Unfortunately there's multiple entrances and from what I can tell spreads over most of Etraya so I don't know where you are. Fortunately there's multiple entrances and from what I can tell spreads over most of Etraya so you've got decent odds of finding an exit. I'd offer to come find you but we could be at two opposite ends.
I believe you can find the exit using Trémaux's algorithm, Ms. Shaw. I'll guide you through the first steps and you should be able to pick it up from there.
The device I gave you has a location signal and I can direct you further once you're not underground.
Every time you enter or leave a passageway and arrive at a junction, mark the floor. It's important you mark the passage entrance or exit, not the junction itself.
[ With a tone of mild offense, ] I certainly wouldn't wait three days to send in backup, Ms. Shaw.
[ They haven't worked together long by his reckoning, but Harold takes her entirely seriously as someone in his employ, even beyond his usual care for peoples' lives. If he needs to, he's prepared to ask Castiel for assistance. It seems like the kind of thing an angel should be able to handle if he's out there reading minds. ]
[ In the deeply regrettable absence of his usual information-gathering methods, he's been trying to familiarize himself with everyone here on at least a basic level, so Harold might know them already. ]
[By Shaw's standards, this is practically effusive, but she really is grateful (not to mention a bit surprised) that 2013-era John so readily offered her space. Back then, she was still in her "destroying burner phones and refusing to allow the team to contact her outside of predetermined work hours" era; she's aware that she hasn't actually earned herself much goodwill in his mind.]
[ It is strange to see the word "thanks" from Shaw, but it... feels good? If that's how he ever feels. There's a gap between them still, she's a stranger in some ways, but clearly that's not the case for her. He knows how disorienting it is to be somewhere like this suddenly, to have no one, that was his first couple days before he found Harold and things turned around. So he wants to extend that branch to her too even if he's not the same person she knows. ]
[ Harold had heard the warnings about the previous stuffed animals they'd taken care of, but he's just fastidious enough to take care of his egg regardless. He's morbidly curious, though he remains cautious enough to keep it at a distance from his computer work station, checking in on it regularly and making sure it's kept warm and safe.
That's all fine until the day he hears a faint cheep and he finds himself stumbling up from his desk and over to the little egg station.
By the time John returns to their library apartment, Harold is fully fussing, hovering over a shoebox that is making loud squawking. ]
[ The first thing John notices is the squawking. It's impossible to miss. It puts him on edge for a moment before he places it as a bird noise, and then relaxes. And then there's Harold, fussing over the source of the noise.
John goes over, looks inside the shoebox. There's a bit of a forboding tone to his voice. ]
It appears to be a baby wren. It hatched from the egg I was given.
[ Harold jerks his gaze up to John with a palpable sense of relief. He hadn't snuck up on him -- Harold is hard to sneak up on in the first place, John probably wasn't really trying, it's their residence and it's bio-coded to keep others out -- but he'd been so wrapped up in staring at the bird that he hadn't given thought to asking John to help him out. Once he sees him in front of him, his course of action becomes obvious. ]
Thank goodness you're here, I need you to fetch some things for me. I can't just keep a baby bird in a box.
[ Obviously he needs a whole set up for it as a responsible parent. And equally obviously he doesn't feel comfortable leaving it alone. ]
[ John wants to ask why he's keeping it at all, but of course Harold wouldn't abandon a baby bird. It's not like John would either, but this is why he didn't take one of those eggs: he doesn't want to be responsible for something like this. But now he can't turn Harold down. ]
[ He wasn't really expecting John to argue with him, but Harold relaxes totally at the immediate, unequivocal support. He finds a grateful flash of a smile for John. ]
Most important is a warming lamp with a configurable temperature. I can-- I'll text you a list for the rest. I need to look up a few things.
I may have gone by Wren more than any other name, [ he says with open disbelief, the kind of personal tidbit he only drops to John and no one else, ] but that doesn't mean I'm a qualified wildlife rehabilitator.
[ Harold's sudden smile softens John to the request. The personal anecdote makes him feel that warm shock every time Harold gifts him one of these confessions. Would he get this back home? If the library was just their workplace and not their living quarters? If he didn't cook Harold dinner more often than not? This closeness is more than he could ask for, has ever asked for. What would Harold think if he knew? Which is why John keeps himself steady, doesn't let his questions or his feelings show. ]
Where do you think I can find that? Kwik Trip? Or should I go digging in the junkyard?
Something appropriate for a reptile would be fine -- normal pet supplies -- so start with the Kwik Trip, I think?
[ Would Harold share this kind of closeness with John if they were at home? He's not sure, but he's inclined to think not. There would be no reason to disrupt the careful, delicate distance they've fallen into, the kind of thin veneer that serves as a gauzy veil to hide what he feels they both know lies beneath. Here there's compelling reasons to tug that veneer aside bit by bit. Harold hadn't said anything but he of course noticed the sudden appearance of his usual wardrobe, and it'd flustered him greatly.
He knows John cares, that's impossible to miss, but there's knowing... and there's the sudden equal footing they find themselves on here. ]
[ He actually finds what Harold is looking for at Kwik Trip, including the list he texted on the way over. It takes a little while longer to return, burdened as he is, but John does his best to make good time. Once back at the library, John opens the door to more squawking. ]
How long is that going to go on for?
[ The errand was good, being outside in the fresh air cleared his thoughts. He got to focus on the snow crunching, the cold air in his lungs, the way his body moved as he hurried his way over. Now he has the room to be annoyed by the baby bird instead of mired in his thoughts about Harold. ]
[ By the time he returns, Harold has several hefty books laid open and a notebook out where he's taking notes. It's really so ridiculous to be living without the internet. Harold never thought he'd have to return to the pre-world wide web dark ages. At least he's old enough to know how to use a library properly, and isn't at a total loss.
The bird is, of course, still squawking away, making plaintive chittering noises from its shoebox. ]
Until I release it, I expect it, [ Harold says dourly. He loves birds but he's never tried to keep one, for good reason. ] A few weeks. Though it may settle down a bit once I feed it.
[ Harold has a plate of very plain scrambled eggs -- no oil or seasoning -- that is cooling next to his books. He can at least manage to scramble an egg on his own. ]
The tweezers, please? [ That was on the list. He's not going to put his computer tools near a baby bird; they can be astoundingly gross. ]
[ John deposits the contents of his excursion out of the way of the shoebox and book setup and digs through the bag for the tweezers. Once found, he extracts them from the packaging and hands them over. ]
Why did you accept that egg in the first place?
