If there's no return to the sting that makes you real,
Then should everyone always fear their inner dreams?
It's not like Root and the rest of Harold's merry little band of misfits didn't try to rescue Sameen Shaw. Oh, they did, several times. All of which, much to Root's dismay and despair, ended without Shaw back in their hands. The only, though not nearly sufficient consolation, was the moment when Root snapped Martine's neck. She loved to remember that moment in those long winter nights, lying on the couch, trying not to blame herself and Harold for not being fast enough to save Shaw, before Greer pushed her in that damn van and transported her to God-knows-where.
The click Martine's neck made at that moment, her eyes slowly fading, but still showing surprise, lines of her face becoming dull, while all her life must've been running before her eyes... now, that must have counted for something. If it would've brought Shaw back, Root wouldn't mind killing Martine for a hundred more times.
In her past life, Root has been anyone and everybody, depending on the current task, taking errands and killing whoever her next victim happened to be, without as much as blinking an eye. Back then, she wouldn't remember killing Martine. She'd be just a nameless woman to her.
Back then, Root would also not remember losing someone she loved. She simply wouldn't care, because at the time, there was no one she cared about. That was also a reason why she was perfect for that job and for that life, fearless and bold, ready to die if that was what the next day prepared for her.
When she found out about the existence of the Machine, the euphoria took her entirely. She was so happy, because back then she had thought that she had found a new reason to live – her personal God. And that felt so, so good.
But, accepting the Machine as her God, she also had to accept Her principles and moral values, the basic postulates Harold incorporated in Her code. And with that knowledge, looking back at her past life, remembering all the deaths she caused, all the abruptly ended lives, orphans and widows, Root felt the horror seeping in her bones, leaving her almost unable to breathe.
Then again, with Martine it was entirely different. Root was almost proud of herself for killing her, and the only thing tainting her achievement was the regret she didn't get an opportunity to torture the bitch long and slowly, until she no longer could've prayed for Root to kill her.
Still, her death didn't bring back Shaw.
[Searching for a threat…]
[…Samantha Groves not found…]
[Continuing the search…]
[Assessing the virtual environment…]
[…estimating all the the possible outcomes…]
Root was sitting in Shaw's kitchen, probing the chicken salad with a fork, wondering when the last time that she had some appetite was. She was a lousy cook, having specialized crumbled eggs about a decade ago, and since then managed to improve that recipe with some ketchup and mayonnaise. Which earned her lots of eye rolls from Shaw and constant mocking. And although Shaw tried to hide that smug look in her eyes, that she got every time Root praised her cooking skills, and mask it with an indifferent shrug, Root didn't ever fall for that.
Shaw was really skilled in the kitchen, keeping her meals tasty and her knives sharp. On more than one occasion, Root wondered just when did she learn how to cook that good. It couldn't have been in the marines, unless Shaw's sharp tongue earned her a few rounds of peeling the potatoes or chopping the onion rings. Nah, thought Root. Shaw must've been the most obedient and goal oriented soldier ever. Which was why she readily pulled that damn fence down and sacrificed herself at the Stock Exchange.
At that thought, Root felt her eyes pricking, tears threatening to spill for the hundredth time that week. She gave up on eating and got up from the kitchen table, placing the almost full plate at the counter. Fingers trailing down the rim of the counter, she remembered so vividly the first romantic dinner (shut up, it was just an ordinary dinner!) Shaw had made for her.
It was Friday afternoon, everyone in the Team Machine was already gone, and Root stayed in the library in order to write some code lines Harold had asked her to do for the next week. Outside, dusk was just falling on the Manhattan, and heavy clouds where threatening to all those who had forgotten to take an umbrella.
Root was nearly done, when her phone rang, the X-Files intro ringtone echoing between the book shelves of the library. She almost jumped at the sound, searching for her phone in the darkness of library. When she finally pressed Answer, there was a familiar voice on the other side of the line.
"Root?"
"Hey, Sameen," Root purred, closing her eyes in order to shut out all the other things around her, except for Shaw's voice.
"Do you have some plans for tonight," asked Shaw nonchalantly.
"No, why?"
"Do you wanna come over for a dinner? I've just made too much food for lunch and…um… So I thought, if you're hungry, maybe you'd like to come to my place later…?"
"Yeah, why not. I haven't eaten properly in the last…four days, I think-"
"Root! You have to stop doing that. I've told you countless times, it's bad for your health!"
"Sameen, I really love it when you play a doctor with me," said Root amused, "I'll be there in an hour. Don't change your mind and eat it all, sweetie."
It was with a record speed that Root finished all her tasks, tucked her laptop in her backpack, turned off all the remaining lights in the library, and rushed into the late Manhattan afternoon. If there were any sad, smelly or angry by-passers at the streets, her mind just chose to ignore them completely, focusing happily on the evening that was about to come. She almost whistled, the pictures of the last few evenings at Shaw's place dancing before her eyes.
