As he looks down at her prone form he isn't sure which of the storm of feelings surging through his soul he should call the dominant one. Weary relief, joy that is so great it physically hurts, love for the kindred spirit that sleeps below him, the love that lead him here. That he expected, of course. But a sick nervousness burns in the pit of his stomach. After so much time, can they just go back? The fear that they will be complete strangers to each other is overwhelming. He can't hold her yet so he grips the side of the brushed stainless steel table she lays on. It is a poor substitute.
"You'll have to wait outside." The young medical technician looks nervous. The way any smart person does when challenging an Envoy. Terrorists, criminals, heroes, martyrs. Everyone in the settled worlds has an opinion on the legends of which he is the last. He cares even less than he normally does right now. He knows the truths that the woman he waits for taught him. He knows their cause was right. His experiences over the last fifty years with the best and worst of humanity have only reinforced that.
His current sleeve, a near match to his original, paid for with the last of a paycheck he got a lifetime ago, can give one hell of a dark eyed death glare. He turns it on the unfortunate young man now. "I stay." His quiet tone has more impact than a shout. The poor kid actually flinches. He can almost hear the voice of Kristen Ortega chiding him for his harshness in a deft mixture of English and Spanish. Her warm, soft features that belie the core of steel within had barely changed the last time he had seen her. Whenever he needs a good talking to, she is the one he conjures to do it. He softens his expression but the younger man has already turned back to his work.
"It's ready. I'm...I still have some misgivings." The kid sighs "The only experiences I've had with spinning up such a battered stack after so long...are not good. I...just want to be sure you're prepared for any...damage there might be."
The possibility has occurred to him too. He had found her in a lock up in some backwater, relieved to see the glow of the ghost in the chip. She had always been able to surprise him. "I've had plenty of time to think about it. Just spin her the fuck up."
The tech nods, a few nervous bobs before splitting the bag.
Amniotic fluid gushes over his shoes. He pays it no mind, pulling back the murky silicone sheet to reveal her naked form. Another near match to the form he knew her in. As he grips the tube that tethers her to unconsciousness a last doubt blurs his long worked for purpose. Would she want this? She had died fighting the immortality of humanity, believing it a harbinger of the destruction of the soul of the species. He was no meth, but he had used his money to bring them both back like one.
'If she doesn't want this, I'll let her go.' He means it. He loves and knows her too much not to give her a choice. But he can't give her that unless he asks. He pulls the cord.
She barely takes time to drag down a halting, gasping breath before lurching at him. Instincts ingrained into her stack, if not her body, taking over, her disorientation manifesting itself in a feral defence. She is prepared for anything. Her hand reaches around his throat as she throws her weight on top of him, knocking him to the slick floor of the facility.
"Hey, hey. Shhh. Look at me. It's me. It's me" He breathes, the pressure of her grip on his oesophagus and his emotion strangling his words.
A frown creases her dark brow as large brown eyes both strange and familiar look directly into his. Past his.
"Tak?" She asks eventually.
"Quell." The word shudders as he brushes sodden raven hair back from her face. He can't tell who's action their kiss is. He doesn't care. Takeshi Kovacs is home.