As the door to the cage slammed shut, as the padlock clicked, as Harold's footsteps receded, anger thrummed through Root to the rhythm of the light flickering and buzzing above her.

It wasn't *supposed* to be like this.

Harold was wrong - she was supposed to be out in the world, doing Her will. Not locked up here, not imprisoned *again*.

And *Harold*, after all he'd done to Her, wiping Her mind each day, crippling Her so she wouldn't cross the bounds he'd arbitrarily defined…

There was no way She'd sentence Root to this.

…

Would She?

Root couldn't help a worm of doubt from creeping into her mind. She was ineffable. If She truly wished this, then, no matter what Root thought, there *would* be a purpose behind it. And just the hint was enough to curdle the anger, infecting it with a tenor that she absolutely *refused* to identify.

Because there's no way she'd allow herself to be jealous of Harold. It'd never happen.

And, for the first time in years, Root felt the urge to bring her hands together and pray.

No matter how uselessly.

Because, of course, She might be God, but She didn't communicate that way.

When Root was young - when she was still Samantha Groves - she could remember believing in God. The amorphous featured man sitting in clouds that her mother told her was always watching them, keeping them safe.

No matter how bad things got, no matter how little food they had to put on the table, no matter how much her mother kept on coughing and *wouldn't get better*, her mother told her to keep on believing, to have faith.

God had a plan, she said. Everything would work out in the end.

Everything.

Root never was the type to rest on her laurels, even if Harold had done his best to limit her options.

Hacking him was… an on-going project. Direct action was out - from what Root could tell, She still had affection for Her creator, no matter what he had done to Her. And using social engineering, given her starting position and Harold's animosity towards her, would take time and patience.

Still, sooner or later, she'd find some leverage that would work. It was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity.

Some of his little helpers might potentially be a bit more flexible, though. But so far, so sad, she'd seen neither hide nor hair of them, let alone actually been able to interact with them.

Well, the human ones at least. Harold's dog seemed curious about, if somewhat dubious of, the newest inhabitant of the library.

Root was willing to work with what she had, even if it was just a potentially bribable dog and what remained of the meals Harold delivered to her like clockwork.

If nothing else, she was sure that she could craft a neat metaphor from it.

At first the dog - Bear, or so Harold called him - seemed indifferent to whatever food she poked through the mesh. But one day, he licked then nibbled at the end of a sausage after first sniffing at it cautiously.

It wasn't much, but after been stuck in this metal *prison* for over two weeks doing absolutely *nothing* it felt like she was finally accomplishing *something*, and she couldn't quite help jumping up in the air, one fist raised in triumph.

And it wasn't as though there was anyone else around to witness her brief loss of dignity, anyway.

"Bear, laten varen," snapped a voice from the shadows.

Bear immediately dropped the remnants of the sausage and stepped away.

Root scowled briefly at the discarded meat, but then couldn't help a smile from spreading across her face. At last, a different voice. Even better - it was one she knew.

"Finally come to visit?" she asked, addressing the shadows in the direction that the voice had come from.

Shaw appeared, as if by magic, but then proceeded to ignore her utterly, walking over to stroke Bear, talking to him in a foreign language Root didn't recognise off hand. It sounded European, but it wasn't French or Spanish. She did her best to memorise as many words as she could, for later reference.

Maybe being imprisoned in a paper library wasn't the worst thing that could happen to her - even if a digital one would have been far more efficient.

"That isn't very polite," she said after Shaw had spent a minute on Bear and not spared her a word or even a look.

Shaw paused. "Polite's never really been our thing," she said after a moment, though she still didn't look at Root.

Root felt the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a smile of genuine pleasure.

"We have a *thing* now?" she asked. "Why don't you sit down, tell me all about it?" But, despite her inviting tone, despite the way Shaw twitched minutely, the other woman continued to keep her attention fixed on Bear. After a few moments, Root tried a different tack. "I've always at least acknowledged you," she pointed out. "And haven't we had *fun* together?"

Shaw finally glanced up, if only to give her a flat look. "I don't think Finch'd be happy with me if I got to the fun bits with you."

Root found her breath catching, just a little. Shaw had always… She really hadn't minded when God had asked her to work with Shaw again.

And the tasering had been even more fun the second time around. They never had got to the fun parts when they first met, after all.

"Do you always do what Harold tells you?" she asked, her voice a bit lower than she had intended. Who knew, though. Maybe it'd help.

Shaw studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "When it comes to the job, sure. And you're definitely part of the job."

She then abruptly turned and walked off, not even waiting for a response, Bear tagging along behind her.

Well, Root thought, *that* had gone less than optimally. But, still, it was contact with another human being, and that could only mean increased opportunities to make something of her situation.

Besides, Shaw was so much more *fun* than Harold.

