A/N: Many thanks to kindaoffkilter and potc for allowing me to adopt this plot bunny of theirs, and to potc for being an awesome beta. You guys rock! :)

He wakes up slowly, the world fading in and out of focus until he's somewhat conscious. At first, the throbbing ache in his body doesn't even register. But then when he tries to straighten up, he's paralyzed by its sudden intensity, a blinding pain shooting through his entire body. He bites back a scream of agony, but can't quite stop the pained whimpers from escaping his lips. He feels ashamed, even though there's nobody around to hear him.

Nobody around...

He closes his eyes again, letting the tears fall as the full gravity of his situation sinks in. Nathan is gone. Grace is gone. He's all alone in this dusty abandoned Library, his injured body screaming at him with every ragged breath.

Flickers of memory flash across his mind. He tries to force them away, but he can't. Nathan smiling at him, speaking to him – "Harold! I knew you'd come, my friend!" – then a flash of light, Nathan's silhouette in sharp relief, and the impact of the shock wave forcing the air from his lungs and knocking him backward before everything went black. Waking up in pain, discovering Nathan was dead, realizing he'd been assassinated and that the people responsible would come after anyone connected to him.

And Grace...

Another spasm seizes his body, and he can't stop the tears or the outcry of pain. This is torture, this is worse than any pain he's ever experienced in his life, and he can't move, can't breathe, can't think, except for the one thought that is almost as bad as the pain itself. He let Nathan down, and he ran away from Grace; as horrible as his torture is, he can't help but think that maybe he deserves it.

The spasms ease up, and he risks trying to sit upright. It's slow going; he's sore and stiff, and moving too fast or in the wrong way sends more shooting pain through his body. By the time he's leaning against the back of his chair, he's out of breath and the room is spinning dizzily.

He makes an effort to focus on his surroundings, and slowly the room holds itself steady once more. But the forced clarity only serves to make matters worse. He sees all around him signs of Nathan's former presence there: the pictures of the Irrelevant numbers he'd been trying to save, the laptops he'd set up. One of Nathan's suit jackets is left on the back of one of the chairs.

Then suddenly, he's not seeing the library anymore, but rather he's staring at a computer screen, seeing the face of a smiling young woman staring back at him as he's entering the code to shut down Nathan's backdoor. He's hearing Nathan yelling at him. "What about her? What about the next person whose number comes up? Are you gonna look that person in the eye and tell them they were irrelevant?"

He sees Nathan's picture on the screen just a few hours ago… too late, far too late...

"I would tell her... or whoever it was... that I was sorry, but that the greater good was at stake."

He remembers all the accusations he threw at Nathan during their fight... demeaning his engineering skills, deliberately changing "what we built" to "what I built"… and now, as he's looking at the reminders of Nathan, he can feel the walls closing in on him, choking him, reminding him of his failures –

No, I can't do this, not now, I have to get out of here! He doesn't know where he could possibly go now, only that he can't stay in that empty cavernous room any longer.

He reaches for the crutches, leaning precariously on the desk, and struggles to his feet. His back protests, the pain growing in intensity with every moment he's standing. But it's not until he tries to take a step that it suddenly explodes.

He must have blacked out momentarily, because he doesn't remember hitting the ground, doesn't quite know why his throat is sore and the pain is being matched by dizziness and nausea. He stares up at the ceiling for what feels like hours, days even. He feels strangely detached from his body, but not from the pain.

And that's when it strikes him that he's really in trouble. Apparently, his injuries are a lot worse than he originally thought, and anyone who would care about him or could help him was either dead or thought he was dead. He's all alone, and nobody's coming to save him.

"I'm sorry, Nathan, truly. But people die..."

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block away the memories, but they keep coming. "Go away," he whispers hoarsely, as if the sound of his voice alone could be enough to exorcise the demons continuing to haunt him.

"Everyone is relevant to someone."

His fists clench unconsciously at the remembered accusation. The tears are coming freely now, and he can't stop them, he can't fight the memories, all he can do is lie there in pain as his mind continues its relentless torture.

"You would know that if you had anyone in your life you cared about."

And then he sees Grace... sweet, beautiful Grace, desperately looking for him in the field hospital... and all of the pain and frustration and loss rushes over him like a tidal wave. They are gone, both of them – gone, lost to him – and he hates it, hates that it happened, hates himself for his role in it. And now he can't even go back and make things right because he can't bring Nathan back to life, and he can't go back to Grace and break her heart over his deception – he can't even move – and he can't control the runaway feeling of the unfairness of it all, and the desperation-turned-anger that's threatening to consume him.

Letting out a primal scream that is equal parts grief and rage, he picks up the fallen crutch – useless, he can't do anything with it, can't do anything at all – and hurls it with surprising strength. It sails through the air as if in slow motion before coming in contact with a glass board, a long-forgotten fixture of when this building was actually used as a library. There's a loud pang of impact, nearly instantly followed by a cracking sound, and the crutch clatters loudly to the ground. The glass is cracked where the crutch hit it, but amazingly enough, it's still relatively intact otherwise.

He stares at the cracked glass for a long time before collapsing flat on his back once more, laughing bitterly through the sobs of grief and pain. How ironic, he thinks as the hysteria overcomes him and sends him spiraling back into blissful unconsciousness, that the glass merely cracks while he is completely shattered...