damned_institute | Day 57: Waiting Room/Lobby 2 (Fourth Shift)

By some stroke of luck, Harvey hadn't been bothered while he'd been in the library, allowing him to lose himself in a random book for at least a little while. Even so, he'd gone through all of his possible options for who might be visiting, from Gordon (in which case he'd probably end up sedated by the end of it) to his mother to Bruce Wayne to even the Joker.

He knew the latter couldn't be possible, not when he had to be rotting in a cell of his own by now. He'd better be, anyway. If Batman was going to be making a nuisance of himself, the least he could do was get the insane clown behind bars.

In other words, the book hadn't completely prevented him from working himself up about this whole visitor thing. It was the last thing he wanted, but as the shift ended and a soldier came to collect him, it became clear that resistance would not be tolerated.

And so he was shoved into one of the rooms, watching as the patients from the previous shift exited out, some looking relieved and others looking crushed. It only made the knot in his stomach pull tighter, but Harvey forced himself to breathe and calm down. No one he recognized was here yet, so he'd have a moment to compose himself at least.

Taking a seat off in the corner, Harvey considered grabbing one of the outdated magazines to read over while he waited, but he couldn't relax quite that much. Instead, he pulled up one leg to rest on the opposite thigh and made subtle glances towards the door every few seconds.

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Carter had been pleasantly drumming his fingers on his knees and waiting for one of the passing visitors to magically recognize him. He'd been expecting something strange but he hadn't been expecting to see his old kommandant come walking through the doorway and call him by a strange name. He gaped in momentary astonishment and then broke down laughing.

Klink? That couldn't be Klink. What would Klink of all people be doing here? He was missing his monocle and out of uniform but that face was pretty hard to miss.

"I-I'm sorry," he managed, choking down his laughter. "You just...you look like someone I know." Of course it couldn't be Klink, Klink would be long dead now even if he lived to be an old man. It could be one of his descendants but he was pretty sure Klink had never had any kids. Either way, it was impossible that the old man knew him.

His nephew, it seemed, didn't realize who he was. Gunther wondered if he even needed to bother taking his coat off, since their conversation would undoubtedly be more frustrating than anything else. But he drove all this way to see Harold, so it wouldn't be right to just turn around and leave now that he was actually here.

"Of course I do, Harold," he said with a frown. "I'm your uncle. Don't you remember?"

He sat down in the seat across from Harold, removing his winter hat from his head. His gloves and goat, however, remained where they were. It felt awkward sitting here like this, but that couldn't be helped.

Carter bent over, shaking with repressed giggle. Uncle. Uncle. Him, related to that idiot?

"I really think you've got the wrong idea, mister," he said, one hand over his mouth. "Or the wrong person. I don't know any Harold and you're...you can't be related to me."

All he needed was the monocle and it would be a perfect double. The voice wasn't quite right, but it was right enough to make Carter find the entire situation hilarious. He was just so serious about all this.

What did he think Carter was?

It stung to hear Harold say those kinds of things. Weren't the treatments here supposed to be top-notch? Maybe they spent so much time trying to keep Harold out of trouble that it was hard to make any progress with him at all. It wouldn't be such a shock, at any rate.

"Why not?" Gunther asked with a troubled frown. "Why do you keep saying that?"

What was it about him that made Harold so sure they couldn't be related? It didn't make any sense at all. They both had Fuhrmann blood in them. Their relationship had been fairly decent before Harold had withdrawn from friends and family and started spouting all that war nonsense. Yet Harold always acted like there was something specifically about Gunther that meant he couldn't be related to him.

"You're a Kraut--I mean, a German, for one," Carter pointed out. His grandmother had been German enough to teach him the language but that was so far back that it hardly mattered. "And I'm an American.I knew a guy who looked exactly like you but we weren't related at all."

That frown eased Carter's laughter. The 'uncle' looked genuinely upset that Carter didn't know him and that just made the situation uncomfortable. Was it possible that Klink had actually gotten himself a wife (because you couldn't make kids without marriage) and had children after the war was over, and this one had sought him out. It seemed crazy. Especially when he couldn't get Carter's name right.

So it was as he feared -- Harold wasn't much better than the last time they'd seen each other. "You have German blood in you too," Gunther immediately pointed out. "Don't you forget that."

Sighing, he folded his arms and looked his nephew over. Judging by his appearance, it looked like they fed him well and took care of him. Didn't they have medicine to get rid of those delusions? He should have been able to recognize his own uncle by now.

"The war ended decades ago, Harold," he added. "Is it that you just don't want a normal life? I don't understand."

He did try to forget about that, it didn't pay to point out you were part Kraut any more than it paid to point out that you were part Indian. It was too small a part to matter, anyway.

"I know the war's been over," he said, trying to be patient with the poor, horribly familiar old man. "But it wasn't over where I came from. Look, I don't know who Harold is, but there's been a big mistake. My name's Andrew Carter. They just won't listen when anyone tells them that they've got all the names wrong."

Carter wracked his brain and tried to think of whether he'd actually met a Harold here. Was there someone he could redirect not!Klink to that might actually know who he was?

"That doesn't make any sense, Harold," Gunther promptly said. "Everyone knows time travel simply doesn't exist!" While he could have tip-toed around his crazy talk, it didn't do anyone any favors, least of all his nephew. "Have you ever honestly thought that maybe the doctors and nurses call you Harold because that's your actual name?"

If someone woke up in a mental institute, the logical assumption would be that they were there because they needed help. Gunther didn't even want to think about what kind of mental gymnastics Harold was doing to keep up his delusions. Hopefully someday it would become too much, and he could work his way back to reality.

"Whether you like it or not, you're my nephew, and I'm not going to deny that," he continued. "Look, I even have a photo of us together." After fishing through his pockets, he retrieved his wallet and produced a small, colored picture of them together at Christmas a couple of years ago. Gunther reached out and offered it to Harold so he could see.

Carter took the photo and stared at it. "Wow..."

He traced the lines of the impossibly familiar face with one finger, cocking his head to the side. There was a face like his, and there was a face like Klink's, and they seemed very happy to be standing together. How strange.

Carter looked at the picture for a few more moments, then handed it back to not-Klink. "That's one heck of a coincidence," he said, offering a friendly smile. "I can see why you'd mix us up. If I see him around I'll tell him you're looking for him. But I'm really not your guy. Maybe we're related?"

His brother might grow up and get married. These things weren't likely but Carter considered just about anything to be physically possible.

For a moment, it almost looked like he'd gotten through to Harold. But then he had to remain so impossibly dense, and--

Briefly closing his eyes, Gunther resisted the urge to rub at his temples. No, it wasn't just him being dense. His nephew was a sick man, and it was going to take time for him to get well. That much was painfully obvious by now, even if it hurt to admit it to himself.

Well, as long as they were keeping him out of trouble (and explosives), then that was better than nothing. After reaching out for the photo, Gunther gently plucked it from Harold's grasp. "It's not a coincidence," he said. "Someday you'll see that. In the meantime, you'll always have a place in my home. I hope you'll at at least remember that in the future."

Day 57: Waiting Room/Lobby 2 (Fourth Shift)

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