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He probably shouldn't have gone through the breach, but after the newspaper article Karen had found on him, he hadn't been able to help himself. It was a risk, but it was one he was willing to take just to find out what was on the other side, to see the world another John Reese had lived and died in, the man who had never been found by Finch, who had never been saved.

It hadn't seemed all that much different than this one. He hadn't felt the need for a disguise, expecting anyone who had known this world's John Reese would have known him at the man he'd died as. Homeless, bearded, his hair long and unwashed. No one would recognize him as he was now. He'd wandered through, observed the people who lived here, stopped in at the library to find himself a copy of the newspaper Karen had shown him, then headed out to pick up a coffee before returning to the Darrow where he'd found himself months ago.

Carrying the newspaper with him is perhaps a little dangerous, but there's a part of him that wants to show it to Finch. Everything he'd told Karen about Finch's role in his life had been the entire truth, but he knows he's never been particularly good at expressing his appreciation right to Finch's face, and he thinks the article might encompass everything he doesn't know he has the right words to say.

Without Finch he would be dead. He's long since thought so, but now he has all the evidence he'll ever need.

He's back in the Darrow he's been living in these past few months, reluctant it to call it his Darrow or the regular Darrow as he's heard others refer to it as. John wouldn't call himself settled, he'd been disappointed to find he wasn't able to orchestrate a way for him and Harold to head home through the breach, but he's more comfortable here. This is a city he's investigated, one he's searched, it's a city he's come to know. There's comfort in that.

John might be reluctant to say he's made friends, having never been very good at friendship before Finch, but at the sight of a familiar face ahead, he smiles and lifts one hand in a wave.

"Afternoon," he says when he's close. "How are you?"

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"Coffee tastes the same," John answers, lifting his cup as he falls in step beside Finch, altering his stride so he doesn't move too quickly for his friend. "I should have brought back some of your tea, too. Let you see if it's up to snuff as well." It's a stupid joke, especially when the breach and everything it reveals to them would have been the scientific talk of the century in New York, but here it seems to have been taken more or less in stride. No one seems particularly worried about it, which is enough for John to be worried in his way.

It seems harmless enough and so far no one has come through and tried to kill them, but that doesn't mean it won't yet happen.

The newspaper, though, had been important enough to go through and retrieve. He could have asked Karen for the copy she has, but somehow he isn't ready to address why he would want it. She knows bits and pieces, but not everything. Only Finch knows everything.

"Come on, Harold, we'll pick one up for you on this side of the hole in the world," he decides.

Harold fixes John with a dubious glare, though it isn't long-lasting. Whether or not the tea is as good as what he's become accustomed to in Darrow is far from being his primary concern, and he realized John is perfectly aware of that but they are rather glossing over the much bigger issue. It's entirely possible that breach between this Darrow and the other is dangerous, even if it doesn't appear to be so right now. Still, if John had found something, if he had important news to deliver, Harold is certain he would have heard about it already it.

"I suppose a cup of tea would be agreeable," he admits, glancing at John's cup and then noticing the newspaper. "You've been keeping up, haven't you? Did you notice there's barely been any mention at all of the breach in the papers? It's been there for over two weeks and nobody seems to be very concerned. It may not be Samaritan, but I do find it somewhat suspicious."

There are a great number of strange things about Darrow, Harold has found, and he does wish they had the Machine here to perhaps help them better understand how things work here. The Machine might have led them to whoever is behind all the inner-workings of the city, whoever knows far more about each of them than Harold is comfortable with, but they're at a loss for now. It's only made him all the more certain, however, that he and John need to be more proactive, before they're caught up in something they can't escape this time.

"This is from over there," he answers, flipping the paper up for a moment before he lets it settle by his side again. Once they're sitting, he'll let Finch read the article about his death, but for now he doesn't want to address it. Not until they're comfortable, not until they have a moment of peace, even if he knows it won't last. It's something they don't get much of, peace, but John takes it where he can find it and he thinks Finch should, too. Especially here, especially where things are so uncertain, and while Finch seems generally convinced there's no sign of Samaritan here -- and while John is inclined to agree -- that doesn't mean they've found any answers at all.

Not about this place, not about the breach. Not about what's happening at home.

"It isn't that no one is talking about it," he says thoughtfully, guiding them in the direction of the place he goes most frequently to pick up Harold's tea. "It's just the media that's avoiding it. Everyone else, though... everyone is talking about it. No one seems to have any answers."

