the subway, hoping to get lost in the faces, but to no avail.

She sensed the danger of people around her, too many people who Samaritan could twist, the second she turned and saw the security camera staring into her. She quickly turned back and heard phones trill.

Once.

Twice.

Avoiding eye contact, maybe she could forgo giving them an asskicking and they would ignore whatever emotional exploitation Samaritan was utilizing. For all of the good the Machine did for her, Samaritan accomplished the direct opposite.

But the three citizens rose, not breaking eye contact with her. No such luck.

She made quick work of them, itching to get out of the subway, and it opened to a slightly scared looking man who pointed a large gun in her direction. She smirked back at him and relaxed slightly, planning a quick route to Bela's location.

"Nice gun."

"Just needed a change. Got a new job. Fell in love."

Root allowed herself to feel Shaw for a second and it spread through her all over again as she considered her change from gun for hire to some kind of hero. The Machine transformed Root's weaponry into protection and the symbiosis of it all was especially pleasing to Root. The Machine loved and cherished Root in the same way that Root did her. Root had felt the Machine's power from the moment she felt her. But there were some things that the Machine in all her power could not change. Root had not been able to save Hanna and now Shaw.

Unlike Hanna, Shaw lived but how Root could not allow herself to consider. Thinking about Shaw's strength brought a smile that came to her face and quickly vanished. Nine, ten months since she had watched the elevator doors close on that image of her face. Screwed up in a calculated rage at Martine, lowering her gun in slow motion. Time stopped and every second since then had been agonizing. Desperate to save Shaw, desperate to get back what momentum that they had been reaching.

Would they be the same as before?

The Machine and Shaw entwined in her head. She loved them and knew more than anyone else that they could, no, would persist. Could it be like before Samaritan ever existed? The Machine with her better world and no more hunting, perpetually cycling through identities.

For all her life Root had been alone and on the run, but she found some version of a family and a home anyway. In Finch and Reese and Bear and Shaw…

All around her she saw people that depended on her, no other doing what she could do or with her ingenuity. John had looked puzzled, that was nothing new, when she asked him to get the gaming consoles. Any other time that look would have amused her, set her brilliant mind at ease, but there was no time for reminiscing - a sentiment that seemed frustratingly permanent.

Maybe Shaw's freedom from these emotions protected her. Maybe Shaw would return to her with an eyeroll and bitter remark about only missing Bear. Underneath the blankness Shaw would flick her eyes to Root and they would glint, teasing at the prospect of making up for lost time.

But Martine's threats had been wearing her mind thin in the background in ways that became harder to ignore. Shaw, her favorite, breaking. It was hard to believe in some manner since there was little to manipulate Shaw with. The what ifs, the simulations of what would happen when she sees Shaw again repeat. A permanent cycle, degrading hope.

Hope was a flame that came as quickly as it went, the Machine finding her expansion through the consoles but overheating and damaging herself more in the process.

John surprised her and Finch. In his own stroke of brilliance he blasted them with the liquid nitrogen, countering the Machine's eager grasps for life once again and bringing her to a better baseline.

When the process was complete, they waited for her response, unsure of what she would say.

She blinked back at them.

Once.

Twice.