Chapter Text
Hal was six years old when Huey had rejoined him in the United States.
For a child in his circumstances, it was difficult to describe his joy upon seeing his father. His visit to his aunt’s home was a surprise. Hal never thought he’d see him again; Strangelove told him ages ago that, “Daddy might not come visit you over there” before he was shipped off to America. She told him she loved him over and over at the airport. Then, he was on the plane with his uncle who had come over to pick him up. She sent a few letters for a few months, but they soon stopped coming. Hal found it hard to just walk by the mailbox by then.
The final one came with an image of them seated on a couch, Hal barely a year old, sleeping in Strangelove’s arms. The letter stated something about her tasks ramping up and keeping her too busy. Letters might not come anymore, she said. But that was okay. He knew she was strong. She could do anything. They’d start coming in again later down the line. In the meantime, he just reread all of her letters over and over, hoping some miracle of any sort would happen soon. So to call Huey’s arrival a pleasant surprise was an understatement.
Hal had already found normalcy. Or at least as close to it as he’d get. He was thankful to be away from the tense atmosphere of a research facility in the earlier years of his still short life. Anywhere that didn’t have pure aggression looming over it was like heaven for the boy. Gone was the constant presence of guns and whirring machinery and the thumps of combat boots. Living with his relatives on his mother’s side, going to a normal school with normal kids, talking to people his age who weren’t soldiers, being able to watch cartoons or play with toys undisturbed—it was all he could ever ask for.
And when his father told him they’d be moving out to New Hampshire, he wasn’t opposed. Far from it. It meant another adventure for him to go on. It meant another new home to explore. The goodbyes to his relatives (aunts, uncles, cousins) may have been a lot for his little heart, he had already grown so attached. But when they touched down in their new home—this decently sized house on the outskirts of one of the larger towns, pool and all—it was like all troubles had melted away.
It had been two years since then. Hal was going to school. He lived his life exactly how he wanted to. He went out with friends. Watched movies. Read books. Hung out in arcades. Filled his room with a small collection of Transformers toys because his father went on about not wanting to peel paint off the walls if he plastered them with images he ripped out of magazines. And speaking of his father, living with him was… different.
Hal knew in a way that Huey cared for him. He fed him, clothed him, and bought him toys. Back in the day, they used to play a lot. Hal recalled one time right before he was flown out of Afghanistan, where Huey let him play in the cockpit of one of his creations. Nowadays, he didn’t play with him much nor was he even in the house most of the time. He’d pick him up from school and he’d disappear right after. He was always out doing work of some sort. Though Hal always wondered what type of work warranted Huey’s disappearances late into the night. He always wanted to ask but never found the courage to do so. Hal didn’t know much about his own father; he doubted his own father knew much about him. But it was alright. He knew he was cared for. He felt loved.
That was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
It was that rare evening where Huey was home and Hal didn’t need to eat heated up leftovers. Huey was still in those work clothes, that usual button-up, trousers combination; Hal was already in his dinosaur-print pajamas. Huey had brought home Chinese food that night. They took out each item from the plastic bag onto their dark kitchen counter: the meal proper, the side dishes, the sauces. There was also a sweet almond jelly, but Hal admitted he hated the texture of jelly, and Huey vowed to eat it all on their own.
Soon, they sat in the dining room: a space with much too moody lighting shining down onto the light oak of their furniture. Three seats around the rounded table, yet only two occupied. There used to be a vase in the center but all the flowers they’d placed always died. So they kept it out of sight.
They shared salt and pepper squid—Hal’s favorite—shoveling it into their mouths followed by rice to balance out the saltiness. Hal savored each flavor and it seemed Huey had, too. But that was all that occurred. What filled the room was nothing more than silence. When Hal was alone, he would leave the television on in the living room for some background noise as he ate. But in the excitement of his father’s arrival, he hadn’t even done that, and had a feeling that he’d get chided for doing so anyway. Neither attempted to break through the quiet. The entire room filled with the sound of takeout boxes jostling around and the small noises of chewing as they ate, and ate, and ate.
All things considered, it just made Hal recall dinners with his mother.
They were vague memories from when he was three. All his memories of his mother were vague at most but he cherished each one anyway. Strangelove would have to put off eating her own dinner to feed him. She was meticulous in cooking up meals for him. Once he was semi-sentient and could eat more varieties of food, she cooked such a wide array that even Hal now couldn’t comprehend it. Always testing variables, too. Changing up what he ate to know what he liked on top of his pancakes, or what was spread on his bread, or what dips would help him stomach vegetables best. It made Hal smile to himself. When Huey glanced up at him, he smiled back at the boy, and it made both of them laugh. Hal wondered if Huey could read his thoughts. He pondered on if knew he was thinking of his mother.
