The conversation took a bit of a break then, while Julie changed the baby and got her settled in to nurse. Christine brought in a tray: tea for Harold, coffee for the rest, a tall glass of water for Julie. "The coffee's not very good," she apologized. "I don't know why. I think it's their coffee maker."

John took his coffee and finally sat down in the chair nearest the door. Christine continued to stand; Harold noticed that she ducked out periodically, and he could hear her moving around in the kitchen.

It was, Finch thought, a fortuitous break. It gave Will a chance to adjust to the very new reality of the situation. It gave Nathan time to rest and gather himself. It gave him a moment to consider, again, how he would proceed with his explanation.

"Okay," Will said, when they were settled again. "So you founded IFT, you made a ton of money, and then what?"

"And then the Towers came down," Nathan answered. "And everything changed. All that money didn't seem to matter anymore. We realized that any one of us could lose everything in an instant. So we changed course."

Harold took up the story again, explaining the idea behind the Machine and the years of its development.

"And that's when you closed down most of the company?" Will asked.

Nathan nodded. "We needed space. And privacy."

Finch started to explain the safeguards he'd put in place, but he felt like he was making excuses. He cut that part short.

"We had doubts," Nathan offered. "Right from the start, we knew we couldn't trust the government. We knew they'd abuse the power if they could."

"Then why did you build it at all?"

"Because we weren't the only ones trying to build it," Harold answered. "We knew there were other systems in progress. So we had to be first, and best, and most secure."

"And we knew we could be," Nathan added.

"And you succeeded," Julie said.

"We did. The Machine worked, mostly, as intended. We turned it over to the government. They took the servers who knows where. We were done with it."

"Then why the ferry?" Will asked. "Why did they try to kill you?"

Nathan sighed. "I told you we had doubts. Once we'd turned the Machine over, those doubts grew."

"I'd spent my whole life protecting my privacy," Harold said. "And I had created a machine that invaded everyone's privacy. By the time the project was completed, things had changed so much, in the country, in the government."

"The imaginary weapons of mass destruction," Julie offered.

Harold nodded. "So we decided –"

"I decided," Nathan insisted. "I talked you into it."

"But I agreed. We were going to go to the press. Tell the world about what we'd done. About the Machine. We assumed that the outcry would force the government to shut it down. And that they wouldn't be able to bring any of the other versions online, either."

"I set up a meeting at the ferry with a reporter," Nathan said. "Harold met me there. And then …"

They both fell silent.

Julie shifted the baby to her shoulder to burp her.

"They showed me your body," Will finally said, quietly, to his father. "They showed me …" He stopped, cleared his throat. "Whoever they showed me, his face was gone, his whole torso was burned." He gestured from his head to his waist. "They said the dental records matched. They gave me your ring, your wallet. Your phone. But it was all smashed." He shook his head. "They showed me, and I just … I should have looked closer, I should have known …"

"How could you have known?" Nathan took his hand and squeezed it. "We'd been dealing with them for years and until the explosion I had no idea what they were capable of. You knew nothing about them, about the Machine. You couldn't have known."

"But I barely looked. If I had looked longer, closer …"

"You would still have been convinced," John said. "Whoever that body was, I guarantee he was chosen because he matched. Same size, same body type. They would have duplicated any scars or birthmarks you might have looked for, or burned over the area where they should have been. Every detail would have been covered. With the face gone, I guarantee you, there was no way you could have known the difference."

"I could have … asked for a DNA match."

"They would have faked it."

Will studied him for a long moment. Then he glanced at Julie. She nodded. "Damn." He turned to Harold. "You were there. At the ferry."

"I was knocked unconscious. When I came to, I heard one of them say, it's done. They covered him with a sheet, removed the body. I – hid. As best I could. Ran away. I didn't think for a minute that he'd survived."

The young man considered. Then he looked back to his father. "And they took you? The government? Where?"

"I don't know. Some facility somewhere." He told the rest of the story, largely as he'd told it to Harold earlier.

