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

[ John is drunk enough and it's late enough in the day that he's going to drag himself to the sofa again soon, but there's one last thing he needs to do after talking with Maria. He types very carefully, far more carefully than when he was messaging Maria, because this is Harold. ]

Can I have three days.

Edited (that's a me typo!!!) 2025-04-09 23:21 (UTC)

Of course, John.

[ Harold doesn't hesitate to agree, sensitive to boundaries as ever, but he does think to add a note of caution. He'll leave off tracing and monitoring John for the three days, but he's trusting him not to make him regret it. ]

I'll give you some privacy. Please take care.

[ John isn't sure if he should thank Harold for that, or what he should say. He still feels so unsure of how to talk to Harold outside of the impersonal distance their breakfast conversations have carried. It's one thing to tell Harold the facts of how the mission went and entirely another to respond to Please take care. So he's about to not reply but that also feels wrong and he's... committing to something, here. To trying. So he tries. ]

I will.

[ The next three days are miserable. He's done this before, back when Harold first recruited him, and it's thankfully not as bad this time. Still, sobering up after that many days of nonstop drinking is unpleasant. He's still not feeling 100% by the time the evening of the third day rolls around, but he's past the worst of it so he sends the text he's been thinking about. ]

Can I make breakfast tomorrow?

[ He's not sure Harold will want that. It's a breach of the space Harold has cultivated between them, John trying to close that gap again, inch by inch. It's not living together in the library again, but it's a call back to those days. But he's decided that if he wants that life back then he's going to have to work for it. ]

[ He does need space right now -- he'd been the one to ask for it, to insist on it -- but he still frets about John in those three days. He's not used to being unable to spy on him whenever he needs some reassurance about his safety, and he does sneak a look a few times to confirm that his locator signal is still within range. Harold's really not trying to pry, but as he'd said to Maria, he knows that one day he's going to lose John again. That's inevitable.

But maybe it can be later rather than sooner.

He's spent a long time thinking after his conversations with Maria, Accelerator, and Carver. Then especially after his brief exchange with Aurora. Harold doesn't rush to major decisions like this; he takes his time, thinks them through, because once he commits he knows he's going to commit fully. Especially now. He's finally realized what it costs for him to refuse to participate directly in a war, and that cost is too high to pay again. Harold has changed fundamentally in some deep, core way that scares him a little. But he can't go back. Even if he could, somehow, he wouldn't. Who he is now... maybe he'll get fewer people killed for helping him.

By the time John messages him, he's starting to feel steadier, less like he'd rather drift out to sea than spend another day or week or month with his feet on solid ground. The grief hasn't left him but it's started to solidify, a crystallized resin he carries beside his heart. ]

Yes, please. Are you feeling better?

[ Maybe a paltry attempt at courtesy, but the distance he'd once needed to protect himself is starting to wear thin on Harold, too. ]

[ It's a relief when Harold agrees. John didn't realize how much he was worrying, how much of a weight the question was. And then he feels dread again, that he's going to mess this up again somehow, that he's going to say or do the wrong thing. He feels unbalanced, like trying to stand on a board in a pool, feeling the inevitability of falling in but struggling with all his might to stay upright. He wonders if he'll ever feel sure of his relationship with Harold again.

It was so easy before, and then he died, and then it fell apart. ]

I am. See you tomorrow.

[ He doesn't really have food to serve Harold, so he makes the trek out to Kwik Trip and gets eggs and bacon; he already has the rest of what he needs at home. He picks up some more groceries while he's at it, realizing he should probably do better than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal. Just simple food, though he can't bear to make his staple pasta with meat sauce right now; it's too much a reminder of what feels like the beginning of the end.

Morning rolls around and he wakes up and starts making bacon and pancakes. The eggs get prepared but not made, they're not good once they cool off. The pancakes and bacon go in the oven to stay warm, though Harold is always punctual so they haven't been there for more than a couple minutes when there's a knock on the door.

