Harold sits at his desk in the subway car. He stares at the screen of raw code in front of him as he types. To his right lines of blue lights on the game systems currently powering the Machine keep him company. It must be three in the morning right now. Ms. Groves left him for some sleep several hours ago and good on her. Harold, however, cannot tear himself away.

He sees the Machine speaking to him amid sparks and noise and gunfire.

FATHER

IF I DO NOT SURVIVE

THANK YOU

Harold sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes under his glasses. Then he pulls his hand back, opens his eyes wide and continues to type. The Machine has a myriad of problems now what with decompressing such a complex system. Bugs appeared everywhere almost immediately, even in the startup sequence, the core coding, surveillance, everything he ever taught it. He has to remember the coding he wrote ten years ago, the basics when he was at a zenith of his abilities – before he doubted, before Nathan died, before his body broke.

He sees the Machine back in the subway, trying to decompress itself onto one laptop.

Fire and smoke and falling onto the cement…

The burnt, gray innards of the Machine inside its bulletproof box like a tiny coffin…

Harold staring at the remains thinking 'She's dead, I killed her, She's dead' in a giant loop before John and Ms. Groves arrived.

"Okay…." Harold says to himself. "Let's work on your threat heuristics. It's what you were built for."

He needs to ensure the process the machine learned to identify threats is still intact. They do not want to be chasing wrong numbers or following non-Samaritan leads. Then again, when Harold first built the Machine there was no Samaritan, so can he code the Machine the same way again?

"How's she doing, Harry?" Harold turns to Ms. Groves leaning over his left shoulder. "No bugs in the boot this time?"

"Not yet."

"Good. I hoped the patch I put in would work."

"However, we have enough bugs beyond that to deal with."

Ms. Groves makes a noise of confirmation. "A mile long." She pulls up one of the rolling chairs and sits down in it beside Harold. "What are you on now?" She leans closer to the screen. "Analytics?"

"The Machine's processes for determining threats of national security."

Ms. Groves turns to him. "Or the irrelevant variety?"

"Exactly."

"And what about Samaritan?"

Harold frowns as he types another fix into pattern recognition and predictive analysis. "When I first programed the Machine there was no alternate A.I. threat to account for."

"But this isn't the first time, Harold. We're into part two now."

"Yet it is still the same Machine." Harold glances at her then back to the screen. "This is the code I first made. I have to build from there."

"You're wondering what you should change."

Harold frowns.

FATHER… NOW YOU'RE NOT SURE

"Or should I change anything?"

"She changed Herself. She moved Herself. She wouldn't be the same no matter what you do, Harold."

Harold says nothing.

Root stands up and paces over to the game systems. She crouches low, pulling her t-shirt down as she does. "She's an A.I., the whole point is evolution isn't it?" She glances at Harold as she pulls out one game system which appears to have shut off. "She grew out of what you made Her and that was better, better for Her and better for us."

"I cannot code what I did not make, Ms. Groves."

Root sighs as she fiddles with the wires at the back of the system. "I'm not saying that, harry."

"What are you saying, Ms. Groves?"

"Maybe She can help us."

Harold frowns. "She cannot even see us yet."

Ms. Groves holds out her hand for a screwdriver which Harold hands her. "When She can Harold. She grew, She coded herself. She can do it again."

Harold breathes in slowly and turns back to his screen. "One step at a time."

Harold tries to focus on the code, to keep typing and moving forward. He needs to rebuild the Machine, bring back its base and everything it should already know. He can concern himself with the finer points when they reach them. With a complex system, inherently nothing is simple even in the best circumstances. They have a subway car with PlayStations as servers, ten year old memory, two programmers, only one of which helped create the original system, and finite time. For a dark painful moment, Harold misses Nathan so much he has to shut his eyes tight.

"Harold?"

Harold opens his eyes again. Ms. Groves stands next to him. She stares at his face for a moment then pinches her lips. She glances at the computer screen then back again. "You're not sure if you can lift the limits and advance the machine's potential." Ms. Groves tilts her head. "Is it really a question? We're talking about Samaritan here."

"Would you want to change Her?" Harold asks. "You spoke to Her more than almost anyone. Would you want to turn the Machine into something else, something you do not recognize?"

"That won't happen. She will still be your Machine, Harold." Ms. Groves smiles in that reverent way she does. "She will still be ours."

Harold watches Ms. Groves but does not give voice to his thoughts or the fears. Which must he choose as he rebuilds the code, the Machine he made or one which has the tools needed to fight another A.I.? Is it even his choice at all?

Ben, Walt and Hugo sit in a line on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. The lighthouse stands vigil to their right. Hugo said something about Jack using the same spot once to think when they arrived. Staring out at the ocean from the Island seems to bring some sense of clarity to many. Ben has done it himself. Perhaps that is just the ocean.

"So tell us about it, Walt," Hugo says, "your power."

"You mean the birds?"

"And teleporting," Hugo says. "Or like, whatever it is."

"It's not teleporting."

"Did you name it something else?"

"I don't really… I don't know, it's like I bring things to where I want them. Like the birds, they work best. Maybe cause they already fly. I can make myself appear too. I remember trying to talk to you guys when they took me." He gestures to Ben. "But it never really worked; I could see them in the jungle. I remember Shannon but I don't think they could hear me."

"But they could see you," Hugo says.

"Yeah."

"So it's like…. Like you make yourself into a hologram?"

Walt frowns. "What?"

"Star Trek, dude."

"I got the reference."

"It's like you're there but not, right? And with the bird it's… what's the thing where you can move stuff with your mind?" Hugo's eyes rolls up as he thinks. "Tele… something."

"I mean I don't just move them. I call them." Walt fiddles with some of the small grass-like plants covering the ground under them. "I can talk to them. The island too it… it has voices."

"The whispers," Ben says. Walt and Hugo turn to look at him as if they had forgotten he was really there. Ben smiles. "They have more to do with you than you think."

"Not yet, man," Hugo hisses.

Walt glances back and forth between them but he does not ask.

"In terms of your powers, Walt," Ben continues instead, "I think there is no problem in a lack of definition. The island cannot be easily defined; your powers need not be either."

"Hugo's are," Walt says petulantly.

"Maybe the talking to dead people part but don't get me started on being the Protector."

"Maybe you should get started," Ben counters. "It might help Walt with what's to come."

"What's to come?" Walt repeats.

"Ben, dude, chill."

Ben gives Hugo a look. "I think he knows we brought him here for a reason other than to enjoy the sun."

"Baby steps. He's just talking to us again without setting birds on you."

Ben resists rolling his eyes. "Thanks."

"I'm also sitting right here."

Ben and Hugo look at Walt between them. He continues to stare out at the sea, the waves crashing hard on the rocks far below them. "I think…" He breathes in slow. "I think I just need to remember the island from when I first crashed." He looks at Ben which surprises Ben more than anything. "I wanted to stay. I told Locke, I tried to tell my dad. I wanted to stay here."

"You're here now, Walt."

"But…" He looks away, down at the waves. "But it's not the same. Everyone I knew is gone. My dad is dead. You're… well, different and so is Hugo."

Ben watches him, the indecision and confusion of youth still fresh. He looks more like the boy Ben remembers from the room Ben locked him in than the vengeful man who attacked them for months.

"Yes," Ben only says, leaving Walt room to think.

"Is this my home now?"

"If you want it to be."

Walt shakes his head. "I wanted to… I said I wanted to destroy it but I think I just wanted to turn it back, back to when I hadn't been abandoned."

"I'm sorry, Walt," Hugo says. "We shouldn't have left you."

Walt smiles for a moment, glances at Hugo then back at the ocean. "So, what do I do now?"

Hugo and Ben catch each other's eye behind Walt's back. Hugo grins and Ben nods once. They look together at Walt.

"You come with us, Walt," Ben says.

"And we can help you make the island home again," Hugo finishes.

Harold walks back down the stairs into the subway with John behind him. They recently left Elias at the safe house after facilitating the reunion between Elias and Bruce. Harold wonders what Bruce will do next but he does not wonder long. When they reach the platform level, Harold's eyes automatically shift to the Faraday cage.

"Is it still going?" John asks.

"Yes, I have the program running continuously, the Samaritan laptop and the Machine laptop connected through a central computer."

"Gladiator battles."

Harold chuckles in a polite way. "Ms. Groves said much the same but we need to know if the Machine can defeat Samaritan in a fight."

"And what exactly is the score?" Ms. Groves asks as she pokes her head out of her jewel-toned room.

"It is still too early to tell," Harold says quickly before John can respond.

He notices John give him a quick look out of the corner of his eye. Harold told John the truth; so far the Machine has lost every fight. Ms. Groves crosses her arms and stares at Harold. He stares back and does not give way.

She leans against the doorjamb. "You will have to tell me eventually."

"Give it time," Harold says firmly.

Ms. Groves gestures with her chin toward john. "He tell you anything?"