Harold would have snatched the paper out of John's eyes out of sheer curiosity if he thought he could be quick enough, but he'll settle for taking a look at it later. It would be interesting, he thinks, to see what's considered newsworthy in this other Darrow, to see how different things are or possibly just aren't. At the very least, there doesn't appear to be doubles of them finding success with the Machine, otherwise he would have heard about it by now and whether that means they're dead or in hiding or simply don't exist at all, Harold isn't sure he wants to know.

That's false, of course, he does want to know. He doesn't like to be in the dark about things that concern him, and he doesn't think John is hiding anything but at the same time, Harold is more frustrated over his own lack of fortitude to walk through that breach himself. If he can't be certain of anything in this Darrow, he'd like to at least know for sure the same can be said about the other.

"There don't seem to be answers about much of anything in this place," Harold says with a small, wry smile. "I'm beginning to grow concerned, John, that our priorities have shifted from keeping out of sight of an AI to trying to understand an alternate reality of this world that seems like it shouldn't exist in the first place. I haven't decided yet whether or not I think we've pulled the shorter straw."

"At least the alternate reality doesn't seem to be trying to kill us," John offers as he reaches past Finch and pulls open the door of the small tea shop he'd found not long after his arrival. For five straight days he'd camped out nearby, watching and waiting to see if Finch might show up, but in the end he'd given up and moved on.

Not before discovering what sort of tea they served, of course, making note of it as a place to bring Finch should he ever end up in Darrow. And here they are.

"Sit down. I'll let you read the paper, but before you do, I have to tell you about one of the articles," John says. He wants Finch to see it, but he doesn't want him to be surprised by it. That would serve no purpose and would only be cruel and while John knows he isn't the best man, he also has absolutely no desire to be cruel to Finch, of all people.

"You're being awfully cryptic, John," Harold says, raising a brow at his friend over the rims of his glasses, though he does take a seat at a nearby table. "That used to be my job."

Their partnership has grown so much since the time they'd first met, it's shaped itself into the kind of friendship Harold never thought he'd have again because the thought of letting people get close to him had seemed impossible. John may still not know all there is to know about him, but he's closer than anyone in a long time. That they're stuck here in Darrow together really only seems right at this point, and Harold has to admit it's moderately better than being on the run all the time.

Then again, he's been running for second long that it'd become instinct so it's become more difficult now to adjust to the idea that they're free of Samaritan. Little by little, though, it's get easier to believe. It's getting easier to remember how to take a breath without worrying it might be his last.

"Learned from the best," John answers with a small twitch of a smile before he goes to order Finch's tea and another coffee for himself. He hasn't finished the other, but he doesn't feel right drinking coffee from somewhere else in a place that sells their own.

By the time he makes it back to the table, he hasn't actually decided how he's going to approach the topic, but he sits down and places the newspaper on the table and then folds his hands over it. Really the only way to go about it is to be honest, to tell Finch exactly what he's about to see and then let him read it. It's only that John doesn't want him to think he's trying to hurt him, that he wants that sort of reaction when all he really wants is to make Finch understand how different -- and how much better -- his life is for having met him.

"It's not a current paper, it's a few weeks old," he explains. "The city over there seems to be a mirror of this one in a lot of ways, including the people. There's an article about me in here, Harold, and it's not a happy one."

Harold merely hums his thanks when John returns with the tea, taking the cup between his hands and studying his friend carefully as he waits to let his drink cool down before taking a first sip. He tries not to react at what John has to say about a particular article in the paper, though he's not sure he succeeds as well as he'd like to think.

At a certain point, Harold had grown rather incapable of hiding his concern for this man, no matter how many times he might have watched John somehow slip just between the cracks of death's door. Worrying had become synonymous with sending John after another number, and Harold doesn't regret saving all the people they have but that hadn't made it any easier to acknowledge that John might not come back one day. He'd been terrified he'd never see his friend again after Detective Carter's death, that John's grief truly would overcome him; but they'd still had a purpose then.

That's something they need to find again, here in Darrow, but that's a matter to discuss later. Right now, Harold silently opens the paper, scanning the pages until he spots what he's looking for.

