cactusy | IC contact for lastvoyages

You have an important role too.

[ The Machine cares about Shaw as more than just an asset. She apologized for not being about to save her. She apologized to all of them. She apologized to Root because there was no scenario in which she would've survived that day. ]

I'm the one who's got things to work on, though. That's why I'm an inmate.

Yeah, I know. I just mean...

[The furrow deepens as she tries to figure out how to explain this.]

I get why this is hard for you. Anyone who's close to you shares you. You're the Analog Interface; it's a given from the start. But you've never shared me before - you've either had all of me, or not had me at all. And when someone needs to run off on some special mission or task that they and only they can do... it's always been you. You've never been the one left behind. For that kind of thing, I mean.

[Shaw might not know all the details, but she definitely gets the impression that Root has a long history with abandonment and loss. But that's not the kind of thing that she's talking about here. For all that a warden's tasks are frustrating and vague, she's still working directly for the Admiral, trusted with special tasks and privilege and knowledge. Expected to put the mission first.]

[ It's trud: she hates having to share Shaw this way. At home, they're both on the same team, working toward the same goal. Root knows what's going on, and if she doesn't, she can ask the Machine to check on Shaw for her, and She will because She's committed to keeping Shaw and the rest of them safe.

Being unable to really do anything is frustrating. Not the way it felt to be in Ridgewood; more like the way it felt when she watched Hanna get into that car, knowing it would end badly, and told the adults around her what she saw only to be dismissed or misheard or whatever else it might've been. And then there's just the fact that life, and people, and missions all keep getting in their way. Root doesn't want an idyllic, quiet life, but she does want some kind of stability. At least, she wants the security of knowing all the players on the board and the tools at their disposal.

Here, she doesn't have that. She's not even an interface. She's just analogue. Biological. An accident of evolution lile everyone else back home.

At least she makes good soup. She brings both bowls to the couch, a spoon in each, and holds one out to Shaw. Root is smiling like she's out in a crowd, a small, pleasant, vacant thing, done by rote, just going through the motions. ]

Guess I'll just have to get myself into some trouble. Then I'll be right in the middle of things.

And I'll do my job and kick your ass.

[Shaw sits up; she takes her bowl. With her hands full, she carefully and deliberately leans forward until the top of the head presses against Root's arm, and with more gravity than Root's words or expression ask for, she says: ]

Thanks.

[But then her brow furrows again. ]

Root.

That's Tim's job.

[ But this is really sweet, so Root doesn't sit yet. ]

Hm?

You wanna do your fake-smile-for-other-people thing, that's fine.

[And she sounds like she means it; she isn't offended by the mask, even as she recognizes it for what it is.]

I just don't want you to feel like you have to, or that you're bothering me if you don't. Do it for your own reasons, whatever they are, but don't ever just do it for my sake. Okay?L

Okay.

[ It's easy to just agree to that and move on, and she's glad Shaw always gives her that option. Root would much rather lean in and kiss Shaw on the forehead than discuss her nearly constant smile anyway.

That done, she sits next to Shaw on the couch and starts eating. ]

[Okay. As long as Root doesn't think Shaw wouldn't want to be bothered by her messier feelings, and as long as she knows that Shaw wouldn't reject her for them... then that's fine. She settles in to eat herself, her arm brushing lightly against Root's as she operates her spoon.]

Where'd you learn to cook like this, anyway?

[ Oh yes a distraction. ]

Books. I taught myself the basics in middle school. Then I kept having to do odd jobs to get to where I needed to be to do my actual job, so I kept refining my technique. Now it's second nature.

[ Root says this like it didn't start because her mother wasn't always able to cook, and like her actual job wasn't usually killing people or hacking into their networks. Or both. ]

I guess it's kind of like how playing an instrument involves practice so you don't lose what you've learned.

I cooked more as a kid than I do as an adult. I think I've cooked more here in the past two months than I did in the past two-- three years in New York.

[Three years, to exclude her year in Samaritan's hands.]

My dad worked long hours, though, and my mom and I liked to have hot food waiting for him when he got back. And when he had a day off and she was at work, we returned the favor for her.

That's so sweet.

[ Said sincerely. It's really sweet that Shaw cooked with both her parents. It must have been nice. ]

Do you like cooking? Really enjoy it, I mean. I do. The smells, the colors, the flavors... it's fun.

I guess. I like the memories more than I like the act itself, but it's fine.

That sounds really nice.

[ Root's earliest memories of cooking are lonely, framed by needing to do it, rather than wanting to. It's much less so now, where the end result is sitting here with Shaw, relaxed, just being. ]

The best part is having someone you love to eat it with.

[In response to that, Shaw slurps up a big spoonful of soup, then presses her shoulder against Root's.]

[ Snickering, Root leans in to kiss Shaw on the cheek. ]

I'll get a bunch of blankets when we're done. And then we can snuggle as we digest.

[I should go out, her brain tells her again. I need to get to work; I need to do my job.

But even though her mouth thins into a line, she leans into Root again, nodding.]

Yeah. That sounds good.

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