[ It's not accusatory, but it's not... not. John had enough sense not to do such a thing, but now he's stuck with a baby bird regardless. ]
A moment of human weakness. [ It's said flippantly but with a long-suffering self-aware truth behind it. ] I was curious.
[ Harold takes the tweezers and the plate of scrambled egg and approaches the chirping box. There's what looks like a gaping hole with a beak around it pointed straight upward that the faint screeching is coming out of. He uses the tweezers to carefully drop a piece of cooked egg into the chick's mouth, which it gulps down whole. ]
[ Of course Harold would be curious and accept a thing he has to care for. Despite his reclusive ways, Harold appears to care quite a lot about many things, especially if they're living. Not to mention his extensive sense of responsibility once he's taken on a task. John shouldn't be surprised at all. He doesn't sigh aloud, but he thinks it. ]
Curiosity answered. How often do you have to feed it?
More or less constantly, [ he grouses. ] I've really done this to myself, haven't I?
[ He's not about to ask John to do this for him, but he really will be tied to his desk for a few days...
He puts the plate and tweezers down and shuffles over to take the rest of the supplies, starting to unpack. ] According to the chatter on the network, I should be thankful it's just a bird.
And a small one at that. Not that you'd be able to tell from the noise.
[ Hoe does something so small manage to be so loud? ]
I can help if you show me what to do.
[ He may not be pleased with this baby bird situation but he's not going to abandon Harold to his fate. He can offer to shoulder some of the burden, if only so Harold can get some sleep. ]
I'm not offering to take it over entirely, just to help. Or I could go mop the mystery section again.
[ He is offering, and he knows it'll be easier for Harold to give him something to do when he sees it as a gift. John knows Harold isn't satisfied with how much excessive time John spend caring for the library. ]
[ Harold feels negligent every time he catches John mopping. It's abnormal and means he needs something to do, which he hasn't forgotten. He keeps trying to come up with something... ]
We could take shifts, [ he admits reluctantly. ] The first few days will be the hardest.
[ As predicted. He knows Harold well enough and doesn't feel bad about manipulating him in this case, even if he rarely does so. They truly rarely do that to each other. Harold speaks plainly to him and John follows along easily, or on the rare occasion he goes against Harold he simply does so without justification. That's comfortable, between them. Usually it doesn't come to this, even in innocence. ]
[ Of course he offers nonetheless, without any fanfare. Harold's expression is soft and appreciative as he turns toward John. ]
Thank you. It's really nothing complicated, it's just annoying frequent...
[ And he runs through how to feed a baby bird, and what temperature it needs, and how to clean up after its bizarrely tidy defecation habits, and after a few minutes it falls into something natural and easy, like it's the simplest thing in the world between them. ]
I know we don't see eye to eye on the matter, but I'm choosing to trust you.
[ It's not something he'd normally say. Normally he'd be talking to a number, be in the middle of some action, could just play it off, choose not respond. But they're talking. And there's a... closeness he thinks they've developed since moving in together. He's sticking his neck out, in a way. Taking a leap and seeing if Harold will catch him. He's suddenly all nerves, can feel the drop in his stomach. It's the truth, but was it the right thing to say? ]
I know. Isn't that what you've been doing all along?
[ In text it could read as flippant or as tender acknowledgment of how much John has chosen to trust him. Harold appreciates the ambiguity there. John is sticking his neck out on a topic they don't normally directly discuss, and he's-- shy, but he can say something in turn. ]
I'd rather believe the best and be proven wrong than believe the worst and be proven right. That's not how I want to live.
[ It's... hard. Seeing it laid out so plainly. Harold's acknowledgement and understanding of how John operates. He doesn't like being known like this. He finds comfort in all the things they leave unsaid, just as much as the ambiguity cuts him at times. It's hard to read Harold's tone over text but he doesn't think he's being mocked or teased. But this is a conversation that would be impossible to say aloud. There's a delay before he replies; he wasn't really prepared for how personal this is getting. ]
[ That's where he'll leave this conversation. This is definitely too personal. But he can feel this warmth in his chest as he reads Harold's words. He imagines how he might say it, the quietness in his voice, the steadiness. It's something he'll come back to in dark moments. ]
[ John doesn't do very much texting at all, he's used to just having Harold in his ear. That being said, he thinks Gorgug's texting style is a lot like how he talks. It's... a little endearing. ]
Not making much progress. This train doesn't like to give up its mysteries. You?
I'm not good at mysteries... my friends are investigating and I've been put to work fixing things on the train. I'm trying to look into maintenance logs for clues.
Maybe a King is a word for something other than royalty?
Could be a codename for anything. I'm not a train expert, but there could be something to do with whatever keeps the train going, or something in the sealed car.
so the king stuff is like a belief? that a king will save them once things get too bad. i don't know where the rumour comes from or if there's books about it
maybe if we ask around we can see how widespread it is? i don't know if that would help us
[ RIP indeed. John is enough of a boomer old enough that he squints at the lack of capitalization and inconsistent punctuation, but maybe that's just what the kids are into these days. How's he supposed to know? ]
If that's the case I would guess the king is a thing instead of a person. Maybe it's hidden in the sealed carriage. Some of us are going to break in.
[ Is it wise to tell Gorgug his plans? On one hand he has no clue how good Gorgug is at keeping secrets, or who he might spread it to. On the other, there's too much ground to cover to be silo-ing information like this. And Gorgug has been forthcoming with his help multiple times so far. ]
Don't think that's the plan yet. We're gathering information now. Some people in the group are cautious of spreading what we know so you didn't hear it from me, got it?
do you think it's better to remove the chance for them to find out the truth, then? if the king is something that leads the train to a place that doesn't exist
[ One thing about John, one thing that he's always been so good at, is that he's good at following orders. The Army, the CIA, Harold; now Aurora has this advantage on him, has the threat of his entire world dying, and is giving orders. Missions. John knows when to shut up and do what he's told, he was trained to be this way. ]
[ He pauses. He wonders. It reminds him of the question he has now and then, about how they're truly judged. If this is the example of a dying world? It's a poor one.
But if it's an example of deciding the fate of other people, then that sounds about right for the game they're playing. ]
[ He doesn't want Gorgug to have to make these decisions. He wants to make them for him. That way if Gorgug has to blame someone for what happens he can blame John instead of himself. It's not right to put kids in this kind of situation. ]
Hey. A friend had a thought about who is running the train and if there's some link between the king there? Can you get access to files that says who decides how things are run on the train?
I checked the records. There's no information on who or how the train is run. Not sure what it means but Finch and I agree there should be something recorded.
