"Mmmr. Reese…"

"Harold, are you with me?"

"Yes… uh, I think so… where's… "

"Can you sit up?"

"… … What?"

"I found you on the Library floor, mumbling in some feverish fit. You're running a high fever, Harold."

Something cold and wet was put on his forehead. Harold tried to clear the fog from his meddled thoughts and let the Library come back into view. Nathan was gone and so were his crazy recitations. A stabbing pain in his lower back was very present now, though. He realized that he was laid out on the cold, hard floor of the library. His head was bedded on something soft and judging by Reese's state of undress it was probably his coat and jacket. Behind Reese's concerned face, he could see the cobwebbed ceiling of their lair. Wait, was Reese unbuttoning his vest? And why the hell was he on the floor at all? That was just undignified!

Harold sat up so suddenly that Reese knew what would happen before Harold did and got behind his ill friend as a precaution. The pulsating headache hit at the same time as the headrush and Harold briefly wondered how with all that pressure in his head, there could still be too little blood to keep him conscious. His vision darkened and he felt the floor tilt (or was he tilting towards the floor?), but something soft and warm broke his fall. He couldn't tell for how long he floated in the strangely soothing whooshing sound in his ears and the spotty blackness before his eyes, but when he finally got most of his senses back, he found a hand presenting a glass of water and a second hand with a cocktail of pills. Somehow he was propped up with the back against… something now. He had the feeling he had only caught the last words of a longer speech.

"Take these and drink this. All of it." For some reason Reese sounded positively livid.

"As soon as you think you can make it down the stairs, I'm taking you to see Dr. Tillman."

"No!" His voice sounded much shakier than he imagined and the argument he was going to make was already turning against him. "No doctor. I'll be fine. I'm fine… now." He heard himself say it but didn't quite know where the words had come from. All he knew was that they were true.

"Harold, you told me you were fine when I left here two hours ago and now I come back because I felt that something just wasn't right to find you in a delirium on the floor and confusing me with Nathan Ingram." Harold glanced up at Reese, horrified at the idea, but found nothing but the truth in John's features.

"John, I am so sorry." he said softly.

"I don't need an apology. I need you to cut the crap and let me take you to a doctor." Another glass of water appeared before him and he accepted it with shaking hands, then Reese was gone again.

Harold downed it in one and finally started to feel slightly more alert. He heaved himself up onto the couch, propped up his elbows on his thighs, his face in his hands and couldn't quite suppress a little moan. Reese placed the cold cloth in his neck and Harold clumsily wiped his face and neck with it. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture Reese had never before seen on Harold, but always suspected he had to perform a lot. His hair got even spikier and it almost would have put a smile on his face if he hadn't been so livid.

"Harold. Doctor. Now." Harold seemed to be either in deep thought or just blatantly ignoring him.

"The more you ignore me, the more of a pest I'll become and you really don't want to put me to the test on that right now."

"Then I will have to declare myself unfit to walk down the stairs, or to even make it to them, Mr. Reese." His employer looked up at him and Reese was surprised to find his gaze not just much clearer, but adamant. "Have a seat, John. I need a moment to think and your to-and-fro is making me all…" He waved his hand vaguely around the room.

"You won't be able to think if your brain denatures, Harold!"

"It won't. I've had this happen before. When I was a kid, I had a fever – "

"You're not getting off the hook by citing Pink Floyd, Harold."

But when Harold just blinked at him, obviously not understanding and again with his thoughts not quite there, somehow Reese realized that his fussing wasn't in order right now, that Finch was trying very hard to work through something. He fathomed then that maybe he would be alright, after all. His body had pushed the issue until Harold had been forced to deal with it. He quietly sat down and studied his pale face.

"What's going on, Harold? You've seemed… bothered these past few days."

Harold looked at him then with an expression he had never seen before and that he couldn't quite place.

"John… I think, I am going to stop to pursue Root."

"What?!" Maybe his brain had already denatured.

"It's what she wants."

"So you're doing what Root wants now?"

"Not her. The Machine."

"The Machine has a gender now?"

"Ms. Groves likes to think so."

"Harold, you're not making any sense. This is just the fever talking – "

"John, please. Hear me out." Harold seemed to ponder his next words carefully.

"For reasons that I still struggle to understand, The Machine has quite taken to Ms. Groves. I can't explain it, but I can't counter it either. I cannot go against my… The Machine."