The man in the photo accompanying the article is unmistakably John. He reads the words 'homeless man found' and 'beach' and 'John Reese' before he's already pushing the paper away, refusing to make eye contact as he takes a drink of tea. If it burns, he doesn't notice. Doesn't care. It stings, oddly, having seen the article, there's a sense of guilt Harold knows isn't rational but feels all the same. He'd been able to help John in New York, give him a reason to do more, to help people. Either there hadn't been a Harold Finch in this other Darrow, or that Harold Finch is not a man worth knowing.

Either way, there's a John Reese who's dead.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I'm don't quite know what to say," Harold finally admits. "Saying 'I'm sorry' doesn't seem quite right but neither does anything else. Are you alright, knowing this? I can't imagine it's especially easy reading something like this about yourself, even if it is about a different version of you."

"I'm fine," John answers and he isn't even stretching the truth. Without Finch, he knows where he would be, he's known it for a long time, he doesn't have the capacity to lie to himself about that. Before Finch, he had been drinking himself to death, knowing full well what he was doing every moment, knowing where each drink would lead. There was death waiting for him at the bottom of a bottle, he just hadn't been sure which one. It's only luck Finch found him before that bottle did.

And he's accepted that. Carter had been right, John isn't a very good liar, not even to himself. Not about the things that matter. He's a spy, and he's a good one, but when his feelings come into play, his real feelings, he's at a loss.

"Karen found it. Karen Page. She'd said you and she met already," he says, choosing his words carefully. This is important, too, Harold needs to know what she knows, he needs to be kept in the loop entirely, because if someone has been told any of their secrets, even if they're only John's, Harold has every right to know as well, because so many of their secrets are intertwined. "I told her what I could without revealing anything about you. She knows I was CIA, she knows about Jessica and she knows that you... that you saved me."

It's as simple as that in the end. Finch and everything he has done is what saved him.

Harold barely reacts at the mention of Miss Page's name, even if it does surprise him a bit to hear John's told her as much as he has. It doesn't bother him, that he and John had already known each other was bound to make itself obvious one way or another, but he does lift a brow at knowing what John had said about him. He doesn't think of it in those terms, has never felt like John owes him for removing him from destitution and a certain path to complete self-destruction. There are selfish reasons for recruiting John, Harold had needed someone after things had gone so poorly with Dillinger, and John had been the best option.

No, he thinks. No, John had been the only option because if anything, Harold had owed him for not saving Jessica when he'd had the chance. For leaving Jessica behind as an Irrelevant, along with Nathan and all the others Harold had failed to protect.

"She lives across the hall from me," Harold says, folding the paper back over the article about John. It pains him to see it, even with his friend sitting right in front of him. "I suppose we would've been found out eventually, it only makes sense to tell her. Am I still Whistler or should I be apologizing for giving her a false name the next time I see her?"

His name, no matter the variation, doesn't mean much in Darrow, at least not to his knowledge. Still, he has no issues with keeping up his alias, if only to practice the utmost caution after so many years of having to hide himself away. If Miss Page is aware of Harold Finch, however, it'd only be the polite thing to truly introduce himself as such.

"No, I gave her your cover name," John answers. "And she doesn't know details about your involvement, she doesn't know about the Machine or what it is you've done for me. She only knows I was close to death and the reason..." He pauses for a moment, then reaches out and presses his finger against the paper. "The reason I didn't end up like this John Reese is because you were there."

It still doesn't sound right. It doesn't encompass what he really wants to say to Finch, it doesn't capture the extent to which he knows Finch has helped him, but John has never been known for his eloquence and it's as good as he has to offer.

"She knows about Jessica," he says. "She knows I was CIA and she knows you were there to remind me I could still do something good, but none of the details as to how you managed that. I didn't want to give away too much without talking to you and I don't want to put her in any danger." There's been no sign of Samaritan and he doesn't know if they're truly safe, but he isn't willing to take that risk. Not with one of the few people he's come to think of as a friend here in Darrow. There aren't many people he might be able to trust and maybe he owes her better than this, but he just can't risk it. He's risked too many people already.

Harold takes another couple sips of tea to buy himself time, to allow himself the extra few seconds to think about what this might mean, what this could lead to for them. They'd been able to trust very few people in New York and historically, their relationships with those people had started rather horribly. It's different with Miss Page, Harold knows what she'd done for John upon his arrival and for that alone, he does feel the need to thank her. She seems the type to insist thanks isn't needed, or so he'd gathered from the one meeting they've had, but it makes for a good first impression.