If you have the means to set up a camera that's a good idea. I don't think anyone is going in given that's where the king is and everyone on board seems to think it's a myth, but it's worth a shot.
The heat, the lack of oxygen, and if you go low enough the robots become aggressive. That's what she has for now, I'm not sure if she could come up with more security.
You'd think the threat of fucking suffocating to death would be enough to dissuade most people, but there are a lot of idiots here.
[ That's the problem with having people who are so not-human here. ]
Anyone who could make it that far wouldn't be deterred by any sort of door or lock. Unlikely to be able to prevent physical damage, but what about methods to prevent tampering?
[ That's really not his expertise, but it's a valid option. Having her become corrupted or altered seems worse than incapacitated. ]
It's already likely he's the person best positioned to understand how her brain functions. If he helps her with additional security that puts him in an even more valuable position.
A lot of people around here don't trust Aurora. What if they find out her brain's down there and they decide they want to do some fucking reprogramming?
[Strangely, he feels a little better having gotten that off of his chest. John's a responsible adult and one he can't see trying to mess with Aurora, so this was a good decision.]
Whatever. Now you know, so you can prepare for any possible problems down the road.
I'm going to tell Finch. Otherwise, some guy named Yuri who went down there with us is the only other person, and his universe's level of technology isn't anywhere close to Aurora. I don't think he understands anything about how she functions.
Sometimes using a gun is necessary. Using it responsibly is the important part.
[ He doesn't really care how many people Accelerator killed. John knows enough about him to know a body here or there isn't going to significantly change how many people he's killed or injured. And he's not personally equipped to handle Accelerator being upset about killing people, so he's definitely not asking. ]
Needed some improvements but mostly not my business. We completed the mission, what they do next is their problem. The kind of change they need is bigger than that.
[ Actually he thinks the train sucked a lot, but he's pretty firmly in the camp of "not my problem". ]
[ John has to think on this for a while. It doesn't sound quite right to him though he can't put his finger on why. He takes a long time to respond. He could have just walked away to do something else but instead he was thinking about what Accelerator said. He only replies (almost an hour later) when he's confident about it. ]
No, he expects people to do the best thing when confronted with it.
[ And he is disappointed, often, by the people they encounter. But his persistence in his belief that people can do good is part of what makes him Harold Finch. It's part of what makes him so special. It's one of the reasons why John follows him unerringly. John would never ask or want him to change that; he'll just do everything in his power to protect him when things go wrong. ]
[His text goes for long enough without a response that Accelerator actually assumes John is just leaving him on read. Which is fine, whatever, he doesn't take it personally. He's being kind of a jerk about Harold, and he's fully aware that John cares a lot about Harold, so it wouldn't be weird for him to do that.
So he's surprised to see a text come in. He almost isn't sure if he should respond to that himself. He knows he isn't going to change John's mind, he isn't looking to do that. He just keeps thinking about how Harold expects the world from people (people like himself) and how people (people like himself) can never live up to insane expectations like that, because people (people like himself), more often than not, are at best shitty and at worst complete monsters.
After a few minutes, he settles on something.]
Expecting someone to do the best thing is fucking unrealistic.
[ John doesn't disagree. Harold has a lot of unrealistic expectations for what people will do. He just wouldn't want Harold to be any other way. And yet... and yet sometimes it works. Sometimes it works. Sometimes there are people like John who rise to the occasion, who think they'll do something terrible and walk back from that edge instead. He remembers Jennings, Benton, people who he would have put in the ground before and not lost much sleep, but at the last second, especially with Jennings, he stopped. He didn't do that. He chose another path. Even though Harold expected him to kill Jennings he didn't, and he didn't because Harold had asked him to be a different person and John had realized that he could do it. Without Harold's belief he never would have found his way back. ]
Sometimes people prove him right.
text via private phone to both John and Harold! putting it here bc of Liv's hiatus
so far it doesn't look like holing up is necessary anyway. but we can still keep an eye out for them, reach out, ask if they need anything. they've already done the hard part. now they just need people on their side.
[Shaw's work with Harold and John had taught her the value of protecting individual lives, and that's partly what she's calling on here. But even more than that, she's thinking of values she'd internalized before she'd even met them: first as the daughter of a refugee who'd escaped an oppressive regime, and then as a soldier who'd sometimes worked with defectors and informants trying to work their way to a better life. She doesn't think the people from Solmara are likely to be in immediate physical danger. But some of the reactions on that post - both those calling them disloyal, and those calling them untrustworthy - strike her as very firmly wrong.]
[ That seems... reasonable. And it seems to matter to Shaw, she's not usually one to go out of her way for people. ]
I'll leave it to you. Let us know how we can help if we need to.
[ Now isn't the time for a joke like "But I'm not making them dinner" and he trusts Shaw will know how much she can promise on their behalf. Or she'll ask first. He doesn't need to micromanage her, even if that's what he might do at home. She's been part of the team long enough from her perspective and he's trying to respect that. ]
[ John reads the text. Of course Carver wouldn't listen to him. This is the exact worst outcome. He reads it again and again as he walks back to the apartments, breaking into a jog after a short while. He wants to see Harold, but Harold doesn't want to see him, so John won't be there. It's the least he can do, apparently. ]
[ Fortunately, John still has his secondary device physically on his person, which means Harold can track his location. He notices with great annoyance that John isn't following his instructions and stops short in the street on his way to the park.
[ The call comes through and John looks at it and something in his chest hurts in a way that's separate and somehow worse than the beating his head took, the stab in his side when he breathes.
He doesn't answer the call, just lets it ring until it auto hangs up. He's almost back at the apartments now. ]
[ Now he's annoyed and worried. Harold has to hobble quickly to make it to the apartments before John, but he started from a much closer location, so he manages to get there first. He waits outside the door to John's apartment, watching his phone as John approaches and tucking it away as he turns the corner down the hallway. ]
[ John absolutely freezes when he sees Harold. He didn't expect to be beaten here. He doesn't know what his face is supposed to look like. He doesn't know what it does look like (empty and a little fearful).
He wants to turn around and run in the opposite direction because Harold had said I don't think I can see you for a while and yet here he is, because John fucked up. This isn't how he wanted it to go. He could do it, he could run and Harold wouldn't be able to keep up, he could go lose himself somewhere, but he can't move. He just stands there at the end of the hallway, unmoving, hardly breathing.
[ He's an absolute mess. Harold sighs, all the love and grief in him inseparable, fondness and exasperation melded together. He takes a few heavy steps, walking toward John. ]
I'm not giving up on you, I just need space.
