Head notes: As I have mentioned in my pen name I consider myself to be very random. This is what I'm talking about. I wanted to write this scene from one of the character's perspective and I thought "why not Nathan?" Oh, and those of you following my other story, don't worry I haven't abandoned it. I actually wanted to post the next chapter before the season finale but right when I was finishing it up my laptop crashed and I had to re-type it on a different computer. I will post it soon.

Aftermath

Nathan Ingram opened his eyes. He felt very…different. That was the only way to explain it. In all his life he had never felt like this. He looked around and saw frantic nurses and doctors treating ghastly wounds. Then he saw his body covered with a sheet. It felt surreal to be standing here as he stared at his own dead body in fascinated horror. Not a trace of stress was marring his physical face. In fact, if not for the blood on his own face he might have been able to say he was sleeping.

It was funny that until now he had never fully appreciated what a miracle his body had been. All the things he could do a few short hours ago he could no longer do. Well, yeah he could still move around and walk and as far as he could tell he still looked like his physical frame. But still, something was missing. He couldn't put his finger on it but something was definitely missing.

What's going on? He thought to himself. What happened? Then he remembered an explosion. The explosion. It was as if it was replaying in his mind in slow-motion. One moment he had been standing facing Harold and calling out to him. Then he had heard a loud explosion and felt the blast and shrapnel force him to ground. Frightened screams had filled his ears as he sunk into the depths of unconsciousness. Then the next thing he remembered was waking up to see his own dead body laid out on a stretcher.

What was it? Terrorist attack? No, the machine would have seen it coming and would have contacted the government. It would have been stopped. But if it wasn't a terrorist attack, then what was it?

He startled as he heard Harold's panicked voice call out to him. The anger he had felt toward him for blocking his access to the irrelevant list melted away as he looked on his friend in alarm. He moved to kneel over his friend as a nurse explained to what had happened to him. The injuries that Harold had sustained were serious. His friend could barely move and his eyes were filled with pain and fear.
"Harold," he whispered. He knew that his friend wouldn't be able to hear him but he had to say something. Please, he prayed, don't let him die. He's not perfect, but he's a good person.

His friend looked frightened and with what had just happened who could blame him. The nurse's calm tone seemed to help him relax some but Nathan could tell that something was still worrying him. He put his hand on Harold's shoulder as best he could but he just could not touch him. He wished he could grasp it firmly enough to let his friend know that he wasn't alone. But even if he couldn't physically touch him, the least he could do was go through the motions. The nurse left to help someone else and Harold forced himself onto his side. It seemed for a moment that he was looking right at him. But then Nathan followed his gaze and saw his body. He looked back into Harold's eyes and saw agonizing despair. He looked back and saw two men staring remorselessly at his body.

"It's done," he heard them say. "We'll figure out who else he talked to. Take care of them too."

He realized with haunting clarity what had happened. This was not a terrorist bombing. This was an attempt on his life. They had staged the bombing to kill him specifically disregarding the fact that there would be innocent people who would get hurt. These people were in pain because of him. He remembered Harold's warning to him just yesterday when he announced his intention to speak with a journalist. They will kill you and anyone else they think might know about it. Clearly, they had both underestimated what they would be willing to do to keep the machine secret.

He looked back at Harold and let go of his shoulder as he kicked the shock blanket off his body. Nathan watched as Harold put his hand behind his neck as a makeshift brace. Nathan put his ghostly hand under Harold's neck and helped him support his neck as he tried to sit up. This time he succeeded. He saw a gaping wound on the back of Harold's neck, the blood still flowing freely and thickly. There was a similar wound on his lower back. Seeing the wounds on Harold's neck and back caused him to panic for a moment. His first impulse was to try to get Harold to lay back down. He wasn't sure it was wise for Harold to be moving so soon but if what those government spooks said was any indication he had to get out of here. He helped Harold stand up. And nearly panicked when he stumbled. Harold grabbed a nearby crutch and Nathan helped him get it under his arm and did his best to help him walk, unseen, unfelt.

He could almost feel his friend's pain as he gasped and winced at every step he took.

"Harold?" he heard a woman call out, her voice was filled with worry.

Nathan looked up and saw a beautiful red-headed woman looking frantically around the first aid tent.
So this is Grace, he thought. He couldn't help but smile, finally meeting the woman that had won Harold's heart. He waited for Harold to make a move to go to her but instead was surprised to see him hide behind the screen staring sadly at her.

