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“Harold, you’re being ridiculous,” Nathan says, “you’re talking about hiring a felon, and I’m the unreasonable one?”
“I have feelings, too, by the way,” Root says, feet kicked up on Nathan’s desk, all tattoos and black nail polish and incredibly bad business decisions.
“And I’m pretty sure you could manage to afford my salary if you cut down on some of the unnecessary expenses, like --“ Root produces a set of printouts and squints at them, about half of the numbers highlighted in pink.
“Did you hack into my computer?!” Nathan shrieks, his voice a most undignified pitch, while Harold gives her the most besotted smile Nathan has ever seen.
Good god, and Nathan had thought that he would be spared the girl troubles after Harold came out to him at MIT.
“Well done,” Harold says, and she beams at that, eyes sparkling beneath the curve of her thick black eyeliner.
Nathan raises his hands in a gesture of You have to be kidding me right now, Harold, and Harold hurries to add:
“I mean, we need to talk about privacy and boundaries at some point, but gold star for the effort.”
“It really wasn’t a big deal, I mean, his password is --“
“Don’t you dare,” Nathan grumbles.
Harold does a really bad job of hiding his laugh and Root shuts her mouth and leans back, grinning.
Nathan glares at both of them.
Root and Harold are sitting so close together that their shoulders are almost touching, and Nathan realizes that his reasonable arguments have about as much chance as the proverbial snowball in hell.
“You’re not getting back to work until I’ve given her a job, are you,” Nathan sighs, digging through his drawers for an aspirin.
“I had considered locking myself into the tire storage cage until you did, but I thought that might be a tad too dramatic,” Harold says.
“You would have done that for me?” Root asks, looking like she’s going to propose.
Harold gives her that eyebrow wiggle that says the storage cage was probably one of the more reasonable ideas on his List Of Things To Do To Get Miss Groves, Pardon, “Root” A Job.
“I just hate to let talent go to waste,” Harold had said, back then when she sat in the makeshift office kitchen, stuffing her face with Chinese leftovers:
She was thin enough that she almost disappeard in her bulky black leather jacket, and the first thing Nathan had thought was that she looked like a feral kitten that Harold had found abandoned somewhere in a cardboard box.
A feral kitten with a knack for hacking into top-secret government databases.
“Look, she’s incredible with computers and electronics in general, she’ll be a great addition to the team,” Harold said, and his eyes had been focused on her, kind and caring, and Nathan has always secretly known that he is unable to tell Harold No, even in moments when he should probably be yelling it at the top of his lungs.
Now, three months later, Root isn’t as much of a feral kitten as a smug, lascivious cat that strolls through his office and flirts with his best friend, and Nathan honestly wonders why he never sees these things coming.
He puts his head on the desk I defeat.
“Fine. Fine. You’re hired, congratulations. Get out of my office, both of you.”
There’s the sound of two chairs moving, then Nathan’s head snaps up again.
“Hey, you, hacker genius,” he says. “Come back here.”
Harold gives him a questioning look.
“I’m going to be really nice, Harold, now go.”
Harold makes a gesture in Root’s direction that means nothing to Nathan at all -- for heaven’s sake, do they have their own sign language now? -- and closes the door behind him, and Root comes back to sit on his desk, swinging her legs.
“You get a month to prove you’re really as good as Harold thinks you are. If you pull any kind of stunt that looks even vaguely illegal, you’re fired.”
Root smirks. “Fair enough.”
He holds out his hand for her to shake, and when she takes it, he pulls her a little closer, dropping his voice.
“If you break his heart, I’ll make you regret it.”
Root gives him a look.
“See, Nathan, I’m not --“
“I know,” Nathan says, not letting go of her hand. “He isn’t, either. You know what I’m saying, Root. Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t,” she says, a genuine smile spreading over her face. “I like you, Nathan Ingram.”
He lets go of her hand.
“Yeah, remember that when you get your first paycheck, we’re basically broke,” he mumbles.
Root jumps off his desk, probably to go and flirt with Harold some more.
“Welcome to the “Machine”,” Nathan calls after her.
God, he really wants a drink, and it’s only eleven, Nathan thinks, looking at the numbers Root has highlighted on the printouts.