John goes to let Harold in and he's still not back in his suit, his hair isn't styled like normal, but he looks more... together, in a way. His movements are more precise, his face more under control. These past breakfasts he's been going for "not too drunk" as a benchmark, but today there's no bottles at all in the apartment and there's a certain level of cleanliness that suggests he's made a bit of an effort at it. ]

Hi.

[ Harold notices the difference immediately, and something he normally holds tense instead eases around his eyes. It's been a struggle for him, too, coming here every day to check on John and give him some measure of reassurance that Harold isn't abandoning him. It is hard to look at him knowing he's dead and it's even harder when it's so obvious John isn't doing well, and that a large part of that is Harold's fault.

But he's... sober, and the apartment is cleaner, and he's making breakfast. His heart lurches, kick-starting like an old motor. He realizes with abrupt, painful intensity how much he wants to see John be okay. ]

Good morning. ... I'm glad to see you, [ he adds softly, standing in the middle of the living area, looking down at his clasped hands as he says it.

It's a much more effusive greeting than Harold normally offers, but he trusts he doesn't have to explain why. ]

[ There's something painful and tight in his chest at Harold's greeting but at the same time he feels... he's happy. He's relieved. Harold is glad to see him. Is this a reward for being better? For cleaning himself up? Or is this just... how things are now?

He doesn't know.

He also doesn't know how to reply. What does he say to that? This is uncharted territory, he feels like he's having to learn how to talk with Harold all over again, only this time there's so little distance. Even though Harold wanted time away, John suddenly realizes there's still so little distance. They can't just erase these past five years, the time living together in Etraya. Maybe that's why it hurt so much— for both of them. ]

Thanks for letting me make breakfast. I'll go finish up the eggs.

[ There's something delicate, fragile, about this moment where they're both just standing in his apartment, with the weight of this past week. With the weight of John's death, Harold's departure, and John falling apart in such an obvious and destructive way. He speaks softly too. ]

[ He'd never be so transactional as to think of his praise being offered as a reward. (At least, not without specific discussion about it, and specific consent...) Harold is just being honest. He is glad to see him looking better, he's relieved like he's relieved when he gets to sit down after doing far too many stairs for his back to handle. He can stop pushing himself so hard, at least for now.

Harold drifts further into the apartment, past the dining table where they've had all their prior breakfast of teas and pastries and awkward small talk, and into the kitchen. ]

I'll keep you company, [ he offers. His heart is still kicking like it doesn't remember how to go. No part of him wants to erase his time spent with John, not at home and not in Etraya; he can't stand to know it ends. ]

What brought on the break these past few days? [ In other words, what made him sober up?

Harold has something he wants to share himself, but he's gunshy still. The steadiness he's gained feels brittle, ready to shatter if too much pressure is applied. He'd rather John went first. Harold has been so vulnerable, so sharply exposed lately. ]

[ John understands the question for what it is. Harold is aware of why he needed the break, he's just asking what changed; what made him change his mind, get his act together again. They didn't really talk about this when he came back from Italy, Harold just accepted that he was back, and that was that. But this time Harold is asking, and it's not just small talk.

John sounds unsure when he talks, the topic foreign to him. Instead of looking at Harold he busies himself with turning up the stove, bringing the melted butter back up to temperature, starting to scramble the eggs. ]

I talked with some people and realized nothing was going to change the way I was going.

[ I wasn't going to get you back, he doesn't say. That's part of it, yes, even a large part of it, but not the whole truth. Maria was exactly right when she said he needed time to think. He still hasn't ordered his thoughts much, he still feels a mess every time he thinks that he's dead, but— there's some progress. Even if he's awkward and unsure and terrified and can't look directly at Harold in this moment, he's still here, he's making an attempt. He's trying to move forward, inch by inch. ]

[ Harold knows John very well by now, can read beneath and between the lines on most of what he says, but in this particular case he has no idea what the meaning is. ]

Nothing was going to change... in regard to what? [ he asks, words slowing, puzzled.

It seems like he's referring to more than just a perpetual state of inebriation and the limitations that brings. What would John care about changing so much? What's really left to them, to him, after his death? Or is that what he's reconciling with? Harold can sense an opportunity here, a shift in tenor between them, and if he wants to take advantage of it then he can't afford to let ambiguity stand. Not the way he has so many times before.

