Chapter Text
A photo flickered up on the screen. Their latest number, hugging his daughter, taken approximately four years ago at her graduation. Harold blinked at the screen. “Why that one?” he murmured, half to the Machine and half to himself. His musing was cut short by the echo of heels entering the subway station. He twisted himself around to look at Root as she walked in.
“Good evening Miss Groves, I-”
“Evening, Harold,” she replied with some force, an attempt at a smile not quite masking her gritted teeth. Her voice was strained and fists clenched as she stalked towards her bedroom in the subway and entered it with the bearing of someone who would have slammed the door behind her, were there one to slam.
“Oh dear,” Harold whispered to himself. He got up and hovered by the gauzy purple curtains that demarcated her territory. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Root shook her head from where she sat on her bed, knees under her chin.
“I see.” Harold’s first instinct would be to leave her be, and reappear with something nice to eat a little later. However as cryptically as the Machine could sometimes communicate, Harold was sometimes capable of picking up a hint. He cleared his throat and stepped into the room, lowering himself gently onto the bed next to her.
“You don’t have to talk,” he said, stretching an arm tentatively around her shoulders. “But, if you want…”
Root groaned and rolled her eyes, but she twisted around and buried her head into his chest anyway. Harold closed his grip around her shoulders and cradled the back of her head with his other hand, slowly stroking her hair. After a moment, Root wrapped her own arms around his torso in return with a heavy sigh.
“The two of you always manage to work it out,” he told her softly. “You’ll do it again.”
He felt a puff of heat across his ribs as Root let out an exasperated growl. “She put you up to this, didn’t she?” The words sputtered as bursts of warmth over his heart and he held her just a little closer.
“While I will confess to having received... a nudge,” he murmured into the top of her head. “I can assure you that I’m here because I very much care about your well-being, Miss Groves.”
Root must have been satisfied with that response, because aside from adjusting her legs a little for comfort, she stayed there, their breathing synchronising and bodies relaxing into each other. Eventually Root sighed again, her anger softened into weary resignation. “She’s always right, you know. And sometimes it makes me so mad, but she’s still always right.”
Harold gave a wry smile. “I can sympathise.”
“Voice of experience, huh?” Root pulled herself back up and draped her arms loosely around his neck. “Thanks, roomie.”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “How about I go up to Chinatown and get us some noodles?”
A wide grin lit up her face, and she leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead. “You’re the best, Harry.”