[ This is... such a mild question. Harold is unaccountably relieved -- something he can answer without giving too much away. And it seems like it bodes well for John to be moving off of the previous line of questioning, doesn't it? ]
French toast. What's yours?
[ One of the things Harold can't get through stalking: personal preferences. ]
[ Something Harold doesn't know, or is he pretending not to know? John thinks he probably doesn't know that. Apart from giving vague answers it doesn't seem like Harold has intentionally mislead or lied to him. Also, Harold has a sweet tooth. ]
[ Bad ideas run through his head as possible answers: surveillance. Birds. Computers. Watching you.
Hesitantly and cautiously, he types back, ] I like collecting first editions.
[ Harold starts to wonder why he's asking. Shouldn't he be upset that Harold knows so much about him, has refused to act like a normal person and just introduce himself? Where is this going? It makes sense he'd be interested in his soulmate in a hypothetical way, but in the real, concrete sense Harold struggles with the idea that anyone is interested in him. ]
I really didn't intend to make you aware of me. I don't want to disrupt your life.
[ John stares at that text and isn't quite sure how to respond. What life? He doesn't really have one. He thought the CIA was the way forward and now he suddenly has nothing. The only thing he does have are these questions with Harold. Suddenly they feel like a lifeline.
There's someone out there who cares enough about him to go to all this effort. ]
Lucky for you I have nothing to disrupt anymore. Where are you from?
[ That's cute. Harold thinks he can get out of questions. ]
I'm not. Do you know where I'm from?
[ The questions aren't going to stop. If he thinks about Harold he might be able to stop thinking about the call he's going to have to make, how he's going to have to back out. He can't not, not after reading the file that's sitting on his table. ]
Of course. Yes. You should really look at those other offers you've been getting; I went to quite a bit of trouble to find ones I thought would suit your skills and interests.
[ Harold doesn't think he can get out of questions entirely but he certainly isn't going to answer anything that would make it possible for John to track him down. It's not safe for anyone to know him -- and it's too much a habit by now to break so easily. ]
You know where I'm from but I don't get to know where you're from?
[ Suddenly the steady stream of offers makes sense. Harold trying to lure him away from the CIA. Trying to subtly influence his life without "making him aware". Harold really must have extensive connections given the breadth of positions that came his way.
He has to admit that some of them were a little tempting; he almost took the park ranger one (the idea of being immersed in nature was appealing) and the culinary scholarship was intriguing (he liked cooking growing up and the fast pace of a restaurant kitchen was enticing). The defense contractor ones didn't get much consideration, he'd rather just be doing government work if he stays there, though now he's not so sure about that. At the same time, he looks around his tiny shoebox of an apartment and can't picture returning to civilian life.
[ He's not expecting that at all and it hits like a blow. Is John that desperate? That lost? Harold has to reject him here for practical reasons, but this isn't a practical question. It's a plea for help of some kind, and he can read that plain as day.
There's a long pause before he answers, and he tries to soften the refusal with a personal admission, something far beyond anything he's offered so far. ]
I don't have anyone that works for me, not really. I live a highly solitary life. I know I shouldn't have been following you so closely, that it's an intrusion, but knowing you were out there has always brought me great comfort.
[ Well, he should have expected to get turned down. He did, in fact, expect to get turned down. He at least gets a little more information about Harold in exchange. ]
Do you work with computers? I don't know much about them.
[ He's had dreams of talking to a computer. Before he didn't know what to make of them, he has absolutely nothing to do with computers, he frankly isn't all that good with technology, but now he thinks they're Harold's dreams. But John realizes immediately that he won't get a substantial reply just from that so he quickly sends a follow up text. ]
Sometimes I have dreams about talking to a computer.
[ This confirms for Harold that John is his soulmate, beyond a shadow of a doubt. A statistically high probability isn't the same thing as total certainty, and he hadn't realized how different it would feel to have that, to go from a hypothetical soulmate he watches from a distance to a real, live, confirmed one that is texting him. Saying he has dreams about talking to a computer.
Harold's heart swells with emotion, a complex kind of pain layered with joy. He can't tell him about the Machine, of course not, but he can say something-- ]
Yes. I'm devising a program that can take voice commands and respond appropriately. So you could, for instance, ask for directions out loud and have them read off to you verbally.
Would you let me send you a new phone so we can speak more securely?
[ That would be wise if this conversation is going to continue, and abruptly Harold feels like it must. Like he no longer has an option of retreating into his hideaway and pretending he doesn't exist. ]
[ That would explain why Harold has dreams about talking to a computer. He thinks that might not be all of it, not the whole story, but it's hard to piece dreams together into something more cohesive. It feels like to him there is just one computer, a special one. He doesn't know why. Dream logic, maybe.