She's a kind woman, one with grace and poise. John could do far worse than to trust her. Lean on her.

"Whatever information you decide to entrust her with," Harold says, setting his cup down and meeting John's eyes, "I'll be fine with. I trust you, John, you know that. We've been running for a long time, we both have, longer than we've even known each other. I don't think that instinct will stop anytime soon but eventually, we may have to come to accept that there's nothing to run from anymore."

He glances toward the register; rather, he looks past it, at the surveillance camera positioned to face the cash register. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "We'll wonder until we know for sure, and we may never know for sure. What I do know is that we can't let it hold us back. We need a new purpose now, one that doesn't have us relying on The Machine to help people." He looks back at John, straightening up in his chair as best he can. "We can still help people, but I think we both know we'll need help, too."

Finch is right about that, there's no doubt. John has done everything he had to figure out what threat Darrow might pose, he's broken into apartments surrounding his and Finch's -- carefully, always carefully, never with the intent of taking anything or disturbing someone's belongings -- he's looked for bugs and surveillance equipment. He's searched every possible place for any sign of Samaritan or its agents, he's looked for the Machine, for any sign such a thing exists in this city and he's found nothing, but Finch is right. They'll wonder until they know for sure and that may never happen.

But he'll never stop wondering. He'll never stop doing what he can to keep the people who are important to him safe. He'll never stop keeping Finch safe.

It's heartening to hear Finch put so much trust in him, though he does know it. Their relationship isn't one of employer and employee any longer. It hasn't been for a very long time, they've been friends, equals, and John knows how lucky he is in that regard. His eyebrows lift at what Finch says, though, and he looks across the table at him, a small smile lifting one corner of his mouth curiously.

"So what are you saying, Finch?" he asks. "Have you put out a help wanted ad?"

Harold merely blinks in response, lips pressed together as he waits a few beats for John to stop being so amused by himself, then gives a slight shake of his head. "Things have changed but not that much," he says dryly. "No, I was thinking I might go looking for people to recruit."

It's a bit risky, considering he hardly has a plan in the first place but then, approaching John had been risky, too. Darrow isn't a crime-free city, though it may seem much tamer than what they'd dealt with in New York. Perhaps there isn't an all-knowing A.I. after them but there are still people who hurt others, innocents who need help. Leaving it all to the police isn't an option, not if there's a possibility they can do more.

"There's a criminal presence here, John," he says, lowering his voice. "There's violence and corruption, just like anywhere else, but the city is such a bizarre place that it all seems to take a backseat. At least, whoever's in charge of the media isn't keen on putting it in the headlines. I don't know much, not yet, but I can do more if we have the help. We need eyes and ears, John, and you know just as well as I do that we'll only spread ourselves thin if we go at it alone, especially without the Machine's help."

Harold leans back in his chair, sighing. "I've heard talk of something like a fight club. People go there to... oh, I don't know, take out their frustrations on each other, I suppose. I thought I might go. Observe."

John's mouth tightens briefly into something that's almost a frown, but then he takes a sip of his coffee and and considers what Finch is saying to him. A big part of him wants to offer to go with him, but he knows that isn't the best course of action for a few reasons. The fight clubs won't be dangerous, not for someone who makes it clear they're not planning on fighting. While John hasn't attended any in Darrow, he'd been to a few in New York, and they follow a strict and honourable code in his experience. No one will touch Finch, he's sure of that.

And if Finch does indeed find someone, it would be best for him to approach them on his own. When John looms behind him, he knows what he looks like, a bodyguard, a gun for hire, someone there to make sure Finch doesn't get hurt, which might be exactly what he is to some extent, but it diminishes both their abilities. It makes them look like common criminals and John likes to think, given what they do, they're highly elevated criminals. Not at all common.

"That's a good idea," he says. "I've met a few people who might be helpful in their own way, too. I can give you their names and you can see what you come up with on them."

Had Harold been anyone else, he may not have caught the subtle shifts in John's expressions, nor would he already have a list of reasons why John most certainly shouldn't join him on his field trip to the fight club. He'd expected a bit of pushback, in all honesty, John has made it very clear many times that it displeases him when Harold walks into dangerous situations on his own, but this is hardly dangerous.

