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The Machine versus the Apocalypse

Summary:

The Machine sees a big problem coming and wants to protect the Admin.

Notes:

I thought I would change my introductory note, as anyone who is reading this knows it is a WIP. As it also concerns multiple fandoms and characters, I thought I would let people know when people appear and if they are main or background characters.

Chapter 1: Three months, twenty two days and sixteen hours: John Reese/Harold Finch.
Chapter 2: The Team is Summoned: John/Rodney (Atlantis); Jack/Daniel, General Hammond: (SG-1)
James/Q (Post Skyfall); Marta Shearing/Aaron Cross (Bourne Legacy)
Chapter 3: Enter the Virus: No new fandoms are introduced but all the above are in this chapter.
Chapter 4: Coming to Terms focuses on SG-1, Atlantis, and the Library where John/Harold, James/Q, Marta/Aaron are all living.
Chapter 5: Immunity: John/Rodney, Harold/Reese and Bear!, James/Q. Original characters or characters from Person of Interest begin to show up.
Chapter 6: John and Harold: Like the title says. LOL
Chapter 7: Hubris: George Hammond, Jack, Teal'c, other characters from Bourne Legacy; a little of the Library
Chapter 8: Unexpected Visitors: The Library folks, George Hammond; Don and Charlie Eppes, Larry Fleinhart; Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, John Watson.
Chapter 9: Taking Measures: Hammond, Mycroft, Numb3rs folks, special guest stars!, John and Rodney
Chapter 10 part 1: Guns, Puppies, and Root: Root appears as well as Hersh. Mostly Harold/Reese, James/Q, Marta/Aaron
Chapter 11 part 2: Guns, Puppies, and Root: same
Chapter 12: Last interlude: James/Q, John/Rodney; Jack/Daniel; brief Mycroft
Chapter 13: Pull of the Moon: Teen wolf joins in; Harold/Reese; Dr. Strange and Wong, brief mention of Tony Stark. No teen wolf pairings at this time, and I am not a big Scott McCall fan.
Chapter 14: Truth Will out. No new fandoms. Politics.

 I am also a firm believer in having fun in my sandbox. So happy comments, nicely worded constructive comments about continuity gaps and typos are welcome to come play in my sandbox. Unfriendly comments won't be welcome, and I'll just delete your comment so don't waste your time. Be an adult and go read something else you will enjoy!!!

Meanwhile, here's the rundown on the timing for each of the shows:
Person of Interest: A few months after the second season. Atlantis: End of the show, with Atlantis still on Earth. The Bourne Legacy: after the movie is over. Skyfall: Several months after the movie is over. Stargate: Jack is the General over SGC, SG-1 is still a three-person team, Hammond is head of Homeworld Security. Teen Wolf, end of season 2. Sherlock, BBC, end of season 1. Now, if you've never watched The Bourne Legacy, why not? Go watch it immediately, it's wonderful. But, in case that didn't move you to watch it, the basic point is that they were mucking about with genetics. And for the purposes of this story, they went a step too far. Aaron is played by Jeremy Renner, and Marta by Rachel Weiss, in case you want more purty pictures in your head!

This started as mostly a John/Harold and Q/Bond story, but has grown to include a cast of thousands. It's why I added the above info to the introduction.

Chapter 1: Three months, twenty two days, and sixteen hours

Chapter Text

Prologue:

"It's reborn, because you kill it every single night. But now to save its own life the machine was reduced to this. We're standing inside an external hard drive made up of people and paper printing it all up at night and having them type it back up in the morning. You crippled it." --from Zero Day Episode 2:21

The words kept coming back to Harold several times a day. Root might have been a fanatic, but she was right. He'd known he'd created something far beyond his original intention, something with the potential to be sentient, and he'd crippled it to keep it focused on its job.

And maybe he was being fanciful, maybe it never would have become what Root thought it should be, but it had tried. Against all odds, against everything Harold had tried to do to keep it contained, it had taken flight. He was reminded of Jeff Goldblum's line in Jurassic Park: 'Life finds a way'.