Will seemed to gloss right over his father's escape, perhaps because his destination caught his attention. "Green Bank? I know someone from there. I mean, I met her. She tried to help me. I think."

"Alicia Corwin," Harold supplied.

"You knew Alicia?" Nathan demanded.

"Not knew her, really. But when I was trying to find out more about you, about why you shut down most of the company, I found her number and got in touch with her. It was weird, though. She seemed scared to death to be in the city, she wouldn't go inside any buildings ..."

"She came here to meet you? To New York?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Oh." Nathan looked away. "Oh, Alicia."

"Dad?"

From the doorway, Christine said, "Dinner's ready."

Harold would have sworn he wasn't hungry. That the conversation was too intense to leave any space for such mundane considerations as food. But the minute the smell reached him, he was suddenly starving. The others seemed to be, too. There was macaroni and cheese, commercially made but high end, delicious. Smoked sausage. Green salad. Fresh rolls.

Comfort food. Nathan's favorite foods, back at MIT.

Christine had bought it all when she'd gone on her shopping trip. Finch wondered how she'd known that they'd need it.

She took baby Angela from Julie's arms and sat down with the baby on her lap. "Eat while it's hot," she said.

"You're not hungry?"

"Not very. And I've missed this sweet girl."

They got food, got settled. Julie said, "So, who is this Root person? Where does she come in?"

"She's a very gifted hacker," Harold answered. "And, as I mentioned, a psychopath. Utterly charming, but without conscience. She had no regard for human life. But the Machine, she worshipped as a god. She was convinced that I was the key to accessing it. And to that end she was willing to kidnap, to murder."

"She was the person behind the Perk poisonings," John said.

Will whistled. "Oh, that kind of psycho."

"Yes. At one point she was also in government custody, but apparently she escaped."

"And since you wouldn't help her, she thought Dad would."

"Yes."

"But you wouldn't?" he asked Nathan.

"I couldn't," his father replied. "I didn't know where it was, and I didn't have any way to access it."

"But –" Julie paused, swallowed. "But how did she even know about the Machine? If it was such a big secret?"

Harold explained, "A great many people in the computer technology community had guessed that some sort of system existed. As I said, others were trying to develop the same thing. The glaring lapses of information-sharing on 9/11 made it a necessity. It was a logical development. But as to the specifics, I don't believe Miss Groves knew them until we thwarted her plans to frame an unemployed construction manager for the murder of Congressman Michael Delancey."

"But Delancey was killed," Julie pointed out.

"Unfortunately, yes. But the man Root intended to frame for that murder was cleared."

"Okay, you lost me," Will complained. "This Delancey, he's a congressman? Government. What did he have to do with your machine? Is that why they killed him, too?"

"You haven't told him about the Numbers," John said quietly.

"Oh, dear. I haven't. Let me back up." Finch adjusted his glasses. "The Machine is designed to spot predict and prevent mass casualty events. When it sees one, it gives the government a number. Usually a social security number, sometimes another identifier. Just a number. From there, they can track down the event, the perpetrator, and take the appropriate action. But the Machine never decides what the action is. It only tells them where to look. There is always a human being making the decision from there."

"So not quite SkyNet," Will said.

"That's my hope."

"But it sees everything," Nathan said. "So while it was seeing all these terrorist plots, it was also seeing small crimes, personal crimes. People planning to kill their boss or their girlfriend."

"Or themselves," John added.

"Or planning to rob a bank in a way that will get them all killed," Harold continued. "Whatever the case, these crimes are planned in advance. And they can be stopped. Sometimes. They're irrelevant to national security …"

"People's lives aren't irrelevant," Will insisted.

"No. No, they are not." Finch sighed. "Originally I … programmed the Machine to delete the irrelevant numbers. But your father was convinced that we should try to save those people if we could. So after his supposed death, I took over doing that. Mr. Reese is my partner in those efforts."

"Wait."

They waited.

"Your … Machine. Tells you about people who are about to murder someone – "

"Or be murdered by someone," John corrected.

"Or be murdered by someone, and you, you two, you go in there and – what? Help? How?"

