[ when he can't reach either of them via the tablet, he checks the apartment, only to find it empty. from then on, he checks every day — until coming there through the mirror to nothing but empty rooms becomes too depressing, and he leaves behind a note instead.
overly optimistic of him, perhaps... but he doesn't want to think they might be gone. just like he doesn't want to think jinx is gone; just like he didn't want to accept shinji being gone. ]
TO ROOT & SHAW,
It's been five days, now. I keep hoping that I'm gonna come back to you guys being here, but with every day, well, that's looking a little less likely. Still, if you do come back and read this... I hope you guys are okay. If you remember me, give me a heads up you're back, yeah? And if you don't, well, just know there's someone who cares about you both a lot.
[ Root really isn't used to having friends in the conventional sense. Anyone she cares about at home who knows her genuinely is used to her pulling a disappearing act on a regular basis, sometimes for extended periods of time. It's not that she thinks they don't worry about her at all, but she's chosen the kind of life she leads and she doesn't really invite external commentary on her decisions. She doesn't even really let Shaw have a say most of the time.
She operates in the moment with the lightning-fast flash of synapse and most of the time there's no one there for her to disappoint.
As a result, it's surreal when she finds Charles's note. She actually reads it three times, a little more emotional than she wants to admit. She hasn't had a note like this to her, her real identity and person, Root, since...
Maybe ever. Hanna always knew her as Samantha, after all.
So it takes her a few minutes, but eventually she messages him. Root decides to apologize, which she doesn't do lightly -- mostly because she fully expects Charles wouldn't demand one if she didn't give it. ]
We're back now. I'm sorry. Not used to having anyone who worries when I'm gone.
[ once again, her instinct is correct — there are no apologies that he expects to receive, doesn't even really want them. all he cares about is this: the response, and what it means. that root and shaw are both alright, that they're back, and selfishly, that they still remember him.
and so all he responds with is, ]
sure, on my way
[ it really doesn't take him long at all — there's a large mirror in the entryway, left there from when he used to actually, you know, live there; he enters through that instead of the door like a normal person, and the moment he spots root, he makes a beeline for her —
just so he can throw his arms around her and squeeze her into a hug. ]
Hey, [ he says, and the relief all but brims in his voice. ] It's good to have you back.
[ Although she doesn't give or receive a lot of hugs, Root isn't shy about them in the slightest; she leans in readily and just breathes for a moment as they embrace. When they pull away, she recovers only a little distance, at ease with physical proximity.
She is subtly a little different from the Root that met Charles when she first showed up. She's more sure of herself, more sad, more resolute. The peppy spark comes and goes now, and right now it's gone. ]
Good to be back, [ she agrees. ] I died once already so I figured a second time wouldn't be a big deal, but I wouldn't recommend it. I have a major hangover, for one thing.
[ Root's not going to admit to Shaw anything past a surface that wasn't as easy for me as it looks because she knows Shaw hadn't wanted her to do it in the first place, and is wrestling with some guilt over it, despite her inevitable protestations to the contrary. But here, with Charles, she can say that she hadn't enjoyed death. Root can get herself to do anything, through anything, as she'd told him before-- but it doesn't mean she doesn't feel it. ]
[ that is a good thing, because charles hugs with his entire being — throws his whole damn soul into it, squeezing her close and tucking his face against her shoulder briefly before he lets her go... though not going far is something that suits him just fine. it isn't like he believes people will disappear if he isn't within a touching distance, like edwin was torn from him back to hell while he was just a little too far to intervene... but, well. if he's close enough to root to touch her should she show signs of disappearing, that's a good thing, innit?
the admission makes his brows furrow into something like sympathy — not pity, never that, but understanding. ]
... Yeah. I get it. Maybe you heard of the Gnos infection, but I — well. If I had to pick between reliving my death by hypothermia and internal bleeding for the fourth time [ yes he did say fourth, let's not linger there, ] or getting gutted by an iron sword, I'd still take the hypothermia.
[ with a slight shake of his head, ] Dying's never easy. Not if you do it twice, not if you do it five times, not if you do it for seventy years over and over again. [ a very specific reference, that, let's not linger there either. ]
[ Her expression tightens subtly, Root's usual devil-may-care attitude dampened and turned sharp like a concealed knife. She won't ask about the details but she does reach out and touch his arm again and say, with no trace of lightness: ]
Offer to throw anyone in the trash who needs it still stands.
[ Just putting that on the table in case he needs it. And if throw them in the trash is a metaphor for whatever needs doing-- murder, torture, extortion or long-term deceit-- well. Root's up for that, and she knows she can pull Shaw in with her, from boredom if nothing else.
