- hours later -

.

Even though Harold Finch had literally had this sense of inescapable doom looming over his head ever since he'd been snatched by Decima, he still wasn't prepared to die when that moment finally arrived.

His mind was still reeling - and still trying to come to terms with - the bizarre and shocking events of the last couple of hours.

He should have seen it! He should have made the connections long ago!

But instead of thinking things through and realizing that they all had merely been pawns on Decima's chess board he'd actually tried to reason with what in the end was nothing more than a ruthless and power-hungry sociopath.

Finch tried to make the other man see the errors in his judgment when it was he who'd done the misjudging. Yes, he must have been quite the humorous sight, as he had finally resorted to pleading.

'Please, you cannot allow Samaritan to come online. The consequences of an open system ... will be devastating! You can't possibly control something so powerful!'

Now Finch realized that Greer sitting down with him to talk about the future had been nothing else but an entertaining diversion for the other man while he'd waited for the pieces of his puzzle to fall into place.

'Whoever said I wanted to control it?'

These words were still causing the hair on the back of Finch's neck to stand. Greer himself had likened the Machine and Samaritan to children, and Harold could not fathom how the man could ignore the danger. How by letting Samaritan - which was nothing more than a mere infant with no concept of right and wrong - roam free he was willingly taking the chance of creating the greatest and most dangerous bully in the metaphorical sandbox.

When Harold had found himself face to face with a gleeful Peter Collier - who'd shown up at Greer's hide-out minutes after Senator Garrison - he'd briefly wondered how it was that Vigilance had always been a step ahead of all of them. But maybe exchanging Vigilance for Decima as his captors meant that he was in the hands of a lesser evil. After all they did share a somewhat common goal: stopping Samaritan.

As once again a hood was pulled over his head he couldn't help but find some kind of brief morbid humor in this. After all he was being kidnapped from his kidnappers, and he was sure that John would have quietly, yet mercilessly, teased him about this.

Now Harold knew that in the end it didn't really matter. He was tired. Tired of listening to the twisted reasoning of madmen justifying their ruthless methods, and tired of people dying.

He should have seen it!

He should have taken notice of the way Greer had been holding himself through that charade of a trial. Looking back now it was painfully obvious that the Brit had looked relaxed compared to the other hostages - bordering on amused even.

It fell like scales had fallen from his eyes when Greer revealed that all Vigilance had ever done was his bidding. To be the devil to his God.

Collier and he had stood equally dumbstruck and defeated on the roof of a building across from the old Post office where the trial had taken place. "Why?" Harold could just not fathom the extent of the man's deviousness.

"Your Machine did its job too well."

Harold honestly did not have a reply to that, and he openly gaped at the man who stood leisurely beside his operative who was holding Collier and him at gun point.

Startling as the sounds of an explosion filled his ears, Harold whipped around and stared with unbelieving eyes at the senseless destruction of the building across from them - and the calculated deaths of everyone still inside.

"Sooner or later the truth will come out," Collier softly said beside him, clearly shaken at the sight and his involuntary part in it.

"To quote your Benjamin Franklin, Three may keep a secret," Greer replied and turned his head away from the blaze to look at his captives, "as long as two of them are dead."

Collier's chest literally exploded and there was a splitting pain in Harold's ears from the two close-range gun shots that took the life of Vigilance's leader right beside him. His heart hammered in his chest and panic took over. This was it. The end of his road. And he had nowhere to hide.

"I'm glad that you've lived long enough to see the dawn of the new world that you created, Harold." Finch could hardly hear Greer over the ringing in his ears. He tried to swallow but he had no saliva left. "But the time has come for your God and mine to do battle, and regrettably our paths diverge here."

Greer nodded his go-ahead to his man now holding the gun on Finch. For the first time in his life Harold's mind was a complete blank. No life flashing before his eyes, no prayer for his soul, or pleads for forgiveness. Nothing.

All he saw was the barrel of the gun in front of him. It bucked as it dispensed the bullet that was meant to take his life, and Harold yelped as the hot metal tore through the flesh of his right shoulder.

Multiple shots rang out, and it took Harold a few precious seconds to realize that Bear had come charging out of nowhere with Shaw close behind, and that she had placed herself between Harold and Greer's men.

Acting on instinct, Harold accepted the cover the female ex-op was offering him and - with bullets flying on both sides - they somehow made it off the roof alive.

Leaning against the wall of the stairwell on shaking legs as Shaw inspected the burning and freely bleeding wound in his shoulder, Harold desperately tried to catch his breath and to calm down his frayed nerves. "How did you find me?"

"That's a long story, Harold. But let's get you out of here first," Shaw replied in her customary low and quiet tone. She grabbed him by his uninjured arm and led him away from the place where so many innocent people had died.

And they had died because of him.

.


.

Harold spent the drive back to the library in a shocked and painful haze. For the first time in years the pain in his neck and back was upstaged by the freely bleeding bullet hole in his right shoulder, which was sending flames of agony through his body with each thump of his racing heart.

He'd tried to follow Shaw's succinct briefing of what had happened while he had been indisposed, but she lost him somewhere between "Samaritan's servers" and "Root's team of hackers."

He felt numb, and the memories of the events of the last couple of weeks were a jumbled mess in his mind. All Harold Finch was sure of was that all of them - he, Control and even Vigilance - had been cunningly played by Decima, and where they were going from here he did not know.

