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When the choice was between her and Harold, Root didn't hesitate for a second to take the suitcase from him and force the machine to tell her the location of the rooftop the code was meant to be deployed. She wasn't going to let him sacrifice himself, not if she could stop it. She'd let one friend slip between her fingers at the brink of death, and she wasn't going to stand around and watch it happen again, for good this time. Because whoever was going to do this, they weren't going to make it out alive.
The case was beating against her leg as she walked the blocks up to the skyscraper the machine had selected for the task. She figured it was no use waiting for a cab to pass and take her up the handful of streets, but now that she was hurrying through the cold in her thick coat, she was regretting that decision.
Or maybe it wasn't just that. There were so many thoughts running through her head, she thought it might explode. She'd been in danger before, but her survival instinct had always taken over when it was imminent, and she hadn't had the time to contemplate her last moments on earth like this, as she walked calmly to her death. It was strange to walk among the people in their afternoon rush, knowing that they'd all be here again tomorrow. They'd all go home to their families tonight and forget to appreciate that privilege, just like any other night. Root wondered if they would be able to tell, if they really looked at her, if they could sense how close she was to the other side, to never seeing the light of day again.
A knot formed in her throat. She was used to this feeling, the knowledge that the end was always right around the corner, and she had been okay with that for as long as she could remember. But it felt different today.
As the machine murmured her own dying words into Root's ear in an attempt to comfort them both, her mind took her back to this morning, when she had left Shaw behind at the subway station with John and Lionel. They had all gathered there before they split up, and Root went with Harold while the others would stay behind to take the machine out of there before Samaritan's goons would ransack the place looking to destroy it. The plan had been constructed the night before, so Root had known deep down that that night was likely going to be their last, and she and Shaw had made the most of it. Shaw hadn't asked for details, she tried to seem uninterested in what the plan entailed, but Root understood that she knew exactly what was going to happen, and if she didn't want to talk about it, that was fine by her. They had their own way of communicating these things anyway.
They had traded in their precious, already few, hours of sleep to put their goodbyes into action. Shaw had clung to Root with all her might, pulled her uncharacteristically close, even after they were both sated and ready to go to sleep. They'd cuddled a lot more since Shaw had come home. It helped her stay calm and kept the nightmares away for the most part. And Root had to admit it only worked favorably for her too. Despite everything that was going on, the war between the AIs rounding up to its fatal end, she had never felt more comfortable at night. No matter where they spent the night, even on the hard cot in the cold subway station, with Shaw in her arms she felt more at home than she had anywhere else in her whole life.
It was strange to her now, that she would never have even found her if it wasn't for the machine. For years, finding and getting access to her was all that mattered to Root. And then she did, and it seemed that was the most important thing in her life. She'd believed that for a long time, up until the moment Shaw left her behind in that elevator to make her watch as she dropped bleeding on the floor with pride. She had the power of all the knowledge in the world right in her ear whenever she needed it, but in that moment, she had never felt more powerless. Shaw's absence, not knowing where she was and if she was still alive, was not only as disarming as the absence of the machine had been, but it also broke her heart, and it hurt more than she ever thought it could.
And now the machine was dying too, croaking her last thoughts into Root's implant, begging for a response. She wanted Root to acknowledge that it was okay. She was about to die an honorable death, saving the world, and who would have thought that was ever gonna be Root's way to go? Certainly not she herself. It was tragic, but they were going to save the world together, the machine and Root, as it was always going to be. It was the best way to go, all things considered. And the machine had, in fact, considered all things.
But Root couldn't open her mouth to agree. It was honorable and all that. At one point she had believed sacrificing her life for the greater good was the only good she would ever do for the world. She'd accepted her destiny, even been a little bit excited about it. But things were different now.
She arrived at the building and paused by the back entrance. The machine prodded her to go on, repeating the code of the electric lock by the door, but Root could hardly lift her arm to punch it in.
When it came time for her and Harold to leave that morning, Shaw had come up to Root with a slow pace and wide eyes, like a deer looking down a barrel, not knowing whether to run or stay still to avoid the fatal shot. It was so unlike her that, even knowing what she was thinking, it troubled Root. Without much of a warning, Shaw had kissed her, right there in front of the guys, like they weren't there at all. Root hadn't hesitated for a second to throw her arms over Shaw's shoulders and hold her close. She hadn't expected a goodbye like this, thought it would only make things harder, but that didn't mean she hadn't craved it. It warmed her heart to know Shaw craved it too, and broke it at the same time.
When Shaw finally pulled her lips away, she said, as diplomatic as she could manage, "I'll see you tonight."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a demand. She was just looking for reassurance, of any kind, to be able to let Root walk back up the staircase believing it was going to be okay, instead of knowingly sending her up to her death, unable to stop her. And Root understood, but the words made her tear up all the same. She didn't have anything to say. She wasn't going to take Shaw's last grain of hope away, and she wasn't going to make any promises she couldn't keep. So she let a single tear roll down her cheek in silence, and answered with another kiss, a deeper one, clutching Shaw's face to her own. And just in case Shaw didn't catch the message on her lips, she let it slip over her tongue in a broken whisper.