Offer aside, she could say her real, meaningful death was from bleeding out, too, but that's not what she wants to talk about. Her features twist. There's no one else really she can think of to talk to about this that will get it in the same way Charles probably will, not get it and care, and Root is surprised to find she feels like she needs someone to care. Because it's not about her, not really; it's about Shaw.
And she can't stand hearing one more time that she should let Shaw go. ]
Shaw has died a lot, too, [ she says quietly, pulling her hand back. ] In simulations. I needed to test the system here, prove to her that it wouldn't be reset when we died.
[ Root doesn't regret it, but the weight of what Shaw's been through-- because of her-- has been a lot to carry by herself. ]
Thanks, [ he says, and it's a quiet thing, far from being dismissive — as overwhelming as the knowledge that root does in fact mean it all is, well. it warms him, too, the kind of care that would extend to everything she's offering in the implications.
but then she continues, and charles feels a hollowness inside his chest; shaw has died a lot, too, she says, and test the system, and suddenly the entire picture rearranges itself in his head to something completely different — and heartbreaking. ]
... Fuck, [ he says after a moment. ] Then, this — god, this has got to be hell for her, innit? [ he takes a breath he absolutely does not need except in a subconscious way, a reflex more than anything. when he speaks again, it's with a quiet tone far more mature than what he looks like, understanding and sympathy mingled in his voice, ]
I wish you didn't have to do that in the first place... but I get it. To show her it's not the same, yeah? [ a pause. ] When someone you love's been through — Hell, it's... you'd do anything, wouldn't you? Anything. [ anything. he thinks of the door to hell, of the staircase, of going down there with a map in a notebook and a promise of if i get us out we'll both come to be judged by the lost and found department, and if we both get stuck down there, well, you'll know where we are. to say he gets it is an understatement. ]
[ Unreasonable loyalty is Root's lifeblood, and she absolutely understands what Charles is saying, down to her core. The absurd irrational lengths to which they'd go to keep someone. She'd gone after Shaw even when it had endangered the war they were fighting, and it had, a few times. Root had struggled with her decision not to constantly, actively search for her in the absence of leads, but when she had a lead she chased it down to its bitterest end.
That applies to her friends, too, if to a somewhat lesser extent. Root means it and know what she's committing to when she makes an offer to look out for someone, like she just had. But at the moment there's a whole host of her unresolved feelings about Shaw's situation welling up and pushing her heart into her throat, a visceral ache of emotion.
It was so recent for her and she'd had so little chance to process it before dying... and now dying again. ]
It was over seven thousand times, Charles. She's doing amazing being stuck here after that.
[ There's tears in her voice that she blinks back out of her eyes impatiently. Root doesn't want to give all of Shaw's very personal secrets away, not even to a good friend, but the part of this that's applicable to her and her actions she considers fair game. ]
She went through that because she came back to save me. I think I can go a few rounds to prove to her that I'm here, and not going away.
[ It doesn't begin to make things even, but that's not really the point. ]
[ it was over seven thousand times, she says, and charles sways on his feet a little — it isn't like he can feel dizzy, but somehow the unfairness of it all hits him like a missile, crashes into his heart and leaves it in pieces; that someone else has had to go through something like that, too, that it isn't just one clerical error, landing an innocent boy in the worst place in all existence for decades, but this, too. shaw, suffering, over and over and over again.
his voice is somewhat choked when he says, ]
Yeah, I get it. [ a pause, and his voice still tries to catch in his throat, but he pushes through, ] My best mate back home, he... he spent seventy-three years in Hell. On a mistake, a — technicality, he wasn't ever supposed to be there. And in Hell, you've got your own personal place there, yeah? So he was —
[ god, this is hard to talk about; he's never, never spoken about this to anyone before, not in detail. he has to look up, and still his eyes well with tears until his gaze blurs, and fuck, but he hates this so much, his own helplessness, the idea that edwin had spent so, so long in that horror show, and there's absolutely nothing charles can do about it. ]
His hell was this spider demon, catching him and ripping him apart, and he'd, he'd respawn every time that happened. For seventy-three years. He was there for a day or so when I went to get him, the second time, and there was — this pile of his bodies, yeah, in the corner. Just one day —
[ he fights for the breath he doesn't need, and then looks at root; there's tears falling down his face, but he doesn't really care. ] I get it. I'd die a thousand times over if it meant he never has to go through that again.
[ Root's a physical person and she knows Charles is what she would call touchy-feely. She doesn't hesitate to reach out and hug him again, responding to his open crying wordlessly and immediately. She gives him a long moment of solid hugging before she withdraws, and oddly now her own tears seem to have dried up. Root has plenty of feelings but she never, ever flinches from hard things, no matter how awful. She puts up with her own sentiments to a certain point, but past that, things need to get done.