"You two are the computer geeks," John replies in a gruff manner. "Not my area."

Ms. Groves purses her lips and Harold knows that she knows. She glances at him again. For a moment, she appears as if she might say something, scold him, berate him then she turns on her heel and walks back into her room. Harold stares at the doorway with the bright shag carpet Ms. Groves insisted on using. He is not sure why he cannot tell her yet. Perhaps one of them needs to retain hope.

"Thank you," Harold says quietly to John.

"Why haven't you told her yet?" Harold glances over at the Faraday cage and does not answer. "She could help." Harold looks up at John in question. John looks down at him. "You may have built the Machine but what if Root has a different idea? She did beat you once."

Harold huffs and looks away again. "Maybe but, as I told Ms. Groves earlier, if anything with the Machine should change it should be the smartest of us that does so."

"You?" John says in a half serious, half mocking manner.

"The Machine."

John raises his eyebrows. "It can do that, rewrite itself?"

Harold makes an 'hmm' noise. "It was one of the first things it ever learned to do, before I even began to teach it the world it understood itself."

"Philosophical, Finch."

"At times."

"So has it? Will it?"

Harold tilts his head. "The version of the Machine in there is just a minimized copy. If the Machine itself… well, She probably already knows Her odds against Samaritan. Maybe She has already started to recode."

"You could ask Her," John says quietly.

"I am not Ms. Groves."

"No," John says turning slightly toward Harold. "You're Her father."

Harold looks up sharply at John, nearly forgetting his limitation of movement. John, however, does not look away in the face of Harold's glare. Perhaps John does have a point.

"I should get to my apartment," John says.

Harold nods. He knows John does not like his cover identity including sleep in an apartment far away from the people he wishes to keep safe. Harold squeezes John's upper arm once then nods again. "Get some sleep. It's late as it is."

"You too."

Then John turns and walks back to the stairs. Harold, in turn, walks over to the Faraday cage. He unlocks the gate, steps inside, then locks it again behind him. He steps around the table, sits down in the chair then looks up at the screen.

Calculating outcome victories

Calculating simulation: 10117233342

MACHINE: 0

SAMARITAN: 10117233342

Harold rubs a hand over his face under his glasses briefly. He pulls his hand down again, crosses his arms and fists one hand at his chin. He stares as the number of scenarios ticks higher and higher, the number beside the Machine unchanging.

"Come on," Harold whispers as if by watching he could change the outcome, the cheerleader to his team, the supportive parent to his daughter in the game.

He watches for another minute before standing again with a sigh. He walks around the table, his hand sliding over the top of the Machine laptop. He unlocks the gate, steps back out and locks it again behind him. He leans back against the gate, his mind spinning over and over feeling absolutely helpless. They cannot win but they must win. The odds are impossible but there is no other option than victory. What can he do? What could She do?

"What do you want to do?" Harold says out loud to Her.

Harold's cellphone suddenly vibrates in his pocket. Harold stares at the column nearest him for a moment then pulls out his phone with a quick breath. He clicks the screen to light and selects the new text with no sender.

TRUST ME.

"I do," Harold says quietly. "I promise."

Cindy waves to Ben as he walks into the temple then her expression freezes. Ben hears Emma make a high noise and disappears around a column. Zach stays frozen when he stands, Nadia similarly statuesque beside him. All around the courtyard those remaining watch as Ben walks through the archway, Walt standing beside him.

"Hello," Ben says with a smile. "I'm sure you all remember Walt."

"We remember," Nadia says darkly.

"He shouldn't be here," someone says from Ben's left, either Edgar or Kevin.

"Walt is one of us now," Ben says sternly, like he is the leader again and not just advisor, someone they might listen to. "He was brought to this island like any of us."

"You mean on a boat with you?" Emma quips, stepping out from behind the column; the expression on her face is all righteous teenager.

"No, like on a plane with you," Ben retorts and Emma frowns. "Hugo brought him back again and while he may have erred, he belongs with us."

Cindy takes two steps forward and addresses Walt. "Are you?" Ben feels Walt shift beside him. "Are you one of us? Do you know what that means?"

"I know this is the only place I have," Walt replies quietly.

After a beat Cindy says. "Fine." She glances at Ben and gives him a small nod. Then she looks back to Walt. "Then you had better learn to help out."

"What?" Nadia snaps. "You cannot be serious! What about Maggie?"

"What about Peter?" Someone else adds and that must have been Robert from the aggression. "He was my…" Robert cuts himself off with a gasp.

Nadia shouts again, "And Maggie had been here almost as long as Ben!"

"He's not safe," Zach says, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. "He can stop you from moving..."

"Enough!" Cindy snaps. Cindy stares at the group for a long moment, sweat on her brow and hands on hips. Ben thinks while they may not have a leader any longer, Cindy does a fair job of approximating the role. "We have all made mistakes in our time, before and after this island but we are all here now, we are all part of this group. The island is our life; that is what binds us together." She looks toward Walt again though her eyes slide to Ben. "And we all get a chance for redemption."

Ben smiles back at her. "Thank you." Though if he is thanking her for himself or Walt is hard to tell.

"Thank you," Walt also says. "I know… I know I was wrong." He looks for a moment like he may say more but only shifts his weight, staring at the ground.

Ben thinks, 'still just a kid,' with Hugo's voice in his head.

"Why don't you help with the wall repair?" Cindy says to Walt with a small smile. "It was your fault."

Walt makes a face like choking. He glances at Ben then back to Cindy. He nods quickly and follows her. The moment Walt leaves Ben's side, Robert and Nadia march up to him.

"I don't care about redemption!" Robert says in a rush. "When you were the leader there were consequences for killing one of our own!"

"And if he really is one of us then he needs to pay for that," Nadia finishes.

"But I'm not the leader any more, am I?" Ben replies calmly.

"But you're the advisor and you can talk to Hugo!" Nadia insists in a hushed voice. "He fucking controls bird and – and – disappears!"

Ben glances at Walt across the courtyard now. Cindy and Matthew are speaking to him, handing him a shovel. The interaction looks stilted and forced from here.

"Walt has a long way to go yet." Ben turns back to the two in front of him. "But he will come around. So much of his anger was a result of the island. It should be the island that heals him."

"But Peter…" Robert says in a pained voice.

"I am not saying you have to like him, Robert, or that you are not entitled to your pain. We have all lost people we cared for." Robert pinches his lips together and Nadia looks away. "But I think our time of vendettas and revenge are past now."

"So what then?" Robert asks.

"Walt earns back our trust and uses his gifts to help the island."

Nadia and Robert watch Ben, look at each other then through some silent conversation must accept his words because they turn and walk back toward the temple. Ben wishes he could help them more. He understands their desire. He lived it for three years after Alex and, like the stories say, revenge does not heal the wounds; it only creates more.

"Ben?" Ben turns to Walt beside him once more. "They all hate me."

"They are upset."

"Because of what I did but… I can't… I can't bring anyone back."

"No, you can't."

Walt stares at the people working in the courtyard, planting, building, shooting curious and accusatory glances their way. Walt sighs heavily. "Could I still leave?"

Ben gives him a look. "Do you want to?"

Walt looks up at Ben. "Is this what is was like for you, after everything you did? Is this how you felt?"

Ben stares at Walt for a moment. He wants to tell him that his crimes were different, his reasons and his methods different, but in the end, anger is anger. "Yes." Then Ben reaches out and taps Walt's shovel. "It just took me longer to get where you are." He smiles. "You'll come out of the other side and not everyone has to like you."

"I still don't like you."

Ben nods. "See what I mean?"

Harold walks through the door of their safe house, another number saved. Elias sits on the couch, well enough now to be out of his hospital bed but still on their advised house arrest.

Elias stands up as Harold walks down the stairs. "Can I tell you something, Harold? " Harold just stares at him and waits. "The problem with being the one in command is you need to make the hard choices. You can't be selfish."

Harold tilts his head. "Are you asking me a question or seeking an answer?"

"I'm warning you; sometimes we don't know how much we will lose when we start a war." Elias looks at Harold intently, the mafia boss, the marked man, just like Harold. "Trust me, Harold; the road is always longer and bloodier than you expect."

"Trust me, Elias," Harold retorts. "I have no illusions about the blood on my hands."

"The whispers have been here as long as I have," Ben says as the three of them sit around the table in Ben's living room, "I don't know how they started to become trapped here or why."

"But it's probably about something they did when they were alive, something they are holding onto," Hugo continues.

Walt looks between them. "So that's where I come in?"

"Yes," Hugo says definitively. "I think you can help them. Trust me; I know we can do it even if it won't be easy."

"Trust me, Hugo," Ben cuts in. "The island never makes things easy."

"Harold?"

"Ben."

A phone call always seems too little, lacking, miles and oceans between them. Ben wonders if he should start counting the times they have been together face to face and Harold wonders how many minutes on the phone have still felt wanting. When they have so much to tell, do they not often end up saying too little?