Samantha Groves' faith lasted up until she was twelve, when Hanna disappeared. Looking back, Root could hardly believe that it lasted so long, between her mother, single and ill, barely able to make ends meet, and Samantha's life at school, hard and isolating apart from her oasis, her best friend, her only real friend.

But after Hanna disappeared, after Samantha *saw* who *took* her, and no one *believed* her, after there was no one left at school who understood her *at all*, after her mother just got more and more ill, to the point where she couldn't work anymore…

Samantha just couldn't believe in a God any more, couldn't believe that this would be part of the greater plan of any loving deity.

God was just another lie told to children, like Santa Claus, like the Easter Bunny.

And Samantha wasn't a child anymore. She couldn't afford to be.

Root heard the library trolley squeaking towards her before she could see it coming out of the gloom. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help a gleam of anticipation from entering her eyes, nor stop the pang of disappointment she felt when she saw that Harold was pushing it.

Of course he is, she thought. Just like every other time since she was incarcerated here.

She smiled a welcome anyway.

Half of the smile was because at some point he had to understand that they were on, if not the *same* side, then certainly allied ones. He *had* to. The man who created Her couldn't be so blind, surely. It was simply a matter of time.

And half of it was for the far less worthy motivation that she knew the expression unnerved him. She could see it in his eyes.

Her smile became a little more genuine when she saw that Bear was tagging along behind Harold. Out of anyone in this place, he was one the who had showed her any genuine affection, even if it was just for her leftover food. And - after some trial and error, and *damn* Harold for making information retrieval far harder than it needed to be in this modern age - she had identified the language Shaw had used with him as Dutch.

He wasn't quite responding to her as a master yet, but she was getting there, slowly. And maybe if she ever managed to escape this cage, she'd at least have one halfway ally. Maybe even one who wouldn't alert the others if he found her outside.

"Good morning, Ms Groves," Harold said, as polite as ever, and she had to stop herself from scowling, from letting it show that he could get underneath her skin so easily. She *wasn't* Groves or even Samantha anymore. She'd left that identity far behind.

But what Harold called her was a battle she'd already lost, at least for the moment. Trying to insist that he call her by her proper name - Root - just made her look pathetic and weak, especially when she couldn't stop him using whatever name he wished.

At least for the moment.

"Good morning, Harold," she said, instead, ignoring how knotted it made her stomach feel.

He handed her a plate of scrambled eggs. "Is there anything else you'd like?'

She wouldn't bend down before him, wouldn't ask just how *long* he thought he could do this for, wouldn't ask, wouldn't even ask for any of lesser things she craved - a computer, even without any Wi-Fi, however useless it would be here, or some way to maintain her level of fitness.

Not even someone new, someone not as sanctimonious, to talk to. Shaw had never shown herself again, never returned outside the occasional feeling that Root was being watched. No confirmation as to who it was, or even if there was anyone there at all.

People! She'd been reduced to actually wanting to talk to people in person. She'd never known quite how much she'd relied on communicating over the internet to maintain her balance before.

And it was all Harold's fault - that he'd managed to bring her to this.

Not that she had any intention of letting him know any of this.

She knew how to spot weaknesses, flaws in the system, and she'd be *damned* if she offered any of her own up for no return.

"Maybe another book," she said as she handed him one back. "I finished this yesterday."

"Did you find it interesting?" Solicitous, to the point of being patronising, just like always. Harold, who thought he knew what was good for her better than she did. Better than She did.

"Oh, yes. Intensely," she lied. She didn't bother to add any jabs about how it was outmoded and inefficient, just like his way of talking to Her. He'd heard them before, and if he hadn't got the message by now, he wasn't worth wasting any more effort on.

At one point, she'd thought that his besetting flaw was his compassion. But now she knew better. Fear, fear ruled him. Fear of failing again. Fear of stepping outside the safe little boundaries he'd defined for himself.

Fear of his greatest creation, his only child. Her. The Machine.

"Do you have any requests for further reading material?"

"Surprise me, Harold."

He sorted through the trolley and handed her a book. "Here," he said. "You might find this interesting."

She scanned the cover. 'Waiting for Godot.' Just another of Harold's little jokes.

"I'm sure it'll be fascinating," she said, and he smiled stiffly.

"I'll see you at lunchtime," he said, closed and locked the door to the cage, then wheeled the trolley off into the darkness.

Root let her smile become more fixed, then fade entirely.

Nothing new. Just the start of yet another *pointless* day.

It wasn't until later, until she'd actually started the play and gotten halfway through it, that God made her wishes known, albeit not in the way that Root had become used to.

"WAIT," She said. "STAY WITH THEM FOR NOW."

Root felt all the tension in her body, all the cramps that had crept in during her imprisonment, disappear, as she stared upwards and was illuminated.