And she sees now that Charles is the same way. Went to get him, huh? Went to literal hell for his best mate, who was there by mistake. A technicality. Root doesn't believe in hell and doesn't know what that truly means in this context, but Charles was explicit enough, and she respects immensely what's laying unspoken beneath his words.
Shaw had known what she was doing and done it willingly, so Root wouldn't ever insult her by suggesting she should've made a different choice. But knowing that hadn't made her desperate need to get her back any less fierce. She knows exactly what Charles means, like a resonance tuned to the same pitch. ]
It's never going to be enough, [ Root says bluntly, ] whatever we can do, it's not enough. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't do it.
I won't ever give up on her. The pile of bodies in the corner -- I'll drag them all out with me if I have to.
[ She'll face each and every individual corpse if she needs to, is what she means, each trace and shred of trauma left behind. There's no amount that's too much, that would dissuade her or turn her away. ]
[ he half-collapses against her, tucking his face against the crook of her neck as he fights to breathe evenly, to stop the tears — and he's never allowed himself to cry over this before, has never stopped to think about it all with the clarity he now has, to see the horror of it all in perfect detail instead of the vague notes he'd known prior to venturing there himself. his tears are for edwin as much as they are for every other unfortunate, undeserving soul down there.
and yet, despite the horrors, he knows he'd go there again, and again, and again, if needed.
he sniffles as she lets go of him, brushes his hand under his eyes and nods. ]
... Yeah. I know. [ that it's not enough, and that they need to do it, regardless.
and then, with a tremulous tilt of his lips, ] She's lucky to have you.
[ Root has been operating on nonstop adrenaline ever since Harold let her out of the locked book cage at the library two years ago, and she understands perfectly what it's like to not take the time and space to process. You need safety for that, ideally a sympathetic ear or shoulder to cry on, and in her life there is just never any time.
Like there isn't now. This is an absurd, remarkable, miraculous second chance -- she still thinks maybe the Machine put her here on purpose, but maybe for more than one reason, now -- and Root doesn't think she'll get a third. She has to make use of it. She went from expecting to die in a war to knowing she already did. ]
We're lucky to have you, [ Root says firmly, keeping her hands clasped on his arms like she's bracing him. ] There's no one-- there's really no one else I could talk to about this.
[ Not like this. Harold isn't here. Even before she'd known they had something in common in this regard, Root had known Charles would be the right audience. ]
[ we're lucky to have you, she says, and charles' expression very nearly crumbles again — because as many friends as he can say he's made here in aldrip, he still fully believes the people who could say this to him could be counted with one hand, both here and home. because he's, well, he's spent all his life and afterlife hoping he could be good enough, that maybe if he makes people happy then it'll be enough —
he manages a nod, though, because he does get her, and this situation... is quite so specific, really, he can't imagine there are too many others here who would relate.
with a shake sigh, he says, ] Just, puts one old death in perspective, doesn't it?
[ so what happened to him, and what happened to root... horrible as it is that they're both dead, well. how does it compare, in any way, to what shaw and edwin have gone through? it doesn't, that's what. ]
[ Charles is such an unfailingly giving and kind person, it seems like he should have a legion of people lining up to say how lucky they are to know him, but Root wouldn't be surprised to hear he doesn't. However cavalier she sounds when she teases him for being wholesome, she knows there is a fundamental truth behind being that giving and kind: that you get abused for it.
She's used to being guardian for Harold -- a guardian who argues with him, disagrees and respects him simultaneously -- who let herself change and be changed by him. Root already knows what it's like to care for someone who tries to take care of everyone else at any expense.
Sometimes she gets impatient or frustrated with it, but ultimately, it's that kind of mentality that had made the Machine. ]
What happened to Shaw, to your friend-- it's senseless. It's cruel. [ Root takes a breath, feeling an old, old anger at the unfairness and injustice in the world well up inside her and threaten to choke her, and she has to think about Harold, alive because of her, to salve it. ]
I chose my death. With the life I've led, a good death is a privilege. I was lucky to have it.
[ and perhaps that is a surprising thing to hear him say, what with all of his endless optimism and cheer and kindness — but no, he knows all too well what a terrible place the world can be, how unfair, how unjust, how so many people die and no one cares.
but instead of letting that make him jaded, instead of letting that push him into cynicism, charles has made the conscious decision to let that make him better. that if no one else cares... then he will. that at least he will be as good and kind and caring as he can, because, well. change starts with you, don't it?
and yet, when root speaks of choosing her death... he can't help but bite his lip. ] Maybe. I mean, I get it, sort of. Would I rather have chosen my death than what it was? Yeah, sure. But good or bad... a death's a death.