Had it? Was the Machine truly alive, truly sentient? Where was it? Was it still sending numbers to stop terrorism? It was possible; it was sending numbers to him and John again. Not every day, but enough to keep them busy. What else was it doing? It wasn't communicating to them the way it had during the twenty-four hours it took to cross the country in search of its components.

And it wasn't for lack of trying; he and John had tried several times via multiple communication methods to talk to it, but it wasn't speaking back other than one initial communication to Harold and to restart sending the numbers.

Ernest Thornhill was still alive and well, at least as well as a nonexistent person could be, left alone by both Harold and by Decima, whose people seemed to have faded into the woodwork after being foiled in their quest for control of the Machine. So, every day, people continued to reenter the Machine's memories from the day before.

The Machine might have become sentient, but it still lost its identity every twenty-four hours. Harold felt another pang of guilt. Was it lonely? Was it angry? He shook his head, annoyed with himself. Harold had tried to apologize to the Machine once they'd gotten home, right after he'd apologized to John. He'd typed the apology on his monitor and waited.

It had taken ten hours, give or take a few minutes, and the answer had been: YOU ARE THE ADMIN.

Was that forgiveness? Resignation? Similar to how a child still loves the parent that abuses it? Harold didn't know, and that was the last personal comment he'd gotten.

What was it doing?

 

Part 1:

John was strolling back to the library after ensuring the safety of their latest number when his phone chimed indicating a text had arrived. He pulled out his phone, unlocked it and read: PROTECT THE ADMIN. It had no source number but, if John had to bet, he'd say it was from the Machine, despite the fact there'd been no communication from it in months.

Panic surged through him and he tapped his earwig. "Harold?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese?"

Just as quickly as the panic had risen, relief swamped him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. Why? Is there any reason I shouldn't be?"

"Just don't go anywhere," John said. "I'll be right there. Don't answer the phone unless it's me and don't let anyone in who isn't me. And don't… just don't do anything."

There was a pause as John began to run back to Harold.

"John?" Harold finally asked. "I don't understand what your concern is."

"I'll explain when I get there," John said a little breathlessly, running full bore, dodging pedestrians. He might have been hired to save the numbers, but John was very clear about who he really needed to protect, and he was sitting in the library potentially in life-threatening danger given the message the Machine had sent. "Harold?" he asked again, when several seconds had gone by.

"Still here not doing anything," Harold said dryly.

"Glad to hear it," John said, as he turned the last corner and used his key to open the door. He glanced around outside for a moment but saw no prying eyes, or any suspicious characters loitering in the area. Pulling his gun after entering, he shut the door and relocked it, then made his way cautiously upstairs, checking out corners and behind doors.

"For goodness' sake," Harold said, with a bit of bite in his voice, pulling himself up to his feet. "What has prompted this paranoia?"

John didn't start to relax until he saw Harold with his own eyes, and even then he gave Bear the command to protect, causing Bear to go stand rigidly between Harold and anything that might be coming at him. John walked right past the two of them and continued to check out the second floor, every room, and behind every door. When nothing dangerous made itself known, he holstered his weapon and approached Harold who was giving him his 'have you completely lost your mind' stare.

Deciding to let the phone speak for itself, John just handed it over after pulling up the text.

Harold read it, let out a short gasp, and sat back down. "How very odd."

"It's obviously from the Machine," John told him.

"Not necessarily," Harold protested. "Anyone with any skill can withhold the number they're calling from."

John wasn't going to debate it. He knew it was from the Machine.

"It could be someone's idea of a practical joke," Harold said. "Leon perhaps?"

It wasn't Leon. Leon knew John would kill him if he did something like this. Everyone with even the smallest amount of survival instinct knew John would kill them if they fucked with Harold. "You're stuck with me for the foreseeable future," John told Harold. "Carter and Fusco, and Shaw if she checks in, can help with the legwork."

"Your job isn't to protect me," Harold argued. "It's to protect the numbers."