He wondered when he’d be able to taste her cooking again. When she could sit him on her lap and show him how all that amazing machinery worked even if it all went over his head at his young age. When he could hear her sing him those Carpenters songs she always played on the record player where she struggled to hit the notes but she tried so hard for him. He was practically still a baby then, so of course he didn’t know the full extent of what was going on back in the day; now, Hal at this grand old age of eight years old? He knew he could enjoy each minute with his mother.
It made him look up at Huey, ask the simple question, his tone innocent and curious: “When’s mom getting home, dad?” He paused. “ It’s been a while since I saw her.”
Daddy might not come visit again, echoed in Hal’s mind as he stared Huey down.
Did the air become hotter? Did the dining room always feel this small?
Huey—despite scarfing down his food—now paused. Held his breath. His lips parted for a second and Hal stared expectantly at what would slip past. But soon he was back to being tight-lipped. He poked and prodded at the squid and its peppers and his rice. He tugged on the collar of his shirt like it was choking him. He stared at the table like there’d be a script on its wooden grain that would help him get his words out right. And for a second, it was like Hal didn’t exist.
Hal drank down his water, patient in waiting for his reply. He was used to Huey being more silent at times, mostly around him. But persistent, he asked again: “Is mom going here anytime soon?” He shoveled food onto his fork, shoving it into his mouth, waiting.
Huey stopped toying with his food altogether. He took a deep breath.
“Your mom?” Huey repeated as if Hal’s words hadn’t been more than clear. Hal nodded. “She’s… very busy.”
Busy. That made sense.
Hal tilted his head. “Back in Afghanistan?”
“Yes, busy back in Afghanistan.” Huey chewed on the inside of his cheek, winced as one bite was a tad too hard. His eyes still hadn’t met Hal’s as they usually did when they spoke. Hal thought it was funny, but he didn’t question it. “She’s still working with that… company we worked in. Building those big machines. Do you remember those?”
“I do,” Hal replied despite there still being food in his mouth. He wasn’t chided. He usually was. Yet he still chose to swallow his food before continuing on: “Does that mean she won’t be back anytime soon?”
“No, not anytime soon.” It was only then Huey looked back at Hal. When he reached over to ruffle his hair, all Hal could do was whine in annoyance, frowning. Small laughter left Huey but stopped not long after. “What she’s doing there is really important. You should be proud of her.”
Huey’s tone faltered for a moment. Like he couldn’t believe his own words. Hal didn’t catch that.
“I am,” Hal said. Straightforward. Huey nodded. With a small chuckle, he added: “I’ll tell her when we see her again.”
And so Hal grinned wide. Bared all his teeth like he’d gotten confirmation that Strangelove was already on her way to them. Huey smiled back, and Hal didn’t think much of the twitch of his eye or how the corners of his lips quivered like his expression was going to give out. Instead, the expression served as a confirmation: She’s going to come back one day.
They went on eating. Not much food left, so they were scraping what they could out of their takeout boxes. And all the while, Hal couldn’t stop thinking of Strangelove. He could imagine her now, sitting in front of a computer or working with tools he didn’t get, handling machines he found daunting. But also in his mind, he could still hear her sing to him. Soft and soothing. Laughing when her voice would crack. Interrupting the song to press a quick kiss on Hal’s forehead. She always stayed by him. He doubted that had changed, even without her presence.
The returned silence had ceased being uncomfortable. Instead, there was a sense of hope swelling within Hal as he closed his now empty box of rice. Maybe she wouldn’t come by now, not tomorrow, not in the next year. But she would turn up at the front door at some point. Hold him in a tight embrace. Tell him all that she’d done while she was away. Huey was still eating (or more accurately, picking at his food as he seemed so utterly lost in thought). Yet Hal still sat around—he knew it was polite to do so. And now that he was there, he may as well speak.
“Dad?” Hal asked, and Huey jumped at the sound of his voice. But he looked over, both eyebrows raised that prompted him to continue speaking. He shoved his final spoonful of rice into his mouth as he did so. Hal hummed, unhesitant in asking the question: “Do you think mom misses me?”
Huey took another deep breath, this time shaky. He took his time eating, looking all around the dining room despite it being so bare. Hal simply watched, awaiting the answer that would soon leave Huey as he gulped down the final bite of his meal.
“I think she does,” Huey said, though it was more of a murmur.