1

She still saw a prison of ice every time she met his eyes. But that wasn't often, so she usually had to look for other signs that he'd changed. Body language and the way he spoke were the main tells on what was going on in his head, albeit more than a little vague. Crossed arms and a dull, monotone voice told her he'd more than likely had a bad day. He had a lot of those. Sometimes, he'd fiddle with pens as he idly chatted about how he'd been, and his shoulders would be less hunched than usual. Those were the rare 'better days', when the past didn't haunt him and the seventy years of programming were slowly breaking down to allow the man beneath to show his face.

It had been three weeks since he'd started seeing her. Not much progress had been made; the claws of conditioning were still latched firmly onto the man's fragile mind, refusing to let go. It didn't put her off, though. He'd helped her; saved her, even. She was determined to return the favour.

Today was another bad day. He wasn't looking at her, and his arms were held close to his body as he absently stroked his dog's head. That was another tell. Mick rarely left his side on days like this.

"Did something bad happen today?" Lucille asked gently, noting the way Jame's fingers twitched.

"Yes," was the blunt reply. No elaboration. No emotion. As was expected.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

That was how these sessions worked. Simple yes or no questions; don't ever make him think that there was a right or wrong answer. Sure, there were preferable answers, but no wrong ones. He was still getting used to that.

"No."

Well. That was new. Usually, he would either say 'yes', and struggle to find the right words to string together into an answer, or remain stubbornly silent until Lucille asked something else.

"That's fine," Lucille said softly, scribbling in her notebook in messy shorthand. "Have you remembered anything new since we last spoke?"

There was a pause as James stopped to think. With a slight huff, he dug around in his pockets and brought out his own notebook, flipping open to the latest page.

"Just that I liked buttered popcorn," he siad, hardly seeming impressed by the revelation. "And I'd make it with Steve sometimes."

At this, Lucille shot him an encouraging smile. "That's good. It's often the small things that make up the most important parts of us. For example; I like cats. Might not seem very important now, but to an abandoned litter of kittens, that small detail could be a lifesaver."

James didn't say anything for a while; too preoccupied with scratching Mick behind the ears.

"I guess," he murmured.

Lucille nodded at that. "That's good." She paused and checked her watch. "Well, that's all for today; I'd rather not overwhelm you with chitchat. Um... if you ever end up making popcorn before we meet up again, let me know how it went, okay? It might jog a few more memories."

James nodded. "Okay. Should I keep writing things down?"

"That'd be best; yes. You still have my phone number, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. If you ever want to talk, then just call me, okay? Have a good afternoon, James."

"You too."