Freedom - however brief, and even if it was only to save one of Harold's little helpers - didn't taste anything *like* as sweet as the look on Harold's face when he saw her back in the cage, voluntarily.

A better person might think that being instrumental to saving a life would be sweetest of all. If so, Root wasn't there yet.

Oh well. She could just be a work in progress instead.

The Machine might still need her here for the moment - to interface with Harold and guide him and his team through the coming storm. Assuming that, at some point, he showed enough common sense to allow her to do so.

But, for the moment, even if Harold did still lock the door behind him, even if an onlooker might think nothing had changed about her circumstances…

The fact that this was now her choice - completely and utterly *hers* - made all the difference in the world.

And, well, if she absolutely *had* to escape under her own power…

She'd laid in a few contingencies there too.

Shaw prowled up to Root's cage and stared at her flatly.

"You've come to visit me," Root said when Shaw didn't seem inclined to start a conversation. "Without even the excuse of delivering me a meal."

"You helped save John."

"Did you doubt me?" Root asked, tilting her head to one side. "I thought I had you to thank for Harold giving me a day-pass."

Shaw twitched one shoulder. "Finch was desperate."

"So you naturally thought of me," Root rested one hand against her chest. "I'm touched."

"Yeah, well, my djinn wasn't answering his cell."

"As *delightful* as it is to see you, I'm guessing that you didn't just come down here to look at me."

"Actually, I'm just surprised you haven't spouted some nonsense at me yet."

Root shrugged. "Now where would I get if I became too predictable, dear Sameen?" She smiled as Shaw twitched a little at her use of the name. "Besides, I thought I'd see what you came down here for first. Maybe establish a little quid pro quo."

"Because that worked out so well for Clarice."

"As you say. So?"

Shaw drifted a pace backwards from the cage door. About the space she'd need to draw and fire her gun. Probably an expression of discomfort, rather than the suggestion that she was considering imminent lethal violence.

Probably.

Ah well, it wasn't as though there was much Root could about it at the moment. Not without provoking exactly that kind of response. So she waited.

"It's going to happen again, isn't it?" Shaw said eventually. "You working with us."

Root smiled crookedly, and sauntered slowly towards the door, the metal strands separating her and Shaw. "Is that really such a problem for you? I thought you said I was hot."

She shrugged. "Worked with worse people before. Shot them, too."

Root let her smile twist as she leaned against the door. "Is that what I've got to look forward to? Being shot - *penetrated* - by you?"

Shaw didn't flinch, didn't move away from her. Didn't move towards her, either, just looked at her unreadably. "Still a prisoner," she said, but without any bite.

Root decided to chalk that up as a win. "Does it count if I returned willingly to my playpen?"

"Fairly sure Finch'd see it that way. That's the other question, by the way. Why'd you come back?"

"Didn't dearest Harold tell you what I said when he asked that?"

"Asked him. Now I'm asking you."

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, but it's not just for the pleasure of your company, as scintillating as that is. It's not to hold philosophical battles with Harold, and it's not to save your lives," she said, finding herself pressed harder against the door, like if she could breach it, her message could reach Shaw. "There's a threat coming to Her, to The Machine, and it's going to need all of us working together."

"Nice speech," Shaw said, then turned as if to go.

"Wait," Root said, and Shaw paused, casting her a look over one shoulder. "Didn't you promise some answers in exchange for those questions?"

"No," Shaw said, but she leaned back against a bookcase so she could face Root again.

"Despite your disorder, you have a moral code. You help people, to the point of putting yourself at risk, despite your lack of empathy for them. Despite even being exiled from your first choice of profession. Why? How?"

Shaw looked at her close-faced. "Why do you want to know?"

"I can't help thinking that this might be part of the reason She sent me here. To improve myself. To learn from you."

"You asking me for moral guidance," Shaw said sceptically. "Really?"

"What's the point in asking someone to whom it comes naturally?"

Shaw snorted. "Not sure most people would call anyone in our group morally upstanding."

"There has to be a reason why you're out there and I've spent the last few months in here." Why She seems to trust Harold, and yet… "After all, neither of us are strangers to kidnap, murder and theft. And yet, Harold saves all of his moralising for me."

"He doesn't. You just missed that phase. Maybe I'm reformed now." Shaw shrugged. "The rest of it's simple. We save people. You were just a criminal."

"That's it? That's the difference between us? Our aims and who we follow?"