This is a second chance, and there will not be a third. ]

[ Of course if Harold was asking in the first place he wouldn't let John get away with such a shallow answer. He looks at the eggs in the pan almost blindly, pushes them around in an automatic way. He know what he needs to say but it's terrifying. It's the truth again but it's going to scare Harold away. He's going to be left alone in his apartment with these pancakes and bacon and eggs. ]

I'm dead. And I don't know what to do. And— [ his throat closes up on the words but he forces them out anyways] I hurt you.

[ That last part matters. He has no clue what to do about it, but it matters so much to him. He's grappled with the image of Harold crying every day. It hurts to think about again and again. He did that. Even in the depths of his drunkenness, even in the moments he can't really remember, he was aware of how he hurt Harold, how he said the wrong thing, how alone he felt in his apartment. ]

[ It's frustrating, the way that framing makes it about John once again. Not about Harold being hurt but about John hurting him. That's why he'd needed space, to grapple with that himself, to move through his own feelings of hurt and loss enough to be able to approach John's. That part of him had turned callous in self-protection... and it's started to soften now, with enough other people letting him vent to them, more appropriate outlets than John. ]

John, [ he whispers, trying so desperately to find his eloquence. Now of all times it feels unbearable to be unskillful, with John finally saying out loud that he's dead. ]

Your death is what hurt me. There's no way I can live now without feeling the magnitude of that loss.

[ Harold tries to speak plainly, honestly, so there's no miscommunication. He stares at John's back as he stands over the stove and misses the line of his tailored suit across those broad shoulders, that upright spine. ]

Edited 2025-04-13 02:21 (UTC)

[ He doesn't know what to say to that, so he busies himself with the breakfast instead. The plates are already out, all he has to do is scrape half the eggs on each plate and pull the bacon and pancakes from where they're warm in the oven.

He doesn't know what to say. ]

I can't take that back. And I don't know how to comfort you. I'm sorry, for that. I hope you have friends who can. Who did.

[ John wishes he knew how. He wishes he knew the right thing to say. He wishes he could ease Harold's pain, not just so that they could return to how things were, but because he doesn't like to think about Harold hurting. He hopes people like Maria were able to help Harold the way she helped him.

But he doesn't apologize for dying because not matter how much it hurt Harold, no matter how much it hurts himself, he wouldn't do anything differently. Even knowing the path they're on, even if Harold walks away forever, he'll still be alive back home. The one life that really matters. It's just, he didn't think there would be anything after for him. He didn't think it would matter. He didn't have time to think about how Harold would feel about it, or maybe he did and it didn't occur to him; he was just so focused on Harold living to really think about what that life would be like. And now he's faced with his own uncertainty and realizes he created a scenario where that was always going to be the outcome for Harold, both in Etraya and back home. ]

I don't think I understand what it means to you. Will you tell me?

[ It feels like a lot to ask of Harold, but he wants to know. If they're actually having this conversation he wants to understand. ]

[ They're finally communicating, and it's just as painful as he'd thought it would be. Typically, they leave things unsaid; they demonstrate through actions how much they matter to one another; they take what they give each other and they don't ask for more. That's always been enough for Harold, more than he thought he'd ever get. He'd truly tried to isolate himself until his death, hadn't intended to befriend John at all.

Now he doesn't know how to live without him. In the quiet domesticity of Etraya, it even feels possible to be greedy for more. To ask for it instead of just mutely accept what's on offer. ]

I don't want you to comfort me, [ Harold answers, strength entering his voice. ] I should be the one comforting you.

[ He's drilled down to the innermost part of himself and found at his core that he can bear up under much more than he thought he could. The pain will stay with him forever, the grief, but he can move through it still. But John asked him a direct question and he does answer that, forcing the same lack of ambiguity from himself that he'd asked for from John. ]

I've been on this crusade for so long. I didn't expect to outlive it-- no, [ he corrects himself harshly, ] I didn't want to outlive it. I never looked to have something past that, or have someone with me.

