Red, Yellow, Green
Grace saw the sign for her stop and stood up, gleefully picking up her clutch bag, relishing the purse not being hefty for a change.
Looking for a shop named 'The Time Machine' wasn't too hard, considering the street it was on held nothing for the eye, except the sign for it.
Within ten minutes, she stood in the bookstore, the man she was here to meet standing before her, a kind grace about him. She took a few moments to study him.
For all intents and purposes, Koller looked like an ordinary man. Save for his hair that had Grace's hand fishing inside her purse, it hovering precariously above a comb. His clothing looked to be a few decades old, far older than the man himself. Camel, sleeveless, studded shoulder jacket, with varying pins on it, and a red and black check shirt underneath, fabric snipped off for augmented arms. The woman estimated him at around thirty, in her head (not aloud, she'd only just met the man, and didn't wish to dissuade him) Adam hadn't given her much info on the man.
She wondered how much Adam had talked about her, the thought banished to some far away space on Vaclav's very first words directed at her.
"Ah, Grace, ya? The gedankenleser."
Grace carefully weaved her way around wires, frayed ends not taped up.
"Yes, and, er, mind something?"
Vaclav looked amused at her confusion.
"I'll work that out later. In the meantime, I'll try not to die. Quite a few hazards around here."
She took a look around, eyes falling on the random assortment of kitchen units.
"Grace, Grace Fielding."
She offered a hand, until oil slick fingers reached out. She found a fairly clean rag and handed it over. Koller shook his head, shaking her hand anyway. Grace stared at her hand, mixture her head concocting an odd brew.
"Getting dirt under my nails already? Alright. Glad I know what footing I'm on here. I'll need that rag back."
Her boot caught on something long and thin as she took the square piece.
"I don't even know what my feet are standing on right now, and I don't think I wish to know."
She smiled though, Vaclav's hint of cheekiness going down well.
"You look happy. I'd like to see more of that around here. Too much grey, everything is. Grey-scale. Not quite monochrome, but you are a colour. This place needs a splash of it, be it an artist's muse, for example."
"He was right."
The brunette blinked.
"He means Adam. Right, however?"
Curiosity was piqued.
"In that you speak very formally. Doctor speak, big words, complex sentence structure."
She huffed.
"In all fairness, that is pretty spot on. Pleasure to meet you," she paused, "I have no idea how to pronounce your name, so, I apologise in advance if I say it incorrectly."
She frowned. "Adam referred to you as a neuroplastic surgeon?"
A nod was all she received.
Almost, but somehow managing to resist the urge to raise a brow, she asked.
"Okay. When did you meet Adam?"
"After the Růžička Station bombing. His eyesight was fuzzy, sound phased in and out. After adjusting the frequency of his retinal augs, we found out he has many more than first thought."
Grace let her eyes widen, not quite sure why anxiety gnawed, feasting on her gut.
"Bombing? Sorry," she sighed, weaving her clean hand through her locks, "I only arrived here two weeks ago. Not quite up to par with events. Please," she gestured with her hand, "continue."
"The list was very long, strange, unknown augs, things I want to tinker with, but, short of slicing him up, I have to stick with sighing, thinking, sketching what I believe they are, listing what their functions are. His lungs, Redbreathers, are equipped to handle poison gas."
Vaclav smiled, plaintive note catching Grace as peculiar.
"That's a new one on me."
"Well, I wasn't planning on spraying poison gas in Adam's face, but, the more you know! Also," the woman grimaced, "I wouldn't come at him with a scalpel and a grin either personally. I bet that list is ridiculously long..."
She trailed off, seeing a kettle on top of a washing machine that via varying thickness threads kept the appliance from hitting the ground.
The universal 'Do you want something to drink' sign was utilised. Grace's finger automatically pointed to the box of tea. She then unwittingly nodded, throat parched from cold, dry air.
What she got was tea, which held a sheen she hadn't seen before. Not wanting to be rude, she took the cup, nodding her thanks. Trying to drink it when the mere touch scalded her lip, and the sheen creating bubbles that clearly were not tea was a challenge in of itself.
It took willpower honed over years in her field to put the cup down, occasionally appearing to take a sip.
It didn't smell of tea either...
Grace forced a smile, though the surgeons attitude, happy-go-lucky demeanour quickly turned that smile from fake to genuine. She laughed upon seeing tubing going from one end of the room to the other. The room was a deathtrap that she, oddly felt safe in. Not quite homely, but close to that.
A scuffling sound turned her head, Vaclav fiddling with some contraption in the background missing the noise, missing Adam strolling in.
