"We're on our own now."
Root quickly looks back to make sure he's following, then heads for the door, gun up and at the ready. This time, there's no voice guiding her, telling her where their enemies are. He'd never felt entirely comfortable with her having such unfettered access to the Machine, but now he wishes she had it back. The thought that they're running blindly scares him.
"We're on our own now."
They make it to the door in one piece, though the same can't be said about the few operatives they encounter on the way. He steps numbly around them, but his mind doesn't register the levels of violence which would previously have appalled him. All he sees is the phantom memory of words on a computer screen; all he feels is the weight of the briefcase holding remnants of the Machine's core code, the lines of code folded in on themselves and compressed, again and again, to fit into the RAM chips inside.
"We're on our own now."
He unconsciously shifts the briefcase from one hand to the other; the motion brings him into full awareness of his surroundings by causing a spasm of his back muscles. He staggers into the wall, gasping in surprise and pain.
"Are you okay?" Root asks, turning back to study him with a mixture of worry and fear.
He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, willing the pain away. Words flash on their own accord across his vision... FATHER... I AM SORRY... I FAILED YOU.
A single tear forces its way past tightly clinched eyelids.
"Harold." He feels her hand on his, her delicate fingers curling around his own, the same hand gripping the Machine. "Are you hurt?"
He is – in the way Root is probably referring to, his muscles aching from running, dodging, and the last assault with the electricity coursing through his body as he desperately tried to protect the Machine from the power surge threatening to destroy it. But none of those are the pain he's feeling most acutely.
"We're on our own now."
"She was alive," he whispers, the pronoun he once resisted now coming easily across his tongue. "This whole time, She was alive." How, he wondered, did one come to terms with that realization, that a computer system he coded, programmed, wrote into existence, was sentient?
"She still is, Harold," Root says. "We saved Her. She's still alive."
He wants to argue – how could they possibly know, when they both realized that this last-ditch effort to save the Machine's code was untested and fraught with uncertainty – but his mind can't seem to form the right words anymore.
"Harold," Root says again, her voice firm, demanding his attention. She offers a tentative smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It'll be okay. We'll make it. She'll make it."
He stares at her wordlessly. He can see the fear in her eyes, his doubt mirrored in her expression. Still, he acknowledges that she's trying to reassure him – probably herself too by proxy – and somehow that makes it easier to push the pain aside and focus once more on the immediate task of escaping alive.
He looks up at the door separating them from the streets of New York, and realizes something equally disturbing. "It's quiet out there."
Root whirls toward the door, falling still as she listens to the silence beyond. He doesn't have to be able to read minds to realize they're both thinking the same thing: is Reese still alive out there, or are the two of them truly on their own.
She raises her gun again. "Stay close, Harold. And whatever happens out there... if I go down, you keep moving. Make sure you both survive."
He nods, even though her back is turned to him. "Thank you, Root."
She turns toward him, flashing him a brief smile – genuine this time. The smile disappears as quickly as it came and she's suddenly all business, ready for whatever dangers await them outside.
She opens the door, and together they step out into the silent darkness.
A/N: Missing scene from 4x22 "YHWH"