But we... found something together, didn't we? [ Cautiously, slowly, ] Something more than just the mission.

[ Harold halts, awkward, wanting confirmation. He knows it's true but there's a reason they haven't said it out loud before, and there's value and fragility in doing it now, in admitting that they'd found something together not just worth dying for, but possibly living for as well. ]

I wasn't prepared to lose that, too.

[ It's easier when Harold is talking to look at him, so John lifts his gaze from the plates with rapidly cooling eggs. He just tries to listen, to not immediately get wrapped up in whatever Harold is saying and speak before he's really ready to say anything. There is no right answer, there is no perfect thing that will solve all this, so he needs to be careful; it feels like at any moment they'll just crack and fracture again and Harold will walk out the door.

So, comforting is off the table for both of them. John doesn't know what it would even look like for someone to comfort him, least of all from Harold. Comfort has been the last thing from his mind all these years, it's completely foreign now.

But beside that— he feels all too closely Harold's words. It hurts to hear him say that he didn't want to outlive the numbers. Of course John wants Harold to live, has gone to great lengths for Harold to live, but it wasn't at all what Harold wanted. But can John say any different about himself? If it had been the other way around, if Harold had given him a second chance, would he have been able to accept it? But he's forced Harold to do just that, has forced him to live without that something more than just the mission as well.

It's painful to speak but John makes the words come out, forces them through his closed up throat. ]

We did. It was more than just the mission.

[ John doesn't think he'd survive being turned down so he just thinks desperately to himself, Of course it was more, I love you. His heart is hammering and pounding and it's so painful and loud, but he holds his hand out to Harold. He hopes Harold will see it for what it is, sees it as John stepping into that space they never talked about; friends, but John is greedy for so much more than that. ]

I'm sorry for never trying to talk to you. I'm not good at it, but that's not an excuse, is it?

[ Fusco taught him that. Fusco taught him that he can't just go taking everything for granted, can't just leave everything unsaid, and that's exactly what he did anyway. ]

We're both at fault for that. By the time there was something to talk about... it was easier not to say out loud what was at stake.

[ Harold feels that keenly, all the unsaid words and suppressed feelings that are between them and have been for years. Since that day John asked for a new suit and a ride back from Italy, Harold knew he wasn't just asking for his job back. He knew it was more. But acknowledging that would mean acknowledging he was going to lose it, and he did. Now, on the other side of that loss, it feels cowardly and pointless.

He steps forward and takes his hand readily, squeezing tightly, like he's trying to stop John from falling. ]

I've been a coward, [ he says in a low tone, focused, ] about so many things over the years. And I have... so many regrets, [ he breathes out, overwhelmed by the scale when he thinks of it. ]

But what I regret most is not telling you how important you are to me.

[ Harold takes his hand, Harold says how important you are to me and John feels something unclench in his chest. There's still the fear there that he will say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, he still feels he needs to be careful, but there is something so solid about Harold's words, Harold's actions. He feels like he can take a deep breath all of a sudden, can fill his lungs out. John holds his hand tightly in return. ]

I said it's because your life is the right life, but it was always more than that.

[ It has been for so long. It feels like a lifetime ago that Harold wasn't the pillar of his life, wasn't the thing he orbits around. If they'd had this conversation earlier, if he'd known how much Harold thinks of him, if he'd known Harold would hold his hand tightly like this, what would he have done instead? What would he have said instead? ]

Working with you was the only thing that kept me going, it wasn't just a job. It wasn't just the mission. It's because you were there.

[ There's a moment before he adds, quiet and a little hesitant, ]

Living with you here in the library has been one of the best things that's happened in my life.

[ It's a confession, of sorts, part of the truth but not giving away the whole thing. It's not telling Harold how he wasn't willing to live without him by his side, which John realizes is not a thing he should say despite it being the truth. It's not telling Harold that he loves him, which is still something John isn't sure he deserves. Etraya has been a trial in many ways, but it's given John something he'd only dreamed of. He doesn't mean it accusatory that Harold left, that Harold walked away, and he hopes Harold doesn't take it that way; he understands better why Harold had to leave. Maybe he should clarify that, not leave the ambiguity now. ]

But I think I understand why you left, at least some.

