Subway cars are extraordinary places. They're like jury duty, uniting a disparate group of people, all coming from different places and pasts, going to different places and futures, united only for this brief moment in a metal tube as they traveled from point A to point B. In all likelihood, these people would never see each other again. In all probability, they would never associate with each other under normal circumstances. Yet here they were, voluntarily confined together in close quarters.
Yes, subways are amazing places. So one can hardly blame Harold Finch with making their surveillance a hobby of his.
It was, admittedly, a strange hobby, especially considering that Finch spent most of his work day using his computer to spy on people, but somehow he found it strangely soothing to sit in front of his computer and watch the people going about their days. Odd as it may sound, it was a nice reminder of everything Finch stood for.
That everyone is equal, and no person is "irrelevant."
That normal life can and must go on, even if some must abandon it to preserve it.
That the most powerful are often the most unassuming.
Finch's hobby had paid off in the past; it was by watching subway footage that he came to discover John Reese's whereabouts, which ultimately led to his recruitment. It was a spectacular performance; if Finch were the type to enjoy violent films or bloodsports, he would have probably stood up and cheered at the end of it. As it was, he had felt a perverse mixture of pride at the victory of the underdog, horror at the carnage, and surprise that the presumed dead CIA agent hadn't drunk himself to death yet. It was probably the most eventful subway ride Finch had ever witnessed, and he had never expected to see another performance equal it.
That was alright, though; that wasn't why he watched the subway footage. He watched the subways for his own enjoyment. If he saw an incident, he would do what he could to assist—call 911 if necessary—but that was only a secondary benefit for him. Finch watched the subway footage because he liked to watch the people, almost to reassure himself that they were still there and still normal.
Tonight, there was very little happening in the subways, and that was how Finch liked it. Things were so quiet that one young man was trying to sleep on a row of chairs (possibly the most foolish thing a person can do on a subway—the boy was too trusting). Another passenger, bored, took his beer and set it on the boy's forehead. As expected, the boy did not move. Finch sighed. All was normal in the world, which of course meant that some people had to be idiots.
Suddenly, the boy jumped up, as though startled, and landed...
...on the ceiling?
Finch's mouth dropped open at this. The boy looked around, surprised, and then dropped onto the floor. At first, Finch thought that would be all the impressive stunts for the night, but, somehow, the boy managed to get into a fight. In a subway car.
Deja vu.
The difference between this fight and Reese's rampage was that between gracefully performing martial acrobatics, the boy looked incredibly awkward and even apologetic, as though he wasn't sure what was going on.
That makes two of us, then, Finch thought with some amusement.
By the end of the fight, only two women were left unscathed in the subway car, and the boy had torn one of the poles out of place. He got out at the next subway stop and ran out.
Subway watching was over for the day; right now, Finch had to find out who this boy was. Taking a picture of the boy from the footage, he ran it through a facial recognition program. After a few minutes, the computer found a match.
Name: Peter Parker
Age: 18
Occupation: High School Student
From what Finch could tell, the boy had no combat experience, no training in the martial arts, and no way of explaining how he could pull off a performance so spectacular that it rivaled Reese' s subway audition (never-mind how he managed to stick to the ceiling). He was nobody; more likely to come to Finch's attention as a number in need of rescuing, rather than a potential future associate.
Finch tried to shake off the thought. He already had an associate, and Reese wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. But contingency plans never hurt anyone.
Legal Guardians: Benjamin and Mae Parker
Biological Parents: Richard and Mary Parker
That gave Finch pause. He remembered Richard Parker; they had been roommates during Richard's first year at MIT. Finch was a senior by then, so they hadn't become particularly close. But Finch did remember Richard's sense of duty quite clearly; Richard had once come home with a black eye because he had intervened when some thug held up a convenience store. The kicker was that Richard wasn't even in the store when it was robbed. Instead, he had been across the street, on his way to class.
"You had no obligation to help them, Richard!" he had said. Although Harold had never been that close to his roommate, he did feel some degree of concern that the man was on a path to vigilantism—i.e., certain death and torment for him and anyone associated with him (including Harold)
"But I did, Harold. I could help, so I had to. With the power to act comes the responsibility to act." Harold had rolled his eyes at this.
"So, what, with great power comes great responsibility?" Richard had smiled at Harold's summation of his principle.
"That's exactly it. 'With great power comes great responsibility.' That's good, Harold. Better than I could have put it."
"You'll get yourself killed if you live that way!" Harold persisted.
"Better that than have to live with the knowledge that someone is dead because I didn't act."
As far as Harold ever knew, that was the only time his roommate dabbled in vigilantism. He had thought Richard was crazy at the time, but over twenty years later, those were the words that haunted him when he heard about 9/11; the words that drove him to build the Machine; and the words that echoed in his head when he decided to protect the irrelevants.
With great power comes great responsibility. Finch personally preferred Richard's way of putting it—"With great power comes great responsibility" could be misinterpreted to mean that with great power comes a responsibility not to abuse that power. That was true, but Richard—and now Finch—believed that the responsibility that came with power was deeper than that.
With the power to act comes the responsibility to act.
Finch lost track of Richard in 1980, when he graduated. He heard on the news that he had died in a plane crash in 1998, and he attended the memorial service (though Harold could never convince himself that his old roommate was dead; he had always been paranoid, and in his book, if there was no body, there was no death). He had seen the little family—Ben, Mae, and Peter Parker—but never realized Peter was Richard's son.
It made sense, though; the boy looked remarkably like his father. Briefly, Finch wondered if he thought like his father, too. Perhaps Peter would also believe his abilities gave him a responsibility to protect others? Perhaps he would like the opportunity to...
No. For Richard's sake, Finch would stay away from Peter. Richard Parker had already given Finch the drive to create the operation. He didn't have to give him his son, as well. Peter Parker would never know that someone had been watching him on that subway; he would never know about Finch's list; and he would never step foot in the library.
At least, Finch thought as he saved young Parker's information, not for a long, long time.
