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.
Watch a movie or something. Why does the very idea of that feel so strange. Why does absolutely everything feel so strange, why isn't the empty doing its fucking job, why can he feel whatever the tightness in his chest is so fucking acutely.
His eyes drop back to the file as she picks it up and he considers taking it and scattering the pages across the barge. At least then he'd be able to do something.
But he's-- frozen, as thoroughly as he was when he tried to kill Arthur. Except its internal now. Not physical. And that's worse.
She's not going to miss that. The folder is in her hands and she's watching him, eyes on his, but she's going to try and see if she can actually look into his eyes, connect with what's there.
"Valentine?" she asks, steady and slow. She's not going to reach out or move towards him. She's just checking in.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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?"
no subject
Another pause, then, "Did it say how many I got at the diner? I made a bet with myself on the way out."
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?
no subject
"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.
no subject
"They both made it out. Their deaths aren't on you. Anna will make a full recovery."
Beat.
"But I think you know that."
no subject
"Ma'am?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
Having his own actions and motivations dictated tidily back to him is sure something. Something that leaves him properly speechless.
no subject
"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."
no subject
"That isn't exactly... By the time Anna shot me I'd... taken a fair amount of damage."
no subject
"Anything else you might want to know?"
no subject
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."
no subject
"You need to go?"
no subject
"Uh." Not eloquent or helpful. "No ma'am, I just-- needed to move."
no subject
"If you want to go, you can. Or you can stick around and we can watch a movie or something."
She reaches down to grab the folder.
"I'm going to go out this back in the safe."
no subject
His eyes drop back to the file as she picks it up and he considers taking it and scattering the pages across the barge. At least then he'd be able to do something.
But he's-- frozen, as thoroughly as he was when he tried to kill Arthur. Except its internal now. Not physical. And that's worse.
no subject
"Valentine?" she asks, steady and slow. She's not going to reach out or move towards him. She's just checking in.
no subject
Valentine. Caleb used to call him that. It was a private joke between them, a camouflaged bit of affection no one would think twice about.
His smile is clearly forced, as hard as he's trying to make it look natural.
"Yeah, I'm all good."
no subject
Her eyes say she can tell.
But she's not unkind. She nods.
"Clearing out?"
She's giving him an exit.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)