[ He reaches out and delicately grasps one hand with his. ]
[ Having Harold hold his hand should be like a dream come true. Only he feels awful and he doesn't understand and he's forced Harold to be here when he doesn't want to be. ]
Harold.
[ It slips out quietly but in a desperate way he doesn't even notice, though barely moving lips. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He's sorry because Harold cried and John could do nothing about it, he's sorry because now Harold is here when what he wants is space, he's sorry because he still doesn't know what to do. ]
[ Harold doesn't feel that John is understanding him any better, doesn't feel like he's ready to live with him again, but there's no possibility that he'll just leave him to suffer now that he knows he's suffering.
He squeezes his hand tightly. ]
You have nothing to be sorry for, [ he says softly, matching John's volume. ] Do you remember when you left after Detective Carter died? I'll be there if you need me, but I can't just act like nothing happened.
[He remembers drinking until Harold needed him and then getting on a plane after, and he can't imagine doing that anymore. He can't imagine anything that would drive him from Harold's side now.
He tries to process what Harold is saying, tries to understand, but his head is swimming and he hurts all over, and the whole point of this exercise was to stop thinking.
It takes a bit too long, but he manages to do a pretty good job of schooling his face into blankness, get his voice under control. ]
I'm fine. You should go.
[ That's the last thing he wants, he wants Harold to hold his hand forever, wants to go back to the library with him, wants to make him breakfast and lunch and dinner, wants to listen to him at his keyboard. But that's not what Harold wants, and that's all John has to give him. ]
[ This is not very persuasive, but Harold doesn't know how much he himself can offer right now. He isn't in a place to be someone John can lean on, not when he feels like he's about to collapse under his own weight.
But it is clear that John can't be left entirely to his own devices, so he puts in some counter-measures. ]
I'll come by to have tea and donuts tomorrow morning, [ he declares, a piece of their old, old routine. ] I hope you will be sober and tended to by then. [ He hasn't missed all the signs of injury from his spar with Carver. ]
[ It's precisely everything John wants in this moment, which is why he instantly rebels against it. ]
No, Harold. You said you need space, you said you couldn't see me.
[ John isn't ready for this, he's not ready for Harold to come and go from his life again. He's not ready to be sober again. Everything hurts too much right now, even things he doesn't recognize; things he's purposefully turned his mind from. He doesn't know how this ends, when this ends, but it's not tomorrow morning. ]
And you drank yourself into the ground and then threw yourself at Mr. Carver for punishment, [ Harold summarizes tartly, growing irritated all over again. He can put those pieces together easily. John is continuing to be distinctly unhelpful. ]
You can't possibly think mourning you a second time would make me feel better.
[ A beat. That was probably too harsh, so he pushes past it. ]
So we're going to have breakfast together every day until we've resolved this, even if we sit in silence and stare morosely at our pastries. [ John will get reassurance Harold isn't abandoning him, and Harold will get reassurance John isn't drinking himself to death. ]
[ When Harold gets like this there's no changing his mind. And that's besides the point that he called John out so blatantly.
But still, John is drunk enough not to give up the fight, futile as it is. ]
If you don't want to be here you shouldn't. I don't need you to take care of me.
[ It's fine, he's fine, as long as he can sink into oblivion on the couch again he's fine. He can't stand the thought of watching Harold get up every morning and leave again, not when they were so close, not when there's this wedge between them now. ]
He's losing his patience. This is why Harold thought he needed space, because he doesn't want to take this out on John, who doesn't in fact deserve it. He forces himself to take a steadying breath. ]
Please listen to me. I don't know what's next for us, but it is still my intent that we face it together. Do you understand me?
[ Is this a pointless conversation to have with John in the state he's in currently? Is Harold going through all this emotional vulnerability and then just have to repeat it tomorrow morning? ]
[ John opens his mouth to say something terrible, something that will make Harold just go away, but he can't come up with the words. Harold is say something important, something he needs to listen to and focus on, but when he tries there's just... nothing. He hurts, his head hurts, he's dead—
He closes his mouth and grips Harold's hand back finally, a bit harder than he means to in his desperation. He's aware that Harold asked him a question, but whatever it was is lost on him. ]
I think I need to go lay down.
[ It's honest in a way that grinds, this admittance that something is wrong with him. ]
[ He doesn't think about it when Harold leads him into his apartment, just follows him blindly. His mind is shutting down and he can feel every blow and scrape, and the pain reminds him of being on the rooftop, of being shot. Dimly he's aware that he needs a drink, but he doesn't think he's going to get one before he passes out.
The apartment doesn't look too bad at first glance. There's no real mess, just a butter knife on the edge of a sink and a plate with crumbs on the counter. The arrangement of the throw pillows on the sofa makes it clear where John has been passing out, though there's no blanket. But there's also a half finished bottle and an empty glass on the table, numerous empty bottles on the counter, and a dwindling supply of full ones. It's plainly obvious that John has been doing very little aside from drinking and collapsing on his sofa.
John is silent the whole while, not even thinking to hide any of it from Harold. Just holding his hand and following along. ]
[ Harold notices everything, and it makes him weary and sad. His annoyance dissipates like a fine mist as he leads John to the unused bed, turns down the blankets, makes him sit and take off his shoes before crawling in.
One thing at a time. Everything in order.
He leaves him there to hopefully pass out, and gives into his own impulses to take care of John since he does, evidently, need it. Harold finds a trash bag and gathers up all the empty bottles, leaving the rest neatly arranged on the counter. There's no use in pouring them out since John will just get more if he wants them, and Harold doesn't really think they're at the stage where he needs an intervention, anyway.
As always, John needs a purpose, and Harold doesn't have one to offer right now.
He washes the few dishes and takes the trash out, checking that John is asleep before he leaves, and checking again when he returns. He has bread, peanut butter, and a toaster, which he leaves pointedly on the dining table.
He hesitates but does one last thing before he leaves: he writes a note in his elegant looping script. ]
I don't know what's coming next for us, but it's still my intent that we face it together. H
Again and again, even though we know love’s landscape and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the terrible reticent gorge in which the others end: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lay ourselves down again and again among the flowers, and look up into the sky. Rilke
[ It's disorienting when John slowly starts waking up. He's sore and his ribs and head hurt, but the bed he's in isn't his bed. There's a few moments of blankness where he doesn't know where he is, what's happening, but realization crawls back. He remembers Carver, arguing with Harold in the apartment hallway, though he doesn't remember getting in bed. That must be Harold's influence, since he's pretty sure he's been sleeping on the sofa. This is Etraya, not New York City. He's dead, but Harold is alive.