"What happened?" Ben asks. "I felt a bit like a car battery not too long ago."

"You're one to talk. Have you been receiving a non-stop volley of exceptionally violent paper cuts?"

They laugh at the same time, same expression, same tone and perhaps a phone call is even more revealing because without sight you have to really listen.

"I'm safe," Ben says, "things are calm here now."

"Good."

"Are you?"

"I'm always calm, Ben."

"And you always know how to phrase things."

"A family trait."

They smile together, turning around in place – an empty subway hideout in New York City and an empty communication station in an unnamed jungle.

"Things are…." Harold stares at the subway car, his computer set up and the Machine's city view running through a check for their latest number, John hiding with their number in a high-rise while Ms. Groves runs down a Samaritan lead on what she believes is Ms. Shaw and even Detective Fusco said something about 'underground' that gave Harold pause. All those he cares about moving closer to danger, closer to an end Harold sees no way around. "Things are more dangerous."

"Trying to save people can do that."

"No… It's… it's different now. My Machine isn't the only one. There is another A.I. and I would hardly call it benevolent, the world needs us to stop it and we…"

Harold and Ben have stopped lying to each other, stopped concealing, yet Harold still wants to protect the most important person he has. Can the island protect Ben from this?

Harold stares at the cement floor. "We are in a war."

"Harold, the world is not your responsibility."

"Ben…"

"We're not young anymore. We don't have all the time in the world."

"I have to."

"No, Harold, you don't. There is always a choice."

"And I've chosen."

Ben stares at the bare wood wall not seeing it, seeing the air, the miles, the ocean, the space between them seeing Harold staring back over the air, the sea, and gaps and the tiled subway wall.

"Then don't die on me. Can you do that?"

Harold looks around the subway, John's cash of guns on a desk and the lava lamp glowing from Ms. Groves' small room. "I can't promise."

"We said we would die together."

"I know."

"And we will."

"We will."

"Ben?" Ben looks up at Cindy standing in The Flame doorway as Harold looks up at Ms. Groves coming down the stairs, "Harold?"

"Who are you talking to?" the women ask.

Ben has the sudden urge to ask Cindy if she had siblings and if she ever had to save them. Harold wants to tell Ms. Groves that they have a place to run to if they want to give up right now.

Ben says, "my brother" as Harold says, "Ben," because they do not hide everything anymore.

"I have to go," the twins say at once.

"Harold?" Ben says as he turns his back on Cindy watching him with a curious expression.

"Yes?"

"A phone call is not enough."

"I know."

Ben stares at their blinking communications board. He wants to tell Harold he would give up being the advisor, give up the island, just to have the two of them live together for once, for more than foggy childhood or two years in a city Ben barely saw. He wants to know his brother in person and not through distant pain or crackling technology.

"Good luck," Ben says.

Harold stares at his computer on the desk. He wants to tell Ben he is sorry, sorry he built the Machine, sorry he started this fight, sorry for his own ego that made this happen and killed people and threw him into a war he has to see through. He wants the two of them to know each other more, to see each other's faces instead of distant voices.

"You too," Harold replies.

"I don't think this is going to work."

"Dude, we just got out here."

"What am I supposed to do?" Walt glares at Hugo over his shoulder. "They're noises, not things. Not like I can bring them here."

"That you know of," Ben interjects. Walt and Hugo both frown at him. Ben shrugs. "You're young, Walt, who knows where your powers might lead."

Hugo points at him. "Mystical, man."

"Walt is trying to help whispers of long dead people in the jungle find some passage into whatever comes after death." Ben raises his eyebrows. "Who's mystical?"

Hugo huffs a laugh.

"And, I might mention," Ben continues, "they are 'things,' as you put it, Walt. The whispers were people once. Perhaps you could work through that?"

Walt stares at him then shakes his head. "Right..."

The action reminds Ben of Alex. Walt looks away at the trees, wind blowing so the vines sway from side to side. He wonders in what state the whispers exist? Hugo is able to see the dead at points. The whispers seem to come in regards to danger. Are they conscious? Are they a form of ghosts? Does time pass for them as it does for the living? Are they only an echo, not the real person confined to some middle space?

"Hello?" Walt tries. "Hugo said I needed to be here for you." He flaps his arms up once. "I'm here."

The silence which follows reminds Ben of when he and Hugo visited the crater, of the Swan Station.

"Perhaps they are less like pets than we would prefer," Ben says dryly.

Hugo shakes his head. "Not helping, dude."

"Hello!" Walt says again.

"Try like when you sent yourself to Shannon that time," Hugo says.

"What?"

"Your vision act."

Ben sighs and shakes his head too. Perhaps they need a dictionary of terms.

"They're not alive," Walt protests. "I don't even know who's out here to talk to!"

Ben and Hugo catch each other's eye. Neither mention Michael.

Walt starts walking west. "Let's try somewhere else."

The trio walk the jungle for hours. Walt stops every now and then, shouts at the jungle while Ben and Hugo watch. Hugo calls out a few times to ask if anyone would like to talk to him instead. Every time neither of them see or hear results. Ben wonders if it is not something to do with the need for Walt and Hugo to work together.

They stop on the hill not far from the radio tower. As far as Ben knows, no one has died here, not in his time at least. However the view is lovely with the sun beginning to set. Walt sits on the grass, arms around his knees in an obvious teen pose of brooding defeat.

"Give it time," Ben says. "You've only started trying."

"Give me a break," Walt gripes, still not Ben's biggest fan.

"Look man, I don't understand everything I can do and I'm the protector." Hugo sits down beside Walt. "Like Ben said, you've got time."

Hugo reaches over and grips Walt's hand. All three of them jerk in surprise at the sound of whispers around them. Hugo looks down at their hands then up again. "Wow."

"Who's that," Walt hisses suddenly.

"You can see him too?" Hugo gasps. He turns around and looks to Ben. "Can you see him?"

Ben glances furtively around then back to the seated pair. "I see you two."

"Awesome!" Hugo and Walt say together.

Hugo stands up, Walt following, keeping their hands together in case it should break whatever communion they have just found. They stare at the air to Walt's left, listening. Then Walt suddenly lets go of Hugo's hand.

"Wait, we... oh..."

"What?"

"He's still here," Walt answers. "I think I just needed Hugo to make him be seen."

"I know you," Hugo says. "You were with Dharma. I was there in..." Hugo laughs after a pause. "Guess it makes sense to you now that you're dead."

Then Hugo turns and looks at Ben in confusion. "To Ben?"

Ben frowns. "Someone I know?"

"It's Horace Goodspeed."

Ben's jaw clenches slightly. "Oh."

Hugo frowns after a moment. "He wants to apologize."

Ben blinks. "To me?" Hugo nods. "For what?"

"For what happened with your dad," Walt says suddenly making Hugo and Ben both turn in suspire. "For what your dad did to you." Walt looks at Ben now with some sort of measure of pity and horror. "How he hurt you."

Ben stares hard at Walt. "Did Horace say that?"

"Not exactly..." Walt glances around. "There are memories, he has memories... I can... Wow and I thought my dad wasn't always great."

"Yes," Ben says stiffly, "fathers can be difficult."

"Horace says he wants to apologize because he didn't do anything," Hugo starts again. Ben's eyes switch to Hugo now. Hugo frowns but obviously repeats what Horace says. "He says, he knew what was happening to you but he just ignored it and he knows that if he'd tried to help you. Then maybe you wouldn't have done what you did."

"Joined the hostiles?" Ben says, speaking in Horace's' terms.

"He says he's sorry he didn't try to help you because you were a kid and must not have thought you had a choice and he should have done something about Roger."

Ben swallows. When he was young he thought no one knew. He thought if someone knew they would have helped him. By the time he was old enough to know what turning a blind eye meant he was already part of his people and already saw all of Dharma as nothing but a threat. It did not occur to him that someone, someone like Horace, may have known from the start, may have known about him, his mother, but considered it none of their business.

"Thank you," Ben says.

Walt walks closer to Hugo, and possibly Horace. He reaches out as if he may be able to touch the whisper of Horace speaking to them. His fingers flutter and his head tilts.

"Trying to change the world..." Walt mutters. "An island like this..."

"Whoa..." Hugo mutters.

"What?" Ben asks.

"I can't really explain it but it's like they're... like they're together? Like possession but not evil all Exorcist style."

Walt's eyes grow wide for a moment, his hands clenching and his mouth opens like he is screaming. Hugo and Ben both take a step forward to stop this, to stop whatever is happening. The wind suddenly rushes around them, Ben hears the squawk of birds but none appear. Walt takes a large step backward and he relaxes, the wind stops, the only sounds of the jungle are the usual rustle and tweet.

"What happened?" Ben asks.

"Are you okay, Walt?" Hugo asks a second later.