"And without you," John said firmly, "the numbers are shit out of luck. I already told you that I'm not doing this without you. Twice now you've tried to leave me behind as your contingency plan, but I'm telling you again, and I want you to hear me this time: I won't do this without you."

Harold frowned at him, that frown that told John he wanted to argue, at length, but knew John would be intractable, but then he let out a little sigh. "I'll acquiesce for a short while, John, but sooner or later the people whose numbers are up will need you to help them."

John didn't respond either way, because Harold wouldn't like any answer he gave, so he walked to the small kitchen to make Harold a cup of tea.

*****

The number the machine gave them that night was a simple one, and Carter was conveniently there at the right time to make an arrest.

Late that night, when Harold wasn't looking, John typed GIVE ME MORE INFORMATION into his phone in response to the previous day's text.

When John woke up the next morning, after an uncomfortable night's sleep in a car outside of the particular residence Harold was using that evening, there was a countdown on his phone. It read, the seconds ticking down: Three months, twenty two days, sixteen hours, and five…four…three…two…seconds.

John, stunned, stared at the phone as if it was the countdown to his own death. He'd hogtie Harold and kidnap him if it came down to it. WHAT DO I NEED TO DO, he texted. Then, not sure what it might unleash but not caring, wrote: DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO. He had no idea if that would achieve anything, but maybe the machine needed permission to start changing the world. CAN WE STOP IT, he texted next.

There was a tap on his window and John looked left to find Harold standing there. "Must you really do this?" he said through the glass.

John rolled the window down and showed him his phone, the first text he'd sent, and the countdown he'd gotten in response.

"How very peculiar," Harold said. "It's a strange feeling to know the exact second when something will happen to threaten my life. Assuming we're to believe this at all."

"We're believing it."

"At least you won't need to hover all the time," Harold said. "Not if you know when to start paying attention."

John wasn't sure about that. "Why is it giving me all this notice? Maybe I need to do something first. Get things set up."

"For what?" Harold asked.

"I have no idea. Maybe there'll be a terrorist attack. Maybe a meteor will strike."

"I'm afraid we'll have more important things to worry about if either of those two things were to happen."

"There is nothing more important to me than you," John said fiercely. An awkward silence fell between them, but John wasn't backing down. "I mean it, Harold," he said, eyes locked on his friend.

Harold swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, then he licked his lips, but he maintained eye contact as if, with sufficient study, he could come to understand John better than he already did. John didn't think that was possible; no one knew him like Harold. And John had discovered that he liked being known the way Harold knew things, even if he still knew so little about the man in return. It made every piece of himself that Harold surrendered that much sweeter.

Harold cleared his throat. "Breakfast?"

"Love to," John said with a small smile, deciding he'd won that round.

*****

John went home to his own loft apartment that night, knowing he had some time before the threat to Harold came due. When he woke up, he unlocked his phone and saw he had received four texts, all from the unknown number.

CANNOT STOP

CIRCUMSTANCES ALREADY IN PLAY

http://www.cdc.gov/phpr/zombies.htm

MUST PREPARE

John clicked on the link and then gaped at the CDC site on Public Health for Preparedness and Response, specific to Zombie Preparedness. "What the fuck?" he said. "Seriously? Zombies?" He was starting to think that maybe this whole thing was a practical joke. Maybe it was Logan Pierce. With his skewed sense of humor he'd probably think something like this was hysterical. He called Harold.

"Yes, John," Harold said.

"Is there any way you can find out if Logan Pierce is getting into our systems? Could these messages be from him?"

"Do you think it's a practical joke now?" Harold asked.

"You'll think so, too, once you see what texts I got overnight. I’m up and getting ready to meet you for breakfast." He suited action to words and got out of bed, stripping off his sleep pants with one hand. There was something deliciously naughty about getting naked while being on the phone with Harold. He sometimes wondered if Harold had cameras installed here, even though John had checked the place out thoroughly and continued to do so regularly.