He's starting to feel a bit nauseous and sweaty, so John checks the time and sees he has enough to have a drink before Harold shows up, even if he's early. He's pretty sure he remembers Harold saying something about donuts and tea and he's not betting against Harold following through with that threat. He's also pretty sure Harold told him to be sober, so he can only allow himself one drink, just something to get back on track so he's not a mess. More of a mess.
When he makes it out to the main area it's obvious that Harold did more than just put him in bed. His toaster is moved to a more prominent position, and there's a fresh bag of bread and jar of peanut butter. There's also a note, in Harold's unmistakable pen, that he picks up and reads.
John barely makes it through the first half before he puts it down. It hurts to breathe not just because of his ribs but because Harold said together. He doesn't understand. Harold said he couldn't see John, he left, and now he's going to be coming over for breakfast every day and left a note saying it's still my intent that we face it together.
After a minute of trying to wrap his head around that dissonance and failing, John reads the rest. It's a poem, but he can't make any sense of it. He thinks even if he weren't such a mess he wouldn't get it, he's just not a poetry person. John reads it a second time but doesn't make any further sense of it. He needs somewhere safe to keep this note, but that also means keeping it out of Harold's sight; the only problem being that he can't figure out where that would be. It's a little silly, but he ends up sticking in in the back of a cupboard, behind the bag of flour.
And then he goes to get a drink because now his mind is filled with Harold's crying face and the elegantly written word together, and he really, really doesn't understand. John doesn't understand but Harold will be here sooner or later and he needs both a drink and a shower before that happens. ]
[ John leaves the subway alone out of respect for Carver's private space, but this is important news. He does note that Carver doesn't say "commander" so maybe things won't come to blows. The fact that Carver is warning them is... a good sign. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un: arrow | audio
un: reese | audio
You think?
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Unfortunately there's multiple entrances and from what I can tell spreads over most of Etraya so I don't know where you are. Fortunately there's multiple entrances and from what I can tell spreads over most of Etraya so you've got decent odds of finding an exit. I'd offer to come find you but we could be at two opposite ends.
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I believe you can find the exit using Trémaux's algorithm, Ms. Shaw. I'll guide you through the first steps and you should be able to pick it up from there.
The device I gave you has a location signal and I can direct you further once you're not underground.
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[Are you sure she'll be able to pick it up from there, Harold?
(Shaw, just because you prefer being the muscle doesn't mean you're not smart. You'll be fine.) ]
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You'll need something to mark the floor with.
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Every time you enter or leave a passageway and arrive at a junction, mark the floor. It's important you mark the passage entrance or exit, not the junction itself.
Pick any direction to start.
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Okay.
[She'll gesture for Carter to come with, and then head off down the hallway.]
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[ Technically he'd just said this, but Harold is going to be extremely specific. ]
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This is gonna take forever.
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[ They haven't worked together long by his reckoning, but Harold takes her entirely seriously as someone in his employ, even beyond his usual care for peoples' lives. If he needs to, he's prepared to ask Castiel for assistance. It seems like the kind of thing an angel should be able to handle if he's out there reading minds. ]
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Please check in at least hourly or I will start asking contacts for assistance.
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Okay, Finch. What's next?
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Make a second mark where you just came out of -- traditionally an X -- and double back. The X means you won't turn down this route again.
When you return to the last intersection, pick an unmarked route if possible, and one with a single mark if not.
[ Yes, this could take a long time. But it is foolproof. ]
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[grumble grumble grumble GRUMBLE]
By the way, I'm bringing a friend home from school.
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Doesn't that imply you've made a friend in the first place?
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[If you really want the ACTUAL WORDS instead of the punchy euphemisms.]
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Who would that be?
[ In the deeply regrettable absence of his usual information-gathering methods, he's been trying to familiarize himself with everyone here on at least a basic level, so Harold might know them already. ]
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[ Another pause. ]
I'm willing to speak with him. He's agreed not to commit violence in the library.
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I should say, he's agreed not to commit violence in the library against me.
[ Not a promise he ever felt he needed to get from Shaw. ]
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But he recognizes when someone is teasing him and says crisply, ] Let me know if you require further assistance, Ms. Shaw.
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un: arrow | text
[By Shaw's standards, this is practically effusive, but she really is grateful (not to mention a bit surprised) that 2013-era John so readily offered her space. Back then, she was still in her "destroying burner phones and refusing to allow the team to contact her outside of predetermined work hours" era; she's aware that she hasn't actually earned herself much goodwill in his mind.]
un: reese | text
[ It is strange to see the word "thanks" from Shaw, but it... feels good? If that's how he ever feels. There's a gap between them still, she's a stranger in some ways, but clearly that's not the case for her. He knows how disorienting it is to be somewhere like this suddenly, to have no one, that was his first couple days before he found Harold and things turned around. So he wants to extend that branch to her too even if he's not the same person she knows. ]
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That's all fine until the day he hears a faint cheep and he finds himself stumbling up from his desk and over to the little egg station.
By the time John returns to their library apartment, Harold is fully fussing, hovering over a shoebox that is making loud squawking. ]
Oh-- oh dear.
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John goes over, looks inside the shoebox. There's a bit of a forboding tone to his voice. ]
Finch, what is this?
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[ Harold jerks his gaze up to John with a palpable sense of relief. He hadn't snuck up on him -- Harold is hard to sneak up on in the first place, John probably wasn't really trying, it's their residence and it's bio-coded to keep others out -- but he'd been so wrapped up in staring at the bird that he hadn't given thought to asking John to help him out. Once he sees him in front of him, his course of action becomes obvious. ]
Thank goodness you're here, I need you to fetch some things for me. I can't just keep a baby bird in a box.
[ Obviously he needs a whole set up for it as a responsible parent. And equally obviously he doesn't feel comfortable leaving it alone. ]
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What do you need?
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Most important is a warming lamp with a configurable temperature. I can-- I'll text you a list for the rest. I need to look up a few things.
I may have gone by Wren more than any other name, [ he says with open disbelief, the kind of personal tidbit he only drops to John and no one else, ] but that doesn't mean I'm a qualified wildlife rehabilitator.
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Where do you think I can find that? Kwik Trip? Or should I go digging in the junkyard?