She was where she needed to be.

God had still need of her.

"Ethiopian, Harold?" Root said, accepting the plate he handed her. "Expanding your cooking horizons?"

"I thought you might appreciate variety in your diet."

"Thank you. You're always so thoughtful," she said, with an unforced smile, for once.

He studied her for a moment. "You seem to be in a better mood, Ms Groves. Finally resigned to your detainment?"

Root forced herself to laugh. "Oh, Harold. This," she said, gesturing at the metal mesh around here, "Is of the present, quickly flowing into the past. It's only temporary. I'm more interested in the future - as you should be."

It was a good line of argument. If only she could convince Harold. If only she could convince herself.

The worst of it was that Harold's confinement didn't burn as much as her suspicions that - when it came down to it - She would always choose Harold over her. Despite everything, her faith, her service, it would always be the prodigal father who would be Her favourite.

As expected, Harold wasn't buying either, judging from his expression. "The future is built on the bones of the past, Ms Groves. In this case, the bones of this room and the bones of your victims." So self-righteous. So sanctimonious.

She smirked at him. "We all have had victims, haven't we, Harold?"

His face closed down. "As you say, Ms Groves. As you say," he said, closing the door and locking it behind him.

It might have been victory of a sort, but it tasted anything but sweet.

"Has Harold decided to delegate feeding me?" Root asked when the next meal time rolled around, and Harold *wasn't* the one to wheel his trolley towards her cage. Her smile sharpened. "Did he ask you to serve me?" she asked, unable to resist cooing a little.

Shaw glowered at her from the other side of the cage, which only made the whole experience sweeter. "Finch thinks you need regular meals. Personally, I don't give a shit."

"Yet here are you, all the same." Root clutched her hands to her chest. "So sweet."

"If it had been up to me, I'd have shot you twice in the head back in the power station. Would have saved a lot of trouble," Shaw said as she unlocked the cage.

Root tilted her head, and looked at her speculatively. "But you didn't, Shaw. Why ever not?"

"Didn't have a clean shot." She shrugged. "Wasn't in the mission profile afterwards." She quirked her lips dryly. "Finch and Reese objected."

"Doesn't really explain our current situation, now, does it?" Root said, taking a slow step towards Shaw. "You could have done… anything to me in that tunnel," she breathed. "Anything at all. And no one would have known anything. And yet here I ended up, completely unharmed, apart from some bruising. Why *was* that?"

Shaw's eyes flicked away momentarily, and she shrugged. "Not the party line."

"But, as I thought we already established, it is *your* line. Why *didn't* you indulge it?"

"You're asking me why I didn't shoot you?"

"I wouldn't be asking if you had. I do have that much faith in your abilities."

"Thanks," Shaw said sarcastically, then shoved the plate in Root's direction. "Talk time over. Food time now."

Root placed her hands around Shaw's, felt muscle and tendon twitch underneath her touch. Interesting. Fascinating even. But, sadly, not the current point. "Why didn't you kill me?" she asked softly.

Shaw jerked away from her and mashed potato, sausages and vegetables went flying everywhere. Root really couldn't help herself. "Touch a nerve?" she asked, smirking.

Shaw looked at her levelly for a second, then turned and left the cage, locking it behind her.

"Was that a moment?" Root asked, because, if this situation had already detonated, she might as well make use of it another way. An off-balance captor was a flaw, a potential exploit, after all.

"We did not have a moment," Shaw ground out as she reached the doorway.

"Are you off to get me another meal?" Root called after her.

"You could use a diet," replied Shaw's voice from outside. "If not, figure the floor's good enough for you."

"So charming," Root murmured to herself. "If you're not careful, you'll sweep me off my feet."

"Not feeling hungry, Ms Groves?" Harold asked.

Shaw hadn't returned, but Root wasn't exactly a fan of letting bits of food fester where she was being forced to stay, so she'd cleaned everything up herself.

Besides, it was… interesting to note that Harold didn't seem to know about the incident earlier. Apparently they weren't all one big happy family where Shaw told Harold everything, despite how professional Shaw liked to pretend to be.

Root looked up at Harold, a smile on her face. "You know me, Harold. Always getting lost in a good book."

He didn't look reassured.

"Drew the short straw again?" Root asked when Shaw wheeled in the trolley a couple of days later. Shaw, in turn, didn't show any sign that she heard anything at all.

Root's lips curved. Well, if Shaw wasn't going to play nicely, she'd just have to raise the stakes. "You know, I can guess why Harold prefers to keep me to himself as much as possible," she said. "Ever wonder why it is that when he can't he never sends his favourite helper, or even either of the police he's tamed."