Still, it's nice that Harold is invested in talking with him enough to send him a special phone. John doesn't doubt it will be special, given that Harold seems to be good with technology and has "considerable resources". ]
[ It gives him a pang of guilt to lie to his soulmate, but Harold is all too aware of how necessary it is for his protection. The Machine is such a huge part of his life for him to cut off from him, but at the same time, it's nice to have a respite, some piece that isn't fully consumed by the Machine. ]
No, it's all right, let's just be careful. You don't mind that I've been watching over you?
[ That's a euphemistic way to put it, but Harold is still afraid of rejection, completely amazed that John seems to be accepting his intrusions without fanfare. ]
[ Does he mind? It's a little creepy, he can't lie, but at the same time... Harold has been very distant. John thinks he never would have known if not for the CIA. He thinks about the job offers that came his way. Were they Harold's way of trying to protect him? He thinks so.
This reply is a bit slower than some of his other ones, but it arrives all the same. ]
It's a little weird. I don't like that I don't know anything about you but you know a lot about me. But I don't regret you sending me these messages.
[ This feels honest; aware of the transgression and not excusing it, but allowing it. Harold is relieved. It would be natural to respond with an offer to fill in those gaps, but he... he can't. Or rather, he won't.
He can, though, offer an explanation. ]
I know. I tried not to contact you because I know there isn't much I can offer. But I couldn't stand to see you taken advantage of that way.
[ That's... nice. John is frankly a little surprised there's anyone out there who cares for him that much, not since his mother died, not since he left Jessica. He supposes Harold must not think of him as a stranger, the way he thinks of Harold. ]
[ This open plaintive question feels like it makes his heart spasm. That's a biological impossibility, but nonetheless Harold desperately wants to share something. A few messages come through in succession with pauses in between them. ]
I like eating ice cream no matter how cold out it is.
I would find it extremely pleasing to buy you clothes.
I always knew I had a soulmate. I could feel it. I spent many years looking for you, John.
[ John is typing out something in reply to the first message when a second one comes through that makes him pause, and then a third one. After the fourth he waits for a little while and when no more come through he deletes what he already had written and replies to them all at once. ]
You can call me John. What kind of clothes? What kind of ice cream?
[ It's a bit of a relief to have something more he knows about Harold. He expected to be turned down and wasn't convinced Harold wanted to actually talk to him at all, so having a succession of messages with real content is... relieving. He feels a little less alone. ]
[ That was so embarrassing of him. Harold stares down at his previous messages in mortification and then John's measured response. Maybe he should keep himself to answering what's asked and no more. ]
Ideally I'd like to buy you suits but I'd need your measurements taken professionally to do it justice. I can restrain myself to clothes you might actually wear.
[ This is possibly the most personal thing he's ever told someone. This is not better. He's cringing at his own words, so he finishes with a succinct: ]
[ Suits? Is Harold a suits guy? John has worn some suits in his time, but just the cheapish stuff you can get that doesn't fit very well, especially not someone who works out the way he does. He takes his fitness seriously. But he thinks Harold is talking about expensive suits. He starts typing and deleting this next message multiple times before staring at his phone for too long and eventually settles on: ]
Not sure where I'd wear a suit. I like mint chip.
[ Where would he wear a suit? It's not like he has a job that requires one anymore. What is he going to do now? ]
[ Where do you wear a suit? As far as Harold's concerned, everywhere.
He immediately wants to plan an extravagant outing for John as an excuse to buy him and then see him in a suit, which is an unwise impulse all around. Speaking on it with no intention of follow-through would be cruel. Doesn't mean he can't daydream, though... ]
Not planning to interview for any of the offers that came in?
[ Harold does want to know how he did on those. He really did put considerable time and thought into it. ]
[ Is he? He supposes he probably should take a more careful look at those. He hasn't really had a job interview in ages, do you wear suits to those? The jobs he had before the Army were just simple things that didn't require something so nice as a suit, and anything since has just been in his uniform. He was going to buy one for the CIA, but didn't quite get that far in the end. ]
I have to look at them again. Do you have any recommendations? I don't think I could do an office job.
[ If Harold knows so much then it's worth at least asking his opinion. ]
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What's your favorite food?
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French toast. What's yours?
[ One of the things Harold can't get through stalking: personal preferences. ]
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Grilled salmon. What's one of your hobbies?
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Hesitantly and cautiously, he types back, ] I like collecting first editions.
[ Harold starts to wonder why he's asking. Shouldn't he be upset that Harold knows so much about him, has refused to act like a normal person and just introduce himself? Where is this going? It makes sense he'd be interested in his soulmate in a hypothetical way, but in the real, concrete sense Harold struggles with the idea that anyone is interested in him. ]
I really didn't intend to make you aware of me. I don't want to disrupt your life.
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There's someone out there who cares enough about him to go to all this effort. ]
Lucky for you I have nothing to disrupt anymore. Where are you from?
