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When Root comes to, she’s in the subway station. She’s sitting on the bench at the end of the terminal, with John Reese kneeling in front of her, on her left. She doesn’t remember how she got there; her last memories were of tailing a number she was working for Harry, following the guy into the lobby of his office building.
She tries to recall what happened after that, but her mind feels oddly hazy. It’s then that she realizes how strange she feels: her limbs are light and just feel… wrong somehow, as if she’s just now realizing they are a part of her.
Her left shoulder feels heavier than her right, and she realizes it’s because John’s hand is resting on it, his arm stretched out. She focuses on his face – surprisingly hard to do, for some reason – and watches as his expression changes from alert to relieved. “Root?” he asks. “You there?”
The question’s phrasing strikes her as strange, even coming from the Big Lug, and she isn’t sure how to respond. She settles for “What happened?” and although she’s certain she heard the words – even if only in her good ear – she isn’t sure the voice that said them came from her. She feels… disconnected, like a monitor that isn’t hooked up correctly.
John doesn’t seem to notice anything off though, for he answers her question. “I have a pretty good idea, although I’ve only seen what happened after you walked in the subway. The Machine helped fill in the gaps though.”
Almost as if he’s cued Her in, the Machine chooses that moment to chime in Root’s right ear. Analog Interface dissociated during mission. Unresponsive to physical stimuli. Remained responsive to override commands. Total time: 2 hours 13 minutes 48 seconds.
The explanation does nothing to help Root’s confusion and growing sense of panic. “So I, what?” she asks Her. “Started sleepwalking and You led me back here?”
John seems unfazed by her seemingly talking to herself all of a sudden, but Root supposes he’s used to it by now. He answers as if he’s been addressed. “It’s a little like that. You weren’t responding to anything going on around you, but you weren’t asleep. I’m not sure you were aware of yourself, and I think if the Machine hadn’t guided you back here, you’d still be out there.”
The Machine seems to find the explanation sufficient, as She adds nothing. “‘There’,” Root repeats. “Where was I?”
“I believe I may be of some assistance there.”
The voice comes not from John, but from behind them. She watches as John stands and straightens, facing that direction, but her own body responds much more slowly. She finally turns to see Harold Finch limping towards them, Bear at his side.
“I would have been here sooner, but Bear needed his walk,” he says, his words laced with an apology. He bends over and unclips the leash he’s holding, and Bear comes trotting over to the bench. He promptly rests his head on Root’s knee, giving a little whine. Root places her hand on his head and watches as his tail wags slightly.
“He was worried about you.” Harold finally reaches them. The concern is obvious in his eyes. “How are you feeling, Ms. Groves?”
Another question Root doesn’t feel she has enough data to answer properly. She chooses to ignore it. “You know where I was? What happened?”
Harold glances at John, who must give some kind of signal to just roll with it, for he snaps his attention right back to Root. “I was able to access the feeds in the building you were in, yes,” he explains. “If you like, I can show you.”
Root feels herself nod, but the only indication she has that she stands after that is the change in the height of her vision line. As they make their way to Harold’s desk, she’s aware of Reese’s eyes on her, watching her closely, but she’s too busy focusing on where her feet are going so her legs don’t get tangled to acknowledge him.
She’s also very aware that this is normally the time she’d say something witty or completely inappropriate to defuse the tension and assure them that she’s fine. The fact that she isn’t even attempting to makes her feel as if some vital part of her is shutting down.
It’s like my hard drive’s been corrupted, she thinks, and wonders if that’s the case. It would explain the loss of her sense of self. Need more data.
Harold sits in front of his computers and begins pulling up the files. John stands off to the side, leaving Root to stand next to Harold. She leans forward, clutching at the edge of the desk. It’s not in her usual dominating way, but because she needs something solid to hold on to. She digs her fingers into the underside of the wood, trying to feel it.
Harold turns to her. “This is the best I was able to come up with.” He fast-forwards to a certain time on the video, pressing play.
The camera shows a view of a typical New York street. The image is black and white and grainy at best, but any video is better than none. Root watches as their current number walks down the sidewalk, slipping in to the revolving door of the office she knows he works in. She watches herself follow a few seconds after him, bumping into a woman who was coming out the same door. This angle doesn’t show it, but Root knows she swipes the woman’s company ID without her noticing anything. She’s relieved she at least remembers this much.
Her only goal had been to bluejack his phone so they could begin to determine if he was the victim or the one about to commit a crime, so she isn’t surprised when she sees herself follow him into the elevator, the perfect place to get close enough. She’s alarmed however, for that’s where her memory ends.
She focuses on the video more closely, watching as the elevator doors close. The camera cuts off and is immediately picked up by the one inside the elevator. For some reason, her eyes are drawn to the controls. Even from the odd angle, it’s easy to see the over-sized button sticking out from all the rest on the panel. It’s one of those older-modeled override access for firefighters and emergency responders.
The Root on the screen is standing right in front of it. She doesn’t need a color image to tell her what her mind already knows: the button is red.
And the elevator walls are blue.
The thought comes unbidden, like a bullet slamming into her from behind. That’s when she just knows. Her breath hitches in her throat.
The number gets off at some floor, but on-screen Root hasn’t accessed his phone. She hasn’t even moved, in fact. Some rational part of her brain is screaming at her that it’s not the same, that she’s being ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter, does it? The button is red and the elevator is blue and that is enough. Enough to make current Root feel shaky and leave her fighting for air.
Harold stops the video, as if he suddenly realizes what really happened. He turns her way, placing his hand atop one of hers. Root stares at his fingers as if her life depends on it.
