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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[From Harold's expression Accelerator is actually expecting him to change the subject instead of answering his question. He wouldn't blame him for wanting to do that, it had taken a lot for him to broach the subject of the clones.

Whatever happened to Harold back home was bad, he gets that much.]

A few years? You were gone for that long?

[He blinks at that. Is time travel whiplash a thing?]

It was highly disorienting coming back, and to an empty city, [ he says with wry agreement. ]

The text I sent you was a low moment for me. I'm... well. [ Not doing better, necessarily, but. ] I'm no longer doubtful of the basic nature of reality in Etraya, so there's been improvement.

[ Highly disorienting was maybe an understatement. ]

[Harold, that sounds like one tiny baby step forward.]

That's... something, at least. [It's far better than Harold being in some permanent delusional or suicidal state.] Has Reese being back helped?

[He's assuming that's what did it.]

[ There's a moment's awkward pause before he answers, gaze darting away, unable to maintain eye contact. This isn't exactly a secret worth keeping, he knows, but it's still hard to say. ]

... Considering he should be deceased, [ he says evenly, ] not really.

[ That's one way of putting it, and not untrue. Harold is having a hard time looking at John even when he isn't sticking his foot in his mouth. ]

[Oops.

The thought of John being dead in addition to the Machine never once occurred to him, even though it should have. Accelerator stares at Harold, dumbfounded and feeling really stupid right now.

Of course. The text makes even more sense now.]

What?

[ There's nothing he can possibly say in response that won't cross that line Harold doesn't want to cross, where a nearly 60 year old man ends up crying on a teenager. So he just maintains his level, vacant gaze at the hospital doors, his earlier comments perhaps coming into focus. ]

It happened recently from our perspectives. I'm finding it difficult to carry on as normal.

[Thankfully, Accelerator doesn't make any move to touch Harold. Physical comfort is not something he's any good at, and he wouldn't know where to begin. He blinks, then stops staring by pulling his gaze away, back down to his hands.]

Oh. [Yeah, okay, all of this makes a hell of a lot of sense now.]

... Yeah, that's a really fucked up position for you to be in. [Not that he'd say John should die, but him being dead and then not and yet still having that inevitable death looming over him is insane.] You can't mourn him, but you also can't really be happy he's alive here. Right?

[ It's easier to maintain some distance like this, so he's grateful. Unfortunately, Accelerator hits the nail on the head with that comment; Harold lets out a tense breath, letting some measure of grief openly wash over him. ]

... It's strange. I should be overjoyed to see him, but I just keep thinking that we'll never be in New York again together.

[ There's a real loss, a real death that Harold is mourning, and he's struggling to rationally accept that while also staying present in Etraya as it is. ]

I'll need to commit to staying in Etraya if I don't want to lose him again, [ he adds, the natural conclusion that's been swirling around in his mind. He doesn't know what to do with it yet, but it keeps taunting him like a loose tooth. It's so radically different from his previous perspective on Etraya, which was innate suspicion, wariness, reluctant acclimitization to his fate. ]

[That's one potential path, though Accelerator isn't sure how realistic it is. Despite the long amount of time he's stuck here Etraya still feels like a temporary place to him. Maybe because he's seen so many people arrive and leave? He isn't sure.]

Can you do that?

[He's never thought of asking Aurora whether that's possible. Going home is always on his mind, so staying... it seems like a huge commitment. A huge, bizarre change that would upend your life permanently.]

I don't know.

[ It's always felt temporary to him, too, a worrisome annoyance before he can get back to his real life. But now -- what is is his life? What does he have left? He made the unwise impulsive decision to seek out Grace, like some kind of autonomic reflex. Harold was somehow still alive, therefore he must find Grace. He hadn't meant to let her see him. Or had he? Is he just fooling himself again?

There is a life waiting for him back home, and he knows it. That is the gift John, and Root, and Elias, and Nathan, and not least of which the Machine gave him. It's a gift he doesn't want to squander.

He's just not sure he wants it. ]

But I also don't know how to live without him.

[By this point, Accelerator is one hundred percent certain John feels the same way, regardless of how he does or does not express (or acknowledge) those feelings. It's hard to tell if Harold's told John about any of this, and he doesn't really want to ask, not when it's clear Harold is having to go through enough right now. Untangling the mess of what he assumes are some complex "wanting to stay here, but needing to go home" feelings is a lot for anyone to be dealing with.