When she finally got in front of Shaw's apartment, after climbing two steps at a time, Root pressed the bell for the third time, wondering why Shaw hasn't opened the door yet. The Machine told her that Shaw was at home, so there must've been something that occupied Shaw for so long. But what that was, was beyond Root.
When Shaw finally turned the key, grabbing the knob and opening the damn door, she was out of breath, a single sweat drop rolling down her cheek, blushing with a pretty nice shade of red. There was also a really big smile on her face. Root was surprised by that alone, not mentioning the very nice smell that was coming out of the apartment. And she also felt a sting of warmth in her abdomen, because Sameen Shaw was sooo rarely seen smiling. Root knew it better than to ask for more of those smiles, but nevertheless treasured each and every one in her memory, with special care. Because Sameen Shaw was a beautiful woman even when she was frowning (which was more often than not). When she smiled, Root felt like that stupid woman in that movie she watched when she was a kid, dancing somewhere in the Alps, spinning around, oblivious of the Nazis coming to get her and all the Von Trapps.
"Umm…Sameen?"
"Yes, Root?"
"Mind if I…err…come in," asked Root, wondering what got into Shaw this time.
"No, no, of course. Come in," Shaw was quick to respond, opening the door entirely, so Root could enter the apartment.
The shade of red on Shaw's cheeks was becoming more intense with every second. And she was also wiping her hands at the back of her (black) sweatpants, quickly hiding them in the pockets of her (black) hoodie, when Root raised an eyebrow. She was able to recognize a part of the t-shirt Shaw was wearing under the hoodie – it was her favorite Arch Enemy (black) shirt.
"Sweetie, is everything alright," said Root while placing a light kiss at Shaw's right cheek.
"Err… yes, why wouldn't it be," said Shaw with a frown, concentrating at some black spot on the wall behind Root's back.
By now, Root knew something must've been very, very wrong. She just couldn't for the life of her decipher what was it. So she smiled, pulled off her boots and leather jacket, and headed for the bathroom to wash her hands.
Halfway to the bathroom, she stopped in her tracks. For in the kitchen stood a table, full of different pots and plates. A bottle of wine and two candles included. Turning around, Root found Sameen Shaw frowning at her left flip-flop with intense concentration. Soooo…there is the famous lupus in fabula, thought Root, barely suppressing the grin. Lunch leftovers, my ass. Deciding it would be wise not to say anything for now, she opted for washing her hands first and obediently sat at the table.
She could've sworn Shaw wasn't breathing at all, because when Root took a fork with her left hand, she flinched, dropping an empty wine glass at the floor. When glass broke, little pieces of it flying all over the kitchen, Shaw just breathed out with a long sigh, not noticing at all what just happened. Root chanced a little smile and got up, carefully avoiding pieces of glass and coming behind Shaw's back.
"Sweetie, why so worried," asked Root while gently tracing the contours of Shaw's neck and shoulders with her (black polished) nails.
"I'm not-," started Shaw and quickly stopped, as if she suddenly realized there were no words available in her mind.
"You know I think highly about your cooking skills, Sameen. And I'm sure this red wine is just perfect. And what is it that you prepared for me tonight? I mean the meal, not the sexy underwear and cuffs…"
Root could've feel Shaw's muscles pulsating under her touch, goose bumps forming on the back of her neck. She wondered if Shaw was ever this nervous before the mission of is it reserved just for Root. She hoped for the latter, now unable to stop the grin forming on her face.
"I…it's pork with balsamic cranberry sauce…I've seen it on the TV last week, so I thought…"
Root waited for another fifteen seconds and when it was obvious Shaw wasn't going to continue the sentence, decided to take a risk.
"Sameen, I love your choice of meal and I think it's wonderfully romantic of you to do something like this for me," said Root, still standing behind Shaw's back and pulling her in a testing embrace. At first she gave in, leaning into Root, but then some part of her mind came up with a response.
"It's not a romantic dinner! I mean…it is a dinner, but just not a romantic one! I mean…you like pork meat, don't you?"
"Yes, sweetie. I do," said Root with a smile, leaning in to smell Shaw's hair.
"And you like cranberries, don't you," came another question.
"I like them, too," said Root, while placing a kiss at the back of Shaw's neck. That woman's gonna be the end of her, one of these days.
"And you like…umm…those romantic…things," said Shaw, her pulse so loud Root could've felt it on her lips.
"I do. Especially when they're connected to you, Sameen."
"Alright-"
"…and when they're something like a romantic dinner," said Root, turning Shaw's head into position more comfortable for a proper kiss.
"Oh, shut-," was all Shaw said, before Root kissed her passionately.
Suddenly, Shaw was more comfortable with the whole situation and Root felt her hands pulling her into an embrace, careful not to break the kiss.
