In Another Life
It was painfully obvious the man would collapse. As he sat, he looked off kilter, tipping to the right, then steadying himself in opposite directional motion. Grace observed, nerves inching their way down her spine, into her arms. They became restless, fingers flexing, knuckles clicking. She'd be lying if she said what she felt was little more than concern.
It bordered on frenzied panic. Frenzied oblivion sat before her, in the guise of a male, worn out, strung out. Beaten and used.
Slipping the psychologist mask back on stung. She needed glue, the extra strong kind you couldn't get off your hand. Singe the skin off her face, all for the sake of 'professionalism.'
She had to 'prop him up' with lexicon.
"You got up, you came here, you fed Freud, you fed yourself, you visited Vaclav...you are focusing, prioritising. Remember what I said about Frankenstein? His focus was one one thing and one thing only. He was single minded. You are not that at all. You dismiss yourself often. I believe you need to talk about something heavy, its weight drags you down."
Adam heard that, Grace held out an olive branch.
He grasped, fingers snapping, though not bark.
He clutched at straws, plastic giving way with simple muscle flex.
Grace took back a straw, thoroughly squished, staring upon it as if it were important somehow.
It was, if she counted the ones Adam broke...
"You think I'm lying? Being paid to be 'nice?'" She moved back, hands up. "Okay, analyse me. Ask me questions, and you can see if I am, indeed lying, or not."
Adam wasted no time.
"What did you think when you first saw me?"
"Brooding, quiet, gait slow, someone who didn't wish to be there, pushed there by someone else. My guess?" She chuckled. "Frank."
Adam nodded, himself laughing in agreement. So far, so good. Grace wasn't bullshitting him.
"In the office? Silence vanished, but was replaced by abject dejection. Self belief non-existent, loathing quite apparent. It saddened me to see you like that. I always got the feeling that, below the surface lay a kind man, one who cares for others. Your description of Megan confirmed this."
Adam didn't want her to stop, it felt as if she'd hit something deep inside him, deeply ingrained in roots long since seen the light of day. She'd stumbled upon him, the him he thought died what felt like aeons ago.
Grace saw hesitance in the creases of his eyes.
"I also saw hope. I still see it. The potential for so much more than metal. Did you think I believed you a black market metal dealer, with a penchant for wearing black?"
Adam's laughter increased in volume. Even now, Grace was able to diffuse potentially hazardous topics. Any blip in his recovery was covered, smoothed over by her.
And he had no idea how she did it.
He was forever grateful he chose not to go down the drugs route. He'd rather feel than be dead inside...
"Last night," Adam began, Grace's eyes sparkling, mouth wanting to quirk, muscles hurting from withheld alleviation, "I had a nightmare." He scoffed, dismissing the word.
Grace propped him up again.
"Children tend to make things up in their heads, vivid imaginations can conjure all sorts. Adults? Much more likely they have witnessed things that cause real nightmares to arise. You've got this."
Adam, by all intents and purposes was bracing himself against a barely over five foot woman, her feet firmly planted in the ground when all his wanted to do was buckle.
He couldn't buckle, 'tendons' created hardy as to not fall over, make a prat of himself.
"It was a little after the operations. I stood before a mirror in my apartment, my reflection not my own. Felt like I was looking at someone else, only, I stood in their place. Spasms in my shoulders made me hiss, until I looked at what was now my arms. Something out of Blade Runner, hell, Men In Black. Not an ordinary guy anymore, but a jumbled mess of skin, bone and metal. I was freezing, though not aware that I was naked for some time. Sarif appeared out of nowhere, and I braced myself against the mirror, making a fist despite not knowing anything of these limbs. I somehow stood up on foreign legs, prevented myself from crashing head first into the mirror. It grew hazy then, as David explained why he did what he did, what Megan's involvement was. He took the blame, though, not the fault. It wasn't his. I questioned if it were mine, simply because I died that night. Was I wrong? 'Wrong place, wrong time?' Would he have done this to someone else, given their circumstances were akin to mine?"
