A/N: Hey, it's Shecka here. I'm not really known to write anything even moderately serious in this fandom, but I'm an Incher and our ship needs more fics so I thought I might as well.
I'd like to thank my fabulous editor Liz for putting up with my writing and I love her so much. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy.

Nathan's fists were balled; his breath was coming out in sputters and his eyes were squinted into a glare. Yes, Nathan looked like a typical furious man, complete with clenched teeth and a furred brow. However, Nathan was not angry; he was hurt. He was hurt that Harold never told him about the irrelevant list. That he had to look at a cold, calculating machine to find out the dark side of their plan.

The faces, the names, and the ages were too much for the painfully moralistic man. He couldn't handle the idea that all of these people were going to be involved in violent crimes and that he couldn't do a damn thing to stop them. This feeling of powerlessness that he had prior to the machine becoming a reality was sneaking back up on him at full force.

However, that was not the end of the problem - far from it. What shocked Nathan the most was that his dear friend, his confidant, the one he trusted the most, didn't even bother to tell him. He had thought that they were past the point of lying in their relationship; the two had known each other for a considerable amount of time and Nathan invited him into his family as if they were related by blood. However, a single lie can ruin a life of trust, if powerful enough.

"When were you going to tell me?" was the first thing he muttered. A part of him was hoping, praying that he was just about to tell him the news. Because even though the irrelevant list itself was a terrible bit of information, being kept in the dark by Harold felt somehow worse. He felt like a loyal dog that was just betrayed by his owner. With bated breath, he waited for an answer.

Unfortunately, the fates were not kind to Ingram. In one swift sentence, Harold answered him. "I wasn't going to tell you, I guess." He rambled on about how he would rather not know, but Ingram tuned Harold out; he had heard what he needed. Over the years, he expected that he and Harold had grown close; maybe that was just a lie after all.

Nathan was floored, but a part of him couldn't keep his mouth shut. He just had to press on for more details. "All these people…and this damn machine knew." He mumbled out, but he knew that it wasn't the entire story. "You knew," he concluded, knowing that the fact that he said it brought the truth into the open. Harold knew that these people were going to die.

"Someone wanted to harm them…kill them," he said, not sure if he was speaking to himself or if Harold was even listening. He just knew that he had to vocalize his thoughts; keeping them would just be hiding the truth. Finally he turned to him, his face etched with a hollow expression as he stared at Harold.

"And you did nothing."

Finally, Harold responded. His voice wasn't emotionless, but it felt empty, as if someone had just punched and knocked the wind out of him. "You knew what we were building here." He gestured to Nathan slightly before walking over to him and looking at him straight in the eye. "This thing looks for plotters, for schemers. It…it looks for malicious intent. We built it to stop terrorists before they could act, but a machine doesn't understand the difference between the crimes that relevant to national security and the ones that are…irrelevant."

This finally made Nathan crack. Human life was never irrelevant in his eyes; he never saw a life that didn't deserve living, perpetrator or victim. He stood up so he could create some distance, so Harold wouldn't have to see he was fighting back tears.
"Irrelevant?" Nathan touched his own face lightly to discover that there were no tears. This was good; he was keeping up his mask of anger well. Maybe it would be enough to hide the heartbreak of deceit that was steaming under the surface. "So you taught it the difference? You want to… play god, is that it?"
Immediately Harold interjected, as if the term 'playing god' aroused some instinctive nature. "No, I don't. That's the whole point." Nathan sat back down as Harold lowered his voice before continuing on. "There are exactly eight people in the world that know that this thing exists. If anyone else found out, there would be such an outcry…" he rambled on saying how the machine had saved the country countless times. However, Ingram was still focusing on the ones that weren't saved by choice.

"How are we supposed to live with this? Knowing that someone out there needs help?" He was almost at his breaking point; the weariness in his eyes already showed that it would take just one more push and his actions would be uncontrollable. He hated that lack of control, especially in front of Harold.
Harold stared at him for a moment, taking in what he said with what seemed to be extreme care. "We don't have to. I coded the machine…every night at midnight, it deletes the irrelevant list." Nathan gave him a sharp glare as Harold turned off the screen in an almost robotic manner. "We didn't build this to save somebody…we built it to save everybody."

He adjusted his tie and began to walk out of the room, but Nathan wasn't going to let him leave. He wasn't going to let Harold just walk away when human life was the poker chip in this game of numbers. "No, stay here." Nathan grasped Harold's hand, causing the other man to twitch at the sudden contact. Despite the longevity of their friendship, Harold always cringed at any physical contact between the two.
"Why…why didn't you tell me?" Nathan felt his voice crack ever so slightly. He knew that he was at his breaking point and yet he pushed forward. One more syllable out of his mouth and he'd be a crying mess for sure.

There was a silence between them as Harold looked for the words to say. "I…I didn't want you to have to deal with this." While still keeping a tight grasp on Nathan's hand, he sat back down and looked him in the eye. "I didn't want you to stay up every night with the names…the faces of these people. I guess I didn't want you to go through what I have been." There was a couple of moments of silence; neither of the men knew what to say as they both avoided eye contact. Their hands still clung together, however, like they just couldn't let go.

"Do you trust me?" Nathan finally asked. He had always wondered if Harold had ever put even just an ounce of faith into his self-proclaimed best friend. "Has our friendship…everything…has it been nothing, Harold?" His voice was shaky, but the words were concise. Nathan felt the first tear conjure up, the sting causing him to quickly close his eyes. The tear slid down his cheek, and he knew that despite his free will, he could not stop the next one from coming down either. He didn't allow himself to indulge though; through his own determination he stopped at himself at two teardrops.

"Nathan," Harold glanced around nervously, as if unsure of himself. "I…I trust you more than anyone else." He took his free hand and wiped Nathan's face with it. Slowly, Ingram composed himself together again. Strength was vital, but sometimes emotions could not be helped. The two looked at each other. Harold shook his head and closed his eyes slowly before speaking. "The machine…it's outstanding how well it functions for surveillance. However, it can't save a life. It can just point you in the right direction. You have to understand that if I could stop these numbers from happening, victim or perpetrator, I would do it in a heartbeat."

His logic was sound. He couldn't disagree that it wasn't the machine's fault that these people were dying; it was the lack of resources available to save them that was. Nathan couldn't disagree with that fact.
"And if my number came up, Harold?" Nathan questioned, his tired eyes still locked on Harold's equally exhausted ones. When Harold failed to respond, Nathan filled in the blanks himself. "I'm assuming I'd be on that deleted irrelevant list too, then."

Harold shook his head and took in a deep breath. "If your number came up," he squeezed Nathan's hand firmly in some form of reassurance. "It'd never be irrelevant; I would try my best to save you."
Ingram chuckled. The sound seemed unfit for the room, but nevertheless he continued the laugh. "Well, we can only hope that it never does come up," he stood up, releasing his grasp from Harold's hand before walking around the room. "I mean, you could never receive all the awards we get."
Harold laughed as well, although his was much less pronounced. The two men knew fully well that the machine could predict a million deaths, but at the moment the only thing on their mind was each other. What good was it to think of things you couldn't change, anyways?