Shaw looked at her for several seconds. "Probably more than that. But don't ask me the details. I just follow orders and leave that thinking to other people."

Root didn't know what she had been expecting, but… it hadn't been this. Maybe she could tease something out given a bit more thought. Maybe she had only been here to act as an interface to Harold, as much as she… Well, if that was the best way she could serve Her, she'd do it. Gladly, too.

But she couldn't help that a small part of her wanted more.

"Thank you," she said. "That's what I wanted to ask you."

Shaw nodded, and headed off into the dimness. Root sat and listened until her footsteps had faded into silence.

After Hanna's disappearance - after she wasn't believed, after the day to day cruelties increased without Hanna as a safe haven, after her mother got even worse because they couldn't afford any kind of medication anymore - Samantha just needed some place to get away from everything, everyone.

Her school barely had a computer network worthy of the name. But no one would question her when she puttered away on them, even after school finished. The room was air-conditioned, with seats that weren't more spring than foam. Besides, humans might not make sense, but code always did exactly what it was written to do.

Perfect, in theory.

Ms Chotai - the teacher nominally in charge of the network - approached her one afternoon as she worked away on a terminal.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Samantha looked up nervously, but Ms Chotai was smiling and Samantha relaxed a little

"Debugging a program," she said.

Ms Chotai looked over her shoulder at the lines of code. "That's very advanced," she said. "Have you ever thought about college?"

Samantha shrugged. "We don't exactly have the money."

"I'll look into scholarships for you," she said, resting one hand on Samantha's shoulder, and Samantha couldn't help a spark of hope from igniting within her.

Ms Chotai might not be much of an ally - certainly openly associating with her would just make Samantha more of a target than she already was - but she was *something*. And maybe she was right. Maybe Samantha could get out of here.

Everyone said that the future was in computers. Surely she could make her living there, in the pristine, perfect electronic wonderland.

Of course, programs were written by people, and people were always, *always* fallible. And computer security was even worse - not only could the programmers make mistakes, but it had to rely on the vagaries of witless users as well.

And Samantha discovered that she had a gift for finding these flaws. And she discovered that there would always be people willing to pay for her to do so.

At first it was just other kids at her school, willing to pay her for some suitably adjusted grades. But one afternoon, Mr Dyer - father of one of the children she'd helped - approached her outside the school gates.

"I hear you've got a gift with computers," he said without preamble.

She froze, eyes immediately falling to the ground, unsure as to what was going on, but fearing some kind of trap.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not here to chastise you for helping William. I was actually hoping to hire your talents."

She risked a glance upwards to see that his mouth was stretched in a smile.

"Oh?" she asked.

"I work for Deckard Electronics. I was hoping to hire you to test the defences of our computer network, and identify any weaknesses."

She thought for a moment, then nodded. "How much?"

"50 dollars."

"100," she replied immediately.

"100 if you manage to find any weaknesses."

She nodded again. The school network had been no challenge at all - she'd compromised it even before Hanna disappeared. But it had paved the way for tougher targets. By now, she'd feel humiliated if she couldn't break the firewall of a local electronics company.

"Walkies," Shaw said as she unlocked the door to the cage.

Root raised an eyebrow. "Are you talking to me?"

"Prolonged confinement in an enclosed area leads to loss of muscle tone, even atrophy. If you're going to help us in the future, you need to be in a state to do so."

"I thought I was still a prisoner," Root said, a smile crossing her lips.

"If you're questioning the wisdom of this course of action, rest assured you're not the first to do so," Harold's voice echoed out from the darkness near entrance to the room. He shuffled out into the light, a sour expression on his face. "But, alas, Ms Shaw was quite insistent."

Root's smile widened. "Insistent?" she asked, looking at Shaw.

Shaw shrugged. "Since we don't have any numbers at the moment," she said, cutting a glance towards Harold. "Need to have something to do."

"And you worried about my health. Will Harold be joining us?"

"I doubt that I could complete the kind of exercises that Ms Shaw doubtless has in mind for you. I trust her to keep in you in order."

"Said I'd shoot you if you stepped out of line."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Root said as she exited the cell, letting her hand brush against Shaw as she did so. Shaw evidently permitted this for a second or so before grabbing and twisting her arm in a way that was on the very edge of being painful.

"No liberties," she said dryly. But despite her words, she didn't lock Root's arm in such a position as to prevent Root from casting a flirtatious look back at her. It did earn her a token twist, causing an involuntary intake of breath as pleasure-pain jangled its way up her arm, Shaw's eyes darkening slightly in response.