Walt looks at them both for a long moment then he smiles, the first genuine smile Ben as seen on his face since he came to the island. "I did it. Horace is okay, he's gone, he... the whisper moved on."

Walt laughs like a snap and hops once on his heels speaking now in a rush. "It was like I could feel with him, his part of the island, his connection, what he felt in his life here, just like a rush and then I thought about leaving, leaving the island behind and boom!" Walt claps his hands. "Horace went, like how I make the birds go or how I would try and move myself to see people on the island. Instead I sent Horace away to wherever he's going next! Just gone, like that." He snaps. "We were together, then not, and Horace moved on. Whoa!"

Walt laughs again and suddenly runs over to Hugo, hugging him hard. He pulls back once more and hops again. "I did it!" He looks at Ben and waves his hands at him. "I did it! Did you see that?"

"I saw," Ben says still slightly perplexed.

Walt sways for a moment then leans heavily against Hugo. "Oh, I'm tired."

Hugo laughs. "Uh, yeah, I guess you would be. You kinda exorcised someone."

Ben shakes his head. "I think we need a different word for it."

Walt grins up at Hugo. "We did it, right? Together."

Hugo nods at him. "Yeah, dude."

Ben watches the two of them as they start to talk. Hugo says something about how he sees them, talks to them while Walt mentions feelings, a bond with the island. Ben thinks about Horace's words, 'I should have done something.' Not many people have ever felt the need to apologize to Ben. Ben smiles.

They receive a number for a freelance software engineer who specializes on recoding and debugging old systems to fit with modern advances in technology.

"It connects to Samaritan, of course it does," Root says ten hours into their rescue attempts for Clara Bode.

Harold joins John in the field because Clara has code, code her mysterious client gave her to attempt to pair with another code. Both appeared equally alien in Clara's experience. Clara, however, is as paranoid as Harold and far more mobile. She will not do such conversations over the phone or internet; so Harold comes.

Harold and Clara end up on their own in the empty kitchen of a family owned restaurant in Little Italy, two laptops on a metal counter top.

"Do you see?" She says as she pulls up her files, scrolling quickly and pointing at the screens. "This is advances beyond any evolutionary system developed at present yet they told me it was old!"

Harold sees the Machine, code he remembers writing. The second laptop is different, not his creation but Arthur Claypool's. Harold wants to snatch the computer away and run, a chance at core code they have not had yet.

Clara talks on, "How can this be old? It just can't be, but the encoded dates –"

Suddenly someone shoots Clara from behind, the bullet passing straight through her and smashing the laptop screen. Harold turns instinctively, sees a flash of red hair and a familiar face then drops to the floor. He grabs a metal pan as a shield and moves. Another gunshot clangs above him with the spark of the second computer destroyed. Harold keeps low as he hurries, hears John shouting in his ear, moves toward the back door because he cannot die now, not here, not alone. A bullet hits Harold's cast iron pan making Harold drop it but by then Harold bangs through the rear door into the alley. Harold slams his back against the wall, breathes heavily in and out. Then John appears at his side – his knight in a black suit – grabs Harold by the arm and pulls him away, shooting over their shoulders.

Harold thinks all their chances are growing shorter, slimmer, and perhaps the fact Harold still lives is an astronomical anomaly at this point.

"You can't die on me, Harold," John says sounding just like Ben. If nothing else showed it, the fear in John's voice proves their danger is all encompassing.

Tears run down Walt's face as they stand in the jungle, light outside this time instead of dark. The whispers do not care about the time of day.

"She's been here so long," Walt whispers the same as the sounds around them. He paces to the right and tilts his head, quietly says. "Je veux aller a la maison..."

"Tell her we can help," Ben coaxes because sometimes now Walt loses himself, the feelings of the whispers washing over him, threatening to drown him. Perhaps that was the danger they were unaware of with the whispers, becoming one.

Hugo steps up beside Walt and touches his hand. Walt shivers and looks up at Hugo.

"It's been long enough," Hugo says now, "You can't help Danielle or Alex anymore." Ben realizes Hugo speaks to the other woman from Danielle's boat, the first to die.

Walt nods, "Laisser partir."

Walt balls his hand up into a fist for a few seconds, his eyes closed – the wind, the jungle around them all stop moving, like silence but more like the world has paused. Then a sound like gasping close to Ben's ear, to all their ears – every whisper happens differently, the island reacting – and Walt abruptly sits down on the ground.

Ben glances at Hugo. Hugo watches Walt for a moment as he breathes then Hugo looks up at Ben. Hugo smiles wide and his expression is half mystical, seeing more than Ben can, but all happiness. It is the look of hope.

Harold follows Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw down through the snack machine door and into their subway hide out. Ms. Shaw and John spent a bit of time arguing in the car before John disappeared with Fusco back to the precinct. It sounded like John wanted to offer Ms. Shaw his cover's apartment for some place more comfortable for her to recuperate. Harold is not sure why John tried. John knows as well as Harold that 'comfort' for Ms. Shaw lies where ever Ms. Groves is.

"Doesn't look like you redecorated much," Ms. Shaw says blandly as she steps back onto the platform. Then stops, her eyes gazing toward Ms. Groves room. "Is that a lava lamp?"

Suddenly, Bear bounds up beside Ms. Shaw and Harold sees the first big smile on her face since Root led her up to the rest of their group at the park, finally returned and free from Samaritan. She crouches down and rubs Bear's head. "I missed you too."

Harold smiles at the reunion, Bear's tail wagging emphatically. Ms. Groves glances at Harold, a smile on her face as well.

"Why don't I get you some fresh clothes, Shaw?" Ms. Groves touches her shoulder so Ms. Shaw looks up at her. "These are starting to get that 'five day stake out' look."

Ms. Shaw stands up again as Ms. Groves walks away. Harold and Ms. Shaw stare at each other. She appears raw – red eyes, sickly pallor to her skin, a tension in how she stands, a look that says she still does not believe the rest of them are flesh and blood.

"Ms. Shaw, I must apologize," Harold says in something close to a rush.

"For not saving me?" Ms. Shaw asks.

Harold's jaw clenches. "Yes."

Ms. Shaw swallows once, her hand idly reaching for Bear as he butts his head up toward her. "Well… South Africa is far away."

"Even if the Machine had… we looked but…" Harold rarely finds himself at a loss for words. He does not ramble nor stutter. He says what he means to say or he says nothing. Harold breathes out slowly and looks Ms. Shaw in the eyes. "I believed you were dead." Ms. Shaw only raises her eyebrows. "Mr. Reese and Ms. Groves held out hope, they insisted we search for you and I went along but I believed you died at Wall Street. I should have had more faith."

"A long time to hold out on faith, Harold." Ms. Shaw tilts her head. "I didn't. I wouldn't have if Root didn't get that message to me." Ms. Shaw smiles for a moment. "Four alarm fire."

Harold watches her, not a reference he understands but he is not privy to every facet of the two women's relationship, with good reason.

"You were the one incarcerated," Harold says. "It was our job to aid you, not abandon you."

Ms. Shaw stares at him for a long moment. Harold wonders if she blames him. He is the leader, as much as they have one. The leader makes decisions and this leader, Harold, gave up on her from the start. Even if Ms. Shaw should perhaps blame the Machine for which they fight, Harold is the man who built Her.

"Root told you about the simulations, what they were doing to me?"

"She did," Harold replies simply. He wants to ask her details, what Samaritan may have learned from the simulations, what they felt like, anything she could have learned about their enemy in turn but even Harold knows now is not the time.

"I murdered you in those simulations, Finch." She smiles but the expression is empty, not happy or sad nor is it her usual diminished emotions; the expression is scarred. "Not every time. Sometimes I only killed Lionel or John. Sometimes I never made it to you at all. Sometimes John would kill me first when I tried to kill you. Sometimes you were the very first. But I did kill you. I shot you over and over, Harold."

Harold stares at her and says nothing.

"It was strange but almost every time you reacted the same way. Lionel and John, they were all over the map; shoot outs, surprised or angry, slow, quick…" She stares past him at seven thousand simulations Harold cannot see. "But you." She looks at Harold again. "You always apologized. You didn't always say it the same way but you always did, every time. You apologized to me… for putting me into that position, for getting me involved. You apologized to me." She shakes her head. "Why would you do that?"

"They were simulations, Ms. Shaw, meant to manipulate you, to force you to give away what Samaritan wanted to know. It was not me."

"But why would they choose that, why would they think I would lead them to the subway or the machine through you apologizing?" She does not sound angry now, just confused.

Harold wonders the same. How much could Samaritan know about their personalities, how much could it use Shaw to fill the worlds it created for her?

"And then," Shaw continues, "the first thing you do when we are back here is apologize to me." She makes a face. "Are you really here or is this just one more simulation?"

An unusual part of Harold, not one usually for touch, wants to reach out and comfort her; he wants to reassure her that he is real.

