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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[ 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. ]

[ He understands precisely. They can't save the trees and forget about the forest -- the balance has to be so, so careful; they've gotten it wrong before and they'll probably get it wrong again -- but they won't take the mental shortcut of sacrificing one for many.

Over the past week, Harold had wondered at times if he was being too dramatic in his grief. He's lost people before and he'd found his way again, however excruciating it was. But hearing John say this, he knows he was right, that living without him would be an unbearable loss. A huge release of tension goes through him, like the moment he walks in the door to his favorite safehouse.

There's water standing in his eyes, and he knows John won't understand it, will think he's hurt him again somehow. He has to say something. ]

You are such a good man, [ he tells him painfully, thinking of when he tried to convince the malfunctioning Machine that they weren't monsters. ] Before I found you, I'd lost my way. I don't think I ever told you that. I came very close to doing dark things.

When I'm with you, John, I'm a better person.

[ John wants to protest that, to say that he's not a good man. He's crossed so many lines, how could he be? But Harold believes it, and John trusts Harold. It feels impossible to accept, but he doesn't challenge it, thinks of another way to say what he means. He doesn't want to upset Harold, who this clearly means a lot to. He doesn't think he could stand to see Harold cry again, doesn't really understand what his tearfulness means in this moment. ]

I've done so many terrible things, Harold. I let myself do them. But you asked me to be better than that, gave me a chance to do good things instead. [ He thinks of the senator, how Harold was the one voice of reason in the room, how they all followed him. ] I know I can trust you, follow you. I guess we helped each other. I wouldn't be here without you.

[ If Harold says that he's a better person because of John, he won't refute that. He can't put those words in Harold's mouth even if he doesn't understand how they're true. ]

Of course we helped each other.

[ Of course it's mutual. That's what Harold meant when he said more than just the mission -- there's something between them that's truly special, that he wants to hold onto as tightly as he can.

We helped some people, didn't we?

In a burst of emotion, Harold stumbles forward and practically falls onto John for a hug. ]

[ Harold is suddenly near, suddenly there, and John is frozen for a moment where he doesn't know what to do— but then he gently wraps his arms around Harold's shoulders. It's a loose gesture, almost unsure. Is he allowed to have this? Harold doesn't know his feelings, doesn't know that John has longed for this. If he returns this gesture in full, is that deception? Is that a lie of omission?

But John is weak and full of longing and pain so he wraps his arms tighter around Harold. Lets himself feel Harold's warmth, the texture of his suit under his hands. Engraves the shape of Harold into his mind. He may never get this again and he's so greedy for it, he has to etch every part of this moment in his memory.

There's nothing for him to say, because anything he could say would be a damning admission of how much he loves Harold, how full his heart is in this moment. The want, the sadness, the joy. He will let this moment last as long as Harold will allow. ]

[ Oh. Oh. He feels John's tall, solid frame wrap around him and he's overcome, suddenly. Harold thinks of himself as a cerebral person, rarely remembers to account for his physical form except as a way to experience art (fashion, food, paintings) -- and then once in a great while he's shocked and overwhelmed to be reminded that he does still exist in his body, that physical sensation can translate to emotion directly.

He's been on tenterhooks, dangling over a cliff, for days and weeks now. He's felt like he was going to fall apart any minute, had to claw himself together to keep his dignity and, moreover, to not burden his friends and loved ones, John most of all. Now John is enfolding him physically and holding him together, shoring him up like a retaining wall, and it's not effortless but just some of the effort goes out of it, eases away. The tears spill over but then unexpectedly dry up entirely.

Resolve has taken him over. It's the same sensation he'd experienced sitting in that interrogation room speaking to a surveillance camera, but now aimed in a different direction.

Harold remains in the hug for longer than John might expect, for achingly long moments in which he can sense his own feelings solidify. That love cast into resin earlier becomes embedded, crystallized. He reorients himself around this truth and he accepts, finally, that he is allowed to do that. When they retract finally, when they step away, he's dry-eyed and resolute. ]

I've followed my own rules for so long. I thought if I just kept trying, kept following those rules, good would prevail. We'd win out in the end -- we'd all win out, somehow. Like there's a victory that could be achieved for the whole world.

[ He breathes into the empty space where that belief once resided. ]

But I had to break my rules to destroy Samaritan. I destroyed-- I killed-- [ He swallows harshly. ] The Machine is dead.

And I find I want to keep one last thing for myself, however selfish that is. I want to stay with you.