"Harold, please for once be honest with me. Is this Root's doing? Did she contact you, did she talk to you? You know how well she can manipulate people. If she somehow got to you, we can talk about it, we can figure this out –"

"She helped Ms. Groves escape."

"Wh- it what?!"

"I talked to her psychiatrist and checked his story by hacking into the medication distribution system and the CCTV. I didn't tell you before, because I didn't know what to make off it. That The Machine seems to have a mission for Ms. Groves –

"No- Haro-"

"They planned her escape together, John. Who am I to work against that?"

"The Machine didn't plan anything, Harold. It's just a machine. It is what you built and it does what you programmed it to do. Nothing more. It is… you."

"And that is where we were wrong, John! Don't you see? The Machine was never only a program. I didn't want to see, but Ms. Groves's escape made it clear to me. The Machine has a mind of her own…"

"This is insane. Root kidnapped, tortured and nearly killed you -twice. She shot Corwin and Weeks in cold blood. And the Machine helped me find you. Why would it put you in danger now?"

"I don't know, John. But I know I will have to find out. The Machine doesn't seem to think that Ms. Groves presents a risk anymore. So I will have Root come to me. Or -"

"To do what?! Code away together happily ever after?!"

"To decide about the future of The Machine."

Reese's jaw dropped. Then he shook his head.

"I can't let you do that, Harold. Root tried to destroy the Machine. Have you forgotten?"

"No John, she never meant to harm The Machine. She wanted to set her free." Harold swallowed and took another sip of water. "And it pains me to no end to acknowledge it, but I believe she was right."

"Enough! Are you listening to yourself?!" Reese jumped to his feet and was now pacing their 'office'. "You sound just like her!" He gave himself a few seconds, striding to the other side, then back. "I don't understand, Harold." he finally said, defeated.

"I know, John. Neither do I. But The Machine wants something and right now neither Ms. Groves nor I know what that is. So I will let The Machine have her way. And I hope – " Finch's voice broke and he had to clear his throat "– that although you don't approve, I will have your support. Because frankly John, I don't know if I can do it without you."

They looked at each other for a long time, Finch still a picture of misery but trying hard to look fine, a blanket of which he had no recollection how it got there draped around his shoulders and Reese, towering, hips at his hands, before him.

"Or what?"

"… P-Pardon?"

"You said that The Machine doesn't consider Root to be a danger to you. But there's a second possibility you didn't mention."

Finch swallowed, hang his head and Reese thought he saw his eyes become even glassier.

"John, without realizing it, I have tortured The Machine since it was created... since I created it. When I found out that she tries to store… her memory… it broke my… I realized what I had kept from her. Ms. Groves always understood The Machine."

John rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"I apologize for not coming clean with you sooner. But I simply wasn't ready to discuss the… spirits that I appear to have cited." Harold swallowed again. Reese quirked an eyebrow at his weird choice of words, but Harold didn't give him time to inquire on it.

"John - what if The Machine decided that I am bad code? That she's better off without an admin? What if The Machine set Ms. Groves free to come after me?"

~~~End~~~

AN: I know this ending comes rather abruptly but I like it that way and I AM the master of this story, muahaha. Consider it a cliffhanger and cue the ending theme of the series. I won't, however, come back to this story as next week's episode will render my musings meaningless and AU. I really just wanted an angsty Finch being scared of his own creation and its sudden irrationality.

I also won't ask, beg or plead for your reviews or comments. If you feel passionate about my story, you will comment regardless of my pleading, and if you don't, you wouldn't anyhow. If that makes sense.

Cheers for reading is all I'll say :)

Hautkopf

Notes:

For all those who never had the pleasure of having to recite it in school (no, I didn't mean that in an ironic sense):

The Poem is 'Der Zauberlehrling' by Johann Wolfgang Goethe. Or in English: The Apprentice. No, don'teven DARE to think about that godawful movie with Nic Cage!

There are several translations and I believe I mixed two of them.

There really IS a novel by Stanislav Lem called 'Der Aufstand der Waschmaschinen' or 'The Washing machines' Revolt', but I translated the title myself since I can't be sure if it ever was translated into English. My dad loves it (and all the weird Soviet SciFi) and until this day, when technical stuff gets borked in our family home, we fear the mighty Washing machines' revolt ;)