"I love you."
She wasn't even sure the words had come out audibly, but Shaw squeezed her tighter around the waist and replied with a final kiss.
Harold scraped his throat awkwardly from behind Root. She sighed, wishing she'd never have to let go of Shaw. But she did, eventually, after planting a hard kiss on her forehead. Shaw took it to herself to wipe the tears off Root's cheeks, a gesture so gentle and sweet it only made her feel worse in that moment.
She had suppressed the rest of the tears that threatened to spill for the rest of the day. Harold had tried to console her, but there wasn't much to be said, and Root knew that if he said just one thing about Shaw specifically, she would drop everything and run back to her.
Now that they'd parted, and Root was all alone at the foot of the skyscraper that would be marked with the end of her life in a couple of minutes, the tears finally crept up on her. She didn't notice until her cheeks were completely wet with them.
Time was running out. She needed to go up there.
Finally she punched in the code, and the door opened. She made for the service elevator down the hall, though everything in her was begging her to turn around. But after the elevator doors closed behind her, there was no way back, really.
If it was all she could do, she'd spend her last seconds as a person thinking about Shaw. She had all the way up to the 84th floor to do her best to recall every detail of Shaw's face and body, her voice, her smirk, everything that had made Root fall in love with her faster than she'd been able to comprehend it. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, reminding herself that she had at least been lucky enough to find the love of her life before it was over. And maybe it was for the best that it was over at the peak of her happiness. At least she wouldn't leave the realm of the living with a bitter heart.
Instead, her heart was full and pure. She'd learned so much from the machine, and from Harold, but mostly from Shaw, about what it means to be good. In the end, isn't that all people wish to achieve before they go? To find redemption and forgiveness? Root never believed in heaven, let alone that she deserved to go there when her time came, but for a moment she entertained the idea that God might look upon her last few years and decide that she had found the right path on her own, and therefore deserved something less horrible than eternal hellfire, maybe.
The elevator was halfway up, and Root had started to sob. She was being selfish. Here she was, admitting to herself that Shaw had saved her, had changed her for good, and how was she paying her back? She thought of last night, and all those before that since she came back from South Africa, with her curled up beside her, always some part of them intertwined, their legs or their fingers. Root had watched over her every night, waking her from nightmares and calming her down when she got confused. She knew it was bad because Shaw had no trouble admitting that she wasn't okay, and that wasn't like the Shaw Root had gotten to know the years before. Even during the days, starting her back on missions, she sometimes lost track of what was going on around her, unable to hold on to reality, Root was the only one who could pull her back into the moment and assure her that they were both real and safe. It was hard for Root sometimes, to face how fragile Shaw had become, how much of her fire was lost to the enemy. It broke her heart and amped it up to fight back a little harder at the same time. Which was why she was doing this.
Aside from saving the world, killing Samaritan once and for all also meant justice for Shaw, and Root realized that was what had gotten her this far.
But when the elevator doors opened to the highest floor, she could barely manage to step outside.
Shaw was strong. Stronger than any of them. She'd proven that by staying alive and staying loyal in the grasp of the enemy for almost a year. Every member of their team knew that had it been anyone of them, they would have caved, either by death or betrayal. But Shaw had faught her way out of Samaritan's claws, made it all the way back to New York from across the ocean by herself, and managed to continue her mission of killing its agents without any help. She was an unstoppable force, no matter how confused or paranoid she got.
Shaw would be fine without Root. It didn't hurt to admit that. Shaw had lost so many people, she was in constant anticipation to lose more from the moment she met them. She would know how to handle it, and she would move on eventually.
But she would be hurt. She would be scared, and lonely, she would feel things she'd never thought she could, and she wouldn't have anybody to share it with. Nobody would ever know her like Root did, know how to comfort her, what to make her for breakfast, how to hold her without making her feel trapped, how to ask her if she needed something, subtly, so that her pride didn't get in the way of an honest answer, how to leave her alone when she had a certain look in her eyes, how to kiss her to make her spine shiver in anticipation for more. All these little things she had learned overtime, that seemed like nothing separately, but made the two of them work like a single unit, cooperating without saying a word, like they shared a brain.
These little things that made life just a little more bearable in the midst of chaos. Shaw didn't need them, but she was getting better at showing that she wanted them.
Root trudged up the final stairwell leading to the rooftop, the case growing heavier and heavier in her hand. She kept wanting to leave the machine a message for Shaw, forgetting that the machine was most likely going to die with her. When she reached the top and opened the door to the cold windy sky, she dropped on her knees on the hard tiles of the roof, throwing the suitcase out in front of her.
She didn't want to do this. It wasn't fair to Shaw to make her feel the same way she had felt that day in the stock exchange, and all the months that followed it. And this was worse, it was bad timing and it was forever. This wasn't fair.