When Grace saw him, she shrunk back, guilt carmine flush and a wave of Beta causing the agent to want to walk back outside, return to see her smiling.
Was she ashamed to be happy in front of him? Was it wrong for her to be anything but a doctor?
He stayed in the doorway, presence casting sorrowful shadow. Shaking his head pinched, nerves pulled by an unseen force.
It wasn't truly unseen.
It was worriment. Adam was distressed, with no apparent reason why.
You know why. Don't play the fool when others play their hands freely, openly.
Only you wear a mask. You feel shame not for what you feel inside. You've accepted that. You feel upset because you've upset someone else, dragged them into your mud, treading it over their mind. Your tracks blotch her pristine piece of paper. You've made it grey, splotched it with your suffering. How can you ever beat your demons if you cannot fight past the most basic, obvious concept?
The brunette didn't know that voice. It spoke truth, a sort of wisdom, the kind you didn't want to hear, but it forced you to listen. Inner demons weren't on his agenda. His radar, along with his arms needed looking over.
He decided he'd talk it over with Grace.
Just, not now. Now frightened him, a slice of fear given to a child. A child, the child inside him, inside White Helix, prodded, poked into a corner.
If he couldn't think, that would be great. He fought thinking by thinking, making his fingers curl into a fist. He wished to punch the thing the slice came from. Obliterate it, shattering himself in the process.
He heard Grace laugh. Not the sound of a doctor, the sound of the Grace in front of the letters of her doctorate.
And when she smiled? For an instant, the beaming gesture eliminated tension in Adam's shoulders.
He could ignore the ache.
Grace saw heaviness, a weary body, dragged inside the secluded, hidden space only by his brain forcing limbs to move. She tried jovial, but was shut down with a thousand yard stare. This one haunted her. She turned back to Koller, the surgeon's smile remaining. He looked at Adam like he was an angel. Her brain gave her a horrid reminder, her stomach lurching. The word 'Icarus' lit up like a beacon, her head shaking visible sign of discomfort.
"Ah, wunderkind!"
Wunderkind?
"Wonder child?" Flummoxed, Grace shifted. "Adam?"
Adam moved around her, whiff of toffee tickling nose hairs much preferred to blood. The sweet scent combated, overtook memories of nausea inducing iron, causing a shift in mood. He took a deep breath, vanilla calming him as routine nicotine inhalation would.
In those few seconds, Grace followed his movements like a deer in headlights, as though he were a hawk, hovering above a vole.
He let out the breath, somewhat thankful for Koller's still cheerful face being there. If it wasn't a fixture, he feared Grace would bolt.
Adam knew she was frightened, no surgery done to him needed to see that. It was a personal thing, he was willing to bet the woman felt she couldn't be herself around him.
She needed the proverbial clipboard, white coat, bags under her eyes but a friendly, warm smile there, for him.
For his benefit. She was here for him, not herself. She had little to gain, had no ulterior motives. He had more ground here than she. It almost felt as if he held all but one card.
She held the Joker.
"Vaclav, can we talk for a second?"
Vaclav's face flitted worry, discomfort obvious.
"Sure sure, man."
Grace turned towards the door.
"Should I leave?"
Adam's face mirrored his friend's, pupils wild. He shook his head quickly, unwilling to tell her why she shouldn't leave. Someone he'd hoped to have foiled followed him to the shop, only staying outside on Otar's orders.
Vano was there to intimidate, not maim.
Not yet...
A sharp gasp pierced the silence, the men's head swivelling around in confusion.
"Wait," Grace paused, finger to her lips, "reader! Reader," she spun around to face Vaclav, "reader, right? I wouldn't say mind mind reader."
A large grin perturbed her.
"Geist helfer?"
Grace accepted that.
"Helper? Yes, that fits my moniker. I'll wait here then, shall I?"
She thought about adding the next bit carefully.
Very, very carefully...
"I mean, I have seen Adam's chest, but, I'm aware that his augments aren't only in his chest. I'll look away and whistle. 'Whistle while you work?'"
Vaclav laughed, whistling that tune. Grace attempted it, her throat giving off pathetic hisses resembling notes. Adam let his guard drop, deeming a moment of amusement not too much of an ask.
If only that was what it was, he just needed 'tinkering with.'
No, it was far less straightforward than that.
What he needed to tell the surgeon held potentially horrific weight behind it, words falling from his lips after they left the room feeling heavy on his tongue. He swore he could hear the thud resonating as they hit the floor.
Otar said he wouldn't harm Koller. He swore up and down he wouldn't, not when the latter had protection via the Dvali family. He had crossed paths with their leader Radich numerous times, not wishing to do it again.
