"This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. Terrible really, this is very, very bad." Regent muttered to himself, practically stumbling along the hallway.
"Daniel." Ian spoke plainly, trudging along beside him. "This was your idea."
"Humans are fallible creatures." Regent replied clearly, almost tangentially, then he glanced back over his shoulder, either down the rows of identical doors, at the sparce and distant armed guards following them, or at 096, who was trailing behind Ian's held hand.
He scanned up and down the walls hemming them in. Evidently he was worrying about the other researchers.
"… Bad idea. Very bad idea." He mumbled through his teeth.
Ian raised both his eyebrows as high as they would go, and himself looked back at 096, with whom he was sharing a deep slouch. Along their remarkably unfraught journey, up from the bowels of this wretched place, past the containment level, the D-class cells and many layers of concrete. Its grip had loosened significantly. Ian did not mention this. They'd already come all this way. No point turning back.
It occurred belatedly to him that of all the places he could have a troubled separation from 096, this was quite possibly the worst.
"Hold up." Ian said. Regent responded by skidding to a halt and spinning like a top.
"What! What's wrong!" He sounded like he was trying to sound calm.
Ian cleared his throat and pointed at the door beside him, that Regent had walked right past. 'Dr D. J. Regent.' Was embossed on it.
"… Oh right." He replied, now actually calm, letting his arm sag from where they had been ready to do… something, and trotted over, stooping like an awkward giraffe to tap his key card on the panel.
He smiled a very placid smile and oddly it was directed at 096. Ian blinked a storm at that. His eyes were sticky. 'Must be tired', he thought and even his internal tone was neutral. Tiredness would probably explain a lot.
The three of them pushed into Regent's office. Well, Regent did, Ian was more pulling, with the SCP was dragged. It stopped resisting once the door was closed, suddenly beset with hopelessness or some other, unfathomable sadness. The sky-blue walls did less for it's eternal melancholy than they did for Ian's, so it seemed. Crouched on the floor, still coming up to Ian's ribs, it whimpered. Unable to help himself, he shushed it sweetly and pulled it's bagged head against his side.
Regent flopped into his chair like Atlas finally dropping the weight of the world, or like all of his bones had been pulled out, or turned to soup.
"Well, we're both going to die for this." Regent admitted. Ian, who was leading 096 towards the leather couch against the wall, in a moment of comic genius, replied.
"What do you mean 'we'?" He could not keep a straight face, and coughed out a laugh, at himself.
"OH! OH, he's so funny, funny guy, Mr I-can't-die!" Regent mocked. Of course, he couldn't stop himself from smiling while he did, try as he might.
Ian dropped into the plush, soft couch, and promptly stretched his back over the arm rest, where it cracked.
"Oh! Don't do that!" Regent winced.
Before Ian could sit up again, he was joined on the couch by the hulking spider that was 096. It climbed entirely onto the leather, immediately sinking deeply into it. Then it curled into a ball, hunkering down into itself. Then it rocked, slowly, ever so slowly, all the way over, until it was, once again, nestled against Ian's side.
Neither Ian, nor Regent spoke, or moved for several seconds.
"… Would you two like a blanket?" Regent asked. Ian raised both hands and shrugged. Immediately he was under fire by Regent's pointed finger. "It let go!"
Ian appraised his formerly imprisoned fingers. He wiggled them.
"… So it did."
Regent dropped his hand to his desk and fell back in his chair once again. 096 didn't flinch, but it did make a worried little grumble that only Ian heard. He gave up the tenseness in his back, lounging there in the folds of the cold leather. 096 did not, but seemed as close to content as was possible for a creature… like it.
"So… This is it then?" Regent asked from his chair, turning in it, from side to side.
Ian shuffled deeper into the couch, resting his neck on the arm rest. 096 shuffled too, not far, but now it was holding a fistful of Ian's lab coat. He shrugged.
"…Could be worse, aye?" He supposed aloud. He was feeling remarkably patient.
Contrary to Ian's belief that they would likely be swarmed by cold-hearted foundation guards, the site was practicaly empty. The crew had been skeletonised, so he'd been told on their long walk up here, avoiding the sealable elevators at Regent's request.
Someone would come for them, certainly, but if they were fortunate it would not be for some time. Now all they needed to do was give things time. 'Time to adjust' Ian had called it.
'Exposure time' Regent had expanded candidly, and Ian agreed. Though what exposure was needed was unclear. Exposure to Ian, certainly, was needed, but he was sure that there was more to it than that. There was an element of comfort, one which he was embodying quite litteraly at that moment. He had briefly considered the implications of calling it 'comfort'. The anthropomorphising of the other worldly creatures as things that needed warmth and love being unscientific on one hand and reckless on the other. Then he had spat that thought out faster than a mouthful of rancid raw chicken. It made him feel too much like part of the foundation. He'd rather be one of the D-class than on their pay roll… If they even paid their staff.
Regent was alright, but they seemed to agree on most things. He looked over to where Regent was still lounging in his chair, still turning, twiddling his thumbs. Then he looked down to 096, head on his chest, fingers pulled in tight, quick breaths worrying the fabric of its mask. Ian felt very suddenly the weight of the cruelty of that adornment. The itching, pressing, drawing small of breath. He bit his lip and, against his will, pondered the issues of humanising the inhuman. This had been his entire plan, and the looming regret was poised to have him undo it… Because he felt bad.
He remembered the wounds on 173. It was such a recent memory, but in his mind it felt a decade away. It had faded into insignificance not for its mundanity or unimportance. He was looking for a word that might not exist, one that described the causality between seeing a problem and fixing it, the predictability that drove this memory into forgetfulness. He'd helped because of course he'd help.
He was only human.
He sat up. 096's head slid into his lap, curling further into a ball. Regent sat straight too. His eyes were wide, but he watched quietly. Ian reassessed the fabric of the mask. Soft enough… but still oppressive. He wrapped his fingers under it and started lifting. Regent filled his lungs and brough both hands up to his eyes.
Someone knocked on the door.
