"I don't really have questions. I have ideas. I have feelings-"
She looks at him and make sure she has his eyes.
"I need to say something, but mostly I need to know you heard this from me, okay? It's important. And you don't have to respond. You can, but you don't have to. I don't expect it."
She's going to take both of his hands then, curl her fingers lightly around them, and once she's sure-
"What was done to you was terrible and unfair and inhumane. You signed up to serve your country, but your country took that service in a direction it never should have allowed. You were preyed upon at your weakest point, when you should have had people looking out for you and offering help, and what they did to you and the others-" she swallows, "I should say that I want those people prosecuted and imprisoned for what they did, but if I'm honest, I completely understand why you burned that place down and killed everyone there, for... one reason or another."
Those who deserved it are one thing. Those who were put out of their misery... she understands but a part of her wishes that she could save them. Hell, depending on how things go and how long she's here, maybe she will. Or maybe D-Henry will.
"There's a lot more I want to say. But I also know now isn't the time, and I- I need to prove some things to you before it will feel right to say them. What I will say is that I think I know what you need to graduate. And that while I think it will take some time and some work, I know you can do it. And I'll be here for you every step of the way, including the ugly ones, okay?"
The simple answer is 'okay.' She even supplied the word as part of her question, but for reasons unknown, he can't say a goddamned thing when she's finished speaking. He doesn't pull his hands away from hers, doesn't look away from those dark, serious eyes. And yet every time he starts to speak--to say what, he doesn't know--it's like the air gets squished out of his lungs before he can make a sound.
Finally, quietly, clearing his throat first, he says, "They let me. The- the subjects that were left, they let me do it. The ones I could get to. I hope the fire got the others, but I can't be sure."
She watches him, sees the false starts, and when he finally does get the words out, she squeezes his hands and nods.
"It did. You're the only one left. The file was specific." A breath out. "They're at peace. You don't have to worry about them. They can't be hurt anymore."
He's tense. He's always tense, on the alert, ready to respond to environmental threats.
But when Saga says that, something fundamental in him unravels and lets him relax, just a little, little bit. Enough for his shoulders to drop an inch with his exhale.
He nods, once, watching her a bit like a dog waiting to be struck when it goes for an offered meal.
Maybe the file didn't actually cover everything. At least not in detail. Didn't mention how he almost killed Caleb's sister, just that he almost did. Didn't mention the waitress or the diner.
This just seems so... strange, wrong, somehow improper. He's none of them, the people who were incidental damage to his escape. He can't reasonably expect sympathy from anyone, and he's comfortable with that.
This, this gentleness is somehow very uncomfortable.
"How, uh, detailed was that file? As to my history?"
"Very," she says plainly enough, keeping her hands in his, her eyes on his. She's trying to reassure said nervous dog.
No one's striking him on her watch.
"I know everything that was done to you. And I know everything you've done since you left the facility. I know everyone you hurt and killed. And how you died."
She shakes her head.
"That doesn't change anything I said. We're going to talk about it eventually, but it's not the first thing I wanted to deal with." Beat. "Do you have a question about it?"
If it isn't a test, it's him trying to destroy this. Break it. It's confusing him and making him feel off kilter and he's a Soldier. He wants orders and simple lines.
Empathy is complicated. Sympathy is complicated. His life is complicated and painful and she read through all of it and while it's still processing, she knows that won't change, even if her task is simple.
Not easy, but simple at least.
"You killed seven people with the grenades and one with a gunshot. There were three in the kitchen, two cooks and a server, who were injured but not killed."
He stares at her, confused now for new and exciting reasons that also have no quantifiable source. He expected an answer, sure, but not-- not for her to make an offer like that. Not for her to call and raise him somehow, in whatever this suddenly is.
"No, that's all right, I just..." A pause, and he admits, "Could be nice to do target practice though. Relaxing."
Any other questions? Probably a few. He doesn't know how many more answers he can take before some unknown threshold in him gets breached.
"I guess Anna and Luke made it out all right? If they could get through that stupid maze."
The crooked smile on her lips feels odd, but there it is.
"We both know you could have killed them. You can take someone out in seconds and neither of them were real combatants.
"You didn't. You pushed at your programming as hard as you could to save them." Beat. "And so you could put yourself out of your misery, maybe. Join your fallen friends. Make sure Luke was strong enough and get taken out to boot."
She watches him... and her answer is to squeeze his hand. Gently.
"I read everything they did to you, Henry. Which means... I know how much work, how much they had to hurt you, to make Henry Valentine into someone who hurts the family of someone he loved."
She shakes her head.
"I'm not going to condemn you for that, Henry. As much as I'm sure a part of you wants me to. That's not the way out."
She can hear the retreat in his words. But she knows what she knows. And while she won't say that, he might be able to read it in the liquid darkness of her eyes.
Something truly unpleasant crests over the edge of the empty for the first time in--
He doesn't know how long. It's mild, the feeling, or it would be for anyone else. To him, the fact that it's powerful enough to exist at all means that it's already too much.
He finally draws his hand back and shifts his weight, making to stand.
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There it is. The terrible wordplay has clicked. He wrinkles his nose and groans quietly.
