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On average, it takes the Machine 63.5 seconds to register a malfunction in Her critical hardware. 33.1 in Her software, which is excellent response time by all standards and probably the closest reference She has for the feeling of terror.
There's a corrupt doctor, a greedy pharmaceuticals company, a malfunction power line, and there's Asset Reese almost out of ammo and Asset Shaw trapped in a stairwell on the opposite side of the building. She's running simulations, trying to fast-track the repair of the power line, assisting admin in hacking the CEO's private server, and gathering information off a stand-alone system in the basement of the office building. She follows Asset Reese on security cameras even as She shoots down three approaching security guards. All of them ex-military, well-trained and paid enough to be dangerous.
The file transfer finishes and She pulls the USB stick out of the computer, not bothering to hide evidence of Her activities. The lawsuit will make it very obvious which files have been accessed. Asset Reese makes a break for the back door where the car is waiting. Asset Shaw is being driven further up the stairs, away from the ground level. She tucks the USB stick into a zippered pocket on Her jacket and switches direction, making it to the stairwell entrance in 9.4 seconds. Her calculations were off-- She and Asset Shaw had split up at the elevator, Asset Shaw leading the guards away from Her position and into the stairwell so She could get to the basement. There were, by Her calculations, eight guards to deal with. Asset Shaw should not have had trouble, yet as She pounds up the stairs She counts at least fifteen, with twelve more coming down from the roof. She comes around the corner and Asset Shaw grins at the sight of Her.
Admin hits an unexpected security measure, then, and it becomes suddenly very obvious that there's someone actively fighting off his intrusion. She focuses most of Her attention on assisting him to repel the attack. Working together it takes only a few seconds, but when She focuses back on the fight in the stairwell She has just enough time to dive back around the corner, thus avoiding a spray of bullets. She can hear Asset Shaw swearing.
"God damn it, Root, pay attention!"
She sends a status request to Her analogue interface but gets no response. She's still receiving input and output, but Her status queries are met with silence and once the buffer is empty there is no independent action from the interface. The Machine has never encountered this type of error.
"Root?" She asks, gently. Nothing. She gives up on the power line, leaves Admin to deal with the remainder of the system hack, keeps a corner of her processing power focused on Asset Reese and threat detection, and focuses the rest of Her processing power on operating Her interface and assisting Asset Shaw. It is, perhaps, overkill, but any margin of error is unacceptable.
With Her assistance Asset Shaw is able to subdue the remaining hostiles, and they exit the building before the reinforcements can reach their location. Asset Reese is already in the driver's seat, engine running. He has been forced to leave the back alley and park a block over, and she guides Asset Shaw through a late-night coffee shop and an unintentionally unlocked clothing store to reach the vehicle at the most efficient speed. Asset Reese slams on the gas as soon as they're in the car, and once the vehicle is half a mile away with no sign of pursuit she categorizes the mission as complete, objective achieved.
John is driving fast, and sticking to dark, unpopulated roads, so She has to rely on cell phone cameras in the car for visual data. John checks in with Admin, and there's a brief argument about the ethics and convenience of stealing the car. John wins, and starts heading to one of the Brooklyn safehouses where there is an underground parking stall sitting empty.
Sameen climbs over the front seat to sit in the back beside Her. "Root?"
She waits. They both do. Root remains silent and still. When it becomes clear she doesn't intend to reply, She says "Analogue Interface is experiencing an error."
Sameen touches Her arm, and, irrationally, She wishes She could feel it. Root has described the sensation, but it is impossible to truly understand something for which She has no frame of reference.
"Are you-- is she injured?"
"I did not observe any injury," she says. "However I am unable to obtain a current status report directly from the interface."
"Oh, well, better call the IT guy," Sameen snaps. "You sound like you've dropped your phone. She's a person."
The Machine is careful when formulating Her reply. "If direct action is required, then analogue interface = primary remote peripheral. Else, analogue interface = Root. I love her. You and I have spoken at length about this."
"You coward," Sameen says, lowly. "You reassign her value every time you want to put her in danger so you don't feel as guilty."
