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General Monroe had come to see Danny twice. He had been nice, in the way a cat was nice while making sure you felt the claws under its fur, but he'd wanted something from Danny. Half old friend of the family; half beneficent mentor.
Then he decided that whatever he wanted, Danny didn't have it. After that the only time Danny saw Monroe was when he came to interrupt meals with his mum, taking her away with an intent satisfaction at her distress.
Too intent to see that Danny was relieved when she went. That was good, Monroe would have used it against her and Danny didn't want that. He didn't want to hurt her, he just didn't want to love her either.
Maybe it would be different in Charlie was here. She remembered their mom from before. Sometimes at night she'd tell him stories about how much she'd loved him, how brave and fierce and stubborn she'd been (the 'not like Dad' went unsaid, but both knew it was there).
If Charlie was here then this could be a reunion, he could tag-along her joy just like he did everything else in life. Instead he sat across the table from a stranger who loved him and who was nothing like Charlie's stories.
The woman he'd dreamt up from wistful thinking and Charlie's words would have found a way back to them. She wouldn't sit on antique chairs and eat roast lamb from china plates while they'd gone hungry and scared and cold.
Maybe if she'd explain why. If she would just be honest and tell him what had happened and what Monroe wanted, he could have understood. He would have tried, anyhow. Whenever he asked her, though, her blue eyes shifted away from his and she changed the subject.
'You've gotten so grown up.'
'That's not important, not now you're here.'
So all he had was what he knew, that she'd left him and come here. That General Monroe looked at her like a starving man looked at food (not sex, he didn't think – ew – but just as consuming).
That Maggie would have found a way to get to them. Maggie had walked across the Wasteland to try and get back to her kids; Maggie had nearly drowned getting Charlie out of the river when the bridge collapse; Maggie ate nothing but broth that hard winter so him and Charlie would have meat in their bellies.
It wasn't fair. He knew that. Rachel didn't want to be here, and eating good food off nice plates didn't mean her life was good. Someone hurt her. He'd seen how carefully she moved sometimes, the still wariness when Bass came in and how bone-deep afraid for him she was.
But she was lying to him and he couldn't trust her.
So he smiled when she talked about things he didn't remember and pretended that lamb was his favourite when he couldn't remember ever eating it before. He didn't mention Maggie and he didn't flinch when Rachel hugged him.
But he didn't know, and seeing Charlie's eyes in her pale, composed face only made them look unfamiliar.