The woman said nothing, face neutral, posture neither tense nor too relaxed. She wasn't about to slouch as if she were at home, on the couch with popcorn and Freud. Slouching came off as bored to her, whoever was chatting should get to the point or be quiet, the reciprocate of said conversation was not interested.
A switch flicked, Adam's face morphing into abject childlike innocence.
"'Why me,' I begged, needing an answer. I didn't care for whatever the hell was wrong with the mirror. What it showed me was all wrong. It had to be a dream. Things like that don't happen to people, regardless of how severely they were injured. Sure, people got the odd arm, leg replacement, perhaps neural, enhancements to an already capable frame and mind. Only, neither of mine were capable of dealing with," rolling up sleeves, the man's eyes, disdain evident followed the curvature of his wrists, "this. This isn't right, surely..."
"I wouldn't say it is, no. Thank you, Adam."
A slight voice spoke, quietened in both respect and alarm.
"'Thank you?'"
Grace assured.
"Yes. You didn't have to tell me anything. If you wanted, we could have sat here in solitude. This space, whilst a tad cramped is excellent at sifting out the world and its noise. Choosing silence here rather than your apartment is good enough for me. You needn't come in here, spill open your mind, in regards to my job. Its nondescript here."
Emeralds took a pearly hue, now native emotion at the fore. The woman gave him time, looking at written notes.
Not at him. Discomfort would be the least of his worries.
Not at the clock. This would pressure him, 'hurry' him along when he ought to slow down.
That was why when Adam chose to look at her, everything drowned out, other than the thunderous thud of Grace's heart.
A box of tissues, unopened sat beside a mini stapler, zig-zag pattern merging if you squinted. Grace looked at the latter, then former.
"..."
At a loss as to what to say, lips thinned, cheeks sallow. Adam saw a ghost in here, and reverted to deer in headlights.
Though, Grace didn't see regression. She thought, perhaps Adam was seeing himself, facing the he of his past. He faced him, fearful, lost.
"I had to face myself. The past is gone. I can't go back. Not sure I would anymore."
Soft coughs accompanied the line, attempts to cover grunts men did when they were upset.
"I am not him anymore. I am me. Part of him lingers, like to think its a decent part."
Grace agreed.
"The old file told me of compassion, reason, the ability to understand other's perspectives without argument. Quiet when he wants to be, but not from idleness or callousness. I read and read again, Adam. I find most would rather read something once and misunderstand it, then read it over and learn to understand it."
Grace gave Adam her notes, his name in blue lettering.
"I hope we can be on the same page, Adam. You got what you needed off your chest. I suspect more is on your shoulders, but you're handling it well. Atlas, of the modern day world. The sky won't always be blue above your head, but little rain clouds trickling water can help you see things clearer. The rain washes away dolour. Here. It is only right you see what I have written about you."
Adam nodded.
"Thanks, Grace."
Little victory was little, but there all the same.
He used her name.
Hesitant eyes scanned lined paper, words scattering their letters like hockey pucks. Wiping his eyes, the wet smears on his jacket were not from his eyes...He sucked up, swallowing mucus.
An afterthought, words came out.
"She told me to stop, simply stop, as if its that easy."
"Delara?" Grace inquired, frowning. "'Stop feeling?'"
"I can turn augments on and off, but not what I feel. Fuck," he sighed, "how is that simple?"
Grace sighed, shaking her head.
"It isn't. Don't ever believe you shouldn't feel. Feeling makes you human. Yes, human, Adam. If I thought you were a machine, I'd have given you some WD40 and sent you home."
Adam's eyes flickered, mouth torn between amusement and confusion. A smile was plucking his facial muscles, tugging lightly. Grace's knack for appropriate joking took him by surprise. He found he didn't mind it. It wasn't at his expense. It was merely her pick chipping at his thick walls of ice.