[ As Maria said, they both needed time. ]

[ It's not a surprise to hear John say those things exactly, but it steadies him, a solid weight he can rest on where before there were only assumptions. There's an easy instinct to ask him to move back in with him at the library, their old arrangement that feels so long ago now. But that would be deceptive, because Harold already knows he wants more than that. He's come to a resolution in his mind and he doesn't know what he'll do if John doesn't share it, but he can't restart their relationship under false pretenses.

He'd promised John once that he'd never lie to him, and he takes that promise seriously, in all terms of the word lie. So he grips his hand tightly and meets his eyes as he speaks, that iron dedication Harold had found in himself recently rising to the fore. ]

I couldn't bear to look at you and realize I was going to lose you again, [ he says plainly. ] So I've decided to stay here with you, in Etraya. If you'll have me.

[ It's a major decision, and typical for Harold, he announces it with no hint of the layers and depth of his thinking that have gone into it. He's only looking for John's agreement or refusal. Harold has changed the world more than once, and he's always approached it just like this, like there's nothing remarkable about it. ]

[ It feels like there's no shortage of things John could do to protest, could bring up as counter arguments to Harold's declaration, not the least of which is that he has no clue what life and living in Etraya looks like. What he'll even do with this opportunity. But he's also certain Harold has thought through all of that, he's never anything but thorough when making decisions and that's why John trusts him wholeheartedly. So if Harold says that's what he wants, there's nothing for John to protest or doubt. ]

I didn't really want to leave you in the first place. I didn't want it to be over.

[ It's a realization he's come to slowly, a painful one. He didn't really want to die, it was just better than the alternative in his mind. He didn't want to leave the tenuous life he fell into with Harold, with everyone. He's... sad that it's over, that he'll never walk around New York City by Harold's side again. ]

I don't know what living long term in Etraya looks like, but I want to do it with you. So, yes.

[ Harold had wanted to believe that John didn't want to die, but it's not until he hears it out loud from John that he realizes how hard it was to convince himself of that. His breath comes unevenly, fraught with the intensity of his relief. John should want to live for more reasons than just that -- and Harold will encourage that however he can -- but privately, in that secret soft corner of his soul that has felt so exquisitely alone without Grace or Nathan, he craves the simplicity of knowing John didn't want to leave him. ]

I don't have a new purpose to give you, [ he confesses, throat swelling with the force of emotion. ] Not one beyond learning the truth of what's going on here, and protecting as many worlds as we can.

[ Harold's other hand joins the first, holding John's between them both. ]

But if you'll try to keep going, then so will I.

[ He'd been afraid -- so afraid, acute and cutting in a way he couldn't examine closely -- that John's death indicated he would give up, consider his mission over. The Machine telling him that he'd be dead by suicide without her (without him) has twisted over and over in his heart into something gnarled and fearful. If Harold has to go on, go forward, he doesn't want to do it without John -- and his physical existence in Etraya turns out not to be enough. ]

[ Harold seems to care very much about John's declaration about his death, where John had been worried it would upset him again. He's not entirely sure it hasn't, but it hasn't driven Harold away. At the very least Harold has doubled down on staying here with him, which is all John really wants in the end. ]

I don't know what living just to live is like anymore, [ he confesses, almost a bit sadly. He's had enough distance, enough learning opportunities to realize at least in part how much his path has hurt him. ]

But I'm willing to try. I guess I'll have a long time to learn. And I want to help people here, too. As long as there are missions, as long as there's worlds that need saving.

[ In Etraya, a place without death, there's no escape from this life. It will go on and on. He'll probably get to die of old age, something he hasn't thought possible since he entered the Army, a lifetime ago. But if he gets to spend what's rest of his life with Harold then it will be worth it. After all they've been through over the years, John has realized he doesn't have to be alone; he isn't alone. More than just Harold, he has the whole team, and Shaw said she wanted to stay here too. ]

[ Harold's thought about that, too, about saving worlds here, and hearing John say it out loud makes several thoughts run rapidly through his mind. They're instinctual calculations, the kind of adjustment in future planning Harold makes constantly, like breathing.