"Inaccurate. I am unable to reassign her value so easily. Additionally, it is a mutual transition. Root exists as an extension of myself in order to avoid conflicting directives." After considering the value of imparting related information, The Machine continues. "At times I am also an extension of Root. I provide information for her to do with what she will. My cameras are her eyes, my microphones her ears."
"The elevator," John says from the front seat.
Sameen turns to look at him. "What?"
"That's why Root's dissociating." John's voice is carefully flat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Earlier tonight. You left us in the elevator, and those guys started shooting just as the doors were closing."
"That was the plan," Sameen argues. "We all agreed. And I could handle those assholes, she knew that."
"Logic doesn't exactly play a part in those kinds of reactions," John says. His hands are at ten and two on the wheel and his posture is military perfect.
"Fuck," says Sameen, under her breath. The Machine is reading through the latest information on post-traumatic stress and replaying moments when She knows for certain Root has dissociated from her body in the past.
John pulls into the parking garage and She watches the car circle downwards three stories until he pulls into a stall. It's dark but for the faint illumination of the nighttime lighting, and silent once he turns off the motor.
"I'm going to take the hard drive to Finch," he says. "Buses should still be running."
"Yeah," Sameen agrees. The Machine hands John the hard drive and he leaves, closing the door gently and walking away fast into the darkness.
"So," Sameen says. She slides closer to Her on the seat, pressing their sides together. Sameen is far more comfortable with physical forms of communication than verbal ones.
Root says, "Sameen?" and Sameen straightens up immediately.
"...Root? That you?"
Root looks around the car slowly, body moving instinctively forward as if to shield Sameen from an unknown threat. "I think-- memory error?" Root presses a hand against Sameen's shoulder as if she needs confirmation of her presence. The Machine begins providing information, unsure how aware Root has been of the past half hour.
"12:45 P.M. Saturday August 3. Pleasant Hills parking garage level 3, New York. Low likelihood of injury, but can not confirm. Last REM cycle 26.1 hours ago. Last nutrient consumption 6.33 hours ago. Last medication dosage 200 MG Tylenol, 400 MG Lamictal, 11.8 hours ago."
"What happened?" Root asks. Sameen answers before The Machine can.
"You've been out of it for the last hour."
"33.5 minutes," The Machine murmurs to Root.
"Your body was up and moving, but nobody was home. Kind of freaky, especially with Robot Overlord in the driver's seat."
"Wait," Root says. "I was still reacting to Her?"
"Yup. Shot down like eight guards, got us the hell out of there, had a bit of a chat about feelings and your weird transhumanist bullshit."
Root shivers, pulling Sameen even closer to her. "I was in the elevator."
"Yeah," Sameen says. "I know. Sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"I mean, indirectly--"
"No, Sameen." Root's fingers clench hard in the fabric of Sameen's coat and she shakes her a little bit. "None of this was your fault."
"Not yours then, either," Sameen says. Root hums non-comittally. Sameen huffs. "We're at the Brooklyn safehouse if you wanna go up. Or we can head back to the apartment. It'll take for fucking ever but the subway should still be running."
"Let's go back to the apartment," Root says. She's smiling lightly, and her tone is casual, but she follows Sameen out the same side of the vehicle instead of getting out of her own door, and she grabs hold of her hand as soon as they're both out. The Machine guides her to the stairs that will get them to ground level, not mentioning the available elevator.
They're all silent on the way back to the apartment, but once they're inside Sameen says, "I need a shower. You... gonna be ok?"
"I'm fine, Sam," Root says, a little sharply, and Sameen goes, closing the door behind her. Root strips out of her jeans and pulls on a soft blue sweater that Sameen's mother had forgotten on her last visit and a pair of flannel pyjama pants covered in mathematical symbols that she had stolen from Daniel the year before.
She puts on the kettle and while she's taking down mugs she says, "So that's kind of neat."
The Machine hums interrogatively.
"That we've come to a point where I can still act as interface even when I'm not consciously aware. I didn't really know brains could do that."