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After a moment, he says, "So, uh, questions?"
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"I don't really have questions. I have ideas. I have feelings-"
She looks at him and make sure she has his eyes.
"I need to say something, but mostly I need to know you heard this from me, okay? It's important. And you don't have to respond. You can, but you don't have to. I don't expect it."
She's going to take both of his hands then, curl her fingers lightly around them, and once she's sure-
"What was done to you was terrible and unfair and inhumane. You signed up to serve your country, but your country took that service in a direction it never should have allowed. You were preyed upon at your weakest point, when you should have had people looking out for you and offering help, and what they did to you and the others-" she swallows, "I should say that I want those people prosecuted and imprisoned for what they did, but if I'm honest, I completely understand why you burned that place down and killed everyone there, for... one reason or another."
Those who deserved it are one thing. Those who were put out of their misery... she understands but a part of her wishes that she could save them. Hell, depending on how things go and how long she's here, maybe she will. Or maybe D-Henry will.
"There's a lot more I want to say. But I also know now isn't the time, and I- I need to prove some things to you before it will feel right to say them. What I will say is that I think I know what you need to graduate. And that while I think it will take some time and some work, I know you can do it. And I'll be here for you every step of the way, including the ugly ones, okay?"
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Finally, quietly, clearing his throat first, he says, "They let me. The- the subjects that were left, they let me do it. The ones I could get to. I hope the fire got the others, but I can't be sure."
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"It did. You're the only one left. The file was specific." A breath out. "They're at peace. You don't have to worry about them. They can't be hurt anymore."
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But when Saga says that, something fundamental in him unravels and lets him relax, just a little, little bit. Enough for his shoulders to drop an inch with his exhale.
"That's... good to know."
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"If you have any other questions like that..." A breath out. "If it's in the file, I'll tell you. If it's not, I'll see what I can find out for you."
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Maybe the file didn't actually cover everything. At least not in detail. Didn't mention how he almost killed Caleb's sister, just that he almost did. Didn't mention the waitress or the diner.
This just seems so... strange, wrong, somehow improper. He's none of them, the people who were incidental damage to his escape. He can't reasonably expect sympathy from anyone, and he's comfortable with that.
This, this gentleness is somehow very uncomfortable.
"How, uh, detailed was that file? As to my history?"
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No one's striking him on her watch.
"I know everything that was done to you. And I know everything you've done since you left the facility. I know everyone you hurt and killed. And how you died."
She shakes her head.
"That doesn't change anything I said. We're going to talk about it eventually, but it's not the first thing I wanted to deal with." Beat. "Do you have a question about it?"
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Another pause, then, "Did it say how many I got at the diner? I made a bet with myself on the way out."
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If it isn't a test, it's him trying to destroy this. Break it. It's confusing him and making him feel off kilter and he's a Soldier. He wants orders and simple lines.
Empathy is complicated. Sympathy is complicated. His life is complicated and painful and she read through all of it and while it's still processing, she knows that won't change, even if her task is simple.
Not easy, but simple at least.
"You killed seven people with the grenades and one with a gunshot. There were three in the kitchen, two cooks and a server, who were injured but not killed."
She looks to him.
"What was your bet?"
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"Uh, figured I'd get all the patrons with the grenade, but bet I'd get one of the cooks too. Kitchen must have sturdier walls than I thought."
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She can keep her head together for this.
"It doesn't say. But maybe we can run an experiment with dummies in the Enclosure if you're really curious." Beat. "Any other questions?"
Maybe about the kids?
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"No, that's all right, I just..." A pause, and he admits, "Could be nice to do target practice though. Relaxing."
Any other questions? Probably a few. He doesn't know how many more answers he can take before some unknown threshold in him gets breached.
"I guess Anna and Luke made it out all right? If they could get through that stupid maze."
The last part is said with a joking awkwardness.
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"They both made it out. Their deaths aren't on you. Anna will make a full recovery."
Beat.
"But I think you know that."
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"Ma'am?"
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"We both know you could have killed them. You can take someone out in seconds and neither of them were real combatants.
"You didn't. You pushed at your programming as hard as you could to save them." Beat. "And so you could put yourself out of your misery, maybe. Join your fallen friends. Make sure Luke was strong enough and get taken out to boot."
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Having his own actions and motivations dictated tidily back to him is sure something. Something that leaves him properly speechless.
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"I read everything they did to you, Henry. Which means... I know how much work, how much they had to hurt you, to make Henry Valentine into someone who hurts the family of someone he loved."
She shakes her head.
"I'm not going to condemn you for that, Henry. As much as I'm sure a part of you wants me to. That's not the way out."
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"That isn't exactly... By the time Anna shot me I'd... taken a fair amount of damage."
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"Anything else you might want to know?"
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He doesn't know how long. It's mild, the feeling, or it would be for anyone else. To him, the fact that it's powerful enough to exist at all means that it's already too much.
He finally draws his hand back and shifts his weight, making to stand.
"No ma'am."
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"You need to go?"
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"Uh." Not eloquent or helpful. "No ma'am, I just-- needed to move."
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