Some of the facts are a little off (I don't know why I'm saying this now, the facts have been a little sketchy from the beginning but hey ho! Enjoy!

Harold pushed open the safe-like door and flicked on the lights. The room was large and dark and had a faint smell of dampness and stale air. In the room where two camp beds and a few small crates that acted as counters, a small camping stove sat in the far corner. John pushed past Harold and laid Zoe on one of the beds. Harold ran across the bunker and pulled out a holdall containing an array of first aid items. He laid it next to John who was knelt on the floor, he took out the scissors and cut Zoe's dress from her hip to the bottom of her rib cage. Harold leaned over to hold her dress open, John grabbed his hand and squeezed it painfully, Harold gasped and John released his hand.

'This is your fault.'

'She injured John and it's bad, let me help.'

'I am not helping you save people.'

'Zoe needs your help now John.'

John considered then let Harold help. Harold held her dress open as John cleaned the wound with wipes. Zoe whimpered and her hands reached out for John's arms, his hands caught hers and he looked her in the eye.

'John…'

'You're gonna be ok Zoe. We're gonna get through this.' He reassured her, pain evident on his face.

'It hurts.' She coughed.

Harold leaned over and pulled a small metal box out from under one of the camp. He opened it and scanned through the various items inside. He took out a small syringe and held up to the light, needle pointing up. He tapped it gently.

'What is that?' John asked sceptically.

'Fentanyl. For the pain, it will also render you unconscious Zoe.'

She looked up at Harold, tears rimming her eyes. She nodded.

'Is it safe?' asked John.

'I use on a daily basis Mr Reese, it's perfectly safe.'

John watched as Harold pressed the needle against Zoe's upper arm and thumbed the plunger down. John watched Zoe as she relaxed and succumbed to the unconsciousness. Harold handed John some rubber gloves and he put them on. Both men worked in silence as they cleaned and extracted the sniper round and stitched her up. Harold watched with an infatic stare as John's fingers delicately danced over Zoe's tanned skin, as light as butterfly touches, quick but not rushed. There was a methodical rhythm to his ministrations, he'd seen that rhythm so many times, it was John. His rhythm, whether he was fighting, cleaning, cooking his rhythm was the same. Harold looked over the top of his glasses at John. The man that had become his everything. John finished the stitches and laid the curved needle down.

'There. Done.' His gaze met Harold's. 'Anywhere to wash my hands?'

'There a small washroom behind that curtain there.'

Harold pointed towards a khaki coloured curtain on the back wall. John stood up and walked over to it. Harold looked down at the sleeping figure of Zoe Morgan. She was beautiful: poised cheek bones, deep eyes, flowing hair and a figure to die for.

John watched Harold from behind the curtain, he delicately reached out and brushed some strands of hair out of her face. John thought about Harold's recent revelation. A Machine that sees everything and gives numbers of people that were in danger and today, the person in danger was Zoe Morgan. He stepped out and continued to dry his hands.

'Who wants her dead?'

Harold jumped and looked up at John. 'I don't know.' He paused and looked back at Miss Morgan. 'I saw you two together in the alley, someone was following you so I left to come and help. I knew that if I tried to contact you any other way you wouldn't have listened and I could… I could have lost you.'

'I am not yours to lose.'

That hurt. Harold closed his eyes and blinked back the rising tears. He pushed himself up off the ground and wobbled a little. He walked over to the bunker door. He put his hand on the handle and stopped, his bowed his head.

'You'll be safe here. If you need anything, call me.'

Harold pushed the handle door and pulled the heavy door open. He left and John did nothing to stop him. The heavy door closed with a metallic clang against its frame, he dead bolts slid into place. John clenched the tea towel he'd been using to dry his hands and threw it on the floor.

'Don't push him away John.'

John rushed over to Zoe and knelt beside her; he cupped her cheek and pained a smile.

'Hey, you should be resting.'

'John, listen to me. He cares for you.' Zoe said weakly.

'He only wanted me to save people, I'm a killer, I'm good at killing people.'

'John please listen.' She took his hand and absently rubbed circled with her thumb. 'Harold cares about you so much, you're breaking his heart.'

'He used me, pretended to care to gain my trust.'