He lied. Vano being here meant he lied.
Adam was tired of lies.
He got what he needed out, swore he would protect his friend, and said he would stay there.
Vaclav was having none of that, explaining that, as a respectable man, Adam should not allow Grace to walk back to the train station alone.
Adam protested, his cause prominent in his brow. Vaclav protested, his case in his locked jaw and set eyes. He would call Radich, sort out some protection whilst Adam was gone.
The agent relented, leaving the back room and an ally in unknown waters.
He could only hope the man could swim.
Grace adjusted her mug for the eighth time, feet starting to hurt from standing too long. She had a sit down job, standing up for longer than a few hours hurt her ankles. She felt them burn, and not in the after exercise release of dopamine kind of way.
"Auf Wiedersehen mein clank."
Adam scoped outside, skulking past Grace. She didn't see his dour gait, she was preoccupied with what Vaclav had just called Adam. She liked nicknames and all, but, clank?
"Adam?" She called after him. "Adam. Clank? What is that about?"
Koller waved, cheerful again, masking fear as well as a highly trained actor.
He wasn't winning any awards for his performance.
Adam walked back into the shop, nodding to Grace. If she thought his behaviour suspicious, she didn't show it. He had managed to get Vano to go back to his boss. How long for, he wasn't sure.
Again Grace took his mind off violence, straight onto humour.
"Clank? He called you 'clank?!' I do not approve of that."
Adam smirked.
"I can see that."
The doctor's forehead crinkled, tone frustrated.
"Adam! And I thought we had a rapport. Apparently only in my head..."
The agent spun around, face bewildered.
"Where'd THAT come from? That sure as hell was not 'Doctor Grace.'"
She sighed, pinching her nose.
"Every time we get somewhere, other people butt in, throwing their words in where they are not needed. I understand that its a joke, what 'mates call mates,' but that word. Surely it's a bit harsh? They're insinuating that you're a robot. Whether they meant it that way or not is increasingly relevant to me."
The agent retorted.
"It is irrelevant to me."
"I can't decide whether that's a good thing or not. Progress?"
Adam nodded, all seriousness aside.
"Progress."
The woman smiled, long held huff coming out.
"Good. That's really good." She looked at him, keeping the friendly gesture. "You wished to stay there, I know."
Adam stopped keeping pace.
"That was a turn. What's going on with you? Where's 'Dr Grace' gone?"
The brunette shrugged.
"I am human too, Adam. I have a life outside of my work. I shouldn't be speaking like this to you. Should strictly remain 'Dr Grace.'"
Sombre platitude washed over the man. Grace froze.
"You don't get a life outside of work. I'm..."
"You don't need to apologise. Not gonna bite your head off." Adam walked next to her. "Your train will be leaving soon."
Grace sighed, hot breath visible like puffs from a cigarette.
Speaking of which, Adam lit one up.
"Good. I appreciate you letting me keep my head. In return, I shall not ask if you want another appointment. If you do, let me know. Its on your terms, Adam," the woman gave a reassuring smile, "that's a promise."
The smile turned wry.
"That sounded like you want rid of me. Am I that bad to be around? How terrible of me!"
Her 'acting' would have made most audiences boo, hiss, frown.
For Adam? It made him grin.
"Me? Never."
Grace's cheeky head tilted, along with her shoulder moving up made the agent look at her quizzically.
"You are right, however. I should hurry along. Get back to Vaclav before I tell Frank, and he gets jealous."
Adam snorted.
"Jealous? Frank? You sure we know the same Frank?"
Grace walked onto her platform, just before the yellow line.
"He'll be Grinch green, I tell you. Cracking bottles in his teeth. Glass for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bleeding gums and a trip to, well, he wouldn't go. He'd put up with it. Spit it out, then drink some vile 'energy boosting' substance claiming to be helpful."
"You are odd, you know that? I see why the two of you get along now."
"And I see why the two of you don't."
Grace teased, throwing him off. He hated not being able to best her.
Only one woman ever succeeded in doing that. And, as far as he was concerned, she no longer existed. He no longer cared if that was harsh or not.
"See you sometime, Adam."
Small, a slight elegant voice hit Adam's ears. He perked up from the mind fog, offering a hand. Grace was taken aback by his initiation of contact. She shook his hand tentatively.
"If I am intruding, if there is a next time, do tell me, won't you?"
Her request went partially answered.
"You aren't."
The train arrived, Grace stepped on, Adam turned on his heel and walked back to the bookstore.
No, it wasn't you who intruded, Grace.
He changed course.
Otar...