Ms. Shaw helped lower Finch onto his chair at the library. He grunted in pain and Bear nervously jumped from one side of the chair to the other before deciding to settle down in front of him. Harold looked around his sanctuary while Shaw worked on his shoulder, and allowed himself to feel safe for the first time in weeks. The library, with its books and dusty smell, had always been the place he had felt the safest; it had always been here that John had returned him to - without having to ask - after his first two kidnappings. He reminded himself that John was gone now, and Harold had the distinct feeling that even the library wouldn't be the same anymore.

Hissing at a painful tug in his shoulder - despite the local anesthetic Ms. Shaw had injected into the flesh around the wound - Harold forced himself to look and watched as Shaw expertly tied off the stitches.

"This is good enough for now," she said after having covered the wound with gauze. Looking at his pale face as he tried to pull his bloodied shirt in order she said, "First time is the worst, huh?"

Finch stopped in his efforts - he needed a new suit anyway - and gave her attempt at sympathy an incredulous look. "Why would you ever choose a career where this was an occupational hazard?"

"The trick is," Shaw replied with a small, tight smile, "to shoot the others first."

Harold just stared at her as she started to put away the medical supplies, seemingly without a care in the world.

"Have you heard from Ms. Groves?" Finch asked. They still didn't know if the female hacker had been successful in sneaking the modified serves into Samaritan's system. Or if she was still alive, for that matter.

Shaw shook her head. "No. Not yet. But she did want me to tell you that 'Grace is safe'. Whatever that means."

Unaware of what her words meant to the older man, and with her attention on the medical supplies, Sam missed the look of relief on Harold's face as he took a shaking breath. "Thank you."

Bear chose that moment to nuzzle his hand, softly whining. Finch looked down at the dog and his brown and faithful eyes unwittingly triggered what was now a painful memory.

'Bear's friendly. You'll like him ... if anyone ever messes with you he'll eat 'em.'

Closing his eyes Harold took a deep breath. "What happened to Mr. Reese?" he asked softly and turned to look at Ms. Shaw, who stilled in putting things away. "What happened to John's body?"

The "John Warren" cover had been the most extensive and thorough of John's cover identities. It had been the life John would have - should have - led if it hadn't been for some of his unfortunate choices in the past.

Finch still remembered Mr. Reese's incredulous look when he had asked his friend what he thought John Warren's last wishes should be. But the quip about taking things a little too far quickly died on John's lips as he realized that the older man was not kidding. That Harold, in his own way, was telling him that he cared and was promising that - in the very likely event of his employee's death - he would make sure that his wishes were respected. Finch had been able to see on John's face that his past employers or even friends must never have offered him that courtesy before. It had hurt Harold to know that John Reese, one of the most honorable and faithful men he had ever known, had long ago accepted that he would most likely end up in a grave without a name at best - or left somewhere in a ditch to rot at worst.

"He was cremated and his ashes scattered according to his wishes." Hearing those words were somewhat of a relief, but did nothing to help alleviate the pain and regret Harold felt at not having been able to be there himself, and to say goodbye to a friend. Again.

He hadn't allowed himself to mourn yet, and even though now was still not the right time he felt his throat tighten. Not trusting his voice, all he could do to acknowledge that he was listening was nod his head.

"There even was a small ceremony." Shaw almost smiled at Harold's surprised look. "I couldn't attend but Fusco was there, and Zoe."

Finch nodded again, feeling comfort in the knowledge that John had not been alone at least. He realized that he should not have been surprised. John Warren's death had been publicly covered by the press after all. Who knew? Maybe even Elias had lurked around somewhere in the shadows to pay his respects to the man who once had saved his life.

Harold's contemplation was interrupted by a beeping from his computer, informing him of an incoming call.

"Get out of the library. Now! It isn't safe there anymore, Harold."

"Ms. Groves?" Finch was weirdly pleased to hear that the woman, who had put the fear of God into him at first, was still alive. However her words and the tone of her voice caused his concern to soar again."Are you-?"

"Card catalog by the window. Top drawer on the right. Hurry."

Ms. Shaw immediately crossed the room, opened the drawer and pulled out two envelopes. "What's going on?" Harold asked puzzled as Shaw handed him one of the envelopes.

"Your new identities are inside. Destroy everything else."

Finch emptied the contents of his envelope on the desk in front of him, and slowly picked up his new driver's license with a sinking feeling. "I take it your plan to stop Samaritan was unsuccessful?"

"Any chance we had of stopping Samaritan ended when they kidnapped you and killed John. This was never about winning ... it's just about surviving."

Harold met Ms. Shaw's eyes. Both of them had picked up on the defeat in the female hacker's voice. Without a further word they sprang into action - Harold initiating and executing his system's self-destruct protocol and Shaw picking up her weaponry.

As he was closing the metal gate to his sanctuary Harold stopped and gazed at the empty place through the gaps in the gate. Both John and Ms. Shaw had repeatedly tried to find the place where he lived, the place he called 'home'.

He was looking at it now, unwilling to leave it behind, yet unable to stay. Forcing himself to turn away he patted Bear on the head and led them both away. And when the police pulled up Finch, Shaw and Bear were walking away from the building never to turn around.

The words of the letter from Ms. Groves that he had found in his envelope were haunting Finch as he and Ms. Shaw eventually parted ways. He knew that their future was more than uncertain, and that this was probably the last time that he would see the female ex-op.

Harold had always known that his 'little venture' might not have a happy ending, but he still was not prepared for the crushing sensation he felt when he sent a last look over his shoulder at Sameen Shaw's retreating back. He had now lost everything. His home. The people he cared about. His freedom.

And as he disappeared into the crowd - not knowing what was to come next or how to go on from here - he realized that he had also lost hope.