'It was the only way…'

Harold leaned back in his chair and rubbed the aching muscles in his hip and neck. On his screen was a live feed from the bunker. John's last words still squeezed like a fist around his heart. I am not yours to lose. He fought back the tears again. No this wasn't happening. Harold turned his attention to the figure in the alley. He had taken a still from the footage and was running various programs he'd written on it to decipher the height, sex and any other significant features of the person of interest. The computer beeped. The figure was of slim build, roughly 5"6 and slightly curved around the hips and chest. Female. Harold set up a State-wide search for the figure. An area in the east of the State was brought up on screen. An apartment formerly belonging to Kara Stanton, the State executions Governor. Harold frowned, Kara Stanton had been silent for years. She disappeared off the map years ago, but no one asked any questions. Harold dug further into the State records: the searches, the forensics of the apartment and Stanton's last known whereabouts. Harold uncovered her slave, one Samantha Groves. Still alive but off the grid, Harold ran the figures statistics against Samantha Groves. The computer gave an 89% match. He gasped and jumped up from his desk, he reached for the door then paused. He entered a phone number into the computer, a dial tone sounded but no one picked up.

'Hi John, it's me. I want you to know that I'm sorry, for everything. My feelings are still real John, I love you. I always will. But you have Miss Morgan now, you make a good couple. Treat her well. I know who is after Miss Morgan… so I guess this is good bye. Thank you John, you've been good to me and I'm sorry I wasn't to you.'

Harold ended the call and walked out the room. He walked into his bedroom and sighed, he pulled the knot on his tie and shrugged off his jacket. He slid the wardrobe door open and flicked through the many many items of clothing. He took out a plain black shirt, a pair of black trousers and a jacket. He put them on and slipped on a pair black pumps, he stood in front of the mirror and patted down his jacket and trousers. He thought of John, alone in the bunker with Zoe. They were perfect, they really did suit each other well: both classy and witty, smart and brave and completely lovable.

'Goodbye John.' He whispered.

Harold walked the dark streets to the Governors apartment block, he slipped his card into the door and it opened gracefully. He slipped inside and made his way to the elevators. He called one and stepped inside. The apartment was empty and cold. Harold stood inside the doorway and looked around. He took a few tentative steps into the apartment, disturbing the dust layer. He stood in the middle of the empty room and looked around. No one had been here in years. A gun clicked behind his head, Harold froze.

'Harold Finch.'

'Samantha Groves.'

She laughed chillingly, 'Now that's not my name.' She walked around Harold and looked him in the eye, her gun level with his nose. 'You can call me Root. Hands up.' She snapped.

Harold held his hands up and looked down at the ground, the fight simply wasn't in him. Root walked back around him and tied his hands behind his back, he yelped as his neck jolted.

'Oh sorry Harold, I don't want to hurt you.'

'I wouldn't care if you did.' He muttered.

Root walked Harold into one of the smaller rooms down the corridor. He stood in the doorway, a hard chunk of metal hit the back of his head. He fell to the ground unconscious.

Zoe was sound asleep, resting peacefully. John sat on the other camp bed and watched her, flicking his pocket knife open in his hand. His brow furrowed as memories of him and Zoe resurfaced:

It was bitterly cold. John pulled his coat and blanket tighter around him, he knew his efforts were futile but he had to try. Another icy chill whistled past him. He shivered and tucked his head in to warm up his lips and nose. He was living, homeless, under a flyover into the city. This was a hot spot for the homeless, the flyover kept them dry but nowhere kept them out the biting wind. A lady a few years his senior sat next to him, she too was frozen.

'It'll warm up soon.'

John lifted his head up and chuckled. 'I bloody hope so.'

'Soup will be here soon.'

John laughed again. 'Thank you Joan, for looking after me.'

'No problem, we're all in this together.'

John held up his arm and blanket for Joan and she shuffled closer. She smiled and leaned into John's shoulder. He felt slightly warmer with Joan at his side. A van horn beeped and the other homeless folk around rushed to the van. John looked sideways at Joan and smiled. He stood up and held out his hand for Joan. He helped her up and put his blanket around her again and together they walked over to the van. John stood before the van and held out a frozen hand. The lady in the van passed down a cup of leak and potato soup quickly followed by another. John, like the gentleman he is, passed the first cup to Joan.

'There we go, enjoy it.' She smiled pleasantly.

John looked up at the soup vender: she was middle aged and exceptionally pretty. Her smile was matched with a smile in her eyes. Her mousy brown hair was tied in a high pony tail on her head, her make-up was elegant and sophisticated. John smiled back at her.

'Thank you.'

'Oh that's quite alright. I hope this weather goes soon.'

John laughed throatily. 'You're telling me.'

The lady laughed. Silence spread between them. 'So what's your name?'

'Names, who needs them.'

'Well I'm Zoe.'

John smiled and held out his other hand. 'John.'

'Nice to meet you John.' Zoe shook his hand.