"Whatever method the situation calls for," Harold answered. "Sometimes it's as simple as providing enough money to pay the rent for the month. Sometimes it requires more direct intervention."

Will sat back, ran his hand over his face. "So. My father is not dead. My Uncle Harold, who can't set a digital clock, is actually some kind of computer genius, they invented Skynet together, the government is trying to kill them – and he's Batman. Is that pretty much it? Am I missing anything?"

"You left out the psychopath," Julie said.

"Oh, yeah, and you're all being targeted by a psychopath who thinks Skynet is god."

"She's dead," John and Christine said in unison.

"Oh. Well. I guess that's a good thing. Are you sure?"

"We're sure," John answered.

"Because I'm not complaining, believe me, but …" He gestured to his father. "Apparently no one's dead unless you see the body, and sometimes not even then."

"We've seen the body," John assured him.

Will took a long breath. "So when I was kidnapped and you showed up –"

"When were you kidnapped?" Nathan demanded. "Nobody told me about that. What happened? How could that happen?"

"Dad. I'm right here. I'm fine. They got me back. I didn't get hurt. But Julie did …" He glared at Harold, and then at John. "Did she get hurt because your Machine spit out my social security number? Is that it?"

"No," Harold answered calmly. "It spit out hers."

"You were just bait," John added. "Collateral damage."

He turned to his wife. "Did you know? Any of this?"

"I knew John was working security for your uncle. I thought he was protecting you."

He turned to Christine. "And where do you come into all this? Did you know about the Machine all along?"

She put her fork down. She'd stirred her food around, but Harold didn't think she'd eaten much. Again.

"I was one of the ones who suspected a system existed," she answered. "But I didn't know who or what, exactly, until my number came up."

"Your … they saved your life, too?"

"Yes."

He sat forward, his elbows on the table. "So when you volunteered to go through Dad's papers for me – that was all a lie. That was to keep me from finding someone else to do it. Someone that would tell me the truth."

"Yes."

"That was my idea," Harold began. "We had to protect you – "

"Protect me? Like I was a little child?"

"Will!" Nathan said sharply.

"No. No."

Christine stood up and walked around the table. She set the baby in Julie's lap and put her hand on Will's shoulder. "C'mon."

"What?"

"Let's go outside."

"Why?" But he was already standing up.

"Christine …" Harold said.

"Y'all stay out of this," she said crisply. She looked directly at John. "It needs to go somewhere." Will headed for the back door and she followed him.

"No." Harold stood up.

"Let them go," Julie said firmly.

Finch wavered.

"They'll be okay."

The back door slammed.

John stood up, too, and Bear hurried to his side.

"Let them go," Julie said again.

Through the thick doors, they could hear Will begin to shout.

"This isn't fair," Harold said. "It's not Christine's fault, she only did what I asked her to do."

"But he can't yell at you."

"Of course he can."

"He can't," Julie answered. "You wanted them to be siblings. Now they are. And siblings fight."

"But she won't fight back," Finch argued. "She'll just let him shout at her."

"Maybe." Christine's voice carried to them then. She was shouting, too. "Maybe not."

"It's not fair," John growled.

"Siblings don't fight fair. But they come out of it okay. You'll see."

Reluctantly, as the muffled shouting continued, Harold sat down.

After a long pause, John did, too. Defiant, he slipped a hunk of sausage to the dog.

They listened in silence.

Finally, Nathan rallied. "You sound like you know a lot about fighting with siblings."

"I'm the youngest of fourteen."

"Fourteen?" He whistled. "I suppose we should defer to your expertise, then."

"You should." She stood up. "Here, hold the baby while I clear the table." She dropped Angela into his lap and carried his plate into the kitchen.

Nathan Ingram sent a worried glance after his son, but tightened his arms around his granddaughter.

Two hours and thirty-nine minutes.

Reese kept track of every second.

For two hours and thirty-nine minutes, Christine Fitzgerald and Will Ingram stayed in the garage, arguing. At times they shouted at each other. At others they were too quiet to hear. As the argument wore on, the shouting episodes grew shorter and further apart.

