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

Entry tags:

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

[ Oh. Several more years could be-- an exaggeration, but even if Harold is exaggerating, a year or years is still...years, and that's a long time. Longer than months. ]

Oh. [ Which leaves Gorgug standing awkwardly, looking down at Bear and his desire for food from the new Food Man Gorgug has become for him, and maybe there's something Gorgug should do here? To be accommodating, or- useful. Harold hasn't been around for years, while for Gorgug, those years have been a week for him. It's odd. Bear is still waiting at his feet. He should- ]

Uh. [ Do...something. ] Well, um. Do you want to-- uh. I can catch you... up? [ He looks quickly back at Bear, and then lifts the bag in his hand. ] I've been feeding Bear. But if you, um, if you need anything, I can-- help? It's just us. Everyone is on a mission.

[ Maybe Harold remembers that, but Gorgug can confirm it: the last mission for Harold that he didn't go on. And that's still...taking place. Whatever parts of it he remembers.

(Whatever the case, he's going to buck his knees a little to give Bear a quick pat on the head. You didn't lose a dad, pal!) ]

[ He really shouldn't need help catching up -- he has a good memory -- but Harold abruptly finds that he craves the banality of someone just sitting down with him and talking about recent events. Nothing has been that normal in a long time. ]

I would appreciate that, [ he says quietly.

Bear relents and steps back from Gorgug to accept the pat. It very much has the air of See, I'm a good dog, time for treats? It draws Harold's attention and he feels something defensive crumble inside him. However surreal this all is, Bear is a steady constant, predictably and reliably the same. Safe and healthy. It's at least a little stabilizing against the mental tide that wants to carry him out to sea over and over. ]

... Thank you for looking after Bear. I must admit this is all extremely disorienting for me. Your recap would be very helpful.

[ A beat. ] Perhaps I could make us tea? [ he suggests tentatively. That's another normal thing to do, right? ]

[ They're both in a similar boat, maybe. It sounds like it, with the word Harold uses. Disorienting. Gorgug hasn't been anywhere, but with Harold here now, and with everything that ensued for him, he feels like he's been somewhere he shouldn't. Etraya has been noticeably quieter, off-kilter, and Harold's apparent loss of-- the present as something in the present only keeps everything slanted. Not right. ]

Okay. I like tea. [ Tea could ground them. Right? It's a start. He might be able to feed Bear too--or just give him the attention he's looking for--if Harold hasn't already done that. But while Gorgug stands awkwardly in place, not moving before the other man does, he does add after a pause: ]

I'm, glad you're okay? [ ... ] I hope you're okay. Or I'm sorry if you're not.

[ Well, he's disoriented, but just from a general look at the man, he's still in one piece. That's kinda good? And he's mostly sure that people don't come back from the dead where Harold and John come from, so-- it might be good news. If Etraya didn't bring Harold Finch back from the dead.

Gorgug is just trying to be sincere here, while not saying too much. He's trying to be nice! ]

[ Harold leads Gorgug and Bear toward that same staff room they'd met in to discuss the security project initially, and to Harold it still feels bizarre. Equivalent to walking into his old office where he'd built the Machine, something that should be far in his past and staying there. Disorienting really is the word, but he's hopeful the longer they talk, the more he'll ground himself in the present. ]

I'm recovering from a gunshot wound, [ he says with perfect bluntness. Harold is absolutely still in shock, so it just slides out without reservation: ] And a highly distressing number of my closest friends died recently.

[ He's not really looking for sympathy, he just can't muster up words for anything else. It's all that's in his mind right now, on loop.

Harold goes to start the water heater with an air of blank numbness. ]

[ Oh, so, on the not-good end. That can't help with the disorientation, Gorgug observes, though his emotions lean more towards the pitying side of observation than the facts. A lot's been going on, and Gorgug doesn't come to any conclusion about if it's worth making his business, or trying to. Dead friends, gunshot wound-- Harold's standing, and so still is Gorgug, not yet taking any seat. Not yet having an immediate purpose until the drinks are served. ]

I can-- help the gunshot wound, [ he offers then; and if Harold thinks to look at him, he'll nod towards the nearby table, but regardless: ] Before the water's ready. [ A beat. ] And I'm sorry about your friends.

