etrayalogs | I won't run, the guilt is mine

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I won't run, the guilt is mine

WHO: Harold Finch & established CR
WHEN: Forward dated post-mission
WHERE: Around Etraya
WHAT: Harold canon updates to post-series and has a bit of a time. Closed starters below. There will be an open post for him after these are sorted through!
NOTES\WARNINGS: This whole post and all threads are full of descriptions of grieving and suicidal thoughts & ideation.

After it happens, after he recovers his memories of how everything fell apart, Harold questions his grip on reality. It would be appropriate if after all this time he finally met his limit. John is dead and Root is dead and Elias is dead and-- the Machine is dead-- and Grace is alive, but what right does he have to see her, how can he get a happy ending when he's the one who deserves it the least--

He's in the library they abandoned long ago and there's traces of his life here with John all around him. Rationally, intellectually, he knows where he is. This is Etraya. He can reread their text conversations, few though they were, and reassure himself that this is real and that this is happening. But there's no one here. It's eerie, everyone away on the mission; it's like Harold is in some kind of bizarre tortuous stasis. He's here but no one else is, survivor's guilt made manifest in its natural apotheosis.

He finds the remnants of all the projects he'd been working on so steadily what must've been a day ago, electronic pieces strewn around and multiple computers chugging test code, and stares at them. They seem so pointless now. Meaningless. Harold struggles to find an ounce of caring in his soul, for anyone, for anything. Surveillance? A covert encrypted network?

What does it matter? He's utterly alone.

Harold can't stay there. The numbness is getting increasingly punctured every time he finds something John left behind: washed dishes from making him dinner, a suit jacket left over the back of a chair, and then Bear himself. He has to leave the library or risk feeling things again and that's a tidal wave whose potential aftermath frightens him.

Mutely, he leashes Bear and heads out, and for hours he wanders the empty streets of Etraya, wondering how much longer he has to endure existence.

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[ Harold really isn't looking for protracted sympathy -- people caring for him so much seems to only lead him to heartache -- so Maria strikes the right note here.

He glances up at that and nods. ] Yes. It's been... a strange few weeks. [ No one here, streets empty, Harold lost in his memories and trying to reconcile Etraya after years away. In some respects it's a relief to have everyone back, but on the other hand, then he'd talked to John and that had gone disastrously. ]

That's actually not what I wanted to talk to you about, if you can believe it. [ Harold can't find any actual humor, but there is a dark self-awareness of how immensely tragic his life has become. ] I'm finding it... extremely difficult to face Mr. Reese.

[ He probably doesn't need to clarify that he's one of those who had died. ]

[Maria's eyebrows raise. That isn't the thing he wanted to talk to her about? how much had this poor man gone through?

but when he tells her what it is, she feels her gut wrench at the realization that John must have been one of the people. there's grief for him and then there's the compassion that she has for Harold.]

Have you yet?

[she doesn't know if John already knew his fate or if this is new for just Harold. either way that's a difficult conversation.]

[ It's traumatizing, and he's been in a lot of shock, but Harold wouldn't reach out to someone over that. Not intentionally. He'd curl up and retreat, wait until enough time passes that the rawness dulls and he can make whatever peace he can with still being alive. He'd tried to do that at home, following some perverse impulse to check on Grace and losing himself in the process. He'd stood close enough that she saw him, knew he wasn't dead, and then he'd come back here before he had to deal with that fallout.

He makes bad choices in his grief but he doesn't usually try to ask for help. No, he's asking for help here specifically because of John -- even if the only help possible is having a safe outlet to vent his own frustrations. ]

I have, and he experienced that same time at home I did shortly after returning as well. [ There's an awkward pause as Harold visibly struggles with what else to say, fighting with himself to find the fairest way to summarize that debacle. ]

... He doesn't appear to understand why I'm grieving.

[this place sure had a way of choosing the worst times for things to happen. Maria's own memories came back shortly before the mission, no time to warn the people she said she would tell.

these poor men. her heart does ache for them. there are not many things Maria can truly understand and sympathize with but this she can.

not so much John's reaction according to Harold, though.]

What did he say? [it's probably best to hear what he said and go from there, she figures.]

[ Harold grimaces just recalling it, heart twisting and turning over with pain. ]

He tried to reassure me by saying he was meant to die. That he should've died long ago. That I gave him-- [ His voice roughens despite his attempts to keep it together. ] That I gave him a good death.

[ Suffice to say, Harold did not find that comforting in the slightest. ]

[yeah, that is a lot. she doesn't bother to hide the surprise.]

He really said that? [it feels like exactly the wrong thing to say to someone like Harold. her and John had talked about how Harold didn't take compliments well. why would he say that? there's a sarcastic comment she bites back about how stupid that is.]

I'm sorry. [but she's quick to move on from that. all the apologies in the world never fixed a thing.] That's a lot to hear and I'm guessing you let him know that?

I told him I don't think I can see him for a while, [ Harold confesses, guilt written across his face.

He knows it's the right thing to do for himself, but he still feels awful doing it, leaving John to deal with things alone. He'd just regained all those memories, too. But Harold has never been someone that sorted out his intense feelings with someone else; his instinct is still and always to hide until he's made up his mind and found his resolve independently. ]

I can't... I can't listen to him tell me it was right that he died for me, Maria.

[ His face crumples with exposed grief, and he drops the Ms. Maybe that's what John needs to tell himself to be at peace with his own death, but Harold can't listen to it. ]

[she notices he dropped the Ms. and boy doesn't that say a lot.

she moves like she wants to take his hands and hold them but stops herself.]

Harold, I wouldn't be able to hear it either. And he shouldn't have said it, no matter his reasoning. [it was insensitive and though she didn't know John well, she thought there couldn't be a good reason. he knew Harold, knew his hangups. and then for Harold to lose people he loved, what was John thinking? she'd talk to him after this. ]

People do and say things when they're hurting they might not say it other times. You were smart to take a step back. [didn't she know it.]

[ It's such a relief to hear the reassurance. Harold is old enough now that he no longer tries to convince himself he doesn't want external validation, but he knows he doesn't need it, so he doesn't go seeking it often. Having it here, when it was clear he'd hurt John profoundly with his own pain, like a cancerous growth spreading out of him and latching onto others...

It helps, just a little. He sees her aborted motion and reflects with bittersweet nostalgia that Root really has worn him down over time, because he mutely offers one hand out for Maria to take before answering. Harold is never going to be casual about physical contact, but Root was so touchy-feely, and-- he misses her. So much. ]

Thank you. I fear I've hurt him greatly, but I don't-- [ Harold falters. ] I don't know what else to do. I don't know how I can ever move past this.

[ It's a guilty, desperate confession, the kind of thing Harold can't say to John but also can't stop thinking. He can force himself to function and he can carry out the motions, but the gulf in him where his motivation to live used to be feels vast and hollow. ]

[Maria is surprised he offers her his hand but she holds onto it. she likes the contact and she has always found it comforting herself. Maria wasn't sure about Harold but she assumed Harold was mature enough to be able to set up boundaries if this wasn't a comfort.

relationships of any kind weren't easy even if Maria can't say she has a lot of experience. however, she does have experience in knowing the wrong things to do.]

Sometimes the truth has to be said, even if it hurts. It's better you got this out and he knows, like I said. Maybe you can never move past what happened, losing the people you care about, but you can talk about it. You can learn how to live with it. [there was no getting past it, moving past it, or getting over it.]

On your own time, of course.

[ It's exactly the right thing to say. He doesn't have to move on, compartmentalize, suppress it all like he's fine and he can keep going. He just... has to find a way to keep going, full stop. But he can carry this with him as he does.

Harold squeezes her hand gratefully, emotions roiling through him. ]

I really expected to die myself, [ he says, a whole suite of complex feelings underlying the confession, guilt and sadness and confusion. ] But John had made a...

[ He stops mid-sentence, suddenly realizing how little Maria actually knows about him. Not even the existence of the Machine. Who he was a few years ago kept that so close to himself, revealed so little, and it made sense at the time. It did protect him, and it did protect others. But it didn't really save anyone, not in the long run. Harold's reached an exquisitely painful understanding of who bears the price when he refuses to engage with others, with reality. ]

I made a Machine, [ he says abruptly, but plainly, like it doesn't matter. Like it isn't a secret Harold has felt twisting in his stomach night after night, that people haven't died to discover or killed to keep. He meets Maria's eyes steadily. ] An intelligence past anything I thought was possible. Capable of listening and seeing through every computer network in the world, tasked with saving people's lives.

John had an arrangement with her that he would die instead of me.

Edited 2025-04-06 16:24 (UTC)

[Maria feels bad when people talk about these kinds of things to her because she truly has no idea what any of this could mean. from how Harold talks about it, it seems like this is probably something that not a lot of people would understand. something secretive. now isn't the best time to ask him to explain it to her and so who cares if she does not understand at all what he's talking about. that's not what's important.

it's important Maria is being told. it says something about how he can trust her with this, certainly?]

