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Shaw woke up to a burst of static from the earpiece she now wore almost all the time. Her gun was in her hand before she'd fully registered what had happened. She took stock of the situation; she was sweaty and cold despite the fact that her apartment was at the optimal temperature… or at least it was, according to the Machine, who Shaw found herself depending on for mundane things more and more. She did her best not to think about it too long, or worse, what Root would've thought about it. And speaking of Root–
“Your heart rate and respiration rate were elevated. Bad dreams, sweetie?”
Shaw took a moment to process. The first sentence had been the Machine; the second, so Root that Shaw needed a moment to remember that Root wasn't actually in the room with her. And yet, both sentences spoken in Root’s voice. Another reminder of the eerie symbiosis of the two.
In truth, Shaw couldn't remember what her dream was about. Belatedly she dropped her gun to the bed, and then brought up her hand to feel behind her left ear.
“I don't know,” she admitted.
A whisper in the dead of night; easier to give to a hybrid than it ever would've been to Root herself. Shaw refused to examine that.
“How can I help?” the Machine replied.
“Show me,” Shaw responded, and then swallowed before forcing herself to elaborate, “I know you have the footage.”
“Sweetie–”
Shaw growled in frustration, “Don't. I know you're her, but you're also not.”
There was a long silence that followed, in which Shaw had a relatively rare moment of questioning her life choices. She hadn't realized until she'd asked for it that the only way she could truly believe that this was real was to see it. She'd gotten better; the Machine had helped to anchor her, but there were still too many times where she was off kilter; still unsure of what was simulation and what wasn't.
“Open the laptop that I gave you,” the Machine finally relented.
Shaw climbed out of bed and retrieved it. She got back into bed, deciding not to fight the instinct to be sitting for this.
The Machine had full control of this particular laptop, and Shaw waited as She booted up a video player. The video itself remained paused; Shaw let out another frustrated sound.
“I won't break,” she insisted.
“I know,” the Machine replied.
Shaw pondered that for a moment. Could the Machine be worried about Her own ability to handle it?
“You won't break either,” Shaw finally managed to get out, the words feeling stilted and awkward.
After another moment of hesitation, the Machine finally played the video.
Shaw watched as doctors tried and failed to resuscitate Root. She focused on all the actions the doctors took; what they were doing to remove the bullet, the tools they had, the monitors. The medicine that they used, and the life saving measures that were ultimately in vain. It felt like something lifted from Shaw at this proof that they really had done all they could to save Root. Shaw had medical knowledge enough to be certain of it.
At the same time, emptiness was still a gaping maw inside of her. This was real.
“I tried to save her 12,483 times,” the Machine said quietly, jolting Shaw out of her reverie.
Something ached inside of Shaw at Root’s voice and the ever present tinny quality of it now. If robots could feel sad, Shaw was fairly certain that that's what the Machine was feeling.
A robot who could feel. A human who felt rarely, and in ways that couldn't ever be considered normal. In ways that Root hadn't ever wanted to change, Shaw thought, and swallowed hard. It was still difficult to wrap her mind around.
She realized then that the Machine probably wanted a response.
“I know you did,” Shaw attempted to reassure Her. Shaw felt inadequate again, and the words tasted like ash on her tongue.
“You died over 7,000 times for her,” the Machine continued, “Is that love?”
“Is running 12,483 scenarios unsuccessfully love?” Shaw countered immediately, hackles raised.
“Yes,” the Machine decided after a moment.
Shaw nodded. The gesture was both acknowledgement of the Machine’s reply, and an answer in and of itself.
Maybe it was love; maybe it wasn't. Shaw didn't know. Maybe it was the closest she'd ever get to love that wasn't for Bear, food, or good sex.
In the end it didn't really matter.
Root was gone. This was real.