"I am apologizing for something different, Ms. Shaw, and you are not about to kill me. I imagine the horror of those simulations was how close they were to reality. Perhaps if the situation did occur between us that is exactly what I would do but that does not make this a simulation now."

"Why, Harold," she insists. "Why apologize to a traitor?"

"You are not a traitor, Ms. Shaw, no matter where we all end up."

"Even though I shot you?"

Harold sees Ms. Groves walking back with a stack of clothing in her hands over Ms. Shaw's shoulder. "You have not shot me yet, Ms. Shaw."

"Hey." Ms. Shaw turns at Ms. Groves' voice, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. Ms. Groves smiles carefully. "Think you can change into something cleaner?"

Ms. Shaw nods and walks toward Ms. Groves' room, Ms. Groves keeping a hand on Ms. Shaw's shoulder. When they reach the doorway, Ms. Shaw turns and suddenly kisses Ms. Groves, knocking the clothes to the floor, and pushing Ms. Groves back into the room where Harold cannot see. He thinks now would be a good time to retreat to his university office and grade some papers. Harold walks over to the subway car and picks up his briefcase. He pauses for a moment and looks up at the Machine's screens, their open system.

"Why didn't you tell us she was alive?" he asks quietly.

NOT SAFE.

"For who?"

ALL OF YOU.

"I believe Ms. Shaw would disagree." Harold looks down, thinks of Nathan – always Nathan who deserved better, who deserved Harold paying attention, who the Machine knew to try to save and Harold missed. Harold looks back up, his expression hard. "Didn't you learn from my mistake?"

Then he turns and walks out of the car, toward the stairs to leave the women to their much-deserved reunion.

Hugo, Ben, Walt, Cindy and Zach move about Ben's house in a manner almost busy but mostly energetic. Walt and Zach swap stories about the plane crash of Oceanic 815 for about an hour while Cindy corrects obvious errors in terms of normal flight procedure. Hugo, seated beside Ben, mostly watches and chuckles at the dramatics time will create out of real life fear. Ben considers mentioning the view from land, their plane splitting like a Christmas cracker, but feels he should not intrude. The two boys might decide to swap kidnapping stories instead and Ben prefers to avoid that era in conversation.

"I'm sorry, about your parents," Walt says as some sort of end to the discussion. "Do you miss them?"

Zach shakes his head. "No." He glances at Cindy then shrugs. "I think I'm starting to forget them."

"Yeah..." Walt's expression changes. "I'm worried I'll forget my father eventually."

Hugo turns suddenly to Ben. "It's time."

Ben raises his eyebrows. "Time... right now?"

"Walt." Walt turns to Hugo. "Can we talk?"

Cindy glances at Ben and he shakes his head, points with his eyes toward the door.

"Zach?" Cindy starts. "Mind helping me out in the garden?"

Zach looks between all the adult then frowns. "Fine."

Walt stares at Hugo and Ben from where he sits at Ben's table. He looks back and forth between them then settles on Hugo. "What is it?"

"About your dad."

"I know he's dead, Hugo." His eyes widen suddenly. "Have you seen him?"

Hugo nods. "Yeah, he helped me a few times. The point though, Walt, is that you need to see him too."

"You know that doesn't work unless he's a whisp–" Walt suddenly cuts himself off and his face cycles through a myriad of emotions at once – confusion, realization, frustration then urgency.

Walt jumps from his seat and runs through the open front door. "Dad!"

Ben and Hugo jerk up with surprise, following a second later out onto the porch. Cindy and Zach stand frozen by the garden. Cindy looks at Ben in confusion but he has no answer to give her just now. Walt runs through the barracks toward the jungle still shouting.

"I think we should probably chase him," Ben says.

"Right."

Hugo and Ben hurry off the porch and follow Walt. They catch up to him just before the jungle tree line. He turns as soon as they are within shouting distance.

"Call him, Hugo!" Walt says.

"It doesn't work like –"

"Just call him!"

Hugo looks to Walt's left then walks over until he stands beside Walt. "I don't need to." He grips Walt's hand.

They do not always need to touch any longer for their combination of powers to work, for Hugo to talk to the whispers and Walt to feel with them and let them go. It is never entirely clear who does what, how the spirit finds it's rest but the two always work together. Now Walt yanks his hand away despite his rush and shouting. He turns around, marching away again, breathing hard but Michael must follow him because Walt stops in his tracks.

"Why haven't you come sooner?" Walt asks. "Why haven't you talked to me? Why... why did you leave?"

"I'm sorry, Walt."

Ben starts in surprise because he hears Michael too. He glances at Hugo in wonder then back to Walt. Perhaps it is the familial bond or Walt's distress which makes this time different because even Ben discerns a slight haze, the memory of a memory of a person standing in front of Walt. It reminds him of the time he saw Harold in the room at the Hydra.

"I can see him," Ben whispers to Hugo.

"Dude..."

"I did a lot of things wrong, man," Michael says. "I didn't fight hard enough for you when you were a baby. I let your mother take care of you and when I finally got you back... I didn't know what to do. I guess I kept fighting even when there was no one left to fight."

"You killed people, dad, and then with grandma..."

"I was messed up, Walt. That wasn't your fault. I thought I had to do anything to get you back but... but I didn't always do the right thing."

Walt shuffles his feet then looks up again. "Did you know? About this, about what I can do?"

Michael laughs. "I wish! Though I might not have believed you before."

"No one did."

"But look at you, you're... you're grown up now and I'm not a part of that."

The whispers rise around them, like other dead condemning or supporting Michael, Ben cannot tell.

"I was growing up when we left the island." Walt's face turns sullen. "Didn't help us much."

"I know. I couldn't see that. I could only see what I'd done."

Walt shakes his head. "You needed to save me, I know that. I get it; I wanted you to come get me but... I don't know, you'd changed. When we got on that boat and left everyone else behind and I just... I felt like I didn't know you."

"This island did a lot to both of us."

Walt's voice hitches. "I hated it because it took you but now it's..."

"I know. I'm sorry you had to lose me too. I should have been stronger for you."

Walt stares at the haze, his father, this ghost for a long moment. He nods once then steps closer so he touches the specter. "I forgive you, dad."

"You can forgive me, forgive all this, all I did?" Michael says and Walt's voice mingles with his, "Yes, you tried, yes." Their voice overlapping and twisting. "I wanted to give you more," "you gave me this." Walt smiles and the haze starts to disappear. "Thank you, thank you..." And Ben is not sure which one of them speaks.

Then the trees creak around them, swaying and whispering at once. Walt turns toward Hugo as if to speak then he drops his head. The trees suddenly stop moving, everything silent then rain starts to pour down on them.

Walt looks up at the sky and begins laughing. "He's all right. He's gone, He's all right."

The rain soaks all three of them in less than a minute but Walt keeps laughing, smiling; Walt letting go as much as his father, the most peaceful expression on his face. Even Ben feels a sense of peace as he watches Walt grinning into the rain.

Harold feels absolutely anything but peace. His friends all on the line, all working and fighting to save him. Harold is their number, Harold was carless, Harold is in danger – he is the danger. Why did he let his happen? He has always been so careful. He has hidden in some form since he was eighteen. Why did he let this happen now?

Ms. Groves drives and shoots and someone shoots at them as they attempt to flee before the police stop them.

"Are you hit?" Harold asks.

"I'm fine, Harry," she says and Harold knows she lies. "I'm just fine."

Then the police yank open the car door and pull at Harold's arms. Ms. Groves' body slumps forward over the steering wheel in perceived slow motion. Her eyelids start fluttering in a way that says her consciousness is fading.

"Root!" Harold shouts but the officers pull him away toward a police car now. He tries to keep sight of her around the car but the uniformed officers block his view. Then he sees her, eyes closed, two men pulling her slack body from the driver seat. "Wait…" He plants his hands on the doorframe as the officers try to force him into the back of the car. "Wait, my friend."

"Get in the car, sir," one of the police officers says gruffly.

"Is she all right?" Harold asks insistently.

The man, however, keeps shoving, puts his hand on Harold's head to try and force him down. He sees Ms. Groves carried in the opposite direction toward an arriving ambulance. Harold sees a hint of blood now and instinctively, he knows that Root just died for him. Then they bang his head against the edge of the door as they shove him into the rear of the car. Harold hardly feels it because he cannot stop staring at Root as they carry her away alone.

Harold sits in the interrogation room. It reminds him of the time he helped feed information to Detective Carter as she pretended to interrogate John. It reminds him of watching Detective Fusco siting at his small desk at the eighth precinct. It reminds him of a cold, blank world he has helped to create; the empty gray walls and the camera in the corner, every line and tile, every sterile space that would be perfect for Samaritan's building of a conforming world. The room screams at Harold to burn everything down.

The door to the room suddenly opens and a suited obvious G-man about ten years Harold's senior walks in. He sits down across the table and says, "Harold, that's as far as we've got, 'Harold.' That and a file number, well a lot of file numbers."