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[ Would Harold share this kind of closeness with John if they were at home? He's not sure, but he's inclined to think not. There would be no reason to disrupt the careful, delicate distance they've fallen into, the kind of thin veneer that serves as a gauzy veil to hide what he feels they both know lies beneath. Here there's compelling reasons to tug that veneer aside bit by bit. Harold hadn't said anything but he of course noticed the sudden appearance of his usual wardrobe, and it'd flustered him greatly.
He knows John cares, that's impossible to miss, but there's knowing... and there's the sudden equal footing they find themselves on here. ]
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[ He actually finds what Harold is looking for at Kwik Trip, including the list he texted on the way over. It takes a little while longer to return, burdened as he is, but John does his best to make good time. Once back at the library, John opens the door to more squawking. ]
How long is that going to go on for?
[ The errand was good, being outside in the fresh air cleared his thoughts. He got to focus on the snow crunching, the cold air in his lungs, the way his body moved as he hurried his way over. Now he has the room to be annoyed by the baby bird instead of mired in his thoughts about Harold. ]
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The bird is, of course, still squawking away, making plaintive chittering noises from its shoebox. ]
Until I release it, I expect it, [ Harold says dourly. He loves birds but he's never tried to keep one, for good reason. ] A few weeks. Though it may settle down a bit once I feed it.
[ Harold has a plate of very plain scrambled eggs -- no oil or seasoning -- that is cooling next to his books. He can at least manage to scramble an egg on his own. ]
The tweezers, please? [ That was on the list. He's not going to put his computer tools near a baby bird; they can be astoundingly gross. ]
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Why did you accept that egg in the first place?
[ It's not accusatory, but it's not... not. John had enough sense not to do such a thing, but now he's stuck with a baby bird regardless. ]
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[ Harold takes the tweezers and the plate of scrambled egg and approaches the chirping box. There's what looks like a gaping hole with a beak around it pointed straight upward that the faint screeching is coming out of. He uses the tweezers to carefully drop a piece of cooked egg into the chick's mouth, which it gulps down whole. ]
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Curiosity answered. How often do you have to feed it?
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[ He's not about to ask John to do this for him, but he really will be tied to his desk for a few days...
He puts the plate and tweezers down and shuffles over to take the rest of the supplies, starting to unpack. ] According to the chatter on the network, I should be thankful it's just a bird.
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[ Hoe does something so small manage to be so loud? ]
I can help if you show me what to do.
[ He may not be pleased with this baby bird situation but he's not going to abandon Harold to his fate. He can offer to shoulder some of the burden, if only so Harold can get some sleep. ]
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[ Harold pauses in his unpacking to frown mildly over at John. ]
I'm the one who accepted the egg -- I won't foist the responsibility off on you. [ Extensive sense of responsibility it is. ]
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[ He is offering, and he knows it'll be easier for Harold to give him something to do when he sees it as a gift. John knows Harold isn't satisfied with how much excessive time John spend caring for the library. ]
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[ Harold feels negligent every time he catches John mopping. It's abnormal and means he needs something to do, which he hasn't forgotten. He keeps trying to come up with something... ]
We could take shifts, [ he admits reluctantly. ] The first few days will be the hardest.
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Show me what to do.
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Thank you. It's really nothing complicated, it's just annoying frequent...
[ And he runs through how to feed a baby bird, and what temperature it needs, and how to clean up after its bizarrely tidy defecation habits, and after a few minutes it falls into something natural and easy, like it's the simplest thing in the world between them. ]
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I think he's lonely.
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[ It's not something he'd normally say. Normally he'd be talking to a number, be in the middle of some action, could just play it off, choose not respond. But they're talking. And there's a... closeness he thinks they've developed since moving in together. He's sticking his neck out, in a way. Taking a leap and seeing if Harold will catch him. He's suddenly all nerves, can feel the drop in his stomach. It's the truth, but was it the right thing to say? ]
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[ In text it could read as flippant or as tender acknowledgment of how much John has chosen to trust him. Harold appreciates the ambiguity there. John is sticking his neck out on a topic they don't normally directly discuss, and he's-- shy, but he can say something in turn. ]
I'd rather believe the best and be proven wrong than believe the worst and be proven right. That's not how I want to live.
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I'll work to that end.
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[ He's always believed the best in John and never regretted it. ]
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un: gorgug, text [ during january mission ]
Hi
[ Just that. Hi ]
un: reese | text
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?
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Yes.
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... ]
And you take care of a dog?
[ Let's double-check, actually. ]
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Yes.
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Okay. And my username sounds familiar if you say it out loud?
[ Triple-checking--!! ]
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Is that what's happening here?]Yes, Gorgug, we have met. Can you describe the circumstances of our first encounter?
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You showed me how to ice skate.
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What do you want?
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I wanted to ask how you were doing
[ Another text: ]
With the mission
[ And then, after four seconds: ]
If that's okay?
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Not making much progress. This train doesn't like to give up its mysteries. You?
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Maybe a King is a word for something other than royalty?
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Any leader could call themselves a king and not be royalty in the sense of a true monarchy.
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Thank you.
I was thinking if there's anything else people use the term for on the train. Or it could be a codename for something?
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I'll get back to you about what he finds?
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1/2
[ And there's nothing else... ]
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so the king stuff is like a belief? that a king will save them once things get too bad. i don't know where the rumour comes from or if there's books about it
maybe if we ask around we can see how widespread it is? i don't know if that would help us
[ He lost his ability to capitalise. rip. ]
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enough of a boomerold enough that he squints at the lack of capitalization and inconsistent punctuation, but maybe that's just what the kids are into these days. How's he supposed to know? ]If that's the case I would guess the king is a thing instead of a person. Maybe it's hidden in the sealed carriage. Some of us are going to break in.
[ Is it wise to tell Gorgug his plans? On one hand he has no clue how good Gorgug is at keeping secrets, or who he might spread it to. On the other, there's too much ground to cover to be silo-ing information like this. And Gorgug has been forthcoming with his help multiple times so far. ]
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[ Gorgug, internally, chanting: break-ing IN, break-ing IN, break-ing IN ]
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[ after the break in ]
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unless you want to break into there too
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you don't care if i say anything? as long as i don't point it back to you
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how busted up is the carriage now? is everyone going to find out it got broken into anyway?
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i wonder what everyone will do now though. now that it's open
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let me know if they plan to do anything with it? there might be people on board who would be good to get the maps
i don't know but it's not like we're going to be on this train forever
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but the idea sounded logical in my head?? i heard a guy called odin is a head engineer in neon is good at his job but i've never talked to him
i don't know if he's secretly a bad guy
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what if the king is the train's way of finding a new planet?
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this train isn't very good for watching a world die
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This might be all they have left. This is the dying.