Edited 2025-04-25 02:11 (UTC)

[ Harold stays longer than John expects. He thinks any moment now that Harold will pull away and yet he stays moment after moment and John just... lets it happen. He doesn't think about what it means, he just holds Harold. He died just over a week ago, he shouldn't get to have this, he died and then fell apart completely, but here is Harold still. Here is Harold by his side, in his arms, Harold who never gave up on him, not before and not this time. Harold who still came to see him morning after painful morning when he didn't want to see John at all.

But Harold does pull away eventually and John lets him go. He immediately wants Harold back, wants him in his arms again, but he restrains himself, tells himself he shouldn't be too greedy. It has to be enough that he got it once.

Harold in the aftermath is sure and steady in the way that John is familiar with. Whatever he has grappled with, whatever decisions he has made, he has settled on them for good. If he says that he killed the Machine then yes, he must have decided that. John doesn't know all the details, so if Harold says that, John won't refute. The Machine is dead, that much is undeniable. They died together on that rooftop. John wonders briefly how she feels about her own death, whether it was one she was satisfied with. Whether she wanted to live longer. Unlike John, she won't get a chance to tell anyone.

Unlike John, who will get to stay in Etraya with Harold. Is it selfish for Harold to stay? John doesn't think so, but he's not about to tell Harold how to feel about it. They've gone over this already but John still feels immense relief when Harold says he's staying, relief followed up by so much love. It feels overwhelming, like it might just burst out of his chest if he breathes wrong. In this moment he's so close to that feeling, and closer to losing control of it than ever before. John reaches across the distance and smooths the shoulder of Harold's suit, feels the wool beneath his hands, the warmth of Harold beneath. A gesture to bleed off some of that feeling, a way to keep himself from saying anything unwise. Harold wants to stay with him, what more could he ask for? ]

Regardless of what rules you broke, you're still the person I've chosen to follow, to be with. I won't choose to leave you again.

[ Choose, because Echo might have plans that John is powerless to stop, but he understands now what it means to Harold. Next time—if there is a next time—he'll make sure to talk with Harold before making any decisions. ]

[ There are still places he won't go, lines he won't cross, but Harold has pushed that boundary just a few inches past where it used to be, and in the gap of that space he finds the possibility of being selfish. Because it is so, so selfish to want to stay with John, to keep him, when he's left things behind at home. He should go back, ensure Samaritan is truly gone; determine what happened to the Machine, make sure there's no traces of her left that can be recovered by an enemy actor; check on Fusco and Shaw and Bear, if nothing else, rather than disappearing to Italy like he can wash his hands of all of it as easy as that.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to be with John, wherever that is. And he knows that John will follow him those few inches further, and not push him farther; knows without asking that John trusts him so completely that he doesn't even need to explain his rationale. Harold doesn't want anyone to blindly follow his orders, but he's stopped giving orders to John a long time ago. What they have isn't like that.

What they have is... something else. And he wants the time to discover what that is, instead of shying away from it, too afraid of loss to take risks.

John runs his hands over his shoulders, a wholly unexpected gesture that inspires Harold, in a burst of affection, to reach up and grab his hands in his before he can completely take them back, holding them loosely between them again. He wants to stay, he gets to stay, he can be here-- not alone in a dusty library with Nathan's face flashing before him, irrelevant-- but in a clean, used, lived-in library, where he's with those that care for him. ]

I won't choose to leave you either, [ he says like a vow. ] Will you... that is, I'll be moving back to the second floor residence in the library later today. You're welcome to join me if you wish.

[ If he stopped giving orders, it's only because now he makes offers, issues invitations. ]

[ John recognizes it for what it is: asking but not asking, an offer but room for him to back out if he wants; Harold is asking but not pushing. It's like that between them now, they've reached an equilibrium over the years where they rarely double down; is the last time when John didn't let Harold back out of the numbers?

But here is Harold holding his hands, here is Harold offering him everything he's wanted. He gives just the hint of a smile, something that feels foreign after his recent mood, but it slips out nonetheless. He tightens his hands in Harold's grasp ever so slightly as he speaks. ]

Yes. [ Honesty, honesty. It takes effort but he can no longer take their relationship for granted given the past week. Given that he's dead. ] That's all I really wanted.

[ Is that too honest? Too forward? Is he giving away too much? Can Harold see how much his life has hinged on what's between them? Others have come and sometimes gone, have left imprints on him, have even driven him from Harold, from this purpose that brought them together, but at the core there has always been Harold. The beginning and the end. Harold gave him a life and John returned it; he can see now that it wasn't a debt but a gift. Harold gives everything freely, and John spent it how he wanted, selfishly.