Because realistically, he doubts it's possible for anyone to willingly stay in Etraya.]

Chances are you're going to have to figure that out.

[Similar to how he had to figure out how to live his life after it was finally beaten into him that the clones were people, and that he had been killing real people for months. Of course, he had it easier than Harold does, because he wasn't floundering aimlessly with nothing to hold onto. He at least had Last Order, and the remaining clones. They gave him purpose.

He remembers back to a conversation he and the #5 had, supposing there are also similarities in the way both the dead clones and John have had to live in secrecy. So....]

Your memories of him might be the only proof he existed back home, so that could be a start. Living as that remnant of him.

[ 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.

[Oh. Well.

He'd been so sure when he arrived at that conclusion for the Sisters, back home. It had felt like he'd gotten some clarity in dealing with their deaths. If Harold's dismissing that option, then what does that mean?

He respects Harold a lot - as difficult as it is for him to express sentiment towards other people, he has no problem admitting that. He also has a lot more in the way of life experience, so if he doesn't like that, then -

Then -]

..................................

[Accelerator falls silent as the insecurity of second guessing himself bears down on him like a heavy weight. It takes him a few moments to gather himself, sighing heavily and scowling.]

Then I guess your next fucking step is to ask Aurora.

[ He probably will ask Aurora, but he senses something in the way Accelerator shuts down, goes silent before responding. He realizes that he's been caught up in his own mental space and forgotten who he's talking to once again. It's perhaps inevitable while he's like this -- actively grieving -- but Harold still expects better of himself. ]

The Machine said that to me before she died, [ he says slowly. ] That if you helped one person, or if one person remembers you, that you haven't truly died. Or at least that death isn't the end.

[ He's saying this to mean that just because Harold can't feel it personally, doesn't mean it isn't valid. ]

I think -- I'm just tired of loss, [ he breathes out on a sigh. ]

[Funny that an artificial intelligence would say something so similar to him. Most people wouldn't find that reassuring, but he does. She's Harold's kid, after all, and he gets what Harold is doing. That self-doubt doesn't completely abate, and some of it's replaced with a guilt for being selfish, but he still relaxes a little.]

... Oh.

[He's quiet again, this time trying to come up with something useful to say.]

It's... hard. [God, he's bad at this.]

[ Part of real maturity is understanding that others can have perspectives different from your own that are equally valid and legitimate, and if you can't do that yourself then it's hard to believe someone else could. Harold knows that's something every young person struggles with, so it's easy to read through here, and he doesn't want to denigrate whatever coping strategy Accelerator has come up with. Particularly not when it's one the Machine had decided on, also.

In a lot of respects, she would know better than him. Harold had made her to be more than a human could be, himself included, maybe himself especially.

Accelerator's simple statement, It's hard, seems apropos more than anything to Harold. In the tone of a confession: ] I miss her. Even if we weren't communicating directly, she could see me through every camera, hear me through every microphone.

[ Maybe no one else would find that comforting, but Harold always has. He and Root are alike in some ways he found hard to admit. ]

[Well, logically it makes perfect sense. You don't create an AI who can predict criminal activity without it having access to absolutely every kind of surveillance feed, and when you know it's got that kind of access your only options are to get used to it or somehow go off the grid.

Still, he huffs a little.]

That's Academy City levels of surveillance. Aurora can't even compare.

[It's wild to think about, having a child who knows your every move.

Then again, that's sort of how it works with him and the Sisters. They've got access to his brainwaves, and if he wants to avoid them physically he has to actively work at it. It makes him try to imagine a life where all of the Sisters were gone, where he didn't need them for his brain injury, and he could go where he wanted and do what he wanted without them knowing.]

I get what that would've been like. Kind of. It's a lot harder to imagine all of a sudden having to go without that oversight.

[ Aurora really can't compare in that sense at least, which makes Harold's prior fear of being used against her understandable. He knows how to turn an A.I. into an A.S.I., a super intelligence. The Machine and Samaritan were likened to gods, and he found that whole metaphor tedious and annoying, but there was a grain of truth behind it: they were far beyond anything a human mind could fathom. Maybe Accelerator with his full capabilities is closer to it, but Harold can't help but feel it's still not the same.

The Machine, and Aurora, are not human. Treating them as human is a mistake, and in a strange way even callous. They don't need to be human to be worth caring for. But until recently he hadn't known how to reconcile that.

