Starbright
Adam's head hurt, pulses in time with the beats against his rib cage. Bracing winds smacked the wind out of him as soon as he left the hotel. Picking random roads, he turned off his comm before walking. He's wasn't in any mood to speak, only pound the gravel until his fists bled.
They couldn't bleed, he knew this.
What?
He knew that. So, why was he entertaining the thought?
Did Grace not see what took him, threw him about like he weighed nothing? Could she not see it? How?! The force would have smacked him against the wall had he not fled, sprinting down corridors like an athlete.
Adam had inadvertently flipped the proverbial hourglass, sand trickling steadily down like a leaky faucet. But they found grooves in Adam's hands, and stayed there stubbornly, no matter how many times he shook them. He could grab a wrench, tighten the nut under the tap, cease the dripping, sound raising hackles in him. It was an easy fix, too simple. His breath fogged up the glass, forcing him to squint to witness his mind run away from his grasp. It took more than adamant courage to say he was 'fine' this time.
Grace was like Autumn. Cool, collected, a little flight to her, in no way someone who came off too blase. Her mood was stable, colours warm palette, complimenting bronze in her hair, liquid brown in her eyes, earthy, her feet were on the ground. Leaves cascaded in soft whirls of wind, yet, Grace did not crunch them underfoot, she stepped over them, in her wake gold, amber glittering via rays of errant sunlight.
Grace was errant rays, she warmed him when his soul iced over.
When his faith in himself waned, her warmth eased self burdens.
She was natural, herself with him, no qualms of sitting in prone silence as he wallowed mutely. Grace knew he wallowed, never once calling him out, labelling his strain as 'dramatic,' his flair for it not brought up.
It wasn't his flair, dramatic followed him, an all too faithful fiend.
How? When? What, where? Singular phrases bobbed up and down, waves spilling over the land that was his mind. He wished to sit, but grew restless quickly. He wished to walk, but felt bone tired, occasional phantom stabs reminding the agent that. despite his 'enhanced' body, he was still, at heart a man.
That struck him. Off balance, he jumped at shadows, anxiety slapping him, proverbial 'duh' imminent.
He stopped, focusing on answers, giving himself time to process the words needed to create the sentences necessary.
How? Grace disarmed him, knew which wires to snip, which to avoid like aphoristic plague.
When? The woman was able to process his words, words he chose carefully. He hadn't intended on getting her involved in his misgivings, but she handled them well. She was sturdy when he wasn't. He hadn't lent against her per-say.
Not physically anyway.
Mentally? Grace was a pillar, one his acerbic wit attempted to chip away at hadn't done much other than cause surface damage.
What? Adam wasn't sure about what he was thinking. However, it didn't upset him, thoughts of Grace acted as a balm of sorts.
What? What in Frank's obsession with energy drinks was he thinking of?
Grace, he corrected, confirmed, Grace...
Where? No matter where he attended appointments, Grace's delicate simper cheered him, sheer cold metal encased in his ribs melting, now a molten core. Somehow, she shielded him from himself, took Adam away from harsh uncertainty, the Adam resenting all away from yearning, mindful, optimistic Adam.
Where? Grace let him into her world, whilst helping him open the door to his world.
There were a thousand reasons he should run.
There were a million why he should stay.
Running hurt, inside and out, wrenching his stomach out his mouth, laying his heart bare, on his sleeve.
If only he rolled them up, let Grace see it for all it was worth.
It wasn't black, nor seething. It lay inside a man, desperate for companionship from someone who would gladly return it.
No games, no lies, nothing that tore him to shreds.
Grace held a needle and thread, she'd sew him back up.
Soppy bastard...his mind added, making him chuckle.
I've hurt her many times, yet, she kept it together.
Did she cry over him? That stung his brain, headache letting him know it was on its way. Sentinel kicked in, effectively shutting down the throb.
Was it that? Was it Grace? Did she effect somehow him from far away?
Don't cry over me. Please, I can't bear that. You must focus on yourself before others. That is not selfish. You put everyone before yourself, there's only so long you can do that before it opens a rift inside you, one you cannot fill. A void consisting of self destruction.
He sounded like Grace, laughing again. One thing remained though.
Was he telling himself this, Grace or both?
He'd needed to get back to his apartment, apologise for hastily beating a retreat. It was his home, not a bombsite. Nothing dangerous lay there.
Only despair he crafted all by himself, he believed that was there.
It wasn't. It was all in his head. Grace wasn't. She was right there, before him, eyes on his, little sign of letting his discomfort bother her.
She had a job to do, yes.
However, she did far more than heal old battle scars. Adam needed her to know that. That meant he had to return, he must speak up, let her know this fact.
Fact?
Yes, Adam affirmed, a fact.
The man turned on his heel, making his way back to home turf. He had much to discuss with the uplifting doctor beyond his front door, in his living room.
He could only hope she remained there, that he hadn't scared her off.
He closed his eyes, stepping onto the train, quickening his arrival.
She'll listen, I know she will.
What did he want her to say in return? Should she speak? Should she dare speak to him as more than her title?
Adam reigned himself in.
Whatever happens happens, whatever uttered is uttered.
He could only hope Grace could forgive his attitude, see through the 'tough man.'
But, he knew. He knew she already did. She saw through him like a pristine, polished mirror.
Adam was unsure whether or not he enjoyed that. Grace opened his memoirs, he became an open book.
He badly needed to be read, Grace had to know his side of things. Flip the coin so his face was up.
He tired of looking at the ground, when all the woman (who threw him into flux) wanted to do was see him as he truly was. View all he was inside and out.
Adam stepped off the train, destination as clear as day.
Taking control of his life felt much lighter than he thought it would. The proverbial ball in his court was in his hand. He would offer it to Grace, a strange alternative to an 'olive branch', but one all the same.
It was up to Grace whether she held the sphere, offered it to Freud, or threw it in his face.
He wouldn't blame her if it were the latter. Likely the first, then second options. She'd study him, as though he were jewelled facet, not a contraption. A mish-mash of flesh, bone and metal.
The elevator ride up held promise, Adam held onto that with his free hand.
Could he say anything he thought prior? Would he be tongue-tied? His stomach wrung in knots?
He let out an even breath, opening the door slowly.
Grace's puffy face greeted him. His heart leapt into his throat, hesitance reared its ugly head. Adam persevered, taking the brave step forward, over the threshold.
The first step?