Sometimes he hoped there was one. Sometimes he jerked off calling Harold's name just to see if the man acted any differently the next time he saw him. So far he hadn't, but by now John had gotten accustomed to thinking of him together with sex and gasping out his name. Harold wasn't the best looking man John had ever seen, and he suspected his body under those clothes would be a wreck, but there was something about his small smiles, and his intelligence and power and money, and the way he so effortlessly and comprehensively owned John that got him hot and bothered.

"At our usual place?" Harold said.

John grinned at the thought. "Works for me."

*****

"Zombie preparedness?" Harold said, gaping at the CDC site.

"That's what it says," John agreed.

"Has it developed a sense of humor?" Harold asked, his face puckered a little as if he didn't appreciate it. Harold's phone chimed and he pulled it out of his coat pocket and laid it on the table, unlocking it with a password. John bet he changed it every day. Every hour, probably, some sort of rolling algorithm based on the weather and Harold's location.

Harold's eyebrows went up high and, in response to whatever the email had contained, he pulled out his laptop. Five minutes later of fevered typing, he leaned back in the booth. "It appears I have bought the buildings on either side of the library, on both sides of the alley. One side is an apartment building sans tenants, I suspect it was being rezoned for offices; on the other is a vacated restaurant, two empty store fronts, with several offices sitting on top of them. I have also secured construction crews to refurbish all the spaces, and we have submitted blueprints that have already been approved and permitted. We now essentially own the entire block."

"Why the frown, Harold, did you blow through your allowance?"

Waving a dismissive hand, Harold said, "It's not the money. It's the fact that I didn't do it. Someone else did it in my name. One of my names."

John blinked at him, twice. One blink was for the fact that John still could not wrap his mind around how much money Harold had in order to spend his money the way he did. He bought and sold businesses on a whim, just because it was convenient, and thought nothing of the cost of buying several entire buildings. The other blink was remembering his text to the machine to do what it had to. "Doesn't exactly sound like something Logan Pierce would do on a lark."

"No, it doesn't," Harold said. "Besides, I couldn't find any evidence that your phone had been tinkered with. I suppose there's a possibility he's using some program I'm not aware of but…"

"That's not very likely," John finished for him, absolutely sure there were no programs that Harold wasn't familiar with. Perhaps his faith was overconfident, but so was Harold's in him, and John was okay with that. "I told the machine to do what it needed to do," he said.

Harold's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Excuse me?"

John showed him the text he'd sent to the machine. "I think it took me seriously. I think it's serious about this, whatever it is."

"Zombies?" Harold asked with marked skepticism.

"The CDC makes a point that if you're prepared to deal with zombies, that you're prepared to deal with just about anything."

"John," Harold began then seemed to run out of steam.

"I know you don't think I need to take this seriously, but humor me," John said. "I'll still work on the numbers, but I need to do this. I need to make sure I did everything I could to protect you."

John could see that Harold wanted to argue, but then he relented, saying wryly, "Have fun spending my money."

Grinning slightly, relieved, John said, "I will. If you have any requests as I'm laying in food for a siege, let me know. And I imagine I'll be setting up one of those apartments next door for you, too, so feel free to order what you want."

"No," Harold said, "I think I'll leave it all in your capable hands," Harold said, which made John's skin buzz at the thought of outfitting a home for Harold. The limitless black credit card in his wallet was calling his name.

*****

The machine must have chosen his contractor well, because John didn't think he'd ever worked with a more honest man. And, just as Harold had said, there were already plans and permits in hand, which was quite a trick for even the Machine to pull off.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" the man, Edward Moody, asked him. "It's just that you're going to need some ginormous sources of water available, which is in the plans, so it must be what you want." He sighed. "I just want to make sure you're not wasting your money."

John took the plans from him and studied them. "Can I take a closer look and call you tomorrow?" It would probably be a good idea for him to have some notion of what the people working on both sides of the library were building. It might give him some clues about what the Machine was preparing them for.

"Sure," Edward said, handing over a card and a thick roll of blueprints. "I'll just be working on this 'til it's done. You're paying me a good sum of money to get it done on time, so I'll see that it happens."