[ When she'd first arrived in Aldrip, she was coming from a point when she hadn't known Harold that well. But now Root has spent over a year by his side and she knows him much better, realizes his distaste for ugliness isn't naivete or weakness like she'd originally thought. Charles is really starting to remind her of Harold in a certain way, that obstinate resolution for goodness wrapped up in a different package. So she's not too surprised to hear that from Charles, with all that time with Harold behind her; she knows already Charles isn't ignorant -- how could he be, if he's solving mysteries to put ghosts to rest? He must have seen all kinds of awfulness -- but she is relieved a little, and achingly warmed.
Root couldn't be this close to someone who didn't know how to look at the ugliness that's there. That sometimes she has to be the one to do.
She sees his reticence and prods at it mercilessly, her voice confident and strong. She'd learned a few things from Harold, too. ] The Machine once told me that when she was learning how to understand people, it was often the moment right before their death that told her the most.
In the grand cosmic scheme of things, sure, death is death. But if that's all I believed then I'd still be killing people for money, no questions asked. [ Root speaks bluntly of her own sins, ruthlessly. ] There are deaths people don't deserve.
[ And conversely, those they do. Root believes that wholeheartedly. ]
[ he looks away, for a moment, chuckles humourlessly. ]
What, right before their death? So what would she get out of a boy sacrificed to a demon, utterly terrified? Or a girl, stabbed through the chest and bleeding out on the floor?
[ edwin, niko — unfair, unfair, unfair. he shakes his head. ] That's not what I meant. A death's a death — whoever it is that dies, whether they deserved it or not, however they went... there's no undo button.
[ because no matter what, that life... is gone. and it's not that he disagrees with root, not really — yeah, sure, there's deaths that people don't deserve, and deaths they do. there's deaths people choose, and deaths they don't. but in the end, ] I can't bring back anyone, can I? Every single unfair death, every ghost I meet, whether they deserved to die or not... there's no way to bring them back to life. There's enough death in the world without me adding to it. Maybe someone's fit to choose who deserves to live and who deserves to die, but as long as I can't make sure of the former, I'm not gonna do the latter, either.
[ Root meets Charles's eyes insistently, a full wellspring of passionate belief burgeoning up inside her. The dedication and devotion that she has, that she chooses to direct at the Machine, at Harold, at Sameen, and now a little bit at Charles. Someone strong enough not just to survive but to change. ]
If one person loves us, remembers us -- if we help even one person -- there's something that goes on after us. People die and they can't come back. We can't come back.
But there's a person I care about very much -- [ she stumbles a bit verbally, realizing the way she describes Harold has changed, that he's no longer the man who made god or the architect of the future, but in this context just-- ] a friend, the best I've ever had. He's alive out there because of me.
The world is harsh and terrible, but that doesn't make it pointless. Not like being killed over and over again, like a life is cheap.
[ She used to think that way, believed it fully as a way to protect and insulate herself, but she can't anymore. She just can't. It's been too many years with the Machine and with Harold. ]
[ he can't help but huff something like a laugh at that — because, well, obviously people don't end when they die, he's not-living proof of exactly that. but their lives sure do end.
but then she keeps talking, and charles can't help the way his eyes soften with sadness when she keeps speaking about her friend — it hits a little too close to home, that, even if ultimately it's hardly the same thing, how she died and how he did.
and yet... ]
Yeah, I know. Course it's not pointless. It's harsh and terrible, yeah, but that's why it matters what we do, right? [ so he gets it, he does, he does. ]
... I told you I died to defend someone, too, didn't I?
[ Obvious to him, maybe. To Root and her entire world, the afterlife is still a giant question mark, one she doesn't personally believe in. The only form of afterlife she knows is what she has here, and the assurance that her actions in life had meant something after she was gone.
But right now is not the time to be proselytizing the Machine's message, and Charles doesn't need to hear it. He's been nothing but completely respectful of her, so Root has nothing to prove in that regard, and this conversation isn't really about that. ]
Yeah. You did. [ Root meets his eyes with a soft painful kind of empathy. ] And I said we should trade stories sometime.
