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"It's not very comfortable in here," Henry tells the man in the brown uniform sitting at the desk. The man looks up from the knitting he's doing and gives him a look. It's supposed to convey some kind of meaning, but what?
Perhaps he hadn't heard him. He should try again.
"I said it's not very comfortable in here," he says, and the man sighs, frowning. That expression he does understand.
"This is as comfortable as it gets, Maclean," the man says, sounding annoyed. "And it's more than you deserve, so be thankful."
"I see." He looks around his small room- a cot, a small table that wobbles, a stool to sit on, a bucket to relieve himself in. There's a feeling inside him that says this can't possible be it, there are definitely more comfortable things than this, but he can't quite think of any. Specific images and words slip away.
He puts a hand on the bars of his room and tries harder to pin down why he feels so certain about this, but all he gets is the same vague sense that he feels about... well, about almost everything. Concepts on the edge of his comprehension.
"Step away from the bars, Maclean," the man at the desk warns, setting his knitting down on the desk.
"Henry," he says, though he does as he's told and takes a few steps back, putting his hands in his pants pockets. He doesn't want to cause any trouble.
"I know what your name is, Maclean," the man says, rudely. He stands up and cracks his knuckles, then crosses his arms over his uniform and takes a couple of steps towards Henry's room, still frowning. "You're lucky to be in there at all."
"So you boys keep telling me," Henry says with a short chuckle, looking down at the dirty floor for a moment. "Say, could I get a broom? I'd like to clean up in here, if that's alright." He pulls a hand out and gestures at the floor.
"No," the man says. He watches Henry for another minute or so, unmoving, until there's a knock at the door across from Henry's room. "Now what?"
The man turns his back on Henry and crosses the room, opening the door. There's a woman there that he's seen before, short, with a commanding presence. He can't remember her name, even though he knows she's told him. Captain Someone. There are other people with her, but he can't see over the man's shoulder.
They're talking, keeping their voices low. The people who come to see him always do that before they come in, though he's not sure why. Maybe they're planning a surprise, and don't want to spoil it before it's time. That might be nice, Henry thinks. Perhaps they're going to bring him a pillow for his cot.
They finish talking and step into the room; the Captain leads three others behind her: the lovely young woman who comes to visit him sometimes, the young man in uniform who always accompanies her, and another young man he doesn't recognize, with dark eyes like the woman's and a scattering of stubble across his face.
"You have visitors," the Captain announces, hanging back by the door with the man who knits as the others walk closer. The younger man in uniform hangs back by a step or two, allowing the others to walk ahead without him, though his eyes gravitate towards the young lady. Though he always visits when she does, he rarely ever speaks to Henry himself. Barely even looks at him, unless spoken to directly.
"Hello," Henry says, with a polite smile.. "My name is Henry. What can I do for you?"
The unfamiliar young man freezes in place, his brows scrunching together as he stares at Henry, his lips pressing together in a thin line.
"You weren't kidding," he says, his eyes taking on a sharper quality.
"No," the young woman says, softly, a note of sadness in her voice. He remembers meeting her, he thinks. She had been holding him and crying. She had blood on her face. She had a flower name, didn't she? What was it?
"I'm sorry, miss," Henry says, with a sheepish smile. "I can't quite remember- what was your name?"
Both she and the young man exchange a glance, their matching expressions highlighting the similarities in their features. Oh, Henry thinks. Perhaps they are related.
"Lucy," she says, with a quiet sigh. "My name is Lucy."
"Ah, Lucy, thank you," he gives her a polite nod, though he feels a little confused. That wasn't a flower name at all, was it? He goes to offer her his hand to shake, but the young man behind her moves quickly, putting an arm between her and henry; the Captain clears her throat and catches his eye over the shoulder of the other young man.
"Hands stay inside the bars, Henry," she says, her voice gentle but firm.
Of all the people in uniform who come to talk to him or sit with him, he thinks he likes the Captain the most. Unlike most of the others, she's never rude to him, and answers his questions with patience.
"Right, right," he agrees, pulling his hand back and putting both behind his back. Lucy puts a hand on the young man's arm, which still encircles her protectively.
"It's alright, Max," she assures him. Max nods, and returns to his previous position behind her, but now his eyes are trained on Henry. Is he expecting to need to defend Lucy? Does he think... does he think Henry would try to hurt her?
The train of thought is making him feel rather upset, so he turns to the new face next, smiling again.
