Thank you to everyone who followed this story-reviews are always appreciated as well, let me know what you think! Enjoy this chapter.
The room she was to stay in linked with Adam's. It was little more than a bed and chest for clothing, and an optional monitoring screen flicked Adam's vitals across the wall where she could see them easily from the bed. It was an observation suite, clearly just vacated by the surgeon who'd been overseeing Jensen's augments. She turned the sound off on the monitor but left the data up, watching the yellow line of Adam's cardiac activity split the dark with every jagged beat. She was feeling suddenly nervous, too wired from the strange experience to sleep even though it was approaching three am. Eventually, she drew a breath, closed her eyes, straightened her spine, and went into the next room.
The suite was all white and silver and precise edges, but the harshness was softened by a low, almost natural-looking gold light. The bulbs provided enough to see clearly, but were of a wavelength that was particularly easy on the eyes. She glanced at the bandages covering Adam's eyes and swallowed, picking up his medical pad. They were gearing up to take the bandages off today, which was why the lights had been implemented. If Adam woke up the last thing they wanted was to damage the healing retinas with harsh light.
The room was jacked up warmer than normal, and the air was sterile. Nora had had to pass through a sterilizing field and change into the soft white of surgeon's scrubs before she'd been allowed in. She folded her hands in front of her, walking with pounding heart to the foot of Adam's bed. She swallowed, trying to keep her focus on his slack face, but her eyes kept diverting away to the raw marks just beginning to heal flesh around metal.
The arms were particularly distracting. She inched closer until she was standing at his left side, lowering herself into a chair as though afraid of waking him. She leaned forward and held her breath, her fingers tingly with the desire to run them along the shark-line edges of his prosthesis. She'd handled and even helped machine many such parts in the factory, but seldom did she see such high grade material let alone witness it attached to a patient. She hesitated, glancing up at the screen above his head displaying all of his vital and augmentation data. They hadn't yet switched on the touch sensors in his arms, so if she was very gentle and didn't jar any part of his shoulder she could touch him and he wouldn't even feel it. She bit her lip, and glanced up at the back of the guard's helmets. They didn't turn, didn't seem concerned with or about her at all. They really did trust her.
Slowly, she reached forward and ran just the tips of her fingers alone one of the fuel lines. The weaving was cold and flexed with her touch, a rotator at the joint allowing the tube to twist without restricting any flow—just like a human artery. She let out a breath in an astonished, quiet laugh, overcome with what she was seeing. Feeling bolder, she traced the alloyed metal of the arm's skeleton, gingerly moving her fingers along the exposed wire-gum tendons that would operate his new fingers. Slowly, very carefully, she turned his hand over, astonished with the flexible fluidity of the artificial joint. The palm was one she'd never seen before, the pads of the fingers catching her own with a light static and textural cling.
She glanced up at his diagnostic screen where the details of his touch sensors were displayed. He had as many sensors in his artificial fingertips as he'd had in his organic ones, with several more laying optionally dormant for when he might need them. She blinked. Robotics were good, but she'd never seen them that good. In addition they'd placed secondary sensors in almost every hose and maintenance port along the arm and actuator muscle, meaning that when the coverings were installed and the arm complete Jensen would be able to feel the artificial muscle seize up with movement almost the same way he'd been able to feel his organic muscles before. It was no wonder they had his touch sensors turned off—the way the arm was right then was equivalent to an organic arm without skin. While the touch wouldn't hurt without actual damage to the inner structure of the arm, it would create a neurological overload of sensation that someone in his state would not handle well.
She looked up at his face, her hand covering his own without really being conscious of the comfort she was trying to accomplish. They'd given him the absolute best Sarif or anyone had to offer, and yet she knew the dysphoria he would experience from waking up in a body so different would be catastrophic. Especially with the head and diagnostic augments. She skimmed down the list of the work that had been done on him and wondered if he would ever be able to adjust. He'd gone from nothing to everything overnight. The HUD would be a jarring learning curve all by itself. When he woke up at least his vision would be normal; they wouldn't turn on the HUD until he'd been informed about it and had a chance to realize what had happened to him.
His ID was displayed in the corner of the data display, the image an old photo probably from the file when he was first hired. He had a hard gaze and locked jaw, his angular bone structure giving him a harsh, predatory appearance. She glanced from his ID to his face, taking note of the way the trimmed beard he normally wore had gotten scraggly and rough in three weeks. Clearly keeping up his appearance hadn't been a priority. She leaned forward and ran her fingers hesitantly through his hair, avoiding the reconstruction stamp they'd placed in the left of his forehead. His hair was greasy. They had kept him sterile, probably used dusting powder to keep his hair manageable, but a proper shampoo hadn't happened in far too long.
She frowned, looking around for any evidence of a basin or other portable cleaning station. There was none. There was, however, a duffle bag on the floor and she leaned forward, unzipping it. Inside were a few Ebooks, a photo album, and a blanket and pillow that did not even remotely match the hospital décor. All things from his apartment, probably brought in to be used as memory tests when he woke up. She leaned forward, pulling out the pillow and, with only mild embarrassment, buried her nose in it and inhaled. A semi familiar scent came off of it and she closed her eyes, trying to place it. The name suddenly clicked and she put the pillow back, getting up and going to the wall where she could comm the guards without compromising the sterile field.