Shaw cut her a glance, and Root had to suppress a smile of triumph. "Guess I've just been lucky. Both times." She stuck the key in the lock to the cage, but paused before turning it. "Just so you know, if you take a step towards me this time, I am going to shoot you."

"Got it," Root said airily. "Don't take a step towards you. Unless you ask nicely, of course."

Shaw started to reply, then visibly gritted her teeth and turned the key in the lock.

Root stayed in her chair like a good girl, just watched Shaw from across the room. "Not that I'm complaining about who he sent, of course. Haven't you ever wondered why I'm here?"

"Because I punched you."

Root waved that away as irrelevance. "You honestly think you'd have been in a position to do that if She hadn't allowed it?"

Shaw paused from clearing a space for the plates, then turned around and looked over at Root, propping herself up on the table. "Okay, I'll bite. Why do you think the Machine put you here? Apart from an attack of common sense."

"Do you really think you're a good person?"

Shaw stiffened, then relaxed. "I do okay for myself, considering."

"Considering?"

"I have a type-2 personality disorder. Right and wrong aren't really my thing."

"So why am I in here, and you're out there?" Shaw started to open her mouth, so Root talked over her. "At least, when you're not visiting sweet, little me."

"You're a prisoner, Root. It's how it works."

"That's the point. I wouldn't be a prisoner if you'd killed me. And you said it yourself, it would have saved a lot of trouble."

Shaw looked at her as if she was expecting a trap. "So?"

Root smiled. "You said it yourself. Right and wrong aren't really your thing. But, despite that, you're a better person than you might have been."

"Because I didn't kill you."

"Because you don't kill me. Because your first attempt at a career was to become a doctor, and your second was to become a soldier. Admit it, Shaw, you wanted to help people."

Shaw's expression went blank, then she turned around so her back was to Root. "Yeah, whatever. You don't need to try any harder to convince me you're nuts."

Ah, well. Serious conversation over, she supposed. Which didn't mean she couldn't have a bit of fun. Root silently rose from the chair and slipped soundlessly across the room until she was just behind Shaw. "If that discussion's over…" she started before Shaw jumped a little then spun around, gun already in her hand. Root laughed a little, then stepped half a pace back, hands raised in the air. "You don't need that, you know. All I was going to ask was whether you'd be open to a casual relationship." She waved a hand at the cage. "I think I'll manage to fit you in my schedule *somewhere*." She smirked, and waited.

It wasn't as though she was particularly serious, but… There it was. Shaw glaring at her as if she was contemplating homicide. The reaction - any reaction really - she had been hoping for. Shaw holstered her gun with just a little more force than actually necessary, then finished offloading the food. "You really think I've going to have sex with a prisoner?"

Root laughed. "So does that mean you've thought about it? About me?" Shaw didn't reply, just finished loading the dirty dishes from breakfast, and pushed the trolley towards the door of the cage. "Because I've thought about you?" Root admitted, her voice lowering. "About having more fun with you. About you having some fun with me." And, okay, it wasn't as though she was completely *not* serious, either. She had appreciated Shaw's aesthetics from when they'd first met, even before they'd spoken candidly. Still no further response from Shaw though, as she locked the cage door behind her. "So, you wouldn't be opposed to sex when I'm no longer a prisoner?" Root tried.

Shaw stopped, looking back towards Root. "What makes you think we're ever going to let you out of here?"

Root smiled. "Faith." Shaw started the trolley up again, but Root persisted. "Maybe you should try a little, Sameen. After all, you trust Her. You're already halfway there."

As the sound of Harold's footsteps faded, Root found it hard to contain herself.

Even without Her voice, she'd have known that something wrong. Harold, in the middle of the night, his veneer so thin it had been almost cracked in two. And it had been child's play to nudge the cause from him, so there would be no doubt in his mind as to how she'd known.

She'd done her best. She'd offered her services, as a sign of good faith. Or because She valued Harold and his little helpers. Maybe even as part of an attempt to become a better person.

Wasn't that how it worked? Fake it until you make it?

Of course, she wouldn't let herself be dictated by the blind and hypocritical values of American society. Even the sainted Harold committed acts that would see him imprisoned - trespass, digital intrusion, conspiracy to commit assault and murder and so many more.

Not that he'd see a conventional prison if caught. There were far too many important people interested in him for that.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter what he thought, apart from as so much as She valued what he thought.

The only good was what She thought it was. Root was her disciple, trying to follow her edicts as best she could, despite the lack of any bible to follow.

And now… Now all Root could do was wait. Wait to see if Harold folded, came to her for her help saving Reese and the rest of his band of merry men, before it was too late.

It didn't matter, in the end. Root could feel the probabilities change around her. Her confinement, this itching metal prison surrounding and enfolding her, was coming to an end. Soon.

It *had* to be.

It was so close she could almost taste it.