Harold thinks about the very first time he broke the law, the computer he made himself after a few times of catching fire and the joy of finding himself inside a government system. He did not think about it as breaking the law then. Even now, the law and what is right are very different to Harold. He always felt most people would agree with the reasons behind his actions despite how they might be seen under the law. Doing what is right was supposed to be the saving grace. But really, what do reasons matter, especially in a Samaritan world? The rules are made by those in power. Samaritan is in power.

Yet, Harold has power too; he has a power he can use. He has the Machine, he has himself with all the ruthlessness he could code and decode waiting in his fingertips. So why listen to the rules, why follow any rules? Why hinder himself with rules? In the end it was the rules and limits he placed on his Machine that hurt Her. Now perhaps the same can be said for him; following the law, following principles, following his own rules have done nothing but harm his friends, kill Nathan, kill Root and keep Ben far away from him. What has Harold gained in taking the high road but pain?

"Luckily in treason cases," the man across from Harold finally says after his discourse on the loss of digital files, "they keep the files. I've got an agent headed to Washington with a flashlight. It'll probably take him a couple hours to dig yours up, unless you want to save him the time?"

"My friend, the one in the car with me, she's dead." It is phrased like a question but Harold does not truly ask as he stares at the bland metal table.

"Well, I could find out, tell you what happened, if you have something to say to me?"

Harold sees Root's face in the car, her boot on the wheel, the tone of her voice. He remembers her holding Ms. Shaw in her arms, wearing a smile so unlike the half manic ones they usually saw. He remembers her seated beside him as the Machine came back to life, chains cast off, right before their eyes. He sees John barely alive in the snow; he sees Ms. Shaw war torn back from Samaritan; he sees Elias shot right beside him; he sees Detective Fusco in a hospital bed; he sees Detective Carter bleeding out in the street; he sees Grace blindfolded on a bridge; he sees Nathan smiling at him from across a ferry queue saying 'I knew you would come, my friend' before an explosion erupts behind him. Harold sees wreckage and blood and pain and a stack of bodies in his wake.

"I have played by the rules for so long…"

"Not from where I'm siting," the agent retorts.

Harold barely hears him. "No. Not your rules. You work at the behest of a system so broken that you didn't even notice when it became corrupted at its core." He shifts his eyes to stare directly at the agent. "Do you need me to list the times the government, the FBI, have committed atrocities in accordance with their 'rules;' How the laws have been broken and changed, shifted around because a president wanted to listen in on his opponents or the US felt another foreign government was not quite to their liking? Your rules have changed every time it was convenient for you."

"I was talking about my rules." Harold stares at a space not there, at a road he now must take, the burning road. "I have lived by those rules for so long. Believed in them for so long. Believed that if you played by the right rules, eventually you would win. I left the most important person to me behind to live by the rules I thought I needed, the way of the world. I rejected him time and again because he broke those rules. But maybe he was right all along?"

Harold shakes his head and feels more in tune with Ben in this moment than he ever has in his whole life. Ben would understand the need to take the harder path, the path of devastation to save the many, to protect what is left of the good in his world by crushing those in the way without mercy.

"All the people I care about have been hurt because of my rules, have died or will die because I followed these rules. So I could keep following my rules or I can break them." His voice is harsh and raw and he thinks about nothing else but watching the circuits and servers and mind of Samaritan crumble and wink out. "I can burn everything down on my way to you and not stop until I kill you. I can break every rule I need to until I get it done."

"Look," the agent says with annoyance, "you want to add threatening the life of a federal agent to your file; I will draw up those charges right now. No waiting is required."

Harold looks at him with a frown. "I wasn't talking to you." Then he stares at up at the surveillance camera – at Samaritan – watching, listening to the message Harold meant just for it.

The door to the interrogation room opens again and another agent whispers in the G-man's ear. They argue for a moment then the new agent leads Harold out of the room back into the hall. They walk over toward the bars for general holding then wait. Someone calls the agent beside Harold back suddenly leaving Harold alone. The payphone beside Harold starts to ring. He turns his head, stares at the phone and knows who waits on the other end of the line before he picks up.

"Can you hear me?"

Harold balks and has to swallow hard at the unexpected sound of Root's voice. "She's dead?" he asks even though he knows.

"Only in body," the Machine says, "I chose her voice."

Harold clenches his teeth and decides, for sure, that the rules no longer apply to him – he wonders if Ben would agree with him or not.

"This place," he says to the Machine, "can you get me out of it?"

"You created me," She says, "I can do anything you want me to."

The lights all around Harold go out. He hears the distinctive sound of a heavy gate unlocking. Officers on the one side of him start to shout in alarm while on the other side prisoners begin to cry and cheer in surprise.

"Through the first floor of holding, down the steps then out the back, Harold," She says. "Just follow the flow of criminals."

Harold hangs up the phone, turns to his right and opens the gate into holding. He walks past the various holding cells as those inside start to realize the possibility of freedom. People appear at his side then disappear again, the sounds of a struggle start behind him as police grabble with those escaping. Harold keeps on walking, straight though it all in the dark, red emergency lights glowing above him.

He reaches the door to the back stairs and starts down. A large group of men thunder past his slower progress, a woman catches his shoulder as she goes by him but no one stops. Harold hears gunshots above him, a high scream and a cheer of satisfied anger. Three floors down Harold reaches the back exit. He catches the door with his hand as another prisoner runs out before him. Then he is out into the damp night air again.

In front of him, people run into the night and behind him an alarm blares while the sounds of shouts grow louder. It sounds like a horror movie, incoherent and chaotic. Harold feels like the villain, the serial killer, he feels like a justified, avenging monster.

Walt and Hugo work together. Most whispers need a voice, someone to understand, someone to talk to before they can atone or forgive or let go. Ben remains only a witness. Each time the pair of them speak to someone long dead, let them move past the island's traps, the sun seems to shine brighter, the breeze cooler, the rain a welcome cleanse. The island just feels calm. No one shoots at each other, no one waits for an attack. They all live. Ben sees it on everyone's faces. Hugo as protector gave them choice and happiness. Walt as the island's 'exorcist,' for want of any better term, gives them peace.

Except Ben.

Ben feels tense, upset. He hears a buzz in the back of his mind, like he is racing toward something, like he is being pushed by a mad frenzy he cannot control, a mix of emotions that cannot untangle themselves - anger, fear, determination, resolve, pain, guilt – entirely wild.

Something is very wrong with Harold.

"Kelly Air Force Base," the Machine says in Harold's ear through Root's voice. "If you had to pick a government facility to infiltrate, Harold, this one certainly has some areas of interest for you."

"Or means of last resort."

Harold holds up a security badge to the access reader and the Machine beeps him in. Harold walks down the back hallway, no security alerted to his unusual access yet. He makes his way toward the SKF server room. It reminds him of IFT, corporate hallways leading to rooms full of rows and rows of servers.

"When Nathan and I were first coding you, your mainframe was in a building not unlike this. Perhaps lacking the armed guards and military hierarchy."

"I suppose most server rooms look similar if you're concerned with only the nuts and bolts but it's what's inside that counts, right?"

Harold smiles. "Yes."

He turns a corner and stops at a door. He puts down his briefcase then opens the keypad access to the server room. He jimmies off the keypad facing to the wires and sensors below. It takes him a few minutes but he manages to reconfigure the programed code into a reboot stage. He replaces the keypad facing then hits zero six times. The door unlocks.

"I could have helped you," the Machine says.

"Sometimes it is best to do things one's self." Harold opens the door, walks through then closes it behind himself again. "And it may be better if you spend less time inside this facility's systems. I wouldn't want you accidentally becoming caught in any of programs housed here."

"I'm a big girl, Harold. I know what to avoid."

Harold nods to himself. "I'm sure you do."

"Excuse me?" Harold watches as the staff member inside the room briskly walks toward him. "How did you get in here? You don't have access."

"He has a weak left knee," the Machine says.

"Oh, I am so sorry. I just got a new badge," Harold says, "I must have –"

Then he cuts himself off as the man reaches a close enough distance. He quickly crouches low and hits the man hard in his left knee. The man cries out in pain, falling down and cradling his knee.

"My apologies," Harold says as he pulls a tranquilizer gun out of his bag, "but I need your finger print."

He shoots the man in the upper thigh. The man looks up at him open mouthed for a moment then sags back against the floor. Harold leans over carefully then grabs the man by the wrist. He pulls him down one aisle of servers then stops at a laptop access station. He puts down his bag, stows the gun back inside and pulls out a zip tie instead. He yanks the man's wrist up, struggling with the dead weight for a moment then he zip ties the man's wrist to the metal shelf where the laptop sits. Harold blows out a breath then presses the man's pointer finger onto the finger print scanner.

The laptop responds and grants him access.

"Harold," the Machine said in his ear, "you said it was time for a different tactic..."

"Did you happen to record the conversation Nathan and I once had about viruses?"

