Chapter Text
"So, as I was saying…… You know this guy, Stevenson, he came to me today, and said, that he had some arrie…arierer-pense-re-e… doubts I think?"
It was late in the evening. Henry wasn't sure which hour it was exactly, but frankly, he didn't care. The living room he sat in was a complete mess, full of half-opened cardboard boxes, and mechanical parts scattered on every flat surface, not counting the floor. On every other occasion, he would probably declutter the space enough to make it appear 'artistically disorganized" rather than "just-goddamn-messy". But this wasn't a normal situation. This was an emergency. The type of emergency that doesn't call for a fire squadron, but instead requires a whole load of cheap alcohol and at least one (1) sober friend, to tell you that everything's going to be alright, and then help you go back to your bed because you start to talk about your plans of breaking into the nearest bank, to show those sons of bitches that you, etc. etc.
On this occasion said role was fulfilled by Henry's business partner and (probably) dearest friend- William Afton. He wasn't however, participating in it only because of his sympathy for Henry. For William, it was exactly those kinds of occasions that in retrospect could have proven to be most useful. He tended to view most, if not all social interactions as nothing more than a pragmatic transaction of sentiments. If he said what the other person wanted to hear, he would get what he needed. So, he thought for a moment and finally said with a perfect French pronunciation:
"Arrière-pensé?"
"Yes, that thing" Henry replied, not even bothering to repeat this word. But despite his general dismissal of this minor detail, William couldn't help but feel once again superior to his friend. Of course, he would never admit to that, but those moments when he knew something Henry didn't, were the reason he even bothered talking with him sometimes. It might have been petty and childish, but it didn't matter to him. He was addicted to praise, and Henry was unwittingly both his dealer and the stash itself.
Feeling just a little bit more confident, he moved one of the boxes with feet closer to him and put his stretched legs on it nonchalantly.
"So he had some of that about the spring-lock costume" Henry continued "And of course, in any other situation I would probably talk this through with him, but I was on a verge of a mental- breakdown right there and this moron started lecturing me, as if he was some kind of sanitary inspector, instead of just like, some undergraduate, whose biggest problem in life is the fact that he wasn't accepted on to Drama Academy, for SOME reason, you know. You have this kid and he thinks that if he learns a couple of words in French, he's suddenly a second Chevalier or something. God, I hate him, I think I will fire him next month, or maybe you'll do it, you know those things better than me… shit, I've lost my train of thought again. What was I talking about?"
"That Stevenson complained about the costume, and that you had some kind of a breakdown, which, for the record, you still haven't explained to me, but it probably was the reason that made you feel like…this – William vaguely gestured at the mess and the empty bottles on the coffee table.
" Right, the costumes" once again he ignored William's slight dabs at him. It started to annoy him. He's been rambling on and on about some completely trivial things, trying to dance around the main issue.
Just get to the point already instead of whining all the time, for God's sake
He thought about saying it out loud. It was blunt and harsh, and just a little aggressive. But he couldn't just say those kinds of things to him without repercussions. Not yet, anyway. So instead he stayed silent.
“So, he said to me "Pardon me, Mr. Emily, but I am afraid that your innovative technical solutions may pose a threat to the lives and safety of your employees".
“Well, he has a point. Those things can, in a split second, release pressure of several industrial pneumatic actuators, if not handled properly.”
Of course, he had a point, nobody with at least one working brain cell would want to walk around in this literal death trap. The spring-lock costumes were a terrible idea, really. They always got filthy on the inside, if they were used the way they were meant to be used. But at least Henry never got suspicious of them, somehow.
When he dies someday it will probably be thanks to his naivete.
William imagined a couple of possible scenarios, but once again decided to keep them to himself.
“I know, I know, in the end, we created them ourselves. God, I can't even recall whose brilliant idea it was in the first place…”
The silence that followed was short but full of meaning. Or maybe it was just awkward, it's hard to tell. Anyway, it didn't take William much time to say with utmost honesty and earnestness
“I am sure it was yours.”
“Right, only I can come up with such shitty ideas” William couldn't tell if Henry said it sarcastically or not but decided to pretend to be in on a joke just in case, so he just smiled awkwardly.
“ Anyway, so I am standing there and thinking "What am I supposed to say?". I mean, I know he's right, I'm not crazy after all, but we had spent so much money on those dumb costumes, so I couldn't just say "You know what, you're right, this is a terrible idea, please forgive me for being a moron who thought it would work"”
Suddenly Henry seemed to have noticed something in the distance. He started to turn his head in every direction as if he tried to spot an insect flying in the air. He rarely seemed focused on what he was saying, his mind always wandering free, trying to find something new to think about. It fascinated William to a certain extent.
