âIs it that mural?â Floyd pointed at it with his gun, as if he was completely oblivious to what he had just said. Floyd had an annoying habit of doing thatâof pretending that there wasnât anything wrong or out of the ordinary when something obviously was. Usually, he could get away with it, but he could never get away with anything when it came to Rick. Rick knew him far too well to think that this was just another one of Floydâs quirks; Floyd had plenty of those, and none of them included saying things as troubling as what he just said. Sometimes, Floyd just couldnât hold it inside anymore and he would say something about the cruelty he had faced this last time at Belle Reve, and he was sure it was concerning to the people around him.Â
It was definitely some sort of cry for help, even if Floyd didnât see it as such. He needed someone to know, someone to believe him that he had gone through some horrifying shit when he was in prison this time. They had never treated Floyd kindly, that much was for sure, but theyâd allowed him a TV for an afternoon to watch the tape of Zoeâs recital, theyâd given him yard time every day, they had fed him three square meals. It was about as much as Floyd could ask for, and he knew that. Belle Reve wasnât known for being the most humane prison.Â
But the experiments that Floyd had undergone were even worse than inhumane. He knew that much. âYeah, they pumped smoke in my cell until I passed out. A few times. Probably why Iâm so fucked in the head nowâIs it that bus stop?â He gestured to a brightly colored bus stop across the street from where they were patrolling. Floyd said all of this matter-of-factly, as if it was a completely normal thing to be discussing as they walked down the street. That was how Floyd approached most things he couldnât quite wrap his brain around.Â
Rick didnât even look at the bus stop. âYup. Thatâs it.â He was done with the game. He wanted to have the conversation, wanted to know what the fuck Floyd was talking about, and that wasnât going to happen if he was distracted by I Spy. It was something heâd use, too, because that was like him. Floyd avoided the things he didnât want to talk about. It didnât work, especially when they found small ways of tumbling out. Now it was in the air between them and he wanted to talk about it.
A place like Belle Reve had a reputation. Rick certainly had his share of suspicions about what Floyd might have endured there, but he didnât let himself get caught up in things like hunches. He needed the facts to back it up. The prison was always spic and span when he showed up, as if theyâd just done a little spring cleaning, but he still noticed how closely they watched him do the rounds. He reported to Waller, but he also had close ties with SHIELD. At the back of his mind heâd always considered the possibility that it was all for show. He just didnât know why theyâd bother for his benefit.
âWhy didnât you tell me about this?â The question came out harsher than intended. He was angry, and he knew whatever answers Floyd provided were bound to make him even angrier. Itâd taken him a while to locate where they were housing Floyd and it wasnât as if Waller would listen to his concerns regarding flagrant violations like that. He wouldnât put it past her to order it herself. It was still a conversation he would have with her later. For now, he seized Floydâs arm and forced him to turn so they were facing each other. âWhat else?â