“I’m sorry,” he starts. “I only wanted to show you where you were. I didn’t see earlier why that might be so upsetting.” When Root gives no response, he continues, trying to give her all the information. “You rode the elevator until it went back to the lobby, where you stayed for some time. Then you made your way back to the station. You gave no response to either Mr. Reese, myself, or Bear; you simply took a seat at the bench. That was when the Machine called and gave us a clue as to what was going on.”
Root looks back at the still of the elevator. It’s different, but it’s the same really. It’s all the same because Sameen isn’t ther-
Everything hits her then: the awareness of her body, the feeling of herself, the never-ending replay of the Stock Exchange, her soul-crushing grief at losing Shaw. It hits her all at once and with such force that she feels physically assaulted by the sensory overload.
Her stomach gives a sickening twist, and she can’t stop the whimper that leaves her lips. She manages to choke out, “I think I’m going to be sick”, but doesn’t wait for a reply before ripping her hand away from Harry’s and sprinting for the bathroom.
She makes it to the toilet in time. She doesn’t know how much time passes as she hunches over the bowl, knees digging into the cold cement. Her stomach seems determined to turn itself inside out and she’s violently aware of the pounding of her heart. She supposes it beats the numbness she felt earlier, but she can’t help but wonder if having a physical form has always been this overwhelming, this overpowering, this… unbearable.
John’s the one to come in after her. He waits until she’s able to stop dry-heaving before clearing his throat. She looks at the bottle of water he hands her with watery eyes and takes it gratefully. He waits until she’s downed the whole thing before speaking.
“If you’re worried about what’s going on right now, I can at least say I’ve seen it before. It’s actually quite common for people for who have los- gone through trauma.”
They’re all tiptoeing around me when it comes to talking about Sameen now, she thinks, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. John, Harry, even Fusco. They all think she’s dead.
She looks him in the eyes. “Part of me is fascinated that I still followed Her orders even though I wasn’t really cognitive of them.” She gives him a small smile, a hint of her usual smirk. The water’s doing its job, clearing her head a little. “But most of me is just miserable.”
He helps her stand, and she’s pleased to notice that she can at least stay upright without any assistance. Even if she’s still trembling slightly.
“I have to get back to the station.” His deep voice seems to be swallowed up in the pressing silence. “Fusco’s been complaining in my ear for the last hour about all the paperwork we have to file.”
“Didn’t know you were into paperwork.” Her words sound a little hollow, not quite possessing her usual flair, but John’s lips turn up in his version of a smile.
“I’m not,” he jokes, before getting serious again. “You should get some sleep. Finch is monitoring the number for now. We don’t think the threat is imminent. I’ll bring some food back for you after my shift.”
Root winces visibly. The thought of eating anything makes her stomach start to turn again. The Machine picks up on it, speaking through her implant.
Last nutrient intake 15 hours 23 minutes ago. Symptoms consistent with empty stomach and emotional trauma. Recommend rest and food consumption for speediest recovery.
John’s looking at her. “Sounds great,” she mutters, then follows him out to the main part of the subway. He leads her over to where the cot is sitting in the corner. The same cot that Shaw had taken over when she was confined to the subway after her cover had been blown. They had just kind of tucked it away there, trying not to think too much about it.
Harold looks up from his monitors, follows her gaze to the offending object. Looks back at her with pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s all we have at the moment.”
“It’s fine,” she says. She sits on the bed to try to prove the point to herself as much as the two of them.
John nods his head. “I’ll be back.” He gives her one last glance before turning around, his hand coming up and flicking his ear. “Coming, Lionel,” he says, and then he’s gone.
Harold gets up and walks over to her. He’s followed by Bear, who jumps up on the bed. “You should get some rest, Ms. Groves. You look like you could use some,” Harold says, looking at her carefully.
“I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” she replies truthfully. She hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since before Shaw was taken.
He places his hand on her shoulder, the same place John’s had been earlier. “I know this has been hard for you.”
Root doesn’t trust herself to reply, not after he’s given up on the search. She’ll never give up looking; she’ll burn the whole world down to find Sameen. She turns her head towards his hand, letting her hair hide her face, not wanting him to see it.
Seeing she doesn’t want to talk about it, Harold changes the subject. “If you need anything, I’ll be at my desk. Professor Whistler has term papers to grade.”
He’s trying his best to support her, and she knows it. Despite their differences in opinions, he’s still trying. “Thank you, Harry,” she says softly. He leaves his hand there for a second longer, then, with a little squeeze, he turns back to his desk.
She’s exhausted, and her body lays down of its own accord. However, as soon as her head hits the pillow, her brain screams at her that she needs to get up. Ever since the Machine had told her to stop looking for Sameen, Root has kept herself going by believing that She would find a way to lead her to Shaw. But she still can’t help her need to constantly remain busy, trying to do everything the Machine asked of her and more.
Root’s surprised when she hears Her speak in her ear again. It’s been so long since She communicated so much in such a short amount of time. Root guesses it’s because the situation could have been very dire, with her glitching out in view of Samaritan.
Rest, She says simply. With that command, Root allows her body to relax completely, glad to see she’s back in control.
The pillow smells like Shaw, and she finds that that doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it might. She’s been avoiding even thinking about this cot, knowing it is the last place Shaw had slept, but now that she’s here, she finds it oddly comforting. It’s the closest she’s felt to Shaw since the feel of her lips and the force of her shove in that horrible elevator.
Bear noses his way up next to her, and she turns to her side to accommodate him. She strokes his back, letting her fingers come to rest in his warm fur. Her mind and body are still unsettled from today’s whole ordeal, so she’s glad for the physical contact. He whines again, nosing the pillow. The sound sends a pang through her chest.
“I know,” she tells him. “I miss her too.”
And with that, Root closes her eyes.