@herinterface​ sent: [ stroke ] — sender strokes receiver’s hair as they cuddle in bed

You can’t explain it: there’s something about having a body pressed against your back —warm and soft and firm all at once— that makes you feel like you’re not in an unending battle anymore. —Not just any body, but hers; you know the sound of her breaths and the shape of her ribcage and the measure of her grip blindfolded, drugged, or thrown off by a thousand simulations. Focusing on all that... you could almost call it certainty. 

The sigh leaves your chest before you even know it’s there. 

You muscles unwind, and you think you can actually close your eyes without the prickling feeling crawling up your back that’s bare and turned to the room. 

You don’t know what it is about her that makes your body stand down when you’ve been at war for months, or why feeling her hand in your hair convinces you that it’s just you and her, alone— no one watching you under a microscope. What you know is that coming back this compromised may have been a mistake you’d never have made before, but somehow, trusting yourself has become less important than making sure she makes it out of this alive. You know, from experience, that that’s something you can definitely do.

You feel the fabric of her shirt shift against your back, and you know she’s thinking about something, but you don’t move away and she doesn’t ask. The details aren’t important now. Seems like she agrees. 

@herinterface said: "what are you doing here?"

❝I—❞

don't know. Why are you making rounds around the one-block radius of the safehouse at four am in the rain?

You shake the question off and push past her and try to get back to your pace, because you knew exactly what you were up to before she interrupted you. You're lucky too— she hasn't said anything since you grabbed her hand to force her along. Good. You needed the break. You need the quiet to retrace your train of thought.

But her behind you doesn't help the feeling of being watched. You feel her wide-eyed stare on you. You feel the glare of every street light burning into your back, making your skin crawl, making the scar at the back of your ear itch. You can practically hear the high-pitched whining of the information it's sending back to its source, louder and louder as it cross-checks all the frames of you to everything they know about you ( and they know everything about you )

There's nowhere to hide, nowhere that's safe, and- yeah, she's looking at you with that stricken look the same way she did when... --doesn't matter what was going on, anyway. You know that look. You know what it means. Hell, you can't even refute it like any of those other times someone's assumed you were down and out.

You're compromised. Too compromised for this, in any case. You're not sure when exactly, but Samaritan broke you hundreds of simulations ago. How are you still here, when you don't even know who's behind the wheel anymore? How can you be sure if you're still here because this is your fight ( and you never abandon a fight ) or because you've been programmed to keep coming back?

See, if you were in your right mind, you'd have retired yourself before ever becoming this much of a liability.

You should have, because now you're just a tickling time bomb waiting to go off in her hands. When you do, you don't know if you'll lead Samaritan straight to the team or destroy them all yourself.

So far they haven't managed to make you lay a finger on her, but you know it's only a matter of time.

@herinterface

You know exactly the thing that's happening to you

( the room is spinning, you're falling in every direction while your body stays frozen in place, countless realities kaleidoscoping around you )

—vertigo,

( and at the center of it all, her. )

what you don't understand is why.

She's still there when the effects wear off, smirking like she's just delivered the cheesiest line you've had the misfortune of receiving. Only it doesn't get a rise out of you like it normally does,

your mind just feels numb.

this is a love letter, i promise @herinterface

You don't feel anything.

And maybe you'd prefer it if you did. You know you should. She was the closest thing you've ever had to— well, anything, which means that the fact that she's now six feet in the ground should get some sort of reaction out of you, and in a big way too, but it doesn't matter how many rounds you go or how hard you think about her both dead and alive or how many times you tell yourself this is just a stupid slow-paced simulation that's trying to test you in a new way,

you just don't feel anything but cold and bored and pretty much-- the same.

And you tried. Damnit, you stared at that stone for so long, waiting for a switch to click and for you to finally feel that thing you've seen in her eyes for way too long but never knew what to do with. Anything you say just sounds stupid. You're not there because you care, only because you think you owe it to her. She can't hear you, and it doesn't mean anything to you to be talking to thin air.

You standing around doesn't achieve anything.

They walk on eggshells around you. They don't say her name, they give you looks, they whisper when your eyes glaze over from the sheer amount of staring into space that you do. ( By the way, if this is the end of the world, then it's lame as hell. ) You've worked with people in proximity with death enough to know what John and Fusco expect from you: some people pretend they're fine until they're not; some people lose all sense of motivation; some people just don't know how to carry on. You shouldn't be fine, but you are.