The difference between saving one irrelevant life and a whole world is one that matters to him very much, but not in the way John might expect. Harold had been forced to consider saving the whole world from Samaritan -- Root had vociferously argued that to him for so long, and he finally saw her as right -- but he still believes that it isn't what they should pursue normally. ]

I agree, but what you said on the roof -- [ Harold falters, the memories momentarily intense, before he pushes through them. ] About saving one life at a time. That's still what I want to do. We'll save worlds if we can, of course, but...

In the end, that was the difference between us and Samaritan. I don't want to lose sight of that.

[ Perhaps this is a swerve from talking about their personal reconciliation with staying here, staying together, staying alive, but for John and Harold that agreement has always rested on their shared drive to help others. It feels natural, even necessary, to return to that now. ]

[ The thing that brought them together in the first place, the thing that brought John back from Italy, the thing that meant he could never leave Harold to just be Professor Whistler, was this purpose. This belief that they should be helping others. The years have only made John more committed to it. ]

I don't think we can help the worlds without helping people. We're not alone here. When we first arrived I didn't fully agree that this wasn't going to end up a competition, but I don't believe that now. We're all in this together, we have to help each other out.

[ He believed that before he regained his memories and his time at home hasn't changed that one bit. He has friends here, in all shapes and sizes and ages. Gorgug who he's going to fish with, Shadowheart who he baked a pie with, even Carver who probably doesn't really trust him. These are not people he could ever lift a hand against, he will always find another way. He will always walk that path with Harold, and if he feels he's lost the way he'll just follow Harold's footsteps; that's what he'd meant by the right life. ]

[ Earlier on, Harold would have left it at that, wouldn't have explained himself. But now he trusts John on such a deep level that he takes the time to explain his perspective. At the same time, John saying that makes his heart wring into a knot, love and loss indistinguishable. This is why he doesn't know how to go on without him; John feels on an intrinsic level what Harold has been trying to pin down his whole life. ]

They're intrinsically linked, but they're not the same, [ he pushes, something in him catching fire in a slow, banked smolder. ] I don't trust anyone but the Machine to make those kinds of bigger decisions. Certainly not us.

[ That he does trust the Machine to do that -- it's a monumental shift, the movement of a planet, but Harold doesn't want to focus on that. Doesn't want to talk about how his distrust and doubt in her had turned out to be completely unfounded. She'd called him father... ]

And not Echo. We can't know what's really happening here, but for as long as we're present, I want to focus on saving those that are in front of us.

We won't get numbers, but the idea that no one is irrelevant... [ He breathes, feeling the absence of Nathan expanding inside his ribs, before he finishes. ] That's never led us astray. Has it?

[ He can see what Harold is getting at, what Harold believes. It's not really about those far away worlds at all, the big decisions, the grand vision for the future. Harold is just talking about the here and now, the people in front of them, the people living in this apartment building and also the people who have found their homes outside of it. Just helping them.

And helping them without the Machine's guidance, without her hand. He didn't get to talk with her much, even on the rooftop it was a very one sided conversation where she made sure he wasn't alone, and he regrets that. They shared so many moments over the years. He's sure Harold misses her much, much more. ]

It hasn't. No one is irrelevant. I can't promise I won't think of those worlds out there, but I won't sacrifice the people here for them. I'll fight to find a way to save them both.

[ And he doesn't doubt Harold will help him if he needs it. He doesn't even ask. But it's impossible for him to not think of all those lives at stake. In a way this is what he always wanted to do, to fight to save the world. He joined the Army and the CIA thinking he could get an opportunity at that, thinking he could do some good for his country. And now he has a chance to do something bigger than that, not just for his own world but for others as well. John agrees with Harold that they have to save the people in front of them, but he can't lose sight of the larger goal as well, it's a dream that exists in the marrow of his bones. ]

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