Egads, it's not Final Fantasy!
"Albert."
He looks up from his book, a compendium of psychology, index finger marking his place. Pale blue eyes find the source of the call, and the nanny suppresses a shudder. There is a wealth of intelligence behind those eyes, far too much for a boy of nine, and they never truly fix on her. In the six months she's been taking care of him, he's never smiled at her. He's never hugged her, or even spoken out of anything other than necessity. He looks through her, and his eyes are as cold and empty as a Russian tundra.
She fights down another shiver as those eyes pin her, asking why she's disturbed his reading. Just another six months, Jan. Then you're out of here and away from this creepy kid forever.
"They want to see you," she says, her tone always respectful, as though she's addressing a lord, rather than some child.
He earmarks the corner of the page and closes the book, slipping from his stool with a grace that sets her to shivering all over again. It's wrong to think it of a child, but there's something about him that's just..wrong. Moving to stand next to her, he stares up at her and waits for her to lead the way. He knows the pattern, barely a week goes by when They aren't asking after him. The scientists. She's forbidden to ask questions, and the hefty paycheck she gets each week discourages her from testing that boundary too far, but she knows that there's something wrong with him. Diabetes or anaemia, or something more serious, because he's always making this trip, down into the bowels of the research facility, to be poked and prodded at by scientists, blood samples taken, tests run. He endures it all with a sense of resigned patience, and she wonders if it's terminal, whatever he has.
He has no real parents, she's allowed to know that much. The story they've given her is that he was found abandoned at one of the hospitals Umbrella owns shares in, and one of the staff took pity on him and adopted him. Although, she's never told who adopted him, and she's never seen them, either. She comes in every morning to find him washed and dressed, eating cereal - occasionally a cooked breakfast, which she has a horrified suspicion that he cooks himself - takes him to his tutor, brings him back at the end of lessons, and watches over him until the time comes for dinner. She cooks for two, sits and eats with him, puts the used cutlery and plates in the dishwasher and leaves. He always says goodbye, but it's exactly that. An impassive "goodbye", delivered in the neutral tone of one who only says it because he knows he should, not because he particularly cares.
He's well-behaved, to the point of ridiculousness. He spends most of his time reading, or occasionally doing puzzles or watching T.V. - only ever the news or quiz shows - and she once found him painting, a skyscraper in muted tones of grey and black, against a stark white sky. It was beautiful, if utterly devoid of spirit. Once he'd finished, he tidied everything away, put the painting somewhere in his room to dry, and she never saw it again.
The first time they made this journey, from his quarters down into the stark white halls and disinfectant smell of the laboratory, she had held his hand, thinking he would need comfort. He had given her a single look, distinctly confused, and allowed her possession of the limb without complaint or apparent interest, removing it and stepping through the double-doors into the lab without so much as a backward glance. Since then, she hasn't bothered.
When they reach the ante-room, which looks much like a hospital waiting room, she sits down in a chair and flips open a magazine, knowing that her part is over until he comes back out.
"Ah, Albert." The head scientist, Richard, gives him a friendly smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He doesn't smile back, it isn't expected. The other lab techs don't even seem to notice his arrival, and he pays them much the same interest in kind. He's used to the pattern by now, Richard or one of the other higher-ranking scientists calling him down, making pleasantries, asking questions, then running various tests on him. He has a vague memory of struggling when he was younger, crying or maybe even screaming. There seems little point in that in hindsight, the tests aren't hard and they don't hurt. Sometimes they give him tablets to take, or shots administered in the arm. Just vitamin supplements, he guesses.
Today there's something different in the atmosphere of the lab, a kind of tense, nervous excitement in the way the technicians move, the way they speak. He takes all of this in without appearing to notice, observing without being observed, and waits patiently for answers.
Richard marks something off on a chart and sits down, gesturing for him to sit as well. "Today is a very special day, Albert," he tells him, confirming his suspicions.
"Sir?"
"Today, we're going to give you something new."
So, it does concern him, then. Somehow, he thought it might. Although the technicians pay him as little mind as always, the tension has ratcheted up a notch since they became aware of his arrival. He allows his expression to show curiosity, but a placid, patient kind.