But she had made it this far.
She wiped away the tears and took a deep breath. She was gonna focus on saving the world now, and she was gonna go down with pride, not weeping like a child. She sniffed and cracked her knuckles before she set to opening the suitcase.
She scrolled the right numbers of the code into the lock. It clicked, and she closed her eyes as she pulled up the lid.
When she opened them, she frowned. There was nothing in it, except for a note.
I knew you would bravely offer to sacrifice yourself in Harold's place. But your role in this war isn't done, Root. You will be the only person in the world capable of rebuilding me. This was the only way we could see you leaving Harold to his own devices. He's very sorry to leave you and the others behind, but it has to be done.
"What the hell?" Root croaked, partly to the machine and partly to herself. Then the meaning of the note dawned on her.
"No!" she screamed. She got on her feet and ran to the edge of the roof. Of course she couldn't spot Harold, she didn't even know which building was the right one, the one he was on. But she spotted the missile in the sky, racing toward the city at a speed she could barely register before it hit the top of a building half a mile south of where she stood.
She screamed as she watched the impact of the missile blowing a hole into the top floors of the building. She stood sobbing with her hands on the railing as the wind brought the roaring sound of it closer, but there was nothing more she could do.
She just stood and watched the wreckage, listening to the machine's deafening radio silence. She was dead. And Harold...
She couldn't believe she'd fallen for that. Why hadn't she checked the suitcase before? How could she have let Harold walk off like that? She'd trusted him, she thought they'd agreed...
Eventually she came back to her senses, at least enough to go back inside and take the elevator down. She'd left the suitcase on the roof, the note had blown away with the wind, but it didnt matter. She leaned against the wall again, eyes closed but dry. She didn't have it in her to process what had just happened, that she was still alive, and that Harold was not. It was too much.
When she came back outside, she vaguely remembered the meeting place the others had agreed on. She had agreed on it too, but she'd been so certain that she'd never get that far that she hadn't bothered to plan out a way to get there. It didn't even occur to her that it was safe now to get a cab, or even a bus. She was no longer in danger of getting clocked by the enemy, because she enemy no longer existed. But she was too dazed to care.
Eventually she stumbled down the stairs of a subway station down the block and had the right mind to take the one to Queens and get off at the right stop. It was a little walk over to the park beneath the bridge, but she managed it despite the silence in her ear and her heavy heart weighing her down.
It was getting dark, and the others weren't there yet. For the first time it occurred to her that something might have happened to them. That she was never the only one who was in danger. She felt a surge of guilt again, for having been so busy with herself that she forgot to think about their well-being. But maybe it was just that she couldn't bear to think about Shaw getting hurt, after everything that she went through. Even John and Lionel. She started to cry again. The last update the machine was able to give her, the three of them had been fine, but there was no way for her to know now.
She waited for what felt like hours, sitting on the cold long grass, thinking up the most horrible scenarios of what might have happened to her friends, until she heard a car pull up in the dusk. She got up, wiped the dirt from her coat.
Relief engulfed her when she saw Shaw stepping out of the driver's side. John emerged from the other side with a slight limp, but Shaw seemed alright. Root started running towards them. Shaw met her halfway, and almost tripped backwards when Root caught her in a tight hug. She let out a sob as Shaw swayed them around to regain her balance.
"Where's Lionel?" she asked between a sob and a sniff.
"He's at the hospital," Shaw said, her voice muffled by Root's coat.
"Got stabbed," John clarified. "He'll be fine."
A silence followed for the other missing member of the team. They didn't have to ask. They already knew by the fact that Root was the one standing there that he hadn't made it. Guilt staked in her heart, but it was softened by Shaw's chest against her own.
"It's over," Shaw said quietly.
Root gave her some space to breathe as she stepped back. She inspected her from up close, but from the messy pony tail to the mischievous shimmering in her eyes, and the light hint of a smirk on her lips, she really did look fine.
"It's over," Root repeated.
"It's over," John agreed.
Shaw's smirk grew to its full size. Root let out a laugh. The three of them snickered in relief for about a minute, until it hit them that even if the war was over, it didn't mean they'd won. They'd lost the machine, and more importantly they'd lost Harold.
But on the other hand, they were finally free. It was surreal to them that they had nothing left to run from. They would go to bed that night wherever they pleased, and wake up in a world that was safe for them. They'd still have work to do, dealing with the Samaritan agents that would decide to go rogue and hunt them down on their own accord, but without the intelligence to back them up, they weren't much of a threat. Root would have to work on setting the machine back up which was gonna take a while, but they had all the time in the world now.
They looked out over the city from the riverside, Root's arm hooked around Shaw's waist, and John leaning on her shoulder to relieve his hurt leg.
They had made it.
Broken, bruised and bleeding, but alive. They were safe, and they had the rest of their lives ahead of them, together.