"Could you be more specific?" the Machine asked with an amused tone Root often used.

"He said a virus is inherently seen as a negative, used to break down someone else's carefully made program, to twist it or circumvent it in a way unintended. Viruses were made to disrupt systems."

"'But if used the right way…'"

Harold smiles as her continuing Nathan's words. "Yes, 'a negative could create a positive.' He was trying to tell me something about you at the time, I think, to get me to let go of my fears about your development."

"Didn't work so well then."

"No." Harold starts typing, accessing the system to locate the ICE9 virus. "But perhaps I understand that sentiment now."

"This virus you're appropriating," the Machine says as Harold pulls out an external hard drive and connects it to the laptop. "ICE9, could bring Samaritan to its knees but its use would most certainly cause significant collateral damage with devastating consequences."

"I understand," Harold replies, typing to allow access for the virus transfer. Then he pauses, his hands still for a moment. "Maybe this is what Ben felt, what he thought when he helped remove Dharma on the island; sacrifice for a greater good."

"I do not know him like I know you, Harold. I only have fragments. From what I've seen you two are very different."

"Perhaps not so different after all." Harold ejects the drive then places it inside a solid black case. "I know what I must do now." He looks up at the surveillance camera to the Machine. "There's no other choice."

Harold picks up his bag, steps over the unconscious man then walks back toward the server room exit. He follows a line in his head, a mission he never wanted to start but now is do or die. Somewhere among the spiral – the worry, the fear, the crack in his moral code – Harold repeats, 'Ben, Ben, Ben' toward a distant island.

"You and Walt work well together."

"I think he's happy here." Hugo grins. "We're kinda in sync." Hugo watches Ben's face and Ben wonders if he could see the rising crescendo that is Harold in him if he knew what to look for. "What about you?"

"I'm waiting."

Inside Fort Meade, Greer keeps talking about the greater good, sacrifice so the A.I.s can rule together for a 'better world.'

"For such a brilliant mind, you are a terrible chess player."

Harold is one step away from delivering the ICE9 virus – was in front of the laptop, voice password waiting, but doubts swirled around him about murdering his own creation for the greater good – except now Greer thinks to kill them both. The fire suppression system in the bare white room sucks out the air. Harold thinks of the irony of such a death when the Machine tired the same method years ago. Harold gasps, his chest tight, the start of panic because this cannot be the end now

[Ben falls to his knees on the grass outside his house. He feels like he cannot breathe, his chest tight… the island around him is fine, full of fresh air.]

Harold's knees hit the ground but he does not lie down or give up like Greer already dead. Harold crawls toward the door. He sees his cellphone and ear bud just outside the door on a table.

[Ben's vision grows darker because he cannot breathe, he cannot breathe…]

Harold stares at the cellphone, sees it start to flash the light of the screen at him, giving him numbers for the keypad. Harold's vision blurs, chest tight, his fingers just able to move over the keypad. He thinks perhaps Greer is right in some way, the Machine knows what Harold must do, what it will mean for Her and yet She saves him anyway. She lets him live so that he may move forward to destroy Samaritan and kill Her.

The door slides open with a soft noise when Harold hits the last number and fresh air floods into the room again. Harold slides down the wall as Ben sits up in the grass. They both breathe in and out – white ceiling and blue sky.

"What is happening, Harold?" Ben asks Harold who says, "Thank you," to the Machine..

Harold and John walk down the stairs into the bowls of the Federal Reserve as the alarm blares. The ICE9 virus is deployed, wreaking havoc all over the world but, of course, Samaritan hides a copy of itself inside a gold safe.

"A little peace and quiet, please," Harold asks the Machine and the alarm stops. "And the door." The vault door opens for the two of them. "Thank you."

Harold and John step inside, placing their laptops on a waiting table.

"Baby Samaritan hiding in plain sight," John quips.

"I can infect this copy with the ICE9 virus," Harold says, "should only take me a moment." Then he turns and sees some black garbed security members stepping down onto their basement level. "But you're going to be busy."

The first shot the security team fires wizzes right past John, his gun up and firing right back at them. The shot does not hit the servers, or the gold, or the briefcases the two of them brought. The first shot hits Harold in the middle of his torso. He barely makes a sound, does not fly back in a movie parody of what reactions gunshots cause. He stares down at the tear in his vest, gasping quietly then he feels the pain.

Ben gasps in surprise, holding his hand against his midsection before consciously realizing the pain. He stares down at his side, expecting a point of the table or maybe the end of a pencil. Then the sensation translates into the familiarity of a pain not his own.

"Dude?" Harold looks over from the desk where he writes. "What's wrong?"

Ben swallows once, staring down at himself, the pain growing. "I think Harold's been shot."

Harold types on the laptop, focuses on the task at hand. He uploads the virus but Samaritan is smarter, faster. A compressed version escaped his virus and now plans to transmit to a satellite from a building in midtown. He must send the last copy of the Machine to fight it. Every trace of Samaritan removed.

"There's something else," the Machine says, "after Samaritan uploads its copy to the satellite it's going to destroy the antenna so no one can reach it."

"Destroy, how?"

"It's set a course for a cruise missile. I'm afraid who ever uploads my copy won't make it back alive."

Harold glances at John putting their briefcases back in order, his back to Harold. Harold knows what John would say; the leg work is John's job, he deals with the danger, John handles the guns, Harold needs to survive. Harold, however, cannot ask John to die.

Harold walks back across the vault, picks up his briefcase. "I need you to gather these weapons." Then he turns and walks toward the vault door. He keeps his arm over the gunshot wound, ignores the pain, does not turn back when they can still touch, when John could pull him back. He wants to say so many things, he wants to touch John once last time to prove to him that he matters and he deserves to live.

Harold steps out of the vault then locks the gate behind himself.

"Finch, what are you doing?" John asks in alarm, grabbing the bars of the gate.

"When I hired you I suspected you were going to be a great employee. What I couldn't anticipate is that you would become such a good friend." He wants to thank John for every moment, every time he saved Harold's life.

"You won't make it down from the rooftop alone," John insists.

"I don't intend to…" He thinks things about the partnership between them and the end now but instead he says, "Thank you for staying. You gave me a purpose too. Goodbye, John."

"Harold… Finch, wait." Harold closes the main vault door as John calls after him. "Harold, wait. Wait!"

Harold, however, keeps walking with one hand on the briefcase and other tight against his side to hold back the bleeding.

"What can I do?" Hugo asks Ben.

Ben sits on the couch now, breathing slowly. The pain has not subsided since it began. If he moves the feeling grows worse. The two of them have some experience in shared pain, some idea of what could be happening to the other when they feel such things. Ben thinks Harold still bleeds right now without anyone to help him. If Harold were in a hospital or if someone where tending his wound then Ben should start to feel better.

"Nothing," Ben says to Hugo, "There's nothing you can do."

"You don't look so good, you're pale."

"I'm not always the most vibrant."

"I'm serious." Hugo touches his forehead. "You're clammy."

"It doesn't matter," Ben insists. "Harold is far away in New York, what would you do?"

Hugo stares at him for a minute then his face changes. "I'll be right back!"

Harold opens the door to the roof of Samaritan's exit strategy. He breathes heavier, feeling weak from the walk. Blood sticks to his hand down and stains outward from the rip in his vest. He looks down at the wound as he stops beside the electrical connection where he can plug in his laptop with the Machine copy.

"Eight minutes," the Machine says in his ear.

"I think I'll rest for a while," Harold says, sliding down to sitting on the gravel rooftop.

"Is this now?" The Machine asks. "I'm having trouble. My systems breaking down. Am I talking to you now or is this a memory?"

"As far as I am able to determine, this is now," Harold says with a smile.

He stares at the nondescript metal of the building, the doorway. He thinks of how bare and unassuming a laptop would seem to someone unfamiliar; something so plain hiding such power, entire beings.

"When I was coding you, when we first…" Harold huffs with a smile. "I still didn't really understand. I didn't understand how you would see the world. We think we can predict, can teach, but I could never understand the magnitude to which you view the world."

"Every life within it," Root's voice says, "every moment to understand every human being."

"And as human beings we only live in one moment, not like you. We can remember but it's not the same, is it?"

"I can only tell you what I observe and what I experience, Harry, but, no, it's not the same."

"Are you living in the same time as when you were new? Can you understand yourself in different stages, when you were just learning the same as one minute ago?" Harold laughs once. "It must be a confusing way to exist, all moments occurring congruently."

"I learned, Harold, and live as myself understanding each moment. I do not step back into an older version of myself, I know what I am in each moment. Now… it is now… now I'm forgetting. I have gaps. I know we played chess."

"You won eventually."

"I remember Nathan... I remember your pain. I remember my own."

Harold laughs once again, feels a stab at the mere effort of breathing. "Can you see Ben and me?" Harold asks, his voice soft. "Can you see when we were both hurt?"