"I, don't quite know what to say to that."
WD40 and the whiff it gave off made him grimace. The fluid he had to use in the shower to thoroughly scrub all over his augments smelled like someone had mixed chemical flowers with petrol. It clung to his skin, oily residue hanging around like a bad smell.
More than once, conveniently placed tissues by his bed would be used to wipe slime off. The time it was under his chin, stuck to beard hairs, snail trail making him baulk...
Grace fondly recalled a memory of the very product that disturbed Adam.
"A neighbour, like a Grandfather to me bought me a bike when I was six. I remember it squeaking after a while, and my Dad, new can of WD40 in hand, a mask on his face spraying it onto the chain. Only, he sprayed far too much, so much that the can spat droplets. He shook it and it flew everywhere, pelting his face with something you really shouldn't get in your lungs. Why he wore the mask, see. He wasn't as ditsy as he seemed. Not one drop got in his eyes though. Eyelids served their purpose well."
Taken from stupor, Adam coughed, shaking his head in amusement.
"How do you do that?"
Grace narrowed her eyes, though mouth twitched playfully.
"Keep me off the defensive, keep me on the fence?"
"A hop would change that. If I can diffuse your anguish with silly tales of my own, I will. I also wish to be open. Closing myself off isn't conducive. I speak to you about my life because I wish too. It appears you return that, of your own accord. Seeing things as others see them isn't necessarily a bad thing. It can be," dare she say it, "eye opening."
Adam groaned, smacking his face. Grace laughed, at the expense of herself.
Ticking morphed into a single tock, the end of Adam's appointment.
"Okay. I believe we've made great progress here. Prague, other than its Police force suits you well. It isn't as dark here, is it?"
Adam digressed.
"Detroit, whilst my home, it holds memories I'd sooner forget. Here? I have a chance to make my own," his tone lowered, "even if it does mean I get the crap beaten out of me."
"About that," Grace took a punt, "do you think your nightmare stemmed from that? In both, you were wounded, alone, your mind conjuring up assistance, answers to long held questions, in the form of Vaclav in reality, and David in your mind?"
Right.
The agent got that, keeping that for when he tried to sleep again.
"Yeah, you're on to something there." Adam stood, straightening out his jacket. "Vaclav is free tomorrow, if you want to see him. I won't be there. Something's come up."
She could pull him up on what that something was.
"I would like that."
She didn't, the move likely grim in nature.
"I'll let him know."
Adam held out a hand, the first time he'd initiated contact. Grace shook it.
"Take the pad. Perhaps write notes of your own? Anything, whether you deem it trivial or not. It'll give me an inkling as to what is going on in your head."
Adam smirked, placing the notepad inside a jacket pocket.
"You don't want to know. And, if I told you everything..."
She didn't need the rest...
"You'd have to 'kill me.'" She feigned irritated huff. "Can I at least make sure everything's backed up first?"
The agent grew amused.
"What, no 'I'm too young to die?'"
Now Grace snickered.
"I am not that young. Also, am I THAT obvious? Never thought I was predictable..."
Adam opened the office door, throwing an over the shoulder glance.
"You're not, and that's good."
He mumbled "different" after leaving the room.
Grace set about taking everything with her before leaving the space. Sensitive information was just that. She took all precautions in keeping things 'hush hush.'
If Miller had anything other than Adam's condition in mind, Delara's 'dismissal' from her given role could come back to haunt the psychologist.
Something foreign happened to Grace, everything a blur as she made her way back to the hotel.
Tears? Slipping from corners, lashes wet as she blinked. Only saline, no sound.
It was when she got back to her room the first sob came, bubbling, throat clenched. Unvoiced, silence not golden. Heavily rusted.
Who would hear her? Hear her plea, when she couldn't make a sound?
Pity fuelled droplets fell down her face, mind frustrated that she pitied Adam, when she knew he'd abhor that.