[ His tone lower, changes, meaning to be sympathetic; not spoken in the same awkward manner that he offers relief, even though he offers his sympathies because it felt wrong not to address it. Even if he can't do something about that, like he might a bullet wound.

Unfortunately. One tends to do more damage. ]

[ It's instinctual to refuse. Harold always dislikes medical attention, though he isn't irrational about it; it's not that he refuses treatment entirely, but he accepts the bare minimum. There's an intense aversion to sharing his vulnerabilities with others, and a lifelong habitual shyness that simply makes him reluctant to disrobe.

But for once in his life, Harold finds he might agree. He's sick of dealing with it and he's sick of being in pain. He has no taste for self-punishment, and it's on the very long list of things he feels is extremely pointless right now. ]

Help how? [ he asks, turning to face Gorgug, engaging some measure of interest. He might accept, but he's still cautious, wants to know the details first. ] Magically?

[ As for his friends dying -- Harold really can't see the point in talking about that, either. He's aware he's still deeply in shock and doesn't feel inclined to move past it yet, to the part where he has to actually experience the loss. ]

[ Magically? There's nothing in the way that Harold says it, but Gorgug's experience with its treatment as some absurd element to most here does make him feel oddly stupid. Regardless, he nods. ]

Y-yeah. Speeding up the body's healing... [ He fumbles with his words, but adds, trying to joke, waving out his fingers: ] Weird stuff green people in Etraya can do, right?

[ Granted, Riz can't do healing, but Gorgug's fairly sure green half-orcs aren't a thing where Harold's from. ]

[ That surprises him into a faint snort, the humor registering like a foreign language he's forgotten he knows how to speak. Harold regains just a trace of his normal spark. ]

I'm certain from speaking to you that it's more complicated than that, [ he says dryly. He's right, though; to Harold it is just weird stuff. ] What would it entail? I really have no frame of reference.

[ He wants to know what it means going in before he fully agrees. ]

[ Even if Harold did have some reference, would Gorgug feel any more confident? He looks at his hands, then turns them, wearing the usual fingerless gloves he always does. ]

I touch you in the area you got shot, my energy goes into you, and it speeds up your healing. I-- I don't get weak or anything, [ he adds, since, maybe 'my energy' sounds alarming? ] I mean, I guess, I can only do so many spells a day, so much magic-- but it's not like I'm really doing a lot anyway. So- I give your body energy, it regenerates.

[ ... ] That's how it works for me. [ He turns his palms to face himself, the last part perhaps useless to say, but magic is different for everyone; healing and methods of doing anything is different even on his own universe. This is just how he does it. ]

[ He knows Gorgug well enough by now to accept this explanation at face value, a measure of trust he doesn't extend to everyone. It sounds minimally invasive and purely beneficial, with no risk to Gorgug. ]

... It would be foolish of me to refuse. So, thank you.

[ Harold leaves the water to heat and tentatively comes over to one of the break room tables. Eyeing Gorgug towering over him, he shucks his jacket, hangs it properly over the back of a chair, and then uses said chair to clamber awkwardly to sit on the edge of the table. He's grimacing from suppressed pain and in his shirtsleeves and vest, which for Harold counts as informal. ]

It's here. [ He touches the lower left part of his abdomen, right over the pocket on his vest. ] Do I need to take anything else off?

[ He deeply hopes the answer is no. ]

[ Gorgug nods, and doesn't move immediately as Harold prepares him. Turns to face him, but he waits to see if Harold will take a chair or lean against the table--apparently, using the table as a chair, which works, too.