"Please remember that you are still our captive, Ms Groves," Harold's voice cut across the moment, ruining it utterly. "This is a privilege being extended to you, and one that will be retracted if you attempt to take advantage of it."

She fought the urge to pout as Shaw's grip on her abruptly shifted and she was pushed forward into the room, away from the cage. She schooled her expression into the smile that seemed to irritate Harold the most, manoeuvring so she could see both of the others. "And there I was thinking that we were all getting along much better after I saved your pet thug. Where is he, by the way?"

Harold stilled at her question - a palpable hit - but any trace of expression left Shaw's face, a mixed enough victory that left Root almost wishing she hadn't asked. Even if their reactions were interesting.

"Mr Reese is taking a leave of absence," Harold said stiffly. He could mean medical leave - it wasn't as though the big lug had been in the best of health when she'd last seen him, but unless there had been serious - probably permanent - complications that wouldn't explain the reactions. Being dead would, but… but that didn't feel quite right either.

Could he have resigned his position of chief monkey? It was the fact that he'd gone rogue that had been impetus behind Harold finally freeing her, after all. And it would explain the available facts.

The opportunity to prod and pry at Harold, to find out more about the situation with the Scooby gang, with maybe a little judicious rubbing of salt in the wounds, was almost impossible to resist. Especially after months of his doing his best to rub his so-called moral superiority in her face.

But… but there was also Shaw, and somehow the prospect of doing so whilst she was in the room, or even where she'd surely find out didn't feel anywhere near as good. So she contented herself with a simple, "Do give him my best," and walked out of the library followed by Shaw.

Root staggered, panting, her pride the only thing keeping her from slumping onto the grass of the park.

Shaw looked at her impassively, barely even seeming to sweat. "So, yeah. Thinking you're going to need to do some endurance training. Can't even give Bear a good walk."

Bear, bouncing along at their side, gave an enthusiastic bark as if to underline this point.

Root glared venomously at the both of them. "I'd *be*… in better… shape if… I hadn't… been locked up… for the last… few months."

"Excuses," Shaw said dismissively. "Guns don't listen to 'ifs'."

Root swallowed a couple of times, trying to catch her breath. "And I don't *need*… endurance if I'm… in the right place."

"Really want to count on that?"

Root couldn't say anything in response, because, really, Shaw was right. The better shape her body was in, the better she could serve Her as Her interface. Subject to the law of diminishing returns, of course. She hadn't been chosen for her body, after all.

Shaw seemed to take her silence as assent and started listing off a training regimen which should help her improve in a reasonable amount of time. "Assuming you manage to find the time and space to regularly follow it," she added dryly.

"That's not really within my control at the moment, now is it?"

"I'll talk to your apartment manager. See what I can arrange."

Root managed a smile. "You're so good to me."

Shaw tilted her head slightly. "No point having a knife if it breaks when you use it."

"And you always put things in the sweetest way," she said, reaching out a little towards her.

Shaw stepped back a pace, her expression becoming flat once more. "That's me." She turned and started jogging away, Bear on her heels, though not quite at the pace she had before. "After I drop the dog off, let's see what your gun skills are like."

Root tried for a pout, but found herself having problems maintaining it whilst attempting to keep up with Shaw. "I thought you *liked* my shooting. Thought it gave you a thrill."

"Interested in seeing how well you do without someone whispering in your ear."

"What makes you think that's a concern? Do you doubt Her?"

"Phones can be taken away. Thought you'd be aware of that one."

A smile twisted Root's face. "Do you really think that phones are Her only voice?"

Shaw stopped dead and turned around. "Saying something?"

"Only that underestimating a god could be considered hubris."

Shaw turned back around and started jogging again. "So, no gun practise?"

"Not today. Maybe some other time, if we have a little mutual space in our schedules."

"Unarmed combat, then," Shaw said after a moment, flashing a half-smirk over one shoulder. "Like to see the Machine talk you through that."

"Aw, Shaw, if you wanted to get up and close and sweaty with me, you only had to ask."

Shaw hit her twice, a palm strike to the chest followed by a punch to the stomach, bypassing her guard like it wasn't even there, and suddenly Root was on the floor. Again. This time wheezing as well as with another couple of bruises. It was probably just as well that Root hadn't sunk any of her self-worth in this arena.

"Okay," Shaw said. "Think I've got a fairly good idea of what style you have."

Root spent a few minutes catching her breath. "Not that this hasn't been a delight," she finally croaked. "But does that mean that we're done with this for the day?"

Any notions about this situation's ripeness for flirtation Root might have had, Shaw had swiftly dispelled. Not that Root was necessarily against a little recreational pain - inflicting or suffering it - but being repeatedly dismantled by Shaw in half a dozen different ways wasn't really Root's jam.

Looking up at Shaw, her eyes veiled, face with only a hint of a flush, Root assessed the odds were even as to whether it was Shaw's. Normally that'd be enough for Root. More than enough, even.

But not at the moment. Not… just… at the moment. It'd be just her luck if Shaw actually called her on it, only for Root's libido to have written cheques her body wasn't up to cashing. At the moment.

"Got everything I wanted," Shaw said. "Had some training. Could use some more." She listed some styles that she thought would complement the way Root fought. Some teachers too. "Maybe you can sell it to Finch as self-improvement."

Root climbed to her feet. "Shaw, the diplomat, huh?" She smiled. "Of course, I might just do that. I'm sure that his expression would be a delight."

"Go ahead. Maybe when I'm around?"

Root laughed. "Of course. It'd be the least I could do, since you've so much effort into making a start on my self-improvement today."

"Not that much effort."

"I'm sure that there's *something* I can do to change that," Root said, taking a step forward.

Shaw took a step back. "Still a prisoner. And if you're feeling that much better, it's time to take you back to the cage."

Root pouted. "If you keep on rejecting me like this, a girl could get a complex."

"Feel free," she said, then started walking away. Root sighed, a little dramatically, but followed after.

"Thanks," Shaw said suddenly.

"Oh? Shouldn't I be thanking you?"

Shaw shrugged. "Needed a workout. After everything that's happened recently."

"I'm glad that my pain and suffering could serve a good cause," Root replied softly.

"I'm getting all teary here," Shaw said, then started walking faster.

All in all, it had taken Samantha almost a week to break the security of Deckard Electronics, snatching time on the school computers, evading the all-too friendly attention of Ms Chotai about the details of her latest project.

Once she did have access, she hadn't been able to resist snooping a little. And that had led to some more hacking and some more investigation in turn. It took another week before she was ready to phone the number that Mr Dyer had given her, and arrange a time to meet.

"You don't work for Deckard Electronics," she said without preamble. "You work for one of their competitors, Osiris."

He blinked, then laughed, uneasily. "I see. Well, thank you for your time, Ms Groves," he said, then turned to go.

"You wanted to access their mainframe, didn't you?" she asked as he walked away. "I've got a list of what I think you might be interested in, if you're willing to talk money."

He stopped, then turned around, with a smile on his face.

"I think we can talk business," he said.

Root knocked on Shaw's apartment door that night. Silence reigned for a couple of minutes until the door opened a crack to reveal a sliver of Shaw's face.

"Do I want to know why you're here?"

"Technically," Root said. "I'm not a prisoner at the moment."

"Not sure an escapee is any better," she said, but her lips quirked a little.

"Am I really an escapee if I came here?" she asked. "And I *promise* to be back in the cage before Harold notices."

"Thought you had this whole mission thing. What does the Machine have to say about this?"

Root blinked faux-innocently. "I'm told that time off to relax is important for even the most dedicated of us."

The eye that Root could see practically radiated scepticism. "You telling me that this is a Machine-approved… what?"

Root smiled slowly. "Booty call? Well, if that's what we both decide. I don't know about you, but I haven't been laid in *months*."

Shaw just looked at her. "Really."

"Well, haven't you *wondered*? And I highly doubt that I'll be around *that* much longer. It could be our last chance."

"Last chance, huh?" Shaw said, her voice softening slightly, but the door didn't move a millimetre.

"Still, if you're not interested," Root said, slowly turning around. "I guess I can find *someone* in this city to occupy myself with. Somewhere you can't keep an eye on me."

She wasn't offering anything, really - she *wasn't.* But that didn't stop her feeling an odd tension in her stomach, like she was just about to step onto a high wire.

"Okay," Shaw said, opening the door, revealing the gun she'd had pressed to it.

"Okay?" Root queried, still not quite able to breathe, not just yet.

"Okay," Shaw said, gesturing an invitation to her apartment. "One time only and you're going to be back in the cage before Finch notices anything."

Root inhaled, and the tension bled out of her body as she swayed past Shaw, pausing only to caress her face. "I think I can live with that."