[ Harold winds up back at the library residence eventually. He went first to his fake apartment and spent some time actively dissociating, growing more and more detached and almost confused, puzzled about his continued state of existence, until Bear started licking plaintively at his hand. He looked down at him and sighed, a long, tired exhale.
He knows, of course, when everyone returns from the mission. The network lights up like a Christmas tree and his automated alerts inform him promptly. He knows too that John will come back here. It's sensible, he lives here, it's their base of operations, and John...
John doesn't like to leave him alone for long. The irony.
Harold should leave if he doesn't want to face this but instead he's frozen, immobilized by grief and possibility. Over the past few weeks he'd moved through his shock enough to find an approximation of functioning: showering, eating, even prodding at his former self's projects for lack of anything else to do. They keep his mind busy, at least. But now his mind is blank. He's seated at his work station with an array of monitors before him and his hands on the keyboard, the notifications up and unclosed that John's secondary private communicator is in range again, and he doesn't type a single key.
The surrealness of it all deepens and broadens as he watches the tracking dot approach, then enter, then hears the secure door open, Bear running over to greet John.
He doesn't turn to face him, but his name falls out of his mouth anyway, voice faint: ]
John.
[ Does John remember, too? Did this happen to them simultaneously? Based on how things are with Shaw, Harold knows that isn't a guarantee. So like always, shamefully, he'll play it close to the vest until he knows, like the coward he is. ]
John
He knows, of course, when everyone returns from the mission. The network lights up like a Christmas tree and his automated alerts inform him promptly. He knows too that John will come back here. It's sensible, he lives here, it's their base of operations, and John...
John doesn't like to leave him alone for long. The irony.
Harold should leave if he doesn't want to face this but instead he's frozen, immobilized by grief and possibility. Over the past few weeks he'd moved through his shock enough to find an approximation of functioning: showering, eating, even prodding at his former self's projects for lack of anything else to do. They keep his mind busy, at least. But now his mind is blank. He's seated at his work station with an array of monitors before him and his hands on the keyboard, the notifications up and unclosed that John's secondary private communicator is in range again, and he doesn't type a single key.
The surrealness of it all deepens and broadens as he watches the tracking dot approach, then enter, then hears the secure door open, Bear running over to greet John.
He doesn't turn to face him, but his name falls out of his mouth anyway, voice faint: ]
John.
[ Does John remember, too? Did this happen to them simultaneously? Based on how things are with Shaw, Harold knows that isn't a guarantee. So like always, shamefully, he'll play it close to the vest until he knows, like the coward he is. ]