“It's kinda imperative, you know, almost like defending your honor, despite the ridiculousness of it all. And even if something happens, you'll be there to fix it, right? I can't stand this legal nonsense, honestly, but you always arrange it so nicely that somehow the main sanitary inspector still hasn't charged us for violating safety regulations. I don't know what I would do without you Will, I really don't.”
Henry apparently realized that the mysterious floating object he had been trying to locate was just a dirty stain on his glasses. Without giving it a second thought, he took them off and tried to wipe them clean with the material of his flannel.
“So, what did you say to him?” William stared at Henry, who slowly realized that his glasses were completely ruined, thanks to his shirt being covered in various oil stains. He paused for a moment, either from embarrassment or just trying to process his actions. William gently took the glasses from him and placed them neatly on the coffee table. Henry just proceeded as if nothing happened.
“You know, mostly things like "All of the costumes were rigorously tested, and all safety procedures concerning proper use had been approved by an appropriate committee" and that "it should be no problem for someone who knows what he's doing" and so on, and so on.”
What is the best way to remove the oil from glass? Maybe window cleaner?
“But then he tried to outwit me and asked that, if everything was so safe and everything, then why the saferooms were specifically designed to be out of reach of the cameras.“
“ And then?”
“And then I…” - Henry crossed his arms and took a deep breath “I told him that if he felt overworked he could have taken a paid leave for the rest of the day, and then I went to the staff room and cried for about 15 minutes.”
William tried no to look annoyed, but apparently, it didn't work. Henry looked away from him, but his stare stopped at the table full of empty bottles. His face went blank as if he had just realized something terrible.
“I know, how pathetic” he forced himself to laugh, even though his voice was starting to crack. “I can't even stand my ground when talking with my subordinates. Guess she was right…”
She? For the love of God, don't tell me that all this nonsense was only because of his…
“I mean, what kind of spineless coward do you have to be to do something like this? If the whole world started to burn right now, I wouldn't even try to scream for help, fearing that I might anger the arsonist. Of course, I shouldn't have become a father, I… “ he ran his hand through his hair “… I couldn't even save my own daughter
There was a slight change in William’s expression, but Henry was in no state to notice such a minor detail.
He was supposed to already be over this. The less the topic of Charlie's "disappearance" came up the better. He can't learn the truth, not before he becomes more…
Dependent
Agreeable. That's the word.
“It wasn't your fault” William placed his hand on Henry's shoulder.
“Then whose fault it was?” Henry turned his head to William, his eyes suddenly lighting up with some kind of unspecified anger. William froze for a moment. He couldn’t tell whether his partner’s question was rhetorical or not. It felt almost like an accusation. But he couldn’t know it, could he?
There’s a terribly high chance, that behind the wall of his self-loathing, guilt and grief, stands a perfectly reasonable man, who knows that someone is trying to deceive him in some way. But Henry would never listen to this voice. Maybe he preferred to just drown in his own hate so he wouldn’t have to confront the real source of his misery? Or maybe he just liked feeling sorry for himself.
How full of himself does the man have to be to think that somehow all of the wrongdoings happening around him must have something to do with him, or even better – be within his control? What is mourning if not a selfish expression on one’s presumed self-importance and belief about the validity of his feelings?
William wasn’t selfish and he never felt sorry for himself. He was the enlightenment to Henry’s dark sentimentalism, a glimmer of reason in this crazy world. Only he could stand above it all, create his own destiny instead of moping and whining like this… this…
Henry couldn’t hear the sounds of gunshots, destroyed barricades, and other quasi-revolutionary scenes playing out for some reason in William’s head. All he could see was a pair of cold grey eyes, completely frozen in the same mysterious expression he knew so well. He always seemed so calm and collected, unlike him.
So they sat in silence for a while. One could say what good friends don’t have to speak in order to understand each other. But what does “good” and “friends” mean anyway? Are two walls good friends just because they never talk to each other? Because that was all it was to it.
Two strangers sitting in different rooms trying to guess how many fingers the other one is holding.
So whose fault it was?
Henry finally had enough of this.
“Anyway, why even bother with trying to find some kind of excuse. It’s pointless. Seems like Caroline was right all along, she’ll be better off without me…”
For the love of-