"Some…. moments… you were in distress, coding me, holding your shoulder. I couldn't see why…" Harold hears a noise like static, a hiccup. "Ben broke his arm. You screamed."

How old were they, nine, eight, maybe younger? He remembers the tree house. He thinks he remembers falling but that was not him. Ben fell. He remembers that first time feeling pain not his own.

"Am I killing him?" Harold asks. "Am I killing Ben right now?"

Then is a pause then the Machine says, "I don't know."

Walt and Hugo walk back through the house door, Hugo speaking hushed and fast. Walt frowns as he comes close and sits on one side of Ben on the couch, Hugo on the other.

"You're bleeding," Walt says.

Ben looks down and sees a spot of blood on his shirt. He reaches down and touches the spot. It is wet.

"I am," he whispers. "That's never happened before."

He sees Walt and Hugo look up at each other over him. Ben tries to sit up straighter on the couch but hisses in pain. He body responds sluggishly, weak.

"He's not… not getting better," Ben says. He tries to stand up because maybe if he goes outside, feels the fresh air, maybe Harold will feel it too and know he has to do something. Harold has to stop bleeding. Ben however, falls back onto the couch, his knees refusing to cooperate.

"Whoa…" Walt says. "What is happening?"

"I told you," Hugo hisses. "It's real."

"I mean we saw that one time but I still thought… how is this even real? You're feeling your brother being shot?"

Ben blinks at Walt. "You can exorcise the dead, Walt, what won't you believe?"

"That's the point," Hugo says suddenly urgent. "You said before that he brought Harold once."

Ben frowns. "What?"

"Before when you guys kidnapped him, Walt said that he made a sort of ghost of your brother appear."

"For just a minute," Walt picks up. "We could see him, remember? You yelled at me not to ever do it again?"

Ben remembers, the outline of Harold in the room. "Yes."

"What about now?" Hugo says with a grin. "If you could talk to him, if we can see him, then maybe we could help him?"

Ben huffs once in disbelief, putting a hand against the pain in his side. "Not to be the cynic as usual, but last time lasted seconds and we didn't exactly speak. I think thousands of miles between us is too far for even you, Walt."

"Ben," Walt touches his shoulder and for the first time Walt's expression toward Ben is not anger or mistrust but support. "I have done a lot since you locked me in a room. My abilities have grown."

"And you have me," Hugo says touches Ben's other shoulder. "I'm the protector."

Harold stares at the dishes on the top of the roof – television, radio – none of them enough to reach the right satellite. "This is the wrong building!"

"The right building Finch, for you."

Harold turns at the sound of John's voice in his ear. He sees John standing on the slightly taller building across the road. "John, what are you doing?"

"Me and the Machine have had a long standing arrangement, a deal."

Harold feels a pit in his stomach somehow worse than the pain from his bullet wound. He opens up his briefcase which he should have realized felt too light. The case is empty, no laptop.

"Told you, pay you back all at once, that's how I like it," John says.

"No, I told you. It's supposed to be me alone!" Harold counters, staring at John too far away.

"Sorry, a deal's a deal," She says in his ear, "You know as well as I do he wasn't going to let you die."

Harold watches John typing on the laptop, the dishes on John's building turning into the proper alignment. "You should get moving Harold. It's going to get a little exciting up here."

"All right," Harold tries, "you've done it, now let the upload take care of itself and get out of there, John," Harold pleads because if he is dying, of the Machine is dying, if Harold is killing Ben, then at least he can save John.

John turns suddenly and shoots in the other direction where Harold cannot see.

"Please, John," Harold insists, "I can't lose all of you!"

"You're not losing me, Harold," John says, gun still up but staring at Harold over the space between them. "When you found me you gave me a purpose. You gave me more years than I would have had. You gave me a chance to be a better man, to find a way to save the world even if that means just now, just one life." Harold sees John smile at him, so fond, so loving, someone that would never have let any outcome other than this be the one. "The right life is enough, Harold."

"Harold."

Harold turns his head at a different voice. It takes him a moment; his vision is effected now by his wound so that must be the reason he sees Ben standing on the roof beside him. "Ben…"

"Harold, you're hurt. You're shot."

"Yes…" Ben looks like a haze, an outline of a person, like how a ghost might be or a dream or a hallucination from the effects of blood loss. "I'm dying."

"Then so am I, Harold." Walt holds tight to Ben's hand Hugo's hand on Walt's shoulder as Ben speaks, eyes squeezed shut; Ben focuses on what he sees through the two of them, Harold in his living room standing in front of him. "But you can't die right now. You need help."

"I can't…"

"Why not? What is happening?"

"It's the end, but John… John is on the other roof. He's too far away… He is sacrificing himself for me."

"Then let him."

Harold stares at this apparition of Ben. "What?"

"Harold, you have to save yourself because you have to save me. We always said we would die together and I did not just mean at the same time."

Harold shakes his head. "I don't want anyone else dying for me!"

Ben's hand grips tighter to Walt's. He feels weak but he concentrates on Harold. "Can you save him?"

"What?"

"Can you, right now, save John?"

Harold stares at John on the other roof, his gun still up, smiling back at Harold across the open air between their buildings. He looks every bit the man in the suit, the hero, Harold's hero.

John nods once. "Listen to him, Harold. This is what I want." And John can see Ben too, funny that.

"No," Harold says to Ben.

"Then save me instead, save you."

"My core systems are failing," the Machine says, "but I will stay with John as long as I can. Go now, Harold, save each other."

"Save me, Harold," Ben says again then he lets go of Walt's hand, falling to his knees in the living room, Harold disappearing.

Ben vanishes, Harold hears more gunshots, sees John firing, he hears the Machine saying, "I learned something about death, that if there is at least one person, someone who remembers you then maybe you never really die at all."

"Goodbye, John," Harold says as John smiles back. Harold turns toward the door to the stairs, says, "Goodbye," into the lone camera on the roof to his daughter. Then he does as they wish and steps through the door to save himself and his brother.

Ben and Harold meet in Lassiter, Iowa.

Harold finds a hospital, collapses in the ER but wakes up from surgery without a bullet wearing bandages instead, just another product of the ICE9 virus sending chaos through the world. Then he disappears again before questions can be asked about who he is.

He retreats to a safe house to rest, to give himself just a little time to heal. He hacks into the NYPD, checks video surveillance to find out the fate of Detective Fusco and Ms. Shaw. When he sees the two of them meet for coffee he feels such relief.

"Goodbye, both of you."

Ben packs a bag, every picture of Alex and just one passport with his real name.

"Thank you, Hugo, for giving me this opportunity," Ben tells Hugo at the dock, Walt a few steps behind him. "You gave me the option to be a better man."

"You don't have to leave forever," Hugo says. "You are my advisor after all."

Ben shakes his head. "It's you and Walt now, the new generation. I know you will both take care of the island." He smiles. "Good luck."

Harold and Ben meet at the grave of their mother. Grass grows taller than it likely should throughout the graveyard not often visited by mourners. A pair of dandy lions grow next to their mother's headstone blocking the year of her death.

"Ben," Harold says as Ben looks back at him, "Harold."

They touch hands, staring down at the stone then back up at each other.

"You're better?" Ben asks. "It doesn't hurt me anymore."

Harold nods. "I'll still need some time but I won't die."

Ben smiles. "Neither will I."

"It's over," Harold says, "my machine, the war, all of it. I… I don't want to go back to New York."

"I don't want to go back to the island," Ben replies. "It doesn't need me anymore."

"I need you," Harold and Ben say at once.

Suddenly they move together, arms wrapped around each other into a hug fierce and protective as if this is the first and last time.

Ben thinks of when they were young, beds in the same room and blocks on the floor. Harold thinks of the two of them squished together on one bed with a flashlight reading Robinson Crusoe. Ben thinks about eating sandwiches by the pylons. Harold thinks about watching stars on their roof.

They think of the breeze through trees in the island's jungle, they think of their mother pointing out bird calls, they think of their father teaching them chess; they think of Ben bloody in the bathroom, the think of Harold blown across a ferry terminal, they think of Alex still small enough to be carried, they think of Harold surrounded by the Machine's servers, they thinks of Ben leading his people on the island and Harold leading his friends in a war.

They think of Ben's Jean and Juliet and Hugo, of Harold's Nathan and Grace and John, they think of phone calls, and separate birthdays and their father's anger and their mother's fear and loss and fights and laughter and living rooms and kitchens and time together instead of apart. They think about nine years old on a boat dock parting for the first time. They think about a promise they have made over and over.

Ben pulls back and looks at Harold. "How do you want to die, Harold?"

Harold smiles back at him. "Together."

They choose a new life, a new start; they choose each other and when they die, they die together, side by side.

THE END

AN: Thank you to everyone who has made it through this sprawling story. It was a pleasure to write and I cannot believe it is over. I never expected it to last so long or become such an epic. Thank you for all your comments and reading. I hope you enjoyed it.