And now they have taken a step forward, a step closer. This commitment to stay together. It's not the full extent of John's feelings, but it's enough. It's enough. Harold is holding his hands, Harold is returning to the closeness they shared in the library, Harold won't leave him. He got to hold Harold and when he reached for Harold again he didn't let John go. John could not ask for more. ]

[ Unless push comes to shove, their preference is always to be respectful with one another, a wordless gentleness in making space for the other's decisions. They'll offer their opinion, unguarded; but ultimately both John and Harold have settled into a relationship where neither one pushes the other.

It makes things slow, delicate... and now Harold sees that if he really doesn't want to put a step wrong, but also isn't content to retreat into passivity, it needs to be coordinated.

They need to communicate, like a dance, so they don't step on each other's feet. ]

Well. I have several more things on my list, as it turns out. [ He's always wanted more than John, always looked for more and strived for it. But for now-- ] Like breakfast, for one. Let's at least eat what you've prepared before we move.

[ He steps away, breaking their handhold, but there's a lightness to Harold now, a scrap of hope peeking through that hasn't been seen in months. He's tired, exhausted really, but there's a direction to move in now. He thinks of Root: I know who I am, and where I'm going. He'd never really been certain of that before, had he? He still has some of that left to figure out. ]

[ There's a moment of blankness where he catches up with Harold's train of thought; he'd forgotten about the breakfast in the moments between them. Hugging Harold, holding his hands, had completely derailed the situation that they're in. There had been far more pressing things than the food gone cold. He looks at it as if seeing it for the first time and then recognizes it for what it is. ]

I'll make new eggs while the food goes back in the oven. Pancakes will probably be cool but the bacon should warm back up. Can you get your tea ready and pour me coffee?

[ He puts both back in the still-warm oven and dumps the cold eggs in the trash. There's an ease to the movement that wasn't there before, as if a great burden has been lifted. Talking with Harold, understanding him at least a little, the promise of returning to the library— he still feels the weight of the past week, the weight of his death, but it's easier to carry now.

When he'd said "all" he'd meant all he wanted from Harold, but it's an all encompassing "all"; he'd wanted to return to the life they had there, the easiness and comfort between them, not just the location. And now he's gotten more than he bargained for, more than he could have imagined. A new closeness, a spoken vow, something defined rather than just seeing the shadow of it. Maybe that really was "all" he wanted, "all" he needed; when it was torn away from him his life fell apart. In the aftermath John can recognize that he needs to continue down the path he started to walk as Riley: living for more than just his purpose, more than just Harold.

John thinks through all of this as he cracks new eggs, scrambles them quickly and with practice. It's a near automatic task that he can execute while his mind wanders. It's not too long before the food is ready again and he plates the eggs and delivers them to the table before going back for the pancakes and bacon; the butter, syrup, and silverware are already on the table, butter soft from being out overnight and syrup warmed up to room temperature. It's not that John went all out on breakfast, but it's more than he usually does. ]

[ Making tea and preparing coffee while John cooks is an old reminiscence now, one it takes a moment to place as specific to Etraya. Something they'd shared years ago for a few spare months, unique and priceless. Harold marvels to realize he can recapture it now, heating water and making their morning drinks while John does the real work. It's an allegory he recognizes.

For as little patience as he has with the particularities of cooking, he somehow engages fully in making beverages. His tea is exactly as he likes it and John's is just to his taste, despite never once asking him how he preferred it. He just noticed. He paid attention, the way they are always watching each other.

He wants John to live, not for him but with him. He wants him to know that Harold will be here for him always, so he doesn't have to strain to merit his regard. He can measure who he is for himself and rest easy that no matter what he comes up with, Harold will be here, waiting, trusting fully.

John scrambles eggs while the tea steeps and the coffee brews -- he's making a new pot -- and Harold sits, ruminating over how so little and so much has changed in one conversation. Nothing real is different, but how they understand one another, what's said aloud, is completely new. There's real value in taking things out of the shadows and into the light (as Root had said before she'd died--) and now Harold, coward that he'd been, is finally facing it.

He should move past the emotion of what they've just discussed; he'd been the one to push them in this banal direction, to cooking, having breakfast. But he's been such a coward-- and he doesn't want to be, not yet another time. ]

Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart, [ he says softly, mostly to himself, as John places the ready food on the table and takes his seat. ]

... I was always very taken by Rilke.

I won't run, the guilt is mine

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