A sharp hiss of static and a click prefaced the line being open. "Is there a problem, miss?"
"Yes, I need a basin, a razor, some shaving cream, a few towels, and a bottle of Phoenix shampoo. You know, the kind made by Axe."
The guard hesitated, and though she couldn't see his eyes through his helmet she could tell he was surprised. "….why?"
"Because the file says a doctor will be in here at 1100 hours today to remove Mr. Jensen's eye bandages, which means we are expecting him to wake sometime soon. He's been through a lot of changes, and it's not going to help him at all if he wakes up with greasy hair and an unkempt beard."
"Miss, I can't let you have a razor or any other unauthorized equipment around the pati-"
"David Sarif asked for me specifically," Nora said, cutting him off. "Which means he trusts me. If I wanted to kill Jensen I could pull his augmentation dampers off and he'd be dead of shock before any of you knew what happened. A razor is not going to be a danger. The shampoo is a common courtesy paid to any patient, and the grafts in his skull repair are completely sealed so there's no chance of infecting the wound."
The guard shifted on his feet slightly, glancing uncertainly towards his co-worker. The other guard shrugged. "I'll go see what I can do."
"Thank you."
Nora returned to Jensen's side and began carefully re-threading and tying back wires and tubes that couldn't afford to get wet. She typed instructions into the bed's programming and it slowly lay back so that Jensen was lying completely flat. She kept one eye on his vitals as she worked, but nothing changed. His file said he didn't have any upper spinal damage, so she programmed the bed to move away from the wall a little and set up a stool behind him, normally reserved for the surgeon.
A half-hour later and a bag with what she'd requested passed through the sterile field. She took the items and filled the basin with warm water. Returning to the space she'd made behind his head she ducked under the wires and made one more glance at his vitals before settling in. Transferring his ID to her pocket secretary, she propped the little screen up against his metal shoulder so she could see what he normally looked like.
Very gently, she lifted his head with one hand, slipping and smoothing out a towel under it with the other. She lay his head back down and scooted forward so she was bent comfortably over him, letting her eyes adjust before she dispensed some of the shaving cream into her hand and spread it over his jaw and around his mouth. He didn't react at all. At first she was surprised and a little concerned, but then a glance at the drip still half-full told her they were keeping him under until at least 1400 hours or later that day.
She proceeded a little more easily, assured that he wouldn't wake and feel violated by her ministrations. Very gently she turned the razor in her hand, double checked from his photo, and began. It took her almost forty-five minutes, but she was in no hurry. Her only concern was that she didn't cut him and she got it right. She was constantly double-checking with his ID, getting up every few minutes to look at him head-on and compare. When she finally finished she gently washed the remaining foam from his face with a warm washcloth, careful not to get it in his mouth or nose. His skin was warm as she brushed her thumb along his smooth cheekbone, wiping away the last traces of cream.
That done, she tucked an extra towel around his neck and triple-checked his bandages to make sure nothing would be compromised by the strong shampoo and water. Everything was intact so she re-filled the basin and adjusted the bed so there was nothing underneath Jensen's skull but her knees. Very carefully she wet his hair, running her fingers soothingly along the curve of his skull, washing away traces of blood the nurse had missed after his cranial procedure.
His hair became pitch black when wet, and as she hummed to him she thought about how it was good she hadn't met him until now. Had she met him as Adam Jensen Chief of Security, she probably wouldn't have been able to look him in the eye, afraid that he would see some breach in contract that she wasn't even aware of. It would have made caring form him borderline impossible. Seeing him as just Adam, as someone who needed her, made him approachable. Like a wolf with a bleeding limb.
After she'd spent several minutes running her fingers along his scalp, she cracked open the bottle and poured the blue gel into her palm. Carefully, avoiding the patch in his skull where they'd had to re-build the damage done by the bullet, she began working the shampoo into his hair, a pleasantly-smelling white lather squishing up between her fingers.
She continued to hum to herself as she shifted his head in her hands, very careful not to jolt him or strain his neck as she worked. She took her time, burrowing her fingers into the texture of his hair, tracing invisible nerve paths she knew would be relaxing if he'd been awake. Even without him conscious to feel it the ministrations seemed to be doing some good—his heartrate had dropped and the patterns his brain was emitting were calmer.
Pulling another towel to her she padded the edge of the basin and let him rest his neck on it, dipping her hands into the water and cupping the warm liquid over his hairline, careful to shield his eyes. Gradually she washed all of the soap out and then proceeded to cradle his head in a towel, drying as best she could. When everything was finished she combed his hair back from his forehead with her fingers so that it mimicked his ID, somewhat amused by the fact that it stayed that way without gel. By time time she re adjusted the bed and had everything put away it was almost six, and a nurse was coming in to check on him and change his IV drip. Nora gave her a small smile and ducked out of the room, feeling incredibly tired suddenly. She took a quick shower, set an alarm on her pocket secretary, and fell asleep.
In my head Adam smells like Axe. He just does. He's practical but he's also classy, and who knows, maybe Megan liked it. (Yes, I think Axe used within reason is classy, don't judge.)