Though the fight club may be violent in its nature, Harold has heard enough about it to understand that it's controlled. There are always unpredictable people who could show up, wild cards who might cause trouble for others, but Harold isn't worried about them when there are so many who could easily subdue them. He's really more surprised that John doesn't say anything about wanting to come along at all, though Harold is also admittedly relieved. He knows he looks harmless, between his size and his limp, and that'll make it much easier to approach potential recruits.

"I'm working on procuring the appropriate equipment in order to make our jobs a bit easier," Harold says. "I've already found a few empty warehouses we might consider using to our advantage. They're even dirtier than the subway was, if that's even possible, but it's a start. In the meantime, I do wonder if you think Miss Page might be someone we should consider inviting into this. I'd understand if you'd rather leave well enough alone."

He doesn't like the idea of bringing Karen into anything they do, but he knows that reaction is unfair to the both of them. Though he might not be particularly inclined to say it to anyone, John likes Karen. He knows better than to let any feelings he might have for her evolve into anything serious, because, as he'd told Iris, men like him can't give someone a proper life. He can't give her what he's sure most people want, what even he still wants now and then.

She's smart, though, and from what he gathers so far, damn good at unearthing information, so he nods slowly.

"I think she'd be a good asset," he says. "And I met a woman named Peggy Carter, I have a feeling she'd be invaluable. She's about as tight lipped as we are, but she's been through a war herself and is very... proactive."

Perhaps he shouldn't have brought it up, Harold thinks. It still pains him, thinking of Detective Carter's death, and to think of Sameen, even of Grace, though she hadn't been involved in quite the same way. Their missions, the things they'd set out to do, they'd been dangerous. Harold had believed from the start that sooner than later, death would find them both, and he's been at peace with that for a very long time.

They have a choice now, to continue helping people where they can or to stop completely, to turn away from that kind of life and pursue quite ones; but neither of them are going to remain content doing that. Neither of them would find satisfaction or fulfillment, pretending to be the sort of people they aren't and never could be. Bringing in others, though, that's a more sensitive matter. Harold knows Miss Page has become important to John, and he would've balked had John suggested bringing Grace into their operation; but like John has said, Karen might be a good asset and though Harold doesn't know her very well yet, he's inclined to agree. She's a sharp woman, curious, one could be of great help and that's what they need.

"That's a start," Harold says. "Perhaps we should find a time to meet with Miss Carter together. If she's the reticent type, she may respond better to a familiar face rather than mine alone. As for Miss Page... John, we can keep her in the dark, if that's what you want. It's just that we've both been running for so long, I wonder if it's time you find someone who can run with you in a way that I can't." He gives his friend a small, meaningful smile. "I won't be around forever, you know."

He will be if John has anything to do with it. Not forever, that isn't possible, but if he has his way, Finch will die old and content, he'll pass away peacefully in his sleep or surrounded by people who care about him. He'll do whatever he can to make that happen, put himself between Finch and whatever danger might come their way over and over again until there's some sort of peace to be had.

None of those words formulate into anything beyond the simplest thoughts, however, but he wonders if Finch can't read it in his eyes. If he can't see exactly what John will be willing to do in order to make certain he doesn't end up a casualty of some terrible war.

Instead he finds himself smiling faintly, looking at Finch with amusement. "Are you trying to find me a date, Harold?"

It's easy to make a joke, but the truth is it does frighten him a little. Not being alone, he's long since grown used to that, has accepted years ago he wasn't meant to have a normal like, but the thought of putting her in danger, especially in such a direct manner, it makes him nervous.

John doesn't address what time Harold has left in his life, and Harold hadn't expected him to, not really. Neither of them are the especially chatty sort, but they've worked together long enough that they've grown to learn each other's tells. Perhaps they don't know all of each other's secrets but they don't need to, they don't need to be aware of every aspect of each other's lives to call themselves close. John doesn't have to say he'd do anything to keep Harold safe for him to know it; and Harold doesn't have to say he'd rather John not to go to any such extremes.

They've kept each other safe all these years, in any case. Harold is doubtless that they'll be able to continue the trend.

He does, however, have to resist the urge to roll his eyes at John's question. "As much as I do appreciate evenings spent with you and Bear, I think it's also safe to say that you do need other friends," he counters. "Maybe even a hobby that doesn't involve quietly breaking into our neighbor's homes."

"I have friends," John protests. "I was given a moon cake by one of them."

He'd felt oddly proud of that, knowing he'd made enough of an impression on Jessica that she'd felt inclined to include him in a celebration of her holiday and that she'd remembered him.

