[ Chances are-- what are his chances? How many years does he have left, realistically? Best case scenario it's something like thirty years, but Harold suspects it'll be less. Even with the Machine and Samaritan gone, too many people know who he is now, know that he exists and could build something like that again. He'll never truly escape what he's done.

He'd thought they were alike in that way, in it together. Drawn close by a mutual understanding that there was nothing left for them after the mission. But John had gone and left him alone. Maybe it's ironic for him to be feeling so adrift and sorrowful at that when he's the one currently enforcing distance from John, but Harold can't help his animal instinct to isolate himself when he's this badly hurt.

Harold's face closes again, growing neutral. ] That's a sentiment I've heard before, but I have to confess, I find it a cold comfort. [ He can respect that others feel that way, Root and the Machine primarily, but emotionally he can't get there. ]

If it's possible for us to stay here... [ He muses, considering it. ] It's worth considering.