[ She'd already shared a bit of hers, so she stops there, leaves the air open. ]
[ trade stories? maybe. his isn't — it's not the kind of story he imagines hers might be, dying to protect a friend, choosing death because that's a better option than letting someone else die; his is depressing, really, and the two people he's told about it before, here... well, both had been angry about it, in their own ways.
he isn't sure he wants root's anger, or her pity, but at least speaking the truth of it all, to her, isn't making him feel like he wants to drop through the floor, so that's something. ]
Not much of a story, [ he says, tilting his head up, looking at the ceiling. ] There was this new guy at school, from Pakistan. And a group of blokes, some of my friends [ his voice does something strange at the word 'friends', there, brittle and yet huffing with something like humour, ] from the cricket team, they were picking on him, yeah? Except then it got... serious, and I thought, hell, I'm not any different from him, am I? So I stopped them.
[ and gave them a new target, really. he's not explaining the rest, the lake and the stones and how he'd thought he'd just get away from them, dry off somewhere, how it'd be fine. how he'd died of hypothermia and internal bleeding and hadn't even realised, until he was already dead, looking down at his own body. ]
[ Root is angry, sure enough, but she's not surprised. There's no ounce of surprise in her, so it doesn't turn to outrage. It's the same low-simmering anger she's carried with her all her life, it feels, since she was twelve, since Hanna disappeared and died and no one in their community dared to question the respectable man who'd done it. She's also expecting Charles to have some sad story like this behind his death. No one dies that young and has anything good behind it -- and she still has a weakness hidden a mile deep for people who died young. ]
They probably didn't mean to kill you, but you were dead anyway, [ she says matter of factly, because Root knows how easy and simple it is to kill someone without meaning to. She'd be a poor assassin if she didn't. Sometimes she's had collateral damage and in retrospect she feels ... regret. True regret. ]
What you did means something, Charles. It means you're a good person.
[ Maybe that's rudimentary, maybe it should be a foregone conclusion, but Root feels like it needs to be said aloud because it means so much to her when someone is good. It's not a foregone conclusion, it's not a certainty; people who are good like this are precious and rare and she wants to make sure they know that she recognizes that. That who they are is something special. ]
[ it is an easy thing, for him to nod at that first thing — yeah, that's what he thinks, too. that they didn't mean for it to happen; that's why he bristles at the times someone calls him a murder victim, because yeah, sure, they meant to hurt him, but... no, he doesn't think any of them did it with the intent to kill.
but then more words are spoken, what you did means something, and he's abruptly reminded of sitting on the floor in one of the rooms at the inn, leaning against the wall, his own voice faded away from telling the details of his death, junpei staring at the floor with blazing eyes and saying, fuck them, for real, you did everything right —
he can't quite help the way the words, different though they are, hit him in a similar way. except now he can smile at root, softly, and say, ]
You're the second person ever to say something like that to me, you know. That it wasn't for nothing.
[ Victim is such a loaded word. Has Root had victims? Technically, according to the criminal justice system, she's had plenty. But who gets to be a victim and who doesn't is something she's all too conscientious of. She's sure she was buried in an unmarked grave and that no one had even tried to track down the sniper who'd shot her. No one except Shaw. Whether or not someone counts as a victim is a story society tells itself to make sense of death. Root doesn't need it to make sense. It's messy and contradictory and she thrives in that kind of ambiguity.
She can also tell when she's hit something sensitive and immediately turns supportive. ]
See? [ she says lightly. ] The Machine was right. The moment before you died does say a lot about you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
during root & shaw being gone;
overly optimistic of him, perhaps... but he doesn't want to think they might be gone. just like he doesn't want to think jinx is gone; just like he didn't want to accept shinji being gone. ]
TO ROOT & SHAW,
It's been five days, now. I keep hoping that I'm gonna come back to you guys being here, but with every day, well, that's looking a little less likely. Still, if you do come back and read this... I hope you guys are okay. If you remember me, give me a heads up you're back, yeah? And if you don't, well, just know there's someone who cares about you both a lot.
— C.R.
no subject
She operates in the moment with the lightning-fast flash of synapse and most of the time there's no one there for her to disappoint.
As a result, it's surreal when she finds Charles's note. She actually reads it three times, a little more emotional than she wants to admit. She hasn't had a note like this to her, her real identity and person, Root, since...
Maybe ever. Hanna always knew her as Samantha, after all.
So it takes her a few minutes, but eventually she messages him. Root decides to apologize, which she doesn't do lightly -- mostly because she fully expects Charles wouldn't demand one if she didn't give it. ]
We're back now. I'm sorry. Not used to having anyone who worries when I'm gone.
