"How are you feeling, Officer Gomez?"
Herman shrugs, tapping at the Vault bobblehead grinning up at him, before smiling mildly at the Doc across from him.
"Thought this was about Freddie."
"Of course it is, do not worry Officer." James smiles in return, genuine and handsome. "Freddie is doing well, Chlorpromazine usually works, though only to an extent, in my opinion—I'm glad that he has found his own happiness outside of his medication."
Herman nods absently, seeing too much familiarity in the dark blue eyes that stare kindly at him. He stares at his worrying hands. "Call me Herman, please Doc."
"Well Herman," James relaxes back in his seat, motioning to the chair opposite his own; Herman sits down with a graceless plop. "While I know it's none of my business, it has simply come to my attention that, over the past few meetings with your son, you have seemed…"
Herman waits patiently, eyes darting nervously to a picture of the Doc's wife—Kate's mom; she looks so much like her that a prickle of sharp, seething shame licks along his skin.
"Nervous."
"Huh?" He blinks into the doctor's steady gaze. "Oh. Really? I guess it's the change in shift. I, um, haven't adjusted yet…"
"Sleeping problems then?" James nods thoughtfully. "Well Herman, if this was an official check-up, I would advise that you arrange for a change in shift. Or, conversely, I could prescribe you—,"
"No." Herman says a little too forcefully to go unnoticed. "No, I'm—Gosh… Sorry Doc. I just don't want my entire family on pills, you know?"
James has a weary, knowing look in his eyes and they crinkle around the edges sympathetically as he smiles. "Of course, that's understandable my friend."
The two men are silent for a moment—the clock on the wall seeming to echo in the small office—before the sounds of animated chatter coming from the clinic outside draws James' attention to the window beside him.
Herman would know that loud, boisterous laugh anywhere, and he nearly yelps out loud at the realization before remembering just who he is sitting with.
Jesus…
Kate doesn't quite burst into the room with her usual theatric way—she simply peaks her head in, flicking at a curl that has escaped from the garish red bandana tied about her head.
"Hey Daddy." She whispers apologetically, oddly calm and polite, before smiling without a hint of her usual mischief straight at Herman. "Good Afternoon Officer Gomez. I hope I'm not interrupting."
"No, honey, we were just finishing." James absolutely beams at his daughter, the expression so very like her own smile that Herman nearly forgets to breathe. "You're right on time, actually."
James turns to Herman with a good-natured shrug. "I'm hopeless with my terminal, you see."
"Oh?" Herman snaps out of his racing, terrified thoughts as Kate prances into the room with loud, graceful stomps. She kisses her father chastely, admiration glittering in her eyes, before she begins her work with a forceful punch to the chassis. "Um, ah. Me too."
"Ingenious doctor, they say…" Kate teases, biting on her tongue as she concentrates. "What if the terminal suffers a heart-attack?"
"Well that's what you're here for, dear one." James pats her bent spine as she leans over the computer, then standing up and holding his hand out to Herman pointedly.
They shake hands. "Thanks Doc, for… you know, everything."
"Don't thank me, Herman. I care for Freddie and your family; you've done a lot for me and my girl."
Herman blinks, swallows pathetically, and manages to catch the small spark in Kate's eyes.
She has no idea how true that is; how much Herman fought for the strange family nearly 19 years ago. "Um, yeah. Of course. I'll see you next month?"
"Oh, Officer Gomez!" Kate pipes up, yanking roughly at a wire in her grip before plugging a different one into a colorful slot behind the terminal's monitor. "The Overseer wants me to have a look at the security cameras around the Vault; he said I'd need an Officer to help me find them. Would you mind?"
"Catherine." James frowns half-heartedly. "It's late."
Catherine. Kate. Oh.
"Dad," Kate whines around the screwdriver gripped between her teeth. Herman eyes the sharp canines that peek over the colorful handle. "Don't even suggest that I ask Stevie Mack."
"Well—,"
"It's alright, Doc." Herman clears his throat, drawing twin pairs of blue eyes. "I was about to go out on shift, actually. It'd be nice to have some company."
"See?" She asks, voice muffled before she takes her tool in hand to refasten the frame of the machine back together. "I am nice company; don't you think so Officer Gomez?"
"Of course," James scoffs instantly, thankfully, before shaking his head. He doesn't even notice Herman's pained swallow. "If not a little loud-mouthed, perhaps?"
"Oh, really?"
They joke and beam at one another—happily, jovially and lovingly. A father and a daughter, both beautiful and brilliant and radiant people, still as mysterious and exotic as the day they stepped into the Vault. How typical they seem now, acting the perfect pair—like a family straight out of a pre-war movie.
A rare love shines behind James' eyes upon Kate's loud cackle; Herman turns from the sight.