It takes you a whole three days to realise what you're feeling and why you want to work your knuckles bloody on this guy's face. You're angry. Not because some accidental bullet killed the one person who accidents never apply to, but because she deserved better than feeling the multitudes that she did and never having the chance of any of it being returned. You think about your mother telling you about the loneliness of wanting after the person you love is gone. Empty- was the only description that came close to making any sense to you, and you wonder if it wasn't kind of the same for her.

You just don't have the capacity for love.

Never did.

And then the stupid thing tells you in her voice that the way that you are was always why you in the first place. ( All the knowledge in the world and she willingly picked someone not even a technological god could fix. ) Except you don't laugh, because your chest is tight and your eyes hurt. Saying goodbye doesn't seem so stupid this time.

And when it's all over and you stand over what used to be a computer nerd, a hotshot with a death wish, and a building, you still don't feel anything, even if you know you should. The machine is dead, your team is gone, and you are alone.

— But there's a lot more people to shoot now, so that's what you do.

@herinterface said: "you want answers? get back in the car"

One of these days, you're going to punch her lights out.

She's getting a huge kick out of all this. All those answers to the questions she planted in your head that she's been dangling in front of you since she tased and zip tied you to the chair in that hotel.

So all things considered, you think it's about time to show her you're not some chump just in it for the ride.

Answers. Now. Or I walk.

Thing is— she's had you from the moment you threw the CIA analyst into the same chair and told her the name she was willing to torture you for. You've gone too far to back out now. ( You both know this stand down was never going to work with the leverage she has, ) you need her for the answers to the questions she planted in your head, and she knows it.

Which means you have to put a pin in your fantasies of violence,

-- until you find out exactly what the conspiracy behind Northern Lights is and pay them back for Cole's death.

Then, you'll get to punch her. Or shoot her. Or do any of the things you've thought about pretty much every time she's opened her mouth in the entirety of this goddamn roadtrip.

That patronising look makes those thoughts come up again, so you clench your fist and make yourself smile back. Even if it looks more like gritted teeth than anything pleasant.

@herinterface​ said: “will you let me take a look?”

❝Remind me where you got your medical degree from again?❞

It’s catty— even for you. Bad enough that twisting to see the bullet lodged in your obliques hurts and frustrates you to equal measure, you don’t need to play obstacle course with the way her hands only get in the way of your work. 

And you’re not going to even start on why she thinks she’s got a reason to sound that exasperated here. 

She may have all the world’s how-to videos on autoplay-- it’d still only make her a glorified couch surgeon. As much of a bitch it is to do yourself, you trust your technique. 

You’re fine, thank you very much.

That, and you definitely don’t trust her intentions. Big surprise, but you can’t imagine a scenario where she finds you bruised and bloody and doesn’t want to make some sort of a game out of it. And on a day when you aren’t hangry and wishing you’d shot your perp a few more times, only to find your crash pad broken into by one pain in the ass? --You might even be up for it. 

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME ROOT [ ARCHIVE DECRYPTION... ] SAMANTHA GROVES | @herinterface​

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime (they’re both Terrible and make code jokes, sorry Shaw) /  old friendship /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other (an old connection from when they were younger, perhaps they knew of each other’s “work” in very-legitimate-and-not-at-all-illegal circles online...)

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  / soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  / cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other (he thought she looked qt on CCTV footage. also a lot of brazen flirting from both of them to annoy Shaw)

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other

@herinterface​ said: “don’t move, i’m getting a first-aid kit.”

You don’t do well with failure, that much is clear. Comes with good reason: you don’t do failure —or mistakes or any of that kind of thing.

It’s not like you to be staring into the depths of abject nothingness for hours on end, but you really don’t know any better. See, all you have is the playback and watching your hands wrap around a throat that’s already been slit, the countless scenarios you’ve run in your head since and wondering if that would have changed how things played out. The way it’s sunk in and still keeps sinking that you have failed your primary objective. You know-- the one thing you’re paid to do.

More than that, there’s a legacy that was important to John and Harold and the machine here. This work- it means something that’s bigger than you and saving a life. 

You give her a look. There’s more to that than your usual annoyed tone. Maybe a little- worn out. 

❝--Just get to the point already.❞

No need to mess around with first-aid when you’re pretty sure you already know the news she’s going to give you.