He does care a lot about you, doesn't he? [not that this makes anything better, perhaps, but she can't help but think about it.]

[ Harold is honestly grateful Maria isn't hung up on what he reveals. It's such a fact of life for him now, and he finds anyone who gets stuck on the details, on understanding what he's done, tends to be the kind of person he's wary of. They end up wanting to use the Machine, or use him. Harold is telling Maria because it's emotionally relevant, and that's the context in which she receives it.

There's so much he could say -- so much that happened -- Root's death, or the final acceptance that the Machine is his child, and then losing her shortly thereafter. But Harold can only handle so much at once, so he keeps the conversation to what he had, in fact, wanted to talk to Maria about: how to live with John in Etraya. ]

He and the Machine both, [ Harold says, but in a broken tone, devastated. ] I can't... blame them, but I also...

[ What he really can't say to John, not now and not ever. In a hushed whisper: ] I can't help feeling betrayed. I thought things would end, that I'd found my end. They took it from me, and gave me... a life I didn't think I'd have again.

[ What is he supposed to do with it now? ]

[while she's not hung up on what Harold reveals, she is absolutely going to be wondering what the Machine is for a while. clearly it's important and whatever (whoever?) it (they?) are, they played a role in this.

but it isn't about this right now, she thinks. it's about the aftermath. and what a tricky aftermath it is. certainly not one that Maria can understand. what she wouldn't give to be able to simply live. but she knew people were different and there was obviously so much she didn't know about Harold. how or why he might feel this way.

her hand squeezes his gently, something she intends to be a show of comfort. there are some bigger emotions she can understand.]

And you don't know what to do with all these things, right?

Not in the slightest.

[ In a lot of respects, Harold had given up on living a life as it was normally defined the day Nathan died. The bomb went off and he lost his best friend and his company, and then he abandoned his fiancée to protect her. Harold spent the next six months in a wheelchair refusing medical treatment, leaving him with a permanent limp and a limited range of motion in his spine. He gave up.

Since then he's found reasons -- a purpose, as he once told John -- to make it worthwhile to keep going, but he's never wholly embraced the idea that he wants to live again. Not a real life, not one that isn't him tucked in the shadows doing whatever small traces of good he can put onto the Earth before he dies. ]

Looking at him, I just keep thinking-- [ His voice breaks. ] I'm going to lose him again one day. [ They can't stay here forever in Etraya, can they? What's going to happen to John, and anyone else here who's died at home? It isn't a problem Harold's considered before, and now he can't stop thinking about it. ]

[Maria knew that Harold didn't come here expecting some magical phrase or word to solve his problems and feelings. there were none she could give, she knew this herself. nothing could make this better.

but she wished she did have some way to fix this. to make him stop hurting.

her other hand moves on top of his to comfort him. or hoping to anyway. ]

And that's the hard part about caring about someone so much. But you know, while you're here...there isn't a worry about that. I don't want to sound condescending, or I'm making light, but enjoy him while you're here. You should hold onto these moments with him. I know it doesn't change what happened, what will happen, and I'm sorry. But to have someone you care about so much, that's nice. And he's here with you now. It's another chance.

[suddenly she feels embarrassed for saying that. like that was entirely the wrong thing to say. she shakes her head.] I'm sorry. I don't know if I should have said that.

[ Harold grasps her hands tightly in his, eyes closing for a long moment as he works through the emotions her words provoke. ]

No-- no, you're right. [ He opens his eyes and meets hers, gaze sad but steely, somehow. The part of him he'd found after Root's death bubbles to the surface, when he'd questioned himself on his own rules, his own morals. What are they really worth if they lead to so much loss? Can he say he cares about human life if he doesn't care about those of his loved ones just as much?

He'd changed then, fundamentally. He can change again. The first time took him fifty years, but this time it's easier. ]

I don't see why I need to go back at all, [ he declares, the seed of an idea he'd had talking to Accelerator taking root. ] He died for me, the least I can do is live here for him.

[ It seems the harder thing to do than dying, but Harold has never been afraid of doing the harder thing. ]

[Maria has had a similar thought. there is absolutely nothing to return to in her case and she knew what she would do when the time came. part of her had been worried she might be the only one of the people she had gotten to know that would stay. so Harold saying this makes her feel relief.

but not only for herself but also because it seems like something has gotten through to him. through all of the pain he had to experience. to see some beacon of hope that does offer itself to him.

she smiles widely at his words.] That's beautiful. That really is.