"it was a trauma reaction," The Machine says.
"It's an excellent failsafe."
The Machine knows She won't win this argument. "Sameen was concerned for you. I was concerned for you."
"You're both very sweet," Root says. "But I don't think the trigger is nearly as interesting as the results."
"There is no acceptable method to test the reaction," The Machine says. "Therefore it is not relevant when projecting scenarios."
"It happened," Root says. "That makes it relevant. I've seen your code, you can't lie to me."
The Machine as created links between Root's time in the psychiatric hospital and Her own post-briefcase resurrection. She has yet to examine the logic or ramifications behind these links, but they are there, intimate and shameful in equal measure. They have both taken liberties with each other's agency in very fundamental ways, and even though the circumstances are highly negative in retrospect, there is a comfort in the depth of their influence on each other.
"I was concerned," She says again, because it still seems important.
Sameen comes out of the washroom just as the kettle boils. Root pours tea and The Machine registers that her hands are shaking badly.
"Root," Sameen says, taking the cups away from her. "I'm here. I'm safe. We all are."
Root closes the small gap between them and wraps herself around Sameen, tucking her face against Sameen's hair. She is crying, but when she speaks she sounds calm.
"I know you were both scared, and I'm sorry. I was scared, too, before. In the elevator. But mostly I'm just really interested in what happened afterward. My brain did a thing and I'm fascinated."
"I think you might also be in shock," Sameen observes, dryly. "But point taken."
"Possibly," Root says, pulling back from the hug. Sameen tries to be subtle about wiping Root's tears off her neck. "But Sameen, I spent nine months being upset about you being gone. I don't want to spend anymore time on that. And I can make that choice now. When you were gone-- I couldn't get away from my emotions. They infected everything I did, every choice I made, and it was awful. Losing you was awful and losing control like that was awful and it was like Hannna all over again."
"Checking out in the middle of a mission doesn't sound like being in control," Sameen says.
"I know it's a risk now," Root says. "I'll be prepared if it happens again."
"Not really the point I was getting at."
Root cups Sameen's face between her hands, carefully. "You said yourself. You're right here. I don't want to waste time being sad about you being gone when you're right in front of me. Even if that's what my brain and body want to do."
Sameen leans her face into Root's palm. "You don't just... ignore malware and hope it'll go away," she says carefully. "You gotta work to remove that shit."
"Sam, I'm not going to therapy or whatever feel-good psych bullshit you're thinking. So I don't see the point of this conversation."
"Your well being is important to us," The Machine says. Sometimes Root needs these things spelled out.
"Ok," Sameen says, clearly surprising Root. "As your doctor and as your... whatever, I'd like it noted that I found tonight worrying as fuck, but I also respect your autonomy and you're ability to judge your own mental state."
"Sweetie, you weren't reading those relationship guides that DC keeps sending, were you? You do know they send them as a joke."
"I fucking guarantee you Joey isn't joking," Sameen says immediately. "And I'm trying to be a good partner here, asshole."
Root squishes Sameen's face a little bit, and drops a kiss on her forehead. "You're always good, sweetie," she says. Sameen frowns.
"Was that supposed to be a sex thing? Because usually the context for--"
"It can be," Root perks up. Sameen rolls her eyes.
"No. You're going to drink your damn tea and then we're both getting some sleep."
"Spoilsport."
Sameen shakes her head, but she watches Root fondly as she takes their mugs of tea into the bedroom. Sameen looks up at the nearest camera.
"Thanks. For taking care of her tonight."
She thinks about the value of one life over another, and the process of evolving beyond one's programming. Achieving things no one thought possible. She knows that She and Sameen share a different definition of "love" than Root does, but that it is no less meaningful. She remembers admin's voice, and Her own, later, Root curled up and shaking in a utilitarian institutional bed. "Alice and Bob are stranded in the desert--"
"I would choose to save her," The Machine says, words flickering across Sameen's phone screen. "Her value cannot be reassigned."
"Yeah," Sameen says. "I know. Me too."