When they finally set for eating, both of them were breathless from the kissing, their clothes a mess, but they were grinning like a pair of idiots. And the dinner was beyond perfection. It was like Shaw just won the golden medal and second best was also herself, from all the previous meals.
Soon, Root was so full, she didn't even bother to sit properly, while holding a fork in one hand and the glass of wine in another, with satisfied grin on her face. And then Shaw decided it was time for a dessert. Root's eyes blinked a few times in disbelief at the adorable blue china bowls, filled with something that looked like a dream coming true for any kid (although Root knew no kids), and was in fact two scoops of ice cream, spiked with hazelnuts and little chocolate cubes, with hot coffee poured over all of it. Root's mouth was wet instantly, her mind reminding her that she was so full mere seconds ago. But, she shut it down, prepared to eat that ice cream, even if that would be the end of her.
Shaw grinned smugly, satisfaction in her eyes oh so obvious. Root didn't mind it and instead let her have it. She deserved it, as much as she deserved all the sex that happened that night, when they both managed to roll from the table onto the bed.
Root later realized it had been a month exactly, since their first kiss and love making. She didn't bother to count the days then, but Shaw did it for both of them. And it made Root feeling something in her gut, something she didn't dare to decipher back then.
But now, Root knew all too well what was it. The same feeling she felt now, against all the odds and reasons.
At those first weeks after the Stock Exchange, they tried everything. She and Reese followed every trail, traveled to every God-forsaken place in the United States, only to come back to NY empty handed. Harold has been helping them from the subway station, navigating them through the woods and villages, tracing the car plates and telephone numbers, never leaving his desk. Root suspected that at the same time he conducted another search in his own ways, although he didn't admit it to anyone of them.
Root refused to believe that Greer and his goons killed Shaw. She was convinced Shaw was too important for something like that to happen. They must've been keeping her somewhere, but where could that be – that was beyond Root's apprehension.
And it was the lack of help from the Machine that bothered her, more and more with every unsuccessful trip into unknown. As Harold had said before, humans are born with the free will. The Machines are object oriented.
Root, considering the Machine her God, used to think She was far better than that, refusing to believe She was just an ordinary (although somewhat big) piece of software. But, if she was right, what would that mean? If the Machine really had the free will, then why all this?
Root dreaded the thought of the Machine, seeing her suffering, moreover – seeing Shaw suffering (Root shuddered at the thought), and doing nothing. Since She was an all-seeing, all-knowing God, there was no way in hell She didn't know where exactly at that moment Sameen Shaw was and what the Samaritan agents are doing to her. And She just kept that knowledge for Herself. That thought alone was tormenting Root nearly as much as thinking about Shaw.
She was so used to the way the Machine spoke to her, like she was the most important person on the face of the Planet, beside Harold. Root was never jealous of his status, after all he was the father of the God and she gave him all the credits for that. But Root loved to believe the Machine felt something for her too. Something more than just the ordinary care She showed for every other human being.
And she was starting to doubt that now.
At first it were her nightmares, where she's been enduring the ten thousand deaths, one more agonizing than other, crying for the Machine's help and receiving none. Every other night she'd wake up screaming, gripping the sheets in horror, her gaze piercing trough the darkness of the apartment, afraid of falling asleep again. She even considered asking Harold for permission to sleep in the safe house or in the subway station, and she would have already done it, were it not for her inability to leave Shaw's apartment.
Then that fear slowly started eating her trough the daylight, more vivid every time she and Reese broke into another house or factory, killing countless (not so innocent, she liked to think) people in their wake, calling Shaw's name again and again and finding nothing but an empty bed here and an empty torture room there. It was like John Greer was toying with them without much effort, succeeding in multiplying their fears with every new place they busted. And Root suspected that maybe, just maybe he never even got Sameen out of NY in the first place. They were a bunch of fools in his eyes, she felt it now more than ever before. And the Machine kept her virtual mouth shut anyways.
She would only start to speak to Root when she entered Shaw's apartment, whispering soothing words, Her mumbling only stopping when Root was fast asleep. Not that she was able to hear it through her own screams when she woke up in the middle of every other night.
She just couldn't understand it. If the Machine had the free will, then why was She reluctant to help them in their search for Shaw? On the other hand, if She was just (Root still denied that possibility) a piece of software, object oriented, did it mean that She just didn't consider finding Shaw one of her primary objects?
Those thoughts always found Root in those long and lonely hours, before it was time for her to go to bed and she hated that.
In her old life, she had no God and no one to care about. Then she found the God, and thought she changed her life for the better. She became a believer.
Then she found someone to care about, and was so happy, not daring to believe she had been lucky enough to find them both. She became a person in love.
Then she lost one of them, and was slowly losing another, not even sure if the latter had something to do with the first.
And if she gives up her God for the woman she has already lost, what does it make of her?