Chapter 2
Harold stood there, surprised. After a minute, he found his voice. "What?"
"You heard me. If nobody will help us, we'll just have to do it ourselves," Nathan replied, gesturing between Finch and himself.
Harold continued to stand completely still, but scrunched his face up, perplexed. "Are you crazy?"
"Not according to my last Board of Directors physical." Nathan grinned and dug his hands into his suit pants pockets. "That is, unless the Mayo clinic doesn't know what they're talking about."
"Be serious, Nathan." Finch implored.
"I am serious," Ingram replied. He looked away and blew out a long breath, before returning his gaze to Harold. "Look, I just can't sit by while innocent people die. Not if there's something we can do about it."
"And what exactly are we going to do?" Finch asked, his voice rising in pitch. "Ring someone's doorbell and tell them the Boogie Man is after them? And that's assuming it's not the Boogie Man who answers the door in the first place!"
"We won't be ringing any doorbells," Nathan said, trying to calm Harold down. "At least not until we know for sure who is at risk."
"And how will we find that out?" Harold asked. He stepped closer to his friend, pleading. "We only get a number, Nathan. The computer can't tell us everything- we'll have to do some legwork, investigate criminals out in the open. It could be dangerous."
"Yes, it could," Nathan conceded with a nod. "But we'll be careful."
"How?" Harold scoffed. "You're a horrible lurker."
Nathan shrugged. "Well, then I guess I'll leave most of the lurking to you."
"And what do we do once we find out who the bad guy is?" Harold asked, still agitated. "How do we take him down? I'm not exactly a prize fighter, and neither are you."
"No, we're not," Nathan agreed. "But we are two MIT graduates and one of us is in Mensa. Surely we are smart enough to outthink a guy who wants to kill his boss for making him work overtime." He noted the skepticism on Finch's face and sighed. "We'll just figure it out when the time comes."
"That's reassuring."
Ingram looked at Finch for a minute and then chuckled softly. "I have to tell you, Harold- I'm surprised you're not all over this idea. I thought you loved all this cloak and dagger stuff."
"I do not love all this cloak and dagger stuff." Harold corrected, frustrated. "I do it out of necessity- to see what happens and to make sure you stay safe."
"So," Nathan shrugged, "what you'd be doing isn't any different than what you do now. Keeping your eyes and ears open. Investigating. And watching my back."
"And you'll just swoop in to save the day, like Batman?"
"Well, maybe not exactly like Batman." Nathan grinned. "I'd prefer not wear the cape, although the car would be cool."
"And you just automatically expect me to be Robin?"
"You could be Alfred it that makes you feel any better," Ingram deadpanned.
"It doesn't," Finch replied, curtly.
"So, what would you have us do, Harold?" Ingram asked, now getting frustrated as well. "Just ignore all the numbers? Ignore all the people we could help, people we could save?"
"If it means saving ourselves, too… then yes. There has to be another way."
"And what way is that?" Nathan threw his hand up in the air, then gestured towards the darkness outside his office window as he spoke, emphatically. "The CIA won't help us. The NSA won't help us. And we can't go to the police or the FBI- we can't tell them about the machine. And they probably wouldn't believe us anyway if we did. There is nobody left but us."
"I know." Harold replied, urgently. "But there just has to be another way- one where we don't get killed trying to save the world."
"Well, you let me know when you figure it out," Nathan huffed and walked towards the door. He stopped at the threshold and turned his head, his back still towards Finch. He paused for a moment, the anger and frustration gone, replaced instead by hurt.
"In the meantime," he said, quietly, "I'll be the hero by myself."
And, with that, he walked out the door.
*POI*
They didn't speak for a few days. At least, not about anything important. On those rare instances where they crossed paths, either in the elevator or lobby of the building, they would acknowledge each other and make small talk about the weather or another mundane topic. They didn't talk about the machine. Or Nathan's plan. Or their strained relationship.
Instead, they passed the next week generally avoiding each other. Harold holed up in his office, working on the machine and thinking, desperately trying to find a safe way to help the people whose numbers had come up. Two more numbers came in, but Harold didn't tell Nathan, hoping to discourage him from doing something rash. But Nathan had access to the machine as well. And although he presented a charming, golden boy image, it wasn't a fluke that Nathan got into MIT. He was smart. Very smart. Maybe not as brilliant with computers as Finch, but smart enough to get the information he needed. Finch pretended not to notice when Nathan disappeared, sometimes for hours on end. Nathan never told Finch where he was going, and Harold never asked. But he knew Nathan was trying to save lives while he sat in his office, thinking about it.
It stung a bit for Harold to realize that his default in life had not changed much. While others were out in the world, doing, he was still inside, avoiding. Burying his head in his work as an adult wasn't much different than burying his head in a book as a child.
Still, Harold wasn't ready to just throw away his life. And, in his opinion, that's exactly what Nathan was doing, no matter how well-intentioned he was.
Harold thought a lot about that night in Nathan's office, about their argument. And he still knew he was right- they were both ill-equipped to face danger and save lives. But, after a week of non-stop thinking, he had also realized Nathan was right as well- there was nobody else left. It was up to them.
And while Harold had been hiding in his office for a week, trying to avoid the inevitable, Nathan had been running around New York, trying to prevent someone from getting hurt. And Harold had let him. He had left his best friend in the world go out there alone. Unprotected. And in danger.
Granted, Harold spent a good deal of time each day using the machine to locate Nathan when he left the building, trying to keep tabs on him to make sure he was safe. But the truth of the matter was, if something really went wrong- if someone pulled a knife or a gun on Nathan- there would be nothing Harold could do but call 911. And by the time help arrived, it would be too late. Nathan would be injured, or worse, and Harold would live with the guilt for the rest of his life.
Late one night, Harold finally came to a decision. As crazy as Nathan's plan was, Harold would back him- and not just from the safety of his office. If he was going to be there for Nathan, to protect him, then he would have to join him.
He pulled out his cell phone to call Nathan, to apologize and tell him the news, when the computer woke up and whirred, the monitor lighting up. Curious, Harold slid the phone back into his pocket and quickly entered his password. Another number had come up, the first one in the past few days. Harold grabbed a pen and paper to write the number down, but when he looked back at the computer, he knew they were unnecessary.
Harold sat there and stared at the computer for a minute, both stunned and terrified.
Because he knew that number.
He had memorized it years ago.
The number was Nathan's.
To be continued…