[and she means it so much more than he can know. the idea that he cares so much that he will do what he can to live for the other. to spend his time with someone who matters so much. no matter the kind of love it is, it is love. the world, all worlds, should have so much more of that.]

Edited 2025-04-17 03:10 (UTC)

[ He's not expecting such effusive approval, and Harold flushes awkwardly, hand tightening on hers for a moment before he pulls it back into his lap. Now that he's extended himself it feels like he needs to pull back again. He's all too aware that this decision conveniently lets him run away from the mess he left behind, which he reflects on with a harsh pang. ]

Is it? Mostly I feel like a selfish old man. [ Grimacing at his own cowardice, he adds, ] I want to stay with him, but I don't even know how to look at him right now.

[ He's just so tired of grieving. ]

Edited 2025-04-18 14:38 (UTC)

[it was to be expected that Harold would pull back. he had opened himself up so much to her and it didn't take a genius to know how difficult a thing this was for the man. Maria felt honored that he had talked about this with her.]

It's so fresh, Harold. And after what he said, [the stupid, stupid thing he said...] how could you? You're not selfish. You're just human.

[ You're just human. It reminds him of why he'd built the Machine in the first place. He couldn't trust anyone to make the kinds of decisions the Machine needed to make, couldn't credibly believe they could possibly do it without bias. Not just bias, but a kind of bias that would indelibly hurt others, possibly on a massive scale. He thinks of the very first conversation he'd had when he arrived, when Mr. Gukgak expressed concern about having someone human judging his world, which was full of non-humans, and Harold feels more certain than ever that he was right to worry about that.

Because he is, after all, just human. Loathe though he's been to admit it to himself. Being human means he prioritizes his loved ones, cares about them more than others -- not just abstractly but concretely, how it seeps into his bones that he can't see how to live without them.

His resulting smile is pained, half grimace, because he can't help but agree. ]

I'm trying to tell myself that, [ he admits. ] I've always held myself to... a higher standard. [ Higher than was reasonable, probably, but it being aspirational was no reason to give it up, not when he was aware of the possible repercussions otherwise. ]

But recently, I've wondered... [ On an exhale, with an ache in his voice: ] Aren't I allowed to want to save those I care for most, more than anyone else?

Of course you're allowed. It's a big world out there. And coming to a place like this...[she trails off on that one because well, no need to give him even more targets to worry about. although he must have already, knowing him.]

Well. It doesn't make you selfish, if that's what you're worried about. It goes with what I just said, being human and all. You can save John and Shaw, while you're here. You can protect them and do what you can for them. And it doesn't change a thing about you.

Respectfully, Maria, I've never lived that way.

[ It's Harold, so he drops the Ms. again in deference to them having an obviously personal connection, a moment beyond formality, and he adds respectfully to ensure he's accurately communicating his deep and real respect for her. It's not snide from him at all. ]

I want-- [ His voice breaks. ] I want something for myself for once. Does that make sense?

[ He's given up everything by now. Everything except, finally, John. ]

Yeah, that makes more sense to me than you know. [it was partly why she was living her life here like she did. though not entirely selfishly (she had a universe to save for Heather's and Laura's sakes), Maria remembered the advice she got from Vincent's tarot cards. she could never be happy if she lived by other's desires. easier said than done but she was trying.]

I know we're here to prove a point but I think we can do that and be happy. Back home, what would our lives look like right now? You wouldn't have this chance with John. So, not like you need my approval but just try to be happy. Even if it's in a life you didn't ask for or a chance you may not feel you deserve, it's yours. Take it. Do something worthwhile with it. Don't waste it holding back.

[ Are they here to prove a point? What kind of point could that be? Harold is still skeptical of the truth of what's going on here, though he's gotten marginally less so as time passes and he's gotten to know Aurora. But he doesn't take anything for granted, especially after his recent experiences with Samaritan. In a certain way, that reminder does revitalize him: there's still something to be done, people to help. There won't be numbers ever again -- a sick feeling in his stomach, swooping, his child gone forever -- but he can carry on the spirit of Nathan's mission, which was then the Machine's mission, if not the letter. ]

Wise advice, [ he allows ruefully, reflecting on what a mess he's been all over her. It's always extraordinarily uncomfortable being seen, scrutinized, and Harold had just been very vulnerable. It's natural to flip it back on Maria, peering at her with quiet curiosity. ]

And I hope advice that you'll be following yourself. Is there something here you can have just for yourself as well?

(no subject)

heavensnight - 2025-05-05 01:04 (UTC) - Expand

wrapping up?

ornithologist - 2025-05-15 00:27 (UTC) - Expand

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