"And what might your name be, young man?"
The young man laughs, but it's not a happy sound.
"They said you wouldn't recognize me, but I guess some stupid part of me still thought that maybe, deep down, you would. I don't know why. If you were going to remember anyone, it would be Lucy. Not me."
Lucy puts her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off and glares at Henry.
"You barely remembered me before all this, though, didn't you? I was just a disappointment to you. not worth noticing unless you had to."
"Norm," Lucy says, her eyes watering, but the young man- Norm?- continues.
"But you know what? I found your secrets. All those lies you told us about Vault 31, where you're really from. WHEN you're really from. I found out what the Vaults were really for, and I met those BUDS of yours, too." He clenches his fists, trembling, as his face begins to twitch. "And I came all the way here for answers, Hank."
Henry is taken aback by the rage barely concealed in the young Norm's voice, in the way his sharp eyes bore into Henry's own, in the way his teeth are bared.
"He doesn't know anything, Norm," Lucy says, softly, looking from him to Henry with her sad, sad eyes. Always so sad when she comes to see him. There's something about the young lady that makes him wish he could comfort her somehow, but he hasn't yet solved that puzzle, either. Perhaps it's simply because she is a very lovely lady, and it seems a shame for someone so lovely to be so sad.
"Of course he doesn't," Norm snaps, turning his head and glaring at the wall furiously before he looks back at Henry. "Of COURSE, now that I can finally demand answers, ask him WHY. Why he was part of such a horrible experiment, how he could treat people like cattle to be bred and slaughtered, how he could DESTROY an ENTIRE CITY, and what he did to our MOTHER-"
"Norm, stop," Lucy interrupts him, taking him by the shoulders and pulling him into an embrace, where he begins to sob, burying his face in her shoulder. She shushes him soothingly, cradling the back of his head in one hand until he clings to her. She looks over at Henry, her lower lip trembling, as though he has something to do with Norm's outburst, but he had barely even said a word to the boy.
"I don't understand," he says, looking at the pair of them. "Did something happen to your mother?"
"Did something-" Norm's starts, his voice muffled, but Lucy holds him tighter and shushes him again. Over her shoulder, the other one- Max? Max's jaw has gone tense, and Henry has to look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
"Our mother died," Lucy says, and now there's anger in her voice, too. Oh dear. What was it he'd said?
"I'm so sorry to hear that," he says, trying to show them he meant nothing offensive by his question. It seems to only make things worse, as there comes a flash of cold fury in Lucy's eyes that makes him deeply sad. How strange, he thinks. Why should that affects him so?
Norm extricates himself from Lucy's arms, eyes red, streaks of tears down his cheeks that he wipes roughly away.
"You know what? I can't even say I'm surprised you did this to yourself." There's venom in his voice even as it wavers. "You never did like to take responsibility for your actions, did you? There always someone else who forced your hand, and someone else to pay the price."
"I don't understand," Henry says again, looking to Lucy and then the Captain, hoping one of them might provide some sort of context. "Do I... know you, Norm?"
"No," Norm says with another short laugh. "No. You don't. You never did." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then stands up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. "The one good thing about this? Is that I never have to hear you tell me that I'm 'too young to understand', or that it's 'Overseer stuff' and I shouldn't 'worry my little head about it' ever again."
There is significant emphasis in the way he says those things that gives Henry the impression that Norm has heard them many, many times.
"I'm sorry," Henry says, and both Norm and Lucy physically flinch, looking at one another again. "It seems to me, and please forgive me if I've gotten the wrong impression here, but it seems to me that you've been treated very poorly."
Norm's jaw clenches, his nose wrinkling. Well, that wasn't the reaction he'd been aiming for. There's so much anger in the way he's looking at Henry, so much sadness. Almost as if he thinks it was Henry himself who'd done these tings to him. Surely not, he thinks. He would remember if he'd hurt these young people.
Wouldn't he?
"I don't know what you've been through," he says, trying again. "But I'm sorry you had to go through it."
Lucy's eyes fill with tears, and she puts a hand over her mouth, looking away as Max puts an arm around her; Norm, in contrast, seems to have found his calm.
"What we've been through," he scoffs, echoing Henry's words. "Everything that's happened to us was because of you. Even the choices we thought we made for ourselves- you were always pulling the strings, making us think we chose what we wanted only for it to always be what you wanted in the end. Including this." He gestures to Henry. "Lucy was never going to actually push that button. But you knew that, didn't you? So you took the choice from her and pushed it yourself, just like you always have."