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I'm really a very private person, [ he prevaricates. ] Should I take that to mean you're not joining the CIA?
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I'm not. Do you know where I'm from?
[ The questions aren't going to stop. If he thinks about Harold he might be able to stop thinking about the call he's going to have to make, how he's going to have to back out. He can't not, not after reading the file that's sitting on his table. ]
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[ Harold doesn't think he can get out of questions entirely but he certainly isn't going to answer anything that would make it possible for John to track him down. It's not safe for anyone to know him -- and it's too much a habit by now to break so easily. ]
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[ Suddenly the steady stream of offers makes sense. Harold trying to lure him away from the CIA. Trying to subtly influence his life without "making him aware". Harold really must have extensive connections given the breadth of positions that came his way.
He has to admit that some of them were a little tempting; he almost took the park ranger one (the idea of being immersed in nature was appealing) and the culinary scholarship was intriguing (he liked cooking growing up and the fast pace of a restaurant kitchen was enticing). The defense contractor ones didn't get much consideration, he'd rather just be doing government work if he stays there, though now he's not so sure about that. At the same time, he looks around his tiny shoebox of an apartment and can't picture returning to civilian life.
Questions with Harold are clearly the answer. ]
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[ It's a sincere apology but not something he's willing to budge on. ]
I don't make for a very good soulmate, I'm afraid.
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I could work for you.
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There's a long pause before he answers, and he tries to soften the refusal with a personal admission, something far beyond anything he's offered so far. ]
I don't have anyone that works for me, not really. I live a highly solitary life. I know I shouldn't have been following you so closely, that it's an intrusion, but knowing you were out there has always brought me great comfort.
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Do you work with computers? I don't know much about them.
[ He's had dreams of talking to a computer. Before he didn't know what to make of them, he has absolutely nothing to do with computers, he frankly isn't all that good with technology, but now he thinks they're Harold's dreams. But John realizes immediately that he won't get a substantial reply just from that so he quickly sends a follow up text. ]
Sometimes I have dreams about talking to a computer.
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Harold's heart swells with emotion, a complex kind of pain layered with joy. He can't tell him about the Machine, of course not, but he can say something-- ]
Yes. I'm devising a program that can take voice commands and respond appropriately. So you could, for instance, ask for directions out loud and have them read off to you verbally.
Would you let me send you a new phone so we can speak more securely?
[ That would be wise if this conversation is going to continue, and abruptly Harold feels like it must. Like he no longer has an option of retreating into his hideaway and pretending he doesn't exist. ]
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Still, it's nice that Harold is invested in talking with him enough to send him a special phone. John doesn't doubt it will be special, given that Harold seems to be good with technology and has "considerable resources". ]
Sure. Should I stop talking to you now?
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No, it's all right, let's just be careful. You don't mind that I've been watching over you?
[ That's a euphemistic way to put it, but Harold is still afraid of rejection, completely amazed that John seems to be accepting his intrusions without fanfare. ]
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This reply is a bit slower than some of his other ones, but it arrives all the same. ]
It's a little weird. I don't like that I don't know anything about you but you know a lot about me. But I don't regret you sending me these messages.
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He can, though, offer an explanation. ]
I know. I tried not to contact you because I know there isn't much I can offer. But I couldn't stand to see you taken advantage of that way.
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Thanks. Is there anything I can know about you?
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I like eating ice cream no matter how cold out it is.
I would find it extremely pleasing to buy you clothes.
I always knew I had a soulmate. I could feel it. I spent many years looking for you, John.
I'm sorry. May I call you John?
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You can call me John. What kind of clothes? What kind of ice cream?
[ It's a bit of a relief to have something more he knows about Harold. He expected to be turned down and wasn't convinced Harold wanted to actually talk to him at all, so having a succession of messages with real content is... relieving. He feels a little less alone. ]
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Ideally I'd like to buy you suits but I'd need your measurements taken professionally to do it justice. I can restrain myself to clothes you might actually wear.
[ This is possibly the most personal thing he's ever told someone. This is not better. He's cringing at his own words, so he finishes with a succinct: ]
Vanilla soft serve.
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Not sure where I'd wear a suit. I like mint chip.
[ Where would he wear a suit? It's not like he has a job that requires one anymore. What is he going to do now? ]
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He immediately wants to plan an extravagant outing for John as an excuse to buy him and then see him in a suit, which is an unwise impulse all around. Speaking on it with no intention of follow-through would be cruel. Doesn't mean he can't daydream, though... ]
Not planning to interview for any of the offers that came in?
[ Harold does want to know how he did on those. He really did put considerable time and thought into it. ]
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I have to look at them again. Do you have any recommendations? I don't think I could do an office job.
[ If Harold knows so much then it's worth at least asking his opinion. ]
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