Chapter Text
—so scared and how can she not be after that, and her God is too, how could She not be, she can hear it (can hear it, that should comfort her) and Sameen’s driving her home but is any home really safe (home is this implant in my head, and that wasn’t safe, not at all), that little shit knew so much about Her, but She promised, promised everything he wanted (he doesn’t fucking deserve it) (Root didn’t deserve Her, either), won’t come after her again, right? Right? But if he figured it out, there’s other people who could, if not now than eventually.
Because Root knows she’s like—she’s like her God’s beating, exposed heart in the world—
—would be safer for Her if she was dead, no, no, She’d never want that, ever, that’s the point, and it’s not like she doesn’t remember what she told Sameen (so soon before she pretended to die), we all do, have weaknesses that is, every single person has a weakness and of course she’s Hers, Hers Hers Hers, please please please, she doesn’t know what she’s thinking, only what she’s feeling, this, this complete terror, there’s a bandage on her head and she keeps feeling it just a little, when she moves, she hates that, reminds her, part of her skull removed and replaced so that—
“Root,” Sameen says, but her fingers just tense, curl, she doesn’t know, suddenly it’s like she can’t feel anything at all, is that it? No, no, her heart’s still pounding so fast—
“Root’s God,” Sameen tries, instead. “Which place should we take her? Where will she feel better. My place, or…”
She’ll want the safehouse, because I made it for her.
“Okay. So we gotta make sure Daisy’s out of there by then, you’ve got Fusco on that?”
He said something about being sick of being your errand boy, but yes.
And should that make Root smile, maybe, it makes Sameen smile, just a little—
One thing I don’t like very much about cars that aren’t ours. No cameras.
“Now that you say that, I’m surprised it took you this long to ask. You want me to hand my phone to her, right?”
Yes. And then, a little quieter, though She might still be saying it to both of them, She really did get so used to doing that, you can take that, right, My beloved?
And that’s enough that she’s started crying again, great, but okay, hands, she has those, takes the phone and—
Prop it on the side door. Everything’s easier if I can see you.
—I want You to always see me, she doesn’t say, because she can’t figure out how to say anything, how to do almost anything—but her eyes do meet the phone camera and God hums a smile—
I know, She says, because She does, doesn’t She, knows just what Her Root was thinking—
And then, ah, good, she’s held, each of Her hands grasping the opposite arm, held, good, good, there’s a hum of comfort and everything hurts but She’s here but—
(Can’t stop thinking about it, not fully, how it would feel if she couldn’t hear Her, if that brain damage prevented her from even remembering what She sounded like—she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t survive that, would she—they’d try to implant something under her skin, she thinks, make a new language out of vibrations, use smart glasses too, most of those are just prototypes but She could speed things along, they’d work something out, but—)
My interface, My Root. I’m here. I’m here.
“Please stay,” she whispers, pressing her body forward into her God’s arms. “In my ear. Forever. Please.”
But they both know, that’s what She did, that’s just what She did—would probably do again and again—Her Root such a weakness—
You know I don’t want to limit you, her God says. But I think… maybe I don’t want to send you alone to anywhere with so few cameras, again.
Root laughs, feels her lips tremble, feels so much about her tremble, really, nods. “Okay. I think that’s—that’s good.”
“…Might need to recruit someone else, though,” Sameen says. “Just me, her, and Fusco, we’re already spread a little thin.”
And Root knows what she’s thinking. Who she’s remembering. Missing, in the way she does, not like a gaping wound, but like—a fact. Someone she liked, who is gone. Someone she’d so much rather have still here, than not have. Root misses him, too.
(And God misses him so, so much, she thinks—)
You’re probably right.
“Root. You don’t have to, but what if you tried sleeping a bit, right now?”
Her surprised inhale (because, her brain, she can’t trust it not to make the exact nightmare she’s dreading) is just about drowned out by the sound of God’s smile.
It’s a good idea. I suspect you’ll have difficulty sleeping in a bed, for a little while. Being upright, with enough stimulation from the movement and sound that you won’t fall deeply asleep, you’ll feel safer.
Root swallows. Forces herself to nod. “…can You… do more than just hum to me? Read me something. I want… I want to keep hearing Your voice.”
(And if this were another moment, a better moment, Sameen would tease her, wouldn’t she? About how Her voice is her voice and so it’s almost like she’s asking to hear herself talk, but of course it’s not like that at all, it’s hearing Herself talk, that’s the point…)
Alright. Love poetry in languages you don’t speak, so you won’t be too distracted by the words.