Henry's brain feels scratchy, like there's something big he should know, something on the edge of it that he should be able to reach, but it's just on the periphery and he can't grasp it. He reaches up and touches the back of his neck, where he's told there is a little chip underneath his skin, but he just... can't... remember.
There's a lot he's told about himself that he can't remember, though. Even his name- people are always calling him Hank, like the young Norm had, but Hank doesn't feel like his name. Like many of the things he's told belong to him, it feels like it belongs to some other man.
He doesn't respond to Norm at first. He's not sure what to say, or what the young man even wants from him. What could he offer, from here in his little room, from here in his empty memory?
"Is there something I can do for you?" he asks, when he can come up with nothing himself.
"No," Norm says, coldly. "The one thing I wanted, you can't give. I doubt you ever could."
"I'm sorry," Henry says again. It doesn't help any more this time than it had before.
"Maybe we should go," Lucy suggests, wiping tears from her face as she stands a little straighter; Max lets his arm fall from her shoulders.
"Yeah," Norm agrees. "You were right. There's nothing for me here."
"That's not what I said," she frowns. "He's still our-"
"Please, Lucy, do not tell me he's still our father," Norm closes his eyes briefly before turning to look at her. "He's not. He chose THIS," he gestures at Henry again. "Over being our father. This man? Is nothing to us, and it's what he chose to become. So if that's what he wants? He can have it. As far as I'm concerned, my father is dead."
Norm gives him one last look, all the prior emotions giving way to what Henry can only describe as disgust. It makes him recoil almost instinctively, leaning away. Norm then turns on his heel and heads for the door; the man who knits opens it for him without a word, closing it again behind him.
Henry doesn't remember choosing to forget anything. He's pretty sure he would never choose to forget his children, especially! If he'd ever had any, that is. And he would never have chosen to abandon them. The young man must have him confused with someone else. Perhaps this Hank fellow?
"He, he doesn't mean that, he-" Lucy starts, but her voice falters and she never finishes the thought. "Thank you, Captain," she says, instead, turning to give the woman a respectful nod. "Let's go try to catch up to him, Max."
"Ok," Max says, nodding. He takes her hand in his own and they follow Norm, leaving Henry with just the Captain and the rude one.
He lets out a soft exhale, no longer feeling so intensely scrutinized, and he takes a seat on his cot to rest. The Captain watches him, as she often does after such visits, her expression thoughtful.
"That young man must have been hurt very badly, to be so angry," he says. "Will he be alright?"
"He just needs some time, I think," she responds, slowly. Like she's choosing her words very carefully. Henry nods, accepting this answer. He's heard somewhere that time heals all wounds, so she very well could be right.
She watches him for a few minutes more, as though waiting for something; when nothing new happens, she sighs and turns to the rude man by the door.
"Thank you, Lieutenant, you may return to your duties now."
"Yes, Captain," he says, straightening up and giving her a salute. He opens the door for her and closes it when she's gone, then turns his attention back to Henry. "I don't know why that girl keeps coming back. That chip really scrambled your eggs."
"My eggs?" Henry looks up, brow furrowing. "I haven't had any eggs today."
The Lieutenant laughs, but the smile he gives Henry is cruel.
"You are one lucky son of a bitch, Maclean. You know, if it wasn't for the Captain and Lucy, you wouldn't be sitting in that cell, I can promise you that." His smile slips away as he glares down at Henry. "There's plenty of us who had family and friends in Shady Sands when that bomb went off, you know. Plenty folks who would love to make you pay for what you did. Even with you like this."
"I'm sorry, what is Shady Sands?" He doesn't much like the Lieutenant's tone, or his implications.
"It's nothing, thanks to you," he says, spitting at the ground by Henry's feet.
Well, that didn't actually answer anything, Henry thinks, but he doesn't ask for further clarification. The Lieutenant does not make for pleasant conversation.
And he spits, which is disgusting and rude.
The Lieutenant sneers at him one more time, then walks back to the desk with heavy footsteps, drops into the chair, and picks his knitting back up. The click of the needles becomes the only sound in the room once more.
Henry shifts on his cot, trying to get comfortable. It's not very comfortable in here. Maybe the man at the desk will bring him a cushion if he asks.