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That's not what the mission is.
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[ It doesn't matter what they think, Etrayans or train residents. It doesn't matter if removing the king helps or hurts the train. ]
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Not our job.
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But if it's an example of deciding the fate of other people, then that sounds about right for the game they're playing. ]
okay
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[ He doesn't want Gorgug to have to make these decisions. He wants to make them for him. That way if Gorgug has to blame someone for what happens he can blame John instead of himself. It's not right to put kids in this kind of situation. ]
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i will
[ He doubts he'll know anything else. The people with power make the call. Whoever that is from the train.
And that includes those of them from Etraya, too. ]
un: gorgug, text [ still during january mission, a day later ]
Do you think it could be a lead?
un: reese | text
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do we want to see if anyone does have access to the locomotive? set up a camera outside the door? it's weird that no one's been in there all this time
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does anyone know what the king does?
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Don't know anything other than where the king is.
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he's got more time than me so if i can get something working he can watch the feed
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Let us know if you get it working.
un: Accelerator; text
Yo, I've got some information for you. Really fucking important information.
[He doesn't want to do this, but Connor doesn't remember him and this information is dangerous enough that John should know.]
un: reese | text
[ John is of the opinion that really important information probably should not be communicated in a way that can be recorded. ]
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[John can have enough paranoia for the two of them, it's fine.]
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[ It's Accelerator's information, he can share it however he wants. ]
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Aurora's brain is on the 100th floor.
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It sounded like there were some people who could make it there if they tried. Does she have any way of securing it from access?
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The heat, the lack of oxygen, and if you go low enough the robots become aggressive. That's what she has for now, I'm not sure if she could come up with more security.
You'd think the threat of fucking suffocating to death would be enough to dissuade most people, but there are a lot of idiots here.
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Anyone who could make it that far wouldn't be deterred by any sort of door or lock. Unlikely to be able to prevent physical damage, but what about methods to prevent tampering?
[ That's really not his expertise, but it's a valid option. Having her become corrupted or altered seems worse than incapacitated. ]
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[Which was the problem, that's how Im'mari was able to infect her.]
I don't know if that's changed at all.
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[Because he, of course, got her permission before doing so.]
It could be more dangerous for him if he does, though.
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A lot of people around here don't trust Aurora. What if they find out her brain's down there and they decide they want to do some fucking reprogramming?
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You think they'll turn to Harold. Or on him.
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My guess is the second one, but I'm a pessimist. That's why I'm telling you all of this.
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Finch won't care. Thanks for the warning.
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Whatever. Now you know, so you can prepare for any possible problems down the road.
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I haven't told anyone else.
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[1/2]
[2/2]
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No. The train itself was interesting, but everything else was a huge pain in the ass.
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I'm sure you can put two and two together.
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Did you put your gun safety lessons to use?
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Yes. I didn't point it at anyone I wasn't intending to shoot, I used the safety, and I kept my finger off the trigger unless I was ready to shoot.
And I take the damn thing apart to clean it regularly.
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[ He doesn't really care how many people Accelerator killed. John knows enough about him to know a body here or there isn't going to significantly change how many people he's killed or injured. And he's not personally equipped to handle Accelerator being upset about killing people, so he's definitely not asking. ]
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[Which is... whatever. It's a drop in the ocean that is his kill count. It's fine.]
What was your impression of that fucking train?
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[ Actually he thinks the train sucked a lot, but he's pretty firmly in the camp of "not my problem". ]
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I agree with that last part, but "needed some improvements" is an understatement.
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[ John isn't, and he's fairly sure Accelerator isn't either. ]
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Yeah, that's what he is. I think he's really sensitive too, so it's a bad combination.
[The way he had reacted to learning about Academy City's whole deal was very telling.]
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[ So he can stay away. ]
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[Come on, he has to ask.]
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He cares about people, he's not an idealist.
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[ And Harold's resources are so vast that what he can do is significant, but it doesn't make him an idealist. ]
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No, he expects people to do the best thing when confronted with it.
[ And he is disappointed, often, by the people they encounter. But his persistence in his belief that people can do good is part of what makes him Harold Finch. It's part of what makes him so special. It's one of the reasons why John follows him unerringly. John would never ask or want him to change that; he'll just do everything in his power to protect him when things go wrong. ]
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So he's surprised to see a text come in. He almost isn't sure if he should respond to that himself. He knows he isn't going to change John's mind, he isn't looking to do that. He just keeps thinking about how Harold expects the world from people (people like himself) and how people (people like himself) can never live up to insane expectations like that, because people (people like himself), more often than not, are at best shitty and at worst complete monsters.
After a few minutes, he settles on something.]
Expecting someone to do the best thing is fucking unrealistic.
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Sometimes people prove him right.
text via private phone to both John and Harold! putting it here bc of Liv's hiatus
looks like there's a lot of squabbling going on. what's our game plan?
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[Shaw's work with Harold and John had taught her the value of protecting individual lives, and that's partly what she's calling on here. But even more than that, she's thinking of values she'd internalized before she'd even met them: first as the daughter of a refugee who'd escaped an oppressive regime, and then as a soldier who'd sometimes worked with defectors and informants trying to work their way to a better life. She doesn't think the people from Solmara are likely to be in immediate physical danger. But some of the reactions on that post - both those calling them disloyal, and those calling them untrustworthy - strike her as very firmly wrong.]
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I'll leave it to you. Let us know how we can help if we need to.
[ Now isn't the time for a joke like "But I'm not making them dinner" and he trusts Shaw will know how much she can promise on their behalf. Or she'll ask first. He doesn't need to micromanage her, even if that's what he might do at home. She's been part of the team long enough from her perspective and he's trying to respect that. ]
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roger roger
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Wasn't that from some movie?
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what, did they not have you CIA boys use radios?
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[Can text messages drip with sarcasm?]
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[ Because she has so much of that. ]
text | un: finch
And try not to give Mr. Carver any further trouble.
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He calls him. ]
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He doesn't answer the call, just lets it ring until it auto hangs up. He's almost back at the apartments now. ]
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Please stop being difficult.
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He wants to turn around and run in the opposite direction because Harold had said I don't think I can see you for a while and yet here he is, because John fucked up. This isn't how he wanted it to go. He could do it, he could run and Harold wouldn't be able to keep up, he could go lose himself somewhere, but he can't move. He just stands there at the end of the hallway, unmoving, hardly breathing.