"It's gonna be an injection, I'm afraid." He doesn't sound sorry at all. "But you're brave enough for that, right?"
It's all the boy can do not to roll his eyes. He has been taking injections since he can remember, and it's a long time since he's cared. Richard gives him a grin and a jovial pat on the knee, and he suppresses the urge to smack the man's hand away.
"That's my boy. And then we're gonna run some tests, just to make sure you're taking to the new stuff. You know, the usual procedure."
He nods obediently, wondering vaguely what the 'new stuff' is. Not vitamins, surely. No-one gets excited over vitamin shots. New drugs? He's had vaccines, plenty of them, and been injected with chemicals that he still doesn't know the purpose of. He's not ill, that he knows of, and the scientists seem determined to keep him that way.
"Good kid. Suzie, bring it over, would you?"
A technician approaches, holding a vial in trembling fingers. She gives the boy a strange look, and he finds himself paying rapt attention to her eyes. No-one's ever looked at him like that before, and it strikes a chord in him somewhere. Pity?
The sound of latex gloves snapping into place draws his attention back, and he watches Richard take the vial and load it into a syringe with mild curiosity.
"That will be all, Suzie." His voice is distinctly frosty, and the woman jerks, dropping her gaze and turning back to join the other technicians. "Now, give me your arm." And he's back to the same affable Uncle impression he's been using on the boy for the past nine years.
The boy unbuttons his shirt cuff and rolls up the sleeve past the elbow, extending his arm for the man to take. Strong fingers dig into his elbow, and he endures the process of raising a vein silently. Then there is the prick, and the sensation of fire being forced into his bloodstream. He jolts despite himself, but the grip on his arm becomes viselike steel.
"Come now, Albert, don't make a fuss."
The sensation increases, the fire spreading up to his shoulder, a white-hot pain that has him twisting to get away before he can stop himself. He hears screaming, over the sound of his pulse in his ears, high and panicked, and realises it's him. He's on the floor now, cool tile against his back, though everything else still burns, and the poison still surges through his veins, making him writhe, making him retch as though he can drive the venom out that way, as though he can force it up through his digestive system, even though it's only reached his chest, flooding him with fire that burns so hot it freezes. Then it finds his heart, surging around that single point as though that's what it's been looking for. With one last high scream, one last desperate buck, everything goes black.
When he awakes, he's on a gurney. Technicians are looking down at him, one pair of eyes filled with that horrible, piercing emotion again, and he looks away.
"He's awake, sir."
"Ah." Richard's voice throbs in his over-sensitive ears and he suppresses a wince. He feels raw. Skinned and dipped in salt. "You gave us quite a fright, young man."
Bullshit. His own vulgarity surprises him. He's not given to crude language.
"Feeling better, now?"
He makes himself sit up, and nod, and act like he's not scared, not trying his hardest not to shake. "Fine now, thank you, sir. Sorry for worrying you, sir."
"No worries." The man ruffles his hair, and he does wince this time. Everything hurts. Richard apparently doesn't notice. "Come on, let's see about those tests, and then you can go home."
Classes are always cancelled on lab days, and he's quietly, secretly grateful for that mercy. "Yes, sir," he mumbles, ducking his head so the man won't try to touch him again and slipping from the table. Something is very wrong inside of him. He can feel it with every exaggerated pump of his heart, every surge of blood through his veins. Something is wrong, and he's scared to death.
When the door opens, Jan glances up. It's her time to take over, now, the scientists are done with the kid and it's time for her to earn her pay. The boy's head appears around the door and she blinks, startled. He still looks as neat as ever, shirt properly buttoned, hair in place, but there's something in the way he walks. Something has happened in the last hour, and it's changed him.
"You okay, kid?" It's the first time she's ever asked him a question like that. The first time she's dared. He doesn't answer, but something clicks in his expression. Walking over to her side, every step seeming faintly unsteady, he gazes up at her. He looks at her, really looks at her, and his eyes are a torrent of emotion that make her heart twist in sympathy. Then, slowly, he reaches up a hand and slips it into hers. And squeezes, as though he's just a terrified nine-year-old boy and she's the only thing he has to cling to.