Come back to the apartment and I'll explain?
no subject
and so all he responds with is, ]
sure, on my way
[ it really doesn't take him long at all — there's a large mirror in the entryway, left there from when he used to actually, you know, live there; he enters through that instead of the door like a normal person, and the moment he spots root, he makes a beeline for her —
just so he can throw his arms around her and squeeze her into a hug. ]
Hey, [ he says, and the relief all but brims in his voice. ] It's good to have you back.
no subject
She is subtly a little different from the Root that met Charles when she first showed up. She's more sure of herself, more sad, more resolute. The peppy spark comes and goes now, and right now it's gone. ]
Good to be back, [ she agrees. ] I died once already so I figured a second time wouldn't be a big deal, but I wouldn't recommend it. I have a major hangover, for one thing.
[ Root's not going to admit to Shaw anything past a surface that wasn't as easy for me as it looks because she knows Shaw hadn't wanted her to do it in the first place, and is wrestling with some guilt over it, despite her inevitable protestations to the contrary. But here, with Charles, she can say that she hadn't enjoyed death. Root can get herself to do anything, through anything, as she'd told him before-- but it doesn't mean she doesn't feel it. ]
no subject
the admission makes his brows furrow into something like sympathy — not pity, never that, but understanding. ]
... Yeah. I get it. Maybe you heard of the Gnos infection, but I — well. If I had to pick between reliving my death by hypothermia and internal bleeding for the fourth time [ yes he did say fourth, let's not linger there, ] or getting gutted by an iron sword, I'd still take the hypothermia.
[ with a slight shake of his head, ] Dying's never easy. Not if you do it twice, not if you do it five times, not if you do it for seventy years over and over again. [ a very specific reference, that, let's not linger there either. ]
no subject
Offer to throw anyone in the trash who needs it still stands.
[ Just putting that on the table in case he needs it. And if throw them in the trash is a metaphor for whatever needs doing-- murder, torture, extortion or long-term deceit-- well. Root's up for that, and she knows she can pull Shaw in with her, from boredom if nothing else.
Offer aside, she could say her real, meaningful death was from bleeding out, too, but that's not what she wants to talk about. Her features twist. There's no one else really she can think of to talk to about this that will get it in the same way Charles probably will, not get it and care, and Root is surprised to find she feels like she needs someone to care. Because it's not about her, not really; it's about Shaw.
And she can't stand hearing one more time that she should let Shaw go. ]
Shaw has died a lot, too, [ she says quietly, pulling her hand back. ] In simulations. I needed to test the system here, prove to her that it wouldn't be reset when we died.
[ Root doesn't regret it, but the weight of what Shaw's been through-- because of her-- has been a lot to carry by herself. ]
no subject
but then she continues, and charles feels a hollowness inside his chest; shaw has died a lot, too, she says, and test the system, and suddenly the entire picture rearranges itself in his head to something completely different — and heartbreaking. ]
... Fuck, [ he says after a moment. ] Then, this — god, this has got to be hell for her, innit? [ he takes a breath he absolutely does not need except in a subconscious way, a reflex more than anything. when he speaks again, it's with a quiet tone far more mature than what he looks like, understanding and sympathy mingled in his voice, ]
I wish you didn't have to do that in the first place... but I get it. To show her it's not the same, yeah? [ a pause. ] When someone you love's been through — Hell, it's... you'd do anything, wouldn't you? Anything. [ anything. he thinks of the door to hell, of the staircase, of going down there with a map in a notebook and a promise of if i get us out we'll both come to be judged by the lost and found department, and if we both get stuck down there, well, you'll know where we are. to say he gets it is an understatement. ]
no subject
That applies to her friends, too, if to a somewhat lesser extent. Root means it and know what she's committing to when she makes an offer to look out for someone, like she just had. But at the moment there's a whole host of her unresolved feelings about Shaw's situation welling up and pushing her heart into her throat, a visceral ache of emotion.
It was so recent for her and she'd had so little chance to process it before dying... and now dying again. ]
It was over seven thousand times, Charles. She's doing amazing being stuck here after that.
[ There's tears in her voice that she blinks back out of her eyes impatiently. Root doesn't want to give all of Shaw's very personal secrets away, not even to a good friend, but the part of this that's applicable to her and her actions she considers fair game. ]
She went through that because she came back to save me. I think I can go a few rounds to prove to her that I'm here, and not going away.
[ It doesn't begin to make things even, but that's not really the point. ]
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his voice is somewhat choked when he says, ]
Yeah, I get it. [ a pause, and his voice still tries to catch in his throat, but he pushes through, ] My best mate back home, he... he spent seventy-three years in Hell. On a mistake, a — technicality, he wasn't ever supposed to be there. And in Hell, you've got your own personal place there, yeah? So he was —
[ god, this is hard to talk about; he's never, never spoken about this to anyone before, not in detail. he has to look up, and still his eyes well with tears until his gaze blurs, and fuck, but he hates this so much, his own helplessness, the idea that edwin had spent so, so long in that horror show, and there's absolutely nothing charles can do about it. ]
His hell was this spider demon, catching him and ripping him apart, and he'd, he'd respawn every time that happened. For seventy-three years. He was there for a day or so when I went to get him, the second time, and there was — this pile of his bodies, yeah, in the corner. Just one day —
[ he fights for the breath he doesn't need, and then looks at root; there's tears falling down his face, but he doesn't really care. ] I get it. I'd die a thousand times over if it meant he never has to go through that again.
