XIX

Henry, as an orderly at the Hawkins National Laboratory, had always been expected to be aware of everything: the schedules, the routines, the rules, the attitudes of each child… He also had to perform all kinds of tasks: mobilization of the test subjects, first aids in case of need, cooking for the subjects and the rest of the staff in case of need…

File organization.

This last one was, without a doubt, one of the tasks he hated the most, whether it was carried out manually or digitally. At least other annoying tasks like mobilizing the children meant watching them train and, even though everyone's performance was terribly mediocre by his standards, at least thanks to that he could feel a little closer to the skills that had been stolen from him.

And yet, now, at last free, Henry has found an unexpected advantage for this chore that he so terribly despised: it actually allowed him to know the exact date of Eleven's birthday.

Which, by the way, is just around the corner.

Although they haven't celebrated Christmas or any other holiday—Eleven doesn't know about them nor the customs associated with them, and Henry simply doesn't care—this is a date he won't let go unnoticed.

One morning, Eleven is barely descending the stairs, already bathed but still half asleep, when a particular aroma floods her senses. Arriving in the dining room, she sees the finely decorated table and, in front of her and Henry's chairs, two plates of eggos dripping with maple syrup.

Instantly, her mouth waters.

"Henry…?" she calls, confused; it is not a common occurrence for him to prepare her favorite food (which she just discovered as such a few months ago) for breakfast.

"Oh, are you awake already?" is Henry's response, who has his back turned to her since he's busy pouring orange juice from the juicer into a glass pitcher in the kitchen counter. "Take a seat; I'll be with you in a moment."

True to his promise, Henry sits across from her a few minutes later, but not before depositing the pitcher of freshly squeezed juice in the center of the table, as well as a sugar bowl.

"I'm here now." It's the tacit permission to start eating, the fact that they're both sitting at the table. "Enjoy your meal, Eleven."

"Enjoy your meal… Henry."

As she brings the first piece of waffle to her mouth, Eleven closes her eyes and puts a hand to her cheek.

"You like it?" he asks with a self-satisfied smile; he obviously knows the answer.

Eleven smiles at him through the tickling she feels on her cheek: "It's… delicious…"

After breakfast, she and Henry retire to the study, where they review the relevant lessons for the day: English, Math and Science. Although it can be somewhat tedious, Eleven prefers these classes to the training she had to endure day after day in the lab.

And, although Henry has also started to train her in the use of her abilities, their sessions usually take place in the garden: in the middle of nature, under the sunlight, with only the singing of the birds in the background. It's something completely different from the claustrophobic practice room, plunged into darkness, with the other children pointing at her and making fun of her performance.

And, unlike Papa's, Henry's eyes are always kind: if she messes up, he sits next to her to explain it patiently to her, with all the calm in the world and, if even that isn't enough to get around whichever difficulty she's encountered, all he does is guide her by going with her through the motions.

Another thing that has taken a huge weight off her shoulders is the fact that up until now Henry has never required her to practice on living things. Sometimes, she wonders the reason for this: she knows that the man in front of her has never had a problem taking a life, and yet here he is, granting her a way of training that is free from human or animal suffering… Since it is not something she can understand or justify, she just chooses not to mention it.

And so, guided by Henry's more advanced skills, in a friendly environment, Eleven soon finds the solution to any possible problem.

When the school lessons for the day are finished, Eleven gets ready to go out to the garden—as is part of their routine—but Henry's hand closing gently around her arm stops her.

"Not today," he informs her with a smile. "Today I have other activities planned."

Eleven can't believe it: the park!

Henry has brought her to the park!

Her huge brown eyes gaze at him with countless questions. Henry, with his hands tucked in his pockets, only offers her a smile.

"So? Aren't you going to play?" he asks, nodding his head toward the place where other children are sliding down the slides, rocking on the swings, going up and down on the see-saw…

Eleven doesn't know how to react: she opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again… A nervous excitement runs through her limbs: a sincere enthusiasm that she can't remember ever feeling.

However, her life as a lab rat has taught her to be wary: "Is it… okay?" she asks. "Isn't it danger… dangerous?"

Henry shakes his head.

"Enough time has passed. If something happens, I'll come for you."

Eleven is still hesitating: "But…"

Henry crouches down in front of her and tilts his head to make better eye contact:

"What's wrong, Eleven?"

Eleven purses her lips.

"What if… They think I'm weird?" she asks, nodding toward the children. "And if…?"

What if they don't want to play with me? she doesn't say.

But Henry perceives what she's thinking anyway.

"Well, that's always a possibility." Eleven flinches at his words. "But, hey, Eleven, look at me." Henry places both hands on her cheeks, but doesn't force her; it is she who decides to stare into his blue eyes. "Although you and I are… special, different from others, that is something that everyone fears."

Eleven is pretty certain of the fact that particular fear isn't something Henry has ever worried himself about, but she gets his point, so she doesn't question it.

"And if that's the case, it's okay: I promise I'll play with you, okay?"

Eleven nods.

"Now, go," he urges, releasing her and giving her a little push. "Have fun!"