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[cactusy]

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[cactusy]

the word is team, Finch

[ornithologist]

That really doesn't feel like it encapsulates everything for me.

[ Harold hasn't considered himself on a team before, ever, and he of course has no military experience. His life has been largely extremely solitary, with lone singular exceptions. What he's found with Team Machine is very unusual and entirely unexpected for him. ]

[cactusy]

why not?

[It's a genuine question. For most of her adult life, teammates and partners have been the epitome of her social bonds. In her eyes, the word devalues nothing.]

[ornithologist]

[ He can't use the word family. He can't. But Harold doesn't know another word for his realization that there are limits to who and what he would give up in order to stick to his self-defined rules.

He decided to commit murder, coldly and deliberately, in order to protect them. That's so far past being a team. ]

Perhaps it sounds too measured to me. And I've realized I'm not sure how to measure the lengths to which I'd go for any of you.

[cactusy]

once you've been through boot camp, teammate stops being a measured word

[But even so - it's not as if everything since bootcamp hasn't been a continual escalation of responsibility and stakes.]

you went to great lengths for me before you even really me

definitely before you liked me

[Or rather, he'd gone to great lengths for Cole. But to her, that amounts to the same thing.]

[ornithologist]

That's hardly the same. I made it my business to help whoever I could, and knowing or liking someone has never been a prerequisite.

But after Root's death I realized I was willing to kill Samaritan to prevent it from happening to any of you.

[ Their deaths shouldn't weigh more on Harold than anyone else's, but they do. He's had to accept that he can have favorites not just in regards to his personal feelings but in regards to his values, and it still rests uncomfortably. He hasn't quite figured out how to reconcile what he's now capable of with the rules he's always followed. ]

[cactusy]

you shouldn't feel bad about that

[Look, it doesn't take dynamite people skills to figure out what's being left unsaid here. She can read between the lines.]

I know that probably doesn't mean much coming from me

I'm not someone whose moral advice anyone should follow

but you're not a machine, Harold. you're allowed to be human about this

[ornithologist]

If I'm willing to follow the actual Machine's then I don't see why I wouldn't follow yours.

But really, it's not morals. I've always been a coward in some ways. Root wanted so badly for me to do more than I was. She knew, as I think no one else did, that I could have stopped this a dozen times over if I'd really wanted to. If I feel badly, it's for who I used to be, not who I am now.

I'm trying to finally listen to her. It seems like the least I could do.

[cactusy]

me, too


[;_; ]

I talked to the Machine

[ornithologist]

[ He doesn't know what he expected from that confession -- some sort of recrimination, certainly, that he'd passively allowed what happened to her and to Root through his own inaction -- but the simple acceptance surprises and unmoors him slightly. Harold is pulled out of his morose self-reflection into irresistible curiosity.

It's very few people who've spoken with the Machine. ]

You did? In Root's voice? She was quite talkative toward the end.

[cactusy]

yeah

it was weird

I didn't know that to think about it at first, but it turns out I didn't hate it

[ornithologist]

I thought so as well. It was initially unnerving, but...

The Machine said she found replicating Root's voice comforting.

[cactusy]

you said she

[ornithologist]

Root got to me eventually.

And I am trying to listen to her.

[cactusy]

thanks

[ornithologist]

Are you thanking me on her behalf?

[ He doesn't know how he feels about that. He's still... emotional, about Root. ]

[cactusy]

no

on mine

[ornithologist]

I miss her, too.

Constantly.

[cactusy]

I think about her a lot

[ornithologist]

[ He imagines Shaw does not have a lot of avenues for this conversation, and unlike himself she may actually desire it without realizing that's what she desires, so he asks deliberately: ]

What do you think about?

[cactusy]

I don't know

Stuff that reminds me of her, I guess

I usually don't plan to think about her, it just happens

[ornithologist]

Grief is like that.

[ Harold has a lot of experience with grief. He can recognize it. ]

Mr. Carver reminded me of her recently. I realized that as long as he didn't think I actually created God, his religious beliefs couldn't possibly phase me.

[cactusy]

I'm glad weird religion stuff and stubbornness are the only things they have in common

[ornithologist]

I did tell him not to take her as an example to live up to. Not that I think anyone could.

I'm quite certain she was, and always will be, entirely singular.

[cactusy]

[Shaw feels a faint burning sensation behind her eyes - rare for her, but not completely unheard of, even though she mostly associates it with things like extremely smoky environments and excruciating amounts of pain. She waits to see if a tear or two will break through, the way one had that day in the subway.

No dice.]

yeah

but if she ever shows up here, don't tell her that. her ego's big enough.