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And she sees now that Charles is the same way. Went to get him, huh? Went to literal hell for his best mate, who was there by mistake. A technicality. Root doesn't believe in hell and doesn't know what that truly means in this context, but Charles was explicit enough, and she respects immensely what's laying unspoken beneath his words.
Shaw had known what she was doing and done it willingly, so Root wouldn't ever insult her by suggesting she should've made a different choice. But knowing that hadn't made her desperate need to get her back any less fierce. She knows exactly what Charles means, like a resonance tuned to the same pitch. ]
It's never going to be enough, [ Root says bluntly, ] whatever we can do, it's not enough. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't do it.
I won't ever give up on her. The pile of bodies in the corner -- I'll drag them all out with me if I have to.
[ She'll face each and every individual corpse if she needs to, is what she means, each trace and shred of trauma left behind. There's no amount that's too much, that would dissuade her or turn her away. ]
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and yet, despite the horrors, he knows he'd go there again, and again, and again, if needed.
he sniffles as she lets go of him, brushes his hand under his eyes and nods. ]
... Yeah. I know. [ that it's not enough, and that they need to do it, regardless.
and then, with a tremulous tilt of his lips, ] She's lucky to have you.
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Like there isn't now. This is an absurd, remarkable, miraculous second chance -- she still thinks maybe the Machine put her here on purpose, but maybe for more than one reason, now -- and Root doesn't think she'll get a third. She has to make use of it. She went from expecting to die in a war to knowing she already did. ]
We're lucky to have you, [ Root says firmly, keeping her hands clasped on his arms like she's bracing him. ] There's no one-- there's really no one else I could talk to about this.
[ Not like this. Harold isn't here. Even before she'd known they had something in common in this regard, Root had known Charles would be the right audience. ]
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he manages a nod, though, because he does get her, and this situation... is quite so specific, really, he can't imagine there are too many others here who would relate.
with a shake sigh, he says, ] Just, puts one old death in perspective, doesn't it?
[ so what happened to him, and what happened to root... horrible as it is that they're both dead, well. how does it compare, in any way, to what shaw and edwin have gone through? it doesn't, that's what. ]
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She's used to being guardian for Harold -- a guardian who argues with him, disagrees and respects him simultaneously -- who let herself change and be changed by him. Root already knows what it's like to care for someone who tries to take care of everyone else at any expense.
Sometimes she gets impatient or frustrated with it, but ultimately, it's that kind of mentality that had made the Machine. ]
What happened to Shaw, to your friend-- it's senseless. It's cruel. [ Root takes a breath, feeling an old, old anger at the unfairness and injustice in the world well up inside her and threaten to choke her, and she has to think about Harold, alive because of her, to salve it. ]
I chose my death. With the life I've led, a good death is a privilege. I was lucky to have it.
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[ and perhaps that is a surprising thing to hear him say, what with all of his endless optimism and cheer and kindness — but no, he knows all too well what a terrible place the world can be, how unfair, how unjust, how so many people die and no one cares.
but instead of letting that make him jaded, instead of letting that push him into cynicism, charles has made the conscious decision to let that make him better. that if no one else cares... then he will. that at least he will be as good and kind and caring as he can, because, well. change starts with you, don't it?
and yet, when root speaks of choosing her death... he can't help but bite his lip. ] Maybe. I mean, I get it, sort of. Would I rather have chosen my death than what it was? Yeah, sure. But good or bad... a death's a death.
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Root couldn't be this close to someone who didn't know how to look at the ugliness that's there. That sometimes she has to be the one to do.
She sees his reticence and prods at it mercilessly, her voice confident and strong. She'd learned a few things from Harold, too. ] The Machine once told me that when she was learning how to understand people, it was often the moment right before their death that told her the most.
In the grand cosmic scheme of things, sure, death is death. But if that's all I believed then I'd still be killing people for money, no questions asked. [ Root speaks bluntly of her own sins, ruthlessly. ] There are deaths people don't deserve.
[ And conversely, those they do. Root believes that wholeheartedly. ]
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What, right before their death? So what would she get out of a boy sacrificed to a demon, utterly terrified? Or a girl, stabbed through the chest and bleeding out on the floor?