If John had thought for an instant that there was a chance Will would lay a hand on the woman, he would have interrupted. But he knew that was not something he needed to be concerned about. He trusted the younger Ingram absolutely on that front.

He let them argue only because of Christine's words. It needs to go somewhere. Rage. He had taught her how to deal with rage, and she was passing it on. Because of course Will Ingram was full of rage. A lot of other emotions, surely, learning that his father was not dead, but rage because all the people he trusted had lied to him every day of his life. She was right. It needed to go somewhere.

Still, if he hadn't heard her arguing back, he would had interfered. But Christine had rage of her own. Though she never mentioned it, John knew she had not forgotten that she had had to pull the trigger on Root because Harold wouldn't and John couldn't. Elizabeth Everett had been endangered because of their choices, possibly scarred for life. Chaos was gone, Dominic Delfino dead. Harold threatened. Christine had put an end to Root, but she shouldn't have had to. She would not vent to Will ingram about that, but she would vent about something. It needs to go somewhere. At least this time she wasn't turning her rage inward.

Reese understood the need. If he was honest, he had some rage of his own that he needed to work out, sometime soon. A heavy bag or a long run. Or beating the snot out of some deserving perp. Whatever came his way.

But he did not like Christine's current solution.

While they argued, he and Julie and Harold put away the leftovers and cleaned the kitchen. Harold was particularly meticulous, even for him, and John guessed that was in consideration of his wife's sensibilities. They moved to the living room, then, and Nathan spent the rest of the time quietly talking with his daughter-in-law and getting to know his granddaughter. That, at least, seemed to go well.

Just after the ninety-minute mark, John took Bear outside. They went out the French doors in the dining room and made a wide circuit of the yard. Their route quite coincidentally took them around the garage at a safe distance. The overhead door was closed, of course. Through the window of the side door he could see a bit of them, sitting at the shop bench on the tall stools, facing each other. It was one of the quiet parts; he could not make out their words.

He wanted to linger there, but he did not.

If she has a mark on her when she comes in, he thought fiercely. But he knew she wouldn't.

John knew how to protect her from physical harm. But this emotional battering that she had volunteered for – he couldn't protect her from that. He could only wait, and trust that in the long run it was good for both of them.

He did not like waiting.

He went back inside and watched a man who should have been dead play with a baby. It was not sufficiently distracting, but it was the best he had.

When they finally came in, it was clear that they had both been crying. But they were crowding together, too. "We're okay," Christine reassured them all. "We're okay."

"We are," Will confirmed. "We had … a lot to work out."

Harold stood up. "I'm so sorry –"

"We're okay," he repeated. "I could use a drink."

The bottle was two-thirds empty, and the shot glass had been used by nearly all of them, and no one cared. Julie poured him a drink.

"You want one?" he offered Christine.

She shook her head. "No, thanks. I am freaking exhausted and I am going to bed."

"Hey," Will said before she could leave the room, "thanks."

Christine gave him a little hug. "See you in the morning. Oh, and if you're sleeping down here, sleep on the couch, not on the chaise in the bedroom. It's a killer."

"Okay."

Reese waited at the bottom of the stairs, away from the others. "Hey," he said quietly.

She nodded, utterly weary. "Rage needs to go somewhere. You taught me that. He had a lot of it. I can't blame him."

"It didn't have to go to you, though."

"He just got his father back, so he can't be mad at him," Christine explained. "Harold's always been his father figure, and especially since the ferry. He's a little afraid of you. I'm the contemporary."

"The sibling," Reese said.

"Yes."

He sighed deeply. "You sure you're okay?"

She leaned into his embrace. "I am so damn tired."

"Go. Sleep."

"See you in the morning."

She climbed the stairs as if they were a mountain.

Reese leaned against the wall. In the living room, he heard Harold say his good nights as well. But Will said, "Uncle Harold, one thing I don't understand …" and he knew it would be a while yet.

He was exhausted, too. It had been a long damn day. A long damn week.

But hopefully now they were through the worst of it.

He went back to the living room and poured his own drink in the community shot glass.