Harold shrugs awkwardly, the motion stiff and lop-sided with his bad back. He doesn't know what else to say, really still doesn't talk about the Machine with others often. Right now he's finding it hard to completely follow the thread of conversation like he normally would, his mind pulled off-course again and again, like someone struggling to shore getting caught up in undertow. ]

The Machine knew me... exceptionally well. [ Dashwood. ] She and John made a deal to protect me, [ he explains, sounding hollow. ] I had no idea they even spoke.

[ He should make a joke here, play it off somehow, but it dries up into dust in his mouth, the taste acrid. ]

[Accelerator would like to say something about how of course she knew him well, she was his kid. But he can't be confident with a statement like that, kids don't always know what their parents are actually like and he certainly didn't know his own. He isn't sure if that's another quality that made the Machine exceptional, but right now it feels like it.

It's nice to hear the two of them made that deal. Regardless of what Harold thinks about it (chances he thinks he didn't deserve it), Accelerator is glad he had two powerful people actively working to keep him safe.]

Did they? [On the one hand, he can totally picture John making a deal like that. On the other, he doesn't seem all that tech-savvy. He has to wonder who was the instigator of that deal, or if they had the same idea at the same time.] Guess you know how important you are - were - to them.

[ Harold knew his father fairly well, considered them close, but that has nothing on what the Machine can predict about him. A super intelligence who's studied its favorite person for years... he really should've expected she knew the password to ICE-9 without him saying it, should've known she'd been respecting his decisions, as always. In one sense, he regrets ever distrusting her; but that very distrust had made her who she became, so can he really regret it? The Machine's very caution and deliberateness was born from Harold's.

He really doesn't know what he'd done, in sum or in part, to end up with the child he did. So he wouldn't go back and change a thing. ]

Yes, I-- [ He stops himself, huffs, scrubbing at his face and at his eyes under his glasses in a sudden release of tension. ] I'm touched, but I'm also a bit annoyed, honestly.

I'd like to have some say in who gets to die for me, [ Harold gripes. ]

[He scoffs a little at that remark. Yeah, that's completely understandable. He can't imagine being happy if someone wanted to die for him. Yoshikawa had come close, though that had been for both him and Last Order, so it's easier to assume she had mainly done it for the tiny clone.

He doesn't want to think about what it'd be like if he was in Harold's position. At least Harold is a good person.]

That's the biggest pain about having people in your life. You can't control what they do.

[God, there had been so many times where he had wished that wasn't the case.]

[ At least Harold is a good person. Is he? That definition seems so frightfully malleable. Like an optical illusion, you don't quite realize you're seeing something different from the person beside you until you actually start talking about it. Harold has tried so hard and for so long to be a good person by his own definition, and then he'd broken that, to keep a bigger, higher promise.

He doesn't regret doing that, but he still doesn't know what to put in its place. Doesn't he need some new definition? Harold doesn't know how to live without that kind of certainty behind his actions. ]

I do keep trying to avoid having people in my life, [ he retorts in a long-suffering tone, ] but that doesn't seem to be working either.

[ He really does keep trying to just be alone. But whatever being a good person means, it must be incompatible with abandoning those that care for you. Harold is certain of that much. (It's why when he thinks of his father--) No. Not the time. ]

[Oh boy, Accelerator can relate. He had the benefit of Academy City facilitating his isolation for years, but people still managed to worm their way into his life. And now that he's actually allowing people in, sometimes he wishes he could go back to how things used to be. Not because it was better, but because it was easier.]

In my experience, the only way to do that is to completely isolate yourself from everything. Even the tiny stuff.

[No friends, no family, no classmates, nothing.]

[He pauses, curling his fingers again. Of course, him sitting here means Harold isn't alone. Harold had tried to downplay that text, he was the one who had insisted on talking to him about it. Accelerator is acutely aware this is probably the opposite of what he wants.

He should probably feel guilty about being here because of that, but he doesn't. Awkwardly, he looks away.]

... Anyways, I'm glad it isn't working.

[That's probably about as close as he can get to saying, 'I like having you around.']

[ Being isolated wasn't better, but it was tremendously easier -- Harold agrees with that sentiment completely.

He smiles ruefully at Accelerator at that last comment, reading through it and unashamed of his human weaknesses now. ] I've only myself to blame in that regard, [ he comments. ] If I must keep on living, the only way to make it bearable is to care.

[ About specific people and about ideals both. ]

Living without caring -- that's the worst fate of all, I think.

I won't run, the guilt is mine

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