It's around then that Gorgug lowers his goggles, tapping the lens with his middle finger before he approaches. ]

No, it'll work. It'd suck if it didn't. [ There's a light note, trying to bring some humour when he comes to stand before Harold. He pulls up the wrist of his hoodie to reveal a wristband at the end of his glove, turning on a small circular dial before looking back to the wound, or its approximate location. The goggles helping to find that, along with registering the figure as human, all the useless parts that comes with scanning when all he needs is the focal point, to help him concentrate. ]

I have to press on it-- sorry, [ he apologises, trying to be gentle when he does lay his hands over the area not with too much pressure, but enough for Gorgug to feel heat through the fabric of clothing. But with that comes a further heat, Harold will feel, as the small stones embedded in the thick fingerless gloves that Gorgug wears start to glow themselves with a soft light, and they work as anchors to push through the energy being passed through: helping, as Gorgug stated, tissue to regenerate, for stick and muscle to stitch itself back together.

It might feel awkward, tender, with the light pressure coming from Gorgug's fingers, going through the stages healing all at once. But it passes through, takes about twenty seconds, to a minute at most, depending on how deep the bullet penetrated through into the abdomen.

Until Gorgug's touch in the area feels like nothing--it's just a touch, nothing else and nothing more. And Gorgug seems aware of when the wound has recovered, his goggles calculating, wanting to read other parts of Harold, but Gorgug takes a step back and lifts them up, peeking from under them to look at the man. ]

That's-- you good?

[ He watches the process with some fascination, wary at first but quickly progressing into mute astonishment. Tentatively, Harold pokes at the injury, testing for how much it's healed. It's hard to tell without taking his clothes off, which he isn't going to do if he can help it. He's in a constant level of pain at all times from his back, so it can be hard to distinguish from other wounds when he has them.

He hadn't doubted him that he could do it -- he's been in Etraya long enough to have moved past any sort of disbelief -- but it's still different to see and feel and experience it being done. ]

Much better. Is it-- fully healed? That's incredible. And you can do this at any time?

[ Harold is immediately plotting to make John and Shaw take advantage of this next time they're injured. ]

[ Perhaps there's something in Harold's tone, or it's the wording that makes Gorgug feel that this is an ability that will be noted and tucked away for future use-- and that's not a bad thing, probably, but Gorgug nevertheless feels awkward as: ]

Uh, well, if I'm tired or if the wound's bigger, or fresher, I don't know how well I'll do-- you really want an actual healer. But I'm okay if you've got no one else and something's serious? You were already recovering. I don't know how good I'd be if you just got shot.

[ He can't help but downplay it, even beyond his usual personality. How could he, when he knows what a real healer can look like? People are often wow'd by his magical skill, usually because they come from worlds without it. And if they actually met more magically advanced people, they might realise where about his level lies.

Still, he does add, looking at Harold with a somewhat strained, but trying (to be positive) expression: ] But practice makes perfect.

[ He has been trying to work on his healing abilities, anyway.... amongst every other single project he's got going on. ]

Any measure of assistance is, well, magical to me, [ he admits ruefully, accepting Gorgug's equivocation that he's not a real healer as important information -- but insisting that what he can do is still significant. All too often, it comes down to what those you trust are capable of, and Harold thinks Gorgug is quite trustworthy already.

He's still carefully prodding at where the wound was, but finally wrenches his attention away. He feels rather jarred back to reality from where he'd been before, lost off in the trenches of his mind somewhere, perhaps. ]

Thank you. I had quite resigned myself to a long healing process. [ It's genuine gratitude, honestly spoken. ]

... But I'm sure you didn't come here to heal me. [ Something sparks in his memory. ] Oh-- we were working on something, weren't we?

[ Gorgug nods, moving back some more to give Harold some room, letting his hands slip into the large pocket of his hoodie. ]

Yeah, everyone's gone on a mission and, we stayed back? I wanted to make some defences, and you said you weren't very good at surviving. [ Something like that? It's what the mission requirement was, anyway. ] John was here, and, um... you know, I think there's someone else here you guys know, maybe? I don't know, there was someone that John said that likes cars but not talking to people.

[ And that could have just been a friend John made while in Etraya, now that Gorgug thinks about it?? ]

...but that could have been one of his friends. [ Wh-who knows! Anyway!! But speaking of John, and remembering about what Harold said, and Harold being gone, Gorgug squints his gaze as: ] --should I, do you want me to ask Aurora if John's still on the mission?

[ Is that a concern? Gorgug has no clue. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I won't run, the guilt is mine

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject