Harold hadn't come by this perspective on his own. He used to draw a line, used to perceive an us and a them, categories of people he would and wouldn't risk himself for.

Then he watched Nathan die and he hobbled away from Grace with a permanent spinal injury, and he'd thought the only thing left worth doing with his life was to respect Nathan's wishes. Over time that had become something he truly believed, instinctual, the way repeating something enough can make it learned by heart. Sometimes he wonders if the rest of his little team realize he hadn't started out with this belief himself, just like they hadn't.

But of course he's never told them that. Ironically, the only person he's hinted at it to is Carver.

"Enough, I think," he says carefully. He does have a copy of Carver's personnel file and it's extremely damning. "But if you've done something like that here, I don't know of it."

It doesn't wipe away the past, but for things to change there has to be a point at which change is made possible, and allowed.