"And I haven't broken into anyone's apartment in weeks."

He's protesting, but he knows what Finch is saying to him and John isn't entirely certain he disagrees. It would be safer to disagree, safer for himself and definitely safer for Karen, because he thinks of Jessica and of Carter and he can't pretend as if he didn't have a part in their deaths. He should have done a better job of protecting them. He should have been there for Jessica and he never should have asked Carter to be involved in their world.

It's nice, however, being able to tell someone the truth and he knows Karen would protest his decision not to tell her in order to protect her.

"We should probably tell her," he agrees on a faint sigh.

"And you didn't share?" Harold accuses, though his unmoved expression speaks volumes more than his tone.

It does please him to hear it, though. There had been plenty of people willing to show their gratitude after John had helped them in New York but that isn't the same as having friends. Being appreciated isn't the same as being liked. John is a likable fellow, Harold thinks, he's kind even if he thinks he's funnier than he is, and at the strangest times. It doesn't come as a surprise that given the chance, John is perfectly capable of making friends. That won't stop Harold from encouraging it to happen all the more.

"I'd offer to do it myself, but I imagine you'd want to be there," Harold says. "I think I know a good place we could do that. We could meet with Miss Carter there, too. There are a row of old warehouses I found, all them empty. From what I could tell, there's nobody patrolling any of them. We could set up shop in one of them, make it our new headquarters, of sorts. It'd be much more spacious than the subway, at least."

John nods and he's listening to everything Finch is telling him, though he's quiet for a moment as he considers everything this might mean. There may not be a Machine in Darrow, there may not be any way -- currently, anyhow -- to create a list of numbers, but what they're talking about is still going back into a dangerous life. It isn't for himself he hesitates, but for Finch.

He won't ever have a normal life and he knows it, but Finch still has that chance. It's doubtful he'll take it, not without Grace here in Darrow, too, but John has to at least give him the option. It has to be said aloud.

"This is what you want to do." It's a statement more than a question. "My commitment to any plan you make is complete, Harold, you know that, but I think we should be sure this is really the path you want to take again." He has a chance here for something else. John doesn't say that part, leaves it unspoken, but he thinks they both know what he isn't saying.

It's a fair question, though Harold would rather not entertain it.

Even in a completely different city, a different world, there's no hope for him when it comes to having a normal life. Maybe he would have liked to think so once; if asked a couple years ago, he may even have yearned for it. He doesn't have to think long on it to know that isn't the case now. It's not just that Grace isn't here or that he doesn't have a single facet of his life prior to his supposed to death with him in Darrow. No, it's not just that.

"It's the path I've been taking for four years, John," Harold answers, his gaze and his tone both steady. "It's a choice I made, even before I met you, to do good with what I can. To help people the way I should have, before my first chance slipped through my fingers and I lost everything. I won't make that mistake again. This is my path, the only path I know anymore."

He's not getting any younger. John may wish him a better life, but Harold doesn't wish it for himself. This is what he's meant to do, this is what will fulfill him. He couldn't be with Grace for very long then, and he can't be with her now, that's a pattern that he suspects can only ever be repeated, even if he were lucky enough to find love like that again. It's better this way. It's better to embrace this life because even though it's brought so much suffering, it's also done so much to save those who can make the most of their second chances.

"But you already knew all that," Harold continues, knowing it must be true. "I do appreciate you making sure, though."

It might not be an answer he particularly likes hearing, but it's the one he expected, and he appreciates that Finch has bothered with actually stating it instead of giving John one of his unimpressed looks and then simply moving on with the conversation. If this is what they're going to do, he thinks it's best to begin like this, with honesty, and he nods, his appreciation clear in his expression.

He wishes, of course, that it could have been a different answers. He wishes he could find some way to give Grace back to him, find some way for them to be happy together, but he knows he can't. As long as Samaritan is out there, Grace is in danger simply by having loved Harold. It isn't fair, but John knows complaining about the unfairness of it all will never change it.

"So you'll see if you can dig up anything on Peggy Carter and if she comes back looking as good as I think she might, we'll talk to her," he proposes. "In the meantime, I'll talk to Karen. Tell her... tell her as much as I can."

He can't tell her everything. There are things about Jessica, about Carter that he just can't share. Things he's never even said to Finch, although he's sure Finch can understand them just by looking at him.

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