***A/N: It creeped me out how Root told Harold she was sorry for his loss before anything happened. It was like she'd predicted this whole thing, and without The Machine's (otherwise known as "mom") help too!***

Root waited impatiently in the locked corner of Harold's library. To pass the time, she decided to sip the tea and eat the biscuits that Harold had left for her before he exited the library. She sighed; Harold was taking far too long doing who knows what. She could be quite useful, you know. She thought that she had proved that when she helped the hacker, Jason Greenfield, escape from Vigilance. Mom had taught her that, for all her violent tendencies, she could be very helpful. Why couldn't Harold understand that? She shook her head. Ah, well, there would be time to prove herself again. Now if she could just find a way to talk to Mom again…

She heard the door nearby open and heard footsteps shuffling into the library. She smiled; Harold and John had returned from their wonderful adventures in New York City. However, something in the air had changed, and not in a good way. She frowned; what happened? If only Mom were here to explain everything. She watched, confused, as John gloomily walked past her. Even though she figured that Harold had other 'minions' who had died in the name of justice or whatever it was supposed to be, she was secretly glad that John was still alive. Their differences aside, Root thought he would be a good person to work with.

But when Harold was about to walk past her as well, she called out his name and moved close to the entrance of her cell. Harold would usually ignore her unless he wanted to stop by and give her the usual food and refreshments, but this time he actually responded to her call. She observed the man as he looked at her. Even though Root was better at reading Mom and technology, it didn't mean that she was completely unable to read people. She knew that something had gone wrong. Poor Harold's eyes were red, most likely from crying. Without Mom to explain everything to her, she would have to take matters into her own hands and ask the questions herself.

"There, there," she soothed Harold, "why don't you tell me what happened?"

Harold stared at her, unsure how much he wanted to tell her.

"Oh, Harold," she cooed, "we're practically family now. You can tell me anything."

The poor thing eyed her cautiously. His eyes were so red…

"What happened to John? He seemed a little…distraught."

Harold finally spoke. "Nothing that concerns you, Miss Groves."

She sighed, frustrated. Harold was never one to reveal any little secrets. Their banter usually consisted of her asking the questions and him just staring at her, and sometimes the other way around. She decided to poke him where it hurt by referencing their prior conversation (well, it was more like her own monologue that dear Harold listened to) about the 'minions.'

"When I said I was sorry for your loss," Root began in a hushed tone, concerned, "I was right, wasn't I? Except I said it too soon."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harold told her, his voice flat.

Her tone became grave. "Harold, who died?" For good measure, she held his hand through the bars, assuring him that everything would be okay if he told her what happened.

Harold hesitated before quickly mumbling, "Detective Carter."

Ah, the basic human need to connect to anyone had taken over Harold, Root smiled. Now there was an answer. She grinned at him. "Now, was that so hard to say?" She decided to talk about Detective Carter instead. "Detective Carter seemed like such a nice woman, Harold. It's too bad I never got a chance to work with her." She was mournful.

"What are you going to do now?"

Harold did not reply.

Here Root decided to give him a little wish.

"I hope one day that you'll see what Mom sees, Harold. Because, you know… you really do need me after all."