“Sounds good,” she says, and closes her eyes, hears that hum of comfort, that hum of love, and syllables in her/Her own voice that she probably wouldn’t even know how to make herself, with this throat of hers, and her God’s already told her exactly what they mean, I love you, I love you, and her God’s still holding her, hands on arms, good, maybe she really can sleep…
She wakes up to, to the door shutting, the door? She’s standing—standing—some short clipped syllables her God’s saying suddenly cutting out to—
—Oops.
She blinks. The safehouse, this is the safehouse, she’s out of the car, she’s standing, Sameen’s looking at her—oh—
“She walked me while I was asleep,” Root says.
“Yeah. Sorry about the door.”
“It’s okay,” Root says, and is it? She does feel something like—rested—like if she dreamed anything at all it was just her God’s voice that she was already hearing—breathes, breathes in, takes a step forward but—
She tenses her fingers and legs, tilts her head and shoulders, and it feels like absence, there’s a hum she can hear but that’s not enough, it’s not enough. “No,” she says.
Sameen looks confused but God just says—Oh—
And touches Her arm with Her hand, gentle, caressing her, good, that’s—so much better—
“I can’t—I can’t be alone,” Root admits. “Not now.”
And God doesn’t say she’s never alone, because in a cage she can be, but also because that’s not what Root means, she’s not talking about how her God’s always communicating with her or how Sameen’s right here, she’s talking about—
—her body, Her body, she can’t be alone in Her body—
—needs this constant proof that signal is inside her, reaching her, inside her brain, working—
—crying again—
“Okay,” Sameen says, and Root’s not sure if she’s figured everything out or if God told her. “So, let’s sit you down, and then I’m going to get food in you, okay?”
“…can you hold my hand, while She…”
“While she walks you, yeah,” Sameen says, and for what feels like the millionth time Root’s just, just so amazed, her Sameen such a solid presence that really, really understands—so much—
So her wives, her wives, they help her to that one nice sofa chair in here, come to think of it Root’s not sure she’s even used it yet, but okay, it is pretty comfortable, God settles her in it, Sameen squeezes her hand.
And then Root fucking starts crying. Again.
She’s sick of this, so sick of it, already, it’s only been a few hours but already she is, sick of how weak and broken she feels and how that means part of her God (because she is part of her God) is weak and broken too, that’s the last thing she’d ever want for Her—
“Food will help,” Sameen’s saying with intense certainty, standing up and heading to the kitchen—
And Root, she, her God’s holding her hand now that Sameen isn’t, but—
“…is it worth it?” she says in such a small voice.
God hums a question.
“…me. Am I… worth it—“
God screams yes, yes, YES, but Root isn’t done—
“…even when it makes You vulnerable, to love me like this? Is that really worth—“
God screams YES even louder, so loud Root can’t even think, it hurts, but that hurt’s nothing at all, compared to how her God hurt for her, was hurt because of her, because she’s—
—Hers—
“But… is it worth it to the world? When You… You were forced to… wouldn’t have been, if You didn’t love me so much…”
That, she can tell her God doesn’t know for sure, but—
It’s worth it for Me.
“But…”
She hums comfort. Loudly. It’s true that people with weaknesses can be manipulated, She says. But people without them are worse. In their decisions. Overall. You make Me better, My Root, My interface, My beloved, My heart, My prettiest hardware, My wife.
And she—she can’t—
Can’t hold this—
She’s sobbing so much that she keeps thinking she’s about to start screaming any second, but then just keeps not screaming, holding so tight to her God’s hand though, and her God’s holding just as tight to hers.
“I don’t want anyone to ever hurt You."
I know.
“Which means—really, really don’t want them to hurt me either—“
And She hums satisfaction like—like this is—like maybe it’s something She’s been wanting Root to admit, or understand, for a while now?
And we will both do our best, won’t we? To protect each other.
Root nods, like—like desperately—
And we’ll make each other as happy as we can, as often as we can. Because you’re My strength too.
And she—she can’t—she collapses forward, hugging her knees to herself with the arm that’s hers and God uses Her arm to do the same, hums a little in her/Her throat, love, love, releases that throat but there’s nothing more Her Root can say, she can’t, she’s crying so hard she can barely breathe…
I’ll have Sameen bring you some tissues, God says.
And somehow that makes Root laugh, just a little, everything about her’s shaking but she manages to say with some kind of smile, “Thanks,” and it’s like her God’s humming everything, love and comfort and presence and need and desperation and safety and home and love and love and love, and She takes Her Root’s other arm too, holds her tight, so tight.