"Good," John said, wondering what the Machine thought a good sum of money was, and if Harold would agree. He took the card and smiled at Edward, seeing him out and locking the door behind him. Then he took the blueprints back to the library and spread them out on an empty table.

Harold joined him a few minutes later. "These are the plans?"

"Yes. It's got room for ten generators, enough to run a city block forever, as long as you have enough gas, and a tank is being installed for that. A cell tower is being built on the roof, and didn't I hear you say you have your own satellite?"

Harold nodded.

John smirked at him and then continued. "The water supply and air supply are internal with its own treatment and air purification system. The windows and doors are reinforced steel and glass." John tapped the plans. "This is a fortress ready to withstand a siege." He flipped through the pages. "There's even iron scaffolding being built around the entire block. No one's getting in."

Harold shot him an anxious look. "What do you think the machine knows? And does it really believe that there is nothing we can do to stop whatever it sees coming?"

John just shook his head, staring at the plans, not sure what to think about it. He pulled out his phone and texted: HOW LONG WILL THIS THING LAST?

Harold moved into the other room and sat down at his computer, fingers poised over the keyboard. He asked his own question. IS THERE TRULY NOTHING WE CAN DO TO STOP THIS?

John moved to stand behind him, and they both stared at the dark computer screen. Then words scrolled across the monitor: THEY THINK THEY DID STOP IT. THEY ARE WRONG. THEY THINK THE DANGER IS OVER

WE BELIEVE YOU, Harold wrote. BUT WILL YOU LET US TRY?

John put his hand on Harold's shoulder. It never ceased to amaze him how this man, already torn apart by the world in many ways, still held such conviction to do the right thing. He would stand behind anything Harold attempted to do.

They stayed there for a while, waiting, but eventually Harold said, "I guess it's thinking. Either that or the answer is no." He turned awkwardly to face John. "Are we going to do this, then? Outfit ourselves to withstand a siege?"

"Yes," John said.

"Why an apartment building? Why a restaurant? The plans don't call for them to be turned into something else."

John had been thinking about that. "I think we're supposed to take on some guests, at least that's what the apartment complex is for, and the restaurant will make communal meals easier. I don't know for sure, but that's my best guess. I’m not sure what the offices are for. Central command?" he guessed, only half joking. "A school? Storage? I have no idea."

"I do have a country house upstate," Harold said. "Wouldn't that be easier to defend than something right in the city?"

The machine chose to respond immediately to that, writing on Harold's monitor at the same time it sent a text to John.

STAY.

"That's clear enough," Harold said.

"I think your machine has gone sentient on you, Harold. Was that what was supposed to happen?"

"No," Harold said. "It wasn't." And that much was true. He'd created a machine with a job to do. He'd never intended to make it self-aware and able to do the things it had done. On the other hand, he'd known it was happening; he'd already spoken about this with Root so it seemed important to share it with John as well. "When I finished creating it, it started acting odd, altering its own code to take care of me. It kept me from being killed once." He let out a short laugh and tapped the single word on the screen. "It used this word and I stopped. If I hadn't, a drunk driver would have run me over. Extraordinary. And worrisome. Suppose the Machine is creating whatever disaster will befall us, in a warped idea of protecting me. If we're the only two left in the world, there will be no one to kill me. Well, except you."

"Nothing to fear on that account," John said with a small smile. "And the fact that you now own an apartment building says we won't be left alone."

"Let's look at those plans again, shall we?" Harold said, pulling himself to his feet. "And perhaps lunch?"

"I'll go get something," John said. He liked knowing what Harold enjoyed eating. Another small piece of the puzzle that was Mr. Finch. "Italian?"

"Lovely," Harold said, as he moved back to the large table where the blueprints were laid out, pages of them, each level comprised of several blueprints, one each to designate electricity, HVAC, internal structure, and plumbing, not to mention the scaffolding that would embrace the entire building, digging into the ground by several feet.

John took a look at him, hovering over the blueprints before heading downstairs to the Italian neighborhood restaurant that was Harold's favorite.