Grace stopped one of the first responders and asked if they had found Harold. One of the many times he wished he could be heard since he found himself to be dead, he wanted nothing more than to call out to her and reunite her with Harold. But try as he might she couldn't hear him. He looked at Harold who was staring at Grace with a forlorn look on his face. What are you thinking, Harold? He thought. Go to her. Don't you dare torture her like this.

Then he noticed the government spooks that had hurt so many people just to kill him and realized why he was staying back. It was almost as if they were watching her. Waiting for Harold to walk up and comfort her. They were looking for anyone that looked like they knew about the machine. And that would put Grace under the watchful gaze of the government. Nathan understood why he was staying away from her. Knowing about the machine had become a virus. And now to protect her from a threat she didn't know about Harold was being forced to leave the woman he loved. Nathan looked at Harold in regret. He had only lost his life. Harold had lost more than that. He had lost a chance to live in happiness with the woman he loved. A few moments and everything that was Harold's had been taken away from him. The ability to walk without pain, the chance to be with the one he loved, The chance to finally live outside the walls anonymity he had built around himself, they had all been stolen from him. And with a jolt of realization Nathan realized that it was his fault.
If only he had listened to Harold.

If he hadn't called that journalist, maybe none of this would have happened. But as it was he could only stand there with Harold watching as Grace looked frantically for her fiancé. He watched as she walked over to the pile of personal belongings and pick up a book. The same book Harold had shown him with the ring. He watched as she cried and grabbed her hair. He watched the pained look in Harold's eyes as he also watched her. Tears filled both their eyes as they both realized that they might never see each other. And though Nathan had never met Grace until now, tears sprang to his eyes as well knowing that Harold had lost the woman he loved. He heard Harold's painful gasps and turned to help him walk out of the first aid tent.

He followed him not sure where he was going, until he turned onto the street the lead to the library he used to research the so-called irrelevant numbers. Nathan was amazed at how Harold had been able to walk so far basically on crutches. He helped Harold walk up the steps to were the computer monitors were displayed. Wincing at every gasp that Harold made, he wished more than anything that he still had a physical body so that Harold could lean on him.

Harold finally sat down in front of the computer monitors and turned a haunted gaze onto the computer screen.
"Did you know?" Harold asked whispered. Nathan realized that he was talking to the machine.

He watched over Harold's shoulder as he entered in a series of codes into the laptop. The irrelevant list came back up and there near the bottom of the list was his number.

Both he and Harold stared in numb horror as his picture popped up on the screen. After a moment he tore his gaze away from the computer and looked at Harold. He friend's gaze was haunted with remorse. Though he didn't blame him for his death, Nathan couldn't help but wonder that if the machine had been able to warn them he might still be alive.

Then the clock struck midnight and the irrelevant list was deleted. Harold sat staring at the spot where Nathan's picture had been for several hours.
"Nathan, I'm so sorry," Harold finally whispered. Nathan realized that Harold blamed himself as well. He followed Harold's gaze as he stared at something in the distance. It was the board he used to place the irrelevant numbers he had received. He looked back at where Nathan's picture had been. The look on his face grew more haunted as he looked back and forth from the board to the computer screen.

"You get it Harold," Nathan said aware that his friend still couldn't hear him. "These people you called irrelevant, are just like me. They have friends and family who would much rather see them live. This is what I was trying to do for them. Stop them from feeling the pain that you, your fiancé, and even me are feeling at this moment. That's what I want you to do Harold. I'm not asking that you never fail. I'm asking you to simply try. Try to make it so that no else ends up like you, me, or Grace."

Nathan wished he could live again. He wanted to help Harold as he started his quest to start helping the people he had considered irrelevant. But the past could not be undone. He was already dead. But if his death led Harold to start helping those people then he supposed it was worth it. But looking again at the wounds on Harold's neck and back he realized that Harold wouldn't be able to do it on his own. Not anymore, at least. Even if he got proper medical treatment there was no telling how much damage he had done to his body from moving so soon. Please, he prayed once more. Send someone to help him.

The End

End notes: I really wanted to write this story. And to be honest, if I wrote every single story that came to my mind I would never be able to keep up. So I hope you liked it.