[ edwin, niko — unfair, unfair, unfair. he shakes his head. ] That's not what I meant. A death's a death — whoever it is that dies, whether they deserved it or not, however they went... there's no undo button.
[ because no matter what, that life... is gone. and it's not that he disagrees with root, not really — yeah, sure, there's deaths that people don't deserve, and deaths they do. there's deaths people choose, and deaths they don't. but in the end, ] I can't bring back anyone, can I? Every single unfair death, every ghost I meet, whether they deserved to die or not... there's no way to bring them back to life. There's enough death in the world without me adding to it. Maybe someone's fit to choose who deserves to live and who deserves to die, but as long as I can't make sure of the former, I'm not gonna do the latter, either.
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[ Root meets Charles's eyes insistently, a full wellspring of passionate belief burgeoning up inside her. The dedication and devotion that she has, that she chooses to direct at the Machine, at Harold, at Sameen, and now a little bit at Charles. Someone strong enough not just to survive but to change. ]
If one person loves us, remembers us -- if we help even one person -- there's something that goes on after us. People die and they can't come back. We can't come back.
But there's a person I care about very much -- [ she stumbles a bit verbally, realizing the way she describes Harold has changed, that he's no longer the man who made god or the architect of the future, but in this context just-- ] a friend, the best I've ever had. He's alive out there because of me.
The world is harsh and terrible, but that doesn't make it pointless. Not like being killed over and over again, like a life is cheap.
[ She used to think that way, believed it fully as a way to protect and insulate herself, but she can't anymore. She just can't. It's been too many years with the Machine and with Harold. ]
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but then she keeps talking, and charles can't help the way his eyes soften with sadness when she keeps speaking about her friend — it hits a little too close to home, that, even if ultimately it's hardly the same thing, how she died and how he did.
and yet... ]
Yeah, I know. Course it's not pointless. It's harsh and terrible, yeah, but that's why it matters what we do, right? [ so he gets it, he does, he does. ]
... I told you I died to defend someone, too, didn't I?
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But right now is not the time to be proselytizing the Machine's message, and Charles doesn't need to hear it. He's been nothing but completely respectful of her, so Root has nothing to prove in that regard, and this conversation isn't really about that. ]
Yeah. You did. [ Root meets his eyes with a soft painful kind of empathy. ] And I said we should trade stories sometime.
[ She'd already shared a bit of hers, so she stops there, leaves the air open. ]
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he isn't sure he wants root's anger, or her pity, but at least speaking the truth of it all, to her, isn't making him feel like he wants to drop through the floor, so that's something. ]
Not much of a story, [ he says, tilting his head up, looking at the ceiling. ] There was this new guy at school, from Pakistan. And a group of blokes, some of my friends [ his voice does something strange at the word 'friends', there, brittle and yet huffing with something like humour, ] from the cricket team, they were picking on him, yeah? Except then it got... serious, and I thought, hell, I'm not any different from him, am I? So I stopped them.
[ and gave them a new target, really. he's not explaining the rest, the lake and the stones and how he'd thought he'd just get away from them, dry off somewhere, how it'd be fine. how he'd died of hypothermia and internal bleeding and hadn't even realised, until he was already dead, looking down at his own body. ]
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They probably didn't mean to kill you, but you were dead anyway, [ she says matter of factly, because Root knows how easy and simple it is to kill someone without meaning to. She'd be a poor assassin if she didn't. Sometimes she's had collateral damage and in retrospect she feels ... regret. True regret. ]
What you did means something, Charles. It means you're a good person.
[ Maybe that's rudimentary, maybe it should be a foregone conclusion, but Root feels like it needs to be said aloud because it means so much to her when someone is good. It's not a foregone conclusion, it's not a certainty; people who are good like this are precious and rare and she wants to make sure they know that she recognizes that. That who they are is something special. ]
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but then more words are spoken, what you did means something, and he's abruptly reminded of sitting on the floor in one of the rooms at the inn, leaning against the wall, his own voice faded away from telling the details of his death, junpei staring at the floor with blazing eyes and saying, fuck them, for real, you did everything right —
he can't quite help the way the words, different though they are, hit him in a similar way. except now he can smile at root, softly, and say, ]
You're the second person ever to say something like that to me, you know. That it wasn't for nothing.
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She can also tell when she's hit something sensitive and immediately turns supportive. ]
See? [ she says lightly. ] The Machine was right. The moment before you died does say a lot about you.
And I really like what it says.
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FINALLY done
🎀 gently puts a bow on this, go us!!
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we're good
long story.
[Sameen Shaw, this is why you have no friends.]