He has nothing to say for himself. ]
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[ He's an absolute mess. Harold sighs, all the love and grief in him inseparable, fondness and exasperation melded together. He takes a few heavy steps, walking toward John. ]
I'm not giving up on you, I just need space.
[ He reaches out and delicately grasps one hand with his. ]
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Harold.
[ It slips out quietly but in a desperate way he doesn't even notice, though barely moving lips. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He's sorry because Harold cried and John could do nothing about it, he's sorry because now Harold is here when what he wants is space, he's sorry because he still doesn't know what to do. ]
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He squeezes his hand tightly. ]
You have nothing to be sorry for, [ he says softly, matching John's volume. ] Do you remember when you left after Detective Carter died? I'll be there if you need me, but I can't just act like nothing happened.
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He tries to process what Harold is saying, tries to understand, but his head is swimming and he hurts all over, and the whole point of this exercise was to stop thinking.
It takes a bit too long, but he manages to do a pretty good job of schooling his face into blankness, get his voice under control. ]
I'm fine. You should go.
[ That's the last thing he wants, he wants Harold to hold his hand forever, wants to go back to the library with him, wants to make him breakfast and lunch and dinner, wants to listen to him at his keyboard. But that's not what Harold wants, and that's all John has to give him. ]
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But it is clear that John can't be left entirely to his own devices, so he puts in some counter-measures. ]
I'll come by to have tea and donuts tomorrow morning, [ he declares, a piece of their old, old routine. ] I hope you will be sober and tended to by then. [ He hasn't missed all the signs of injury from his spar with Carver. ]
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No, Harold. You said you need space, you said you couldn't see me.
[ John isn't ready for this, he's not ready for Harold to come and go from his life again. He's not ready to be sober again. Everything hurts too much right now, even things he doesn't recognize; things he's purposefully turned his mind from. He doesn't know how this ends, when this ends, but it's not tomorrow morning. ]
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You can't possibly think mourning you a second time would make me feel better.
[ A beat. That was probably too harsh, so he pushes past it. ]
So we're going to have breakfast together every day until we've resolved this, even if we sit in silence and stare morosely at our pastries. [ John will get reassurance Harold isn't abandoning him, and Harold will get reassurance John isn't drinking himself to death. ]
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But still, John is drunk enough not to give up the fight, futile as it is. ]
If you don't want to be here you shouldn't. I don't need you to take care of me.
[ It's fine, he's fine, as long as he can sink into oblivion on the couch again he's fine. He can't stand the thought of watching Harold get up every morning and leave again, not when they were so close, not when there's this wedge between them now. ]
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He's losing his patience. This is why Harold thought he needed space, because he doesn't want to take this out on John, who doesn't in fact deserve it. He forces himself to take a steadying breath. ]
Please listen to me. I don't know what's next for us, but it is still my intent that we face it together. Do you understand me?
[ Is this a pointless conversation to have with John in the state he's in currently? Is Harold going through all this emotional vulnerability and then just have to repeat it tomorrow morning? ]
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He closes his mouth and grips Harold's hand back finally, a bit harder than he means to in his desperation. He's aware that Harold asked him a question, but whatever it was is lost on him. ]
I think I need to go lay down.
[ It's honest in a way that grinds, this admittance that something is wrong with him. ]
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He makes a note to say it to him again later, perhaps as a text message so he doesn't need to repeat himself a potential second time.
Harold keeps hold of his hand and moves to open the door to John's apartment and guide him in. He has a key, of course. ]
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The apartment doesn't look too bad at first glance. There's no real mess, just a butter knife on the edge of a sink and a plate with crumbs on the counter. The arrangement of the throw pillows on the sofa makes it clear where John has been passing out, though there's no blanket. But there's also a half finished bottle and an empty glass on the table, numerous empty bottles on the counter, and a dwindling supply of full ones. It's plainly obvious that John has been doing very little aside from drinking and collapsing on his sofa.
John is silent the whole while, not even thinking to hide any of it from Harold. Just holding his hand and following along. ]
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One thing at a time. Everything in order.
He leaves him there to hopefully pass out, and gives into his own impulses to take care of John since he does, evidently, need it. Harold finds a trash bag and gathers up all the empty bottles, leaving the rest neatly arranged on the counter. There's no use in pouring them out since John will just get more if he wants them, and Harold doesn't really think they're at the stage where he needs an intervention, anyway.
As always, John needs a purpose, and Harold doesn't have one to offer right now.
He washes the few dishes and takes the trash out, checking that John is asleep before he leaves, and checking again when he returns. He has bread, peanut butter, and a toaster, which he leaves pointedly on the dining table.
He hesitates but does one last thing before he leaves: he writes a note in his elegant looping script. ]
I don't know what's coming next for us,
but it's still my intent that we face it together.
H
Again and again, even though we know love’s landscape
and the little churchyard with its lamenting names
and the terrible reticent gorge in which the others
end: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lay ourselves down again and again
among the flowers, and look up into the sky.
Rilke
no subject
He's starting to feel a bit nauseous and sweaty, so John checks the time and sees he has enough to have a drink before Harold shows up, even if he's early. He's pretty sure he remembers Harold saying something about donuts and tea and he's not betting against Harold following through with that threat. He's also pretty sure Harold told him to be sober, so he can only allow himself one drink, just something to get back on track so he's not a mess. More of a mess.
When he makes it out to the main area it's obvious that Harold did more than just put him in bed. His toaster is moved to a more prominent position, and there's a fresh bag of bread and jar of peanut butter. There's also a note, in Harold's unmistakable pen, that he picks up and reads.
John barely makes it through the first half before he puts it down. It hurts to breathe not just because of his ribs but because Harold said together. He doesn't understand. Harold said he couldn't see John, he left, and now he's going to be coming over for breakfast every day and left a note saying it's still my intent that we face it together.
After a minute of trying to wrap his head around that dissonance and failing, John reads the rest. It's a poem, but he can't make any sense of it. He thinks even if he weren't such a mess he wouldn't get it, he's just not a poetry person. John reads it a second time but doesn't make any further sense of it. He needs somewhere safe to keep this note, but that also means keeping it out of Harold's sight; the only problem being that he can't figure out where that would be. It's a little silly, but he ends up sticking in in the back of a cupboard, behind the bag of flour.
And then he goes to get a drink because now his mind is filled with Harold's crying face and the elegantly written word together, and he really, really doesn't understand. John doesn't understand but Harold will be here sooner or later and he needs both a drink and a shower before that happens. ]
Text | un: f.s
One of my brothers is here. Need to